kimberlysteele | Entries tagged with celebrity

Back in the day, there was a great deal more reverence for so-called pop princesses. It seemed like EVERYTHING to be one of them. When my little friends and I played Barbies or starred in the grade school talent show, it was all in service of the vision of ourselves as the next big superstar. Stars used to have clout and that’s why we watched them so avidly and kept track of their lives via magazines and award shows. It was exciting to see people who were recognized for their talents and the pop princesses of yore had talent in spades. Carole King wrote songs for herself as well as Aretha Franklin, James Taylor, and the Beatles. Barbra Streisand had an amazing voice. Janis Joplin electrified every performance until her tragic death (under fishy, Clive Davis-connected circumstances). Stevie Nicks was uniquely amazing.

Though it is arguable that the pop-star-as-harlot trend began with Nancy Sinatra and Boots Were Made for Walkin’, it didn’t track until Madonna and her early eighties Reagan era schtick. Madonna’s voice wasn’t much but the songs she chose were fun, irreverent, and carefree. Yes, there was a time when Madonna wasn’t an insufferable, pompous wretch. Madonna quickly morphed into the creature we know today, a metastasizing schizoid chimera’s head of new personalities, one for every passing trend. Like Madonna herself, pop devolved from goofy and fun to shock and awe. Nearly all hip hop was Diddy-fied and nearly all pop was Madonnaed. Both genres became tools to cover for rapists, including child rapists. Both genres reflected the abject worship of death.

They took the audience

For every Beyonce, there are a hundred flash-in-the-pans such as Nikka Costa, Elle King, and Tones and I. One hit wonders still hit and disappear. For every one hit wonder artist, there are thousands of could-have-beens with talent that was equal or greater to the one hit wonder artist, if not Beyonce herself. Beyonce is not and never has been particularly talented except perhaps as a vocalist. She is slightly above average as a singer but she is not anywhere near the vocal talent of Ariana Grande. Her songs are co-written, and if we translate from the Bullshitese, that means she takes credit for other people’s creative work and calls it her own. Now that Beyonce’s looks are fading and she and her husband are being revealed as malefic Luciferian witches, Beyonce’s glamours are developing deep fissures. Beyonce as a brand is soon to be relegated to the Walmart clearance aisle.

It could not have happened to a nicer person, LOL. Beyonce is an awful human being who all but admits to murdering a woman in cold blood in a song lyric.

Your body laid out on these filthy floors

Your bloodstains on my custom coutures

Bathroom attendant let me right in

She was a big fan

I really tried to stay cool

But your arrogance disturbed my solitude

Now I ripped your dress and you're all black and blue

Look what you made me do

-Beyonce, Daughter

There are compelling rumors that Beyonce, who attended many Diddy parties, forces other artists to acknowledge her at awards shows as a form of tribute. The Beyonce rabbit hole goes very deep and if nothing else reveals that she should probably not be allowed around children. To see her finally failing after the forced farce of Cowboy Carter, a garbage black “country”album that suspiciously swept awards shows, provides a warm dose of schadenfreude. She is finally beginning to taste the obscurity she richly deserves.

The trouble with the one pop princess who beats out the hundreds of one hit wonders who beat out the thousands of Never-made-its is that thousands are not able to make a living or gain a following in music because of the pop princesses soaking up attention and money. Live music has taken a real beating in the last fifty years. Rates of pay for live shows have stayed exactly the same as they were in 1978 with no adjustment for inflation. Cover is where all the money is and anyone singing cover has to live in fear of being shaken down by the performing rights orgs such as BMI and ASCAP. When the performing rights org gestapo catches a nine year old singing Bruno Mars in a coffee shop while her music teacher accompanies her on guitar, it is all hands on deck to put the coffee shop out of business with astronomical licensing fees. A small restaurant near where I live in suburban Chicagoland was put out of business for hosting open mic nights with unlicensed cover songs. Meanwhile, YouTube has millions if not billions of cover songs being broadcast any given second that somehow are of no matter.

Pop princesses have dominated the scene long enough that I perceive their demise as shocking. I never thought I would see the end of them but it seems the memes have spoken: the pop princess era is aging badly. South Park started having a field day with J.Lo back in 2003, ruthlessly mocking her as Cartman’s hand (job) puppet. In 2012, a meme called Beyonce’s Final Form heralded the beginning of the end for Mrs. Carter, who stupidly attempted to force “everyone” to take the meme off the internet. This backfired spectacularly, and now the enduring image of Beyonce that will always live in the hearts of the masses is utterly unflattering. Awww.

There is a particularly savage meme going around TikTok using combined footage from various pop princess’s concerts. The meme borrows the soundtrack from a 2008 SNL spoof of the Laurence Welk show featuring the fictional Maharelle Sisters, an old timey singing group in matching, semi-formal, yellow dresses. The sisters sing to introduce themselves in cringey crooner voices. “I’m Janice,” sings the first sister. “I’m Holly,” sings the second sister. “I’m Noraaaa,” croons the third sister in a wacky vibrato. “AND I’M DENICE!” screeches the fourth sister, who has a large forehead, tiny doll-sized hands, and a hefty helping of derp. Though the meme has several variations, Janice is Sabrina Carpenter, Holly is Taylor Swift, Nora is Cardi B, and Denise is Katy Perry in her Lifetimes tour. Katy Perry, for many reasons, has become the butt of internet jokes. Once the reigning queen of pop stardom, she too will be joining Beyonce in the Walmart clearance bin soon.

If I could walk a mile in their leotards, I would pass

All pop princesses wear leotards and/or bikinis onstage. It is as if there is a “no pants allowed” rule if you’re a major label artist recording a video or performing on tour. I get that pop music is more about entertainment than actual music. I am still sick to death of the goddamned leotard. When I hear a good song, the very last thing I am curious about is what the artist’s butt looks like. Having a perky derriere should not be a prerequisite for musical success, yet as we have seen with the hundreds of one hit wonders who are pushed aside for a single pop princess, there does not seem to be any other way than shaking that ass.

I had that body once upon a time and I suppose had I had slightly different luck, a more symmetrical face, fewer scruples, and less autism, it could have been me pumping booty to some co-written track. Ugh. No amount of money is worth the humiliation these women put themselves through to give the appearance of staying on top. Butts have nothing to do with good music and never will — the sounds that come from the butt cannot be tuned or helped. The Janice/Holly/Nora/Denise meme gives me hope that the Leotard Retard era is finally coming to its close. When they dance in their scanty outfits, they uniformly look like the stripper Cardi B once was. This not only commodifies music, it commodifies dance. I am old enough to remember when dancing was fun and my relatives danced the polka at backyard parties. I remember when dancing wasn’t always overtly sexual and didn’t feature copious attention to the crotch.

It eats them alive

When you are sexualized and commoditized from a tender age, it does horrible things to the brain. There is not a single pop princess that I would describe in a good mental or emotional place, though they all love to pretend they are perfectly transcendent.

Katy Perry is a mess who gets off on torturing senior citizens. Poor Britney Spears has left the building. I have no doubt that evil things have happened to that woman starting when she was a girl. She is broken and bleeding. Christina Aguilera is dysmorphic and probably mutilated. I believe Sarah Ferguson of the Black Eyed Peas was serially raped from childhood. J.Lo became a monster. Lady Gaga is a ritual Satanist. Olivia Rodrigo is mentally ill. Li’l Kim butchered her face. Cardi B. is a political dishrag. Doja Cat is probably mutilated and again is another out and proud Satanist. Rihanna lost her ability to sing. Amy Winehouse is dead. Ariana Grande looks like she is dysmorphic, self-harming, and dying of anorexia. Chappell Roan has dead eyes and dresses like Dee Snider in his Twisted Sister era.

Every one of them is supposed to be a role model. Every one of them undercut thousands of talented artists to sit at the top of a septic astral pyramid that yields diminishing returns for all. Most of them are industry plants. Taylor Swift is the daughter of a Blackrock bigwig. The reason her bland, banal Muzak sucks so bad is because she has the soul of a private equity firm with ancestry to match. Her songs are the sound of a corporate focus group. The same company that buys up middle class housing so they can drive up real estate prices to benefit their shareholders put Taylor Swift on the map and drove her earworms into the soft flesh of little girl’s brains. Disney (with its woke communist agenda) is also owned mostly by Blackrock. Blackrock may have geoengineered the North Carolina earthquakes in a convenient grab of a lithium mine — there is another rabbit hole. Let’s just say I would not put it past them. Blackrock’s executives are not nice people.

To her credit, Taylor Swift is reportedly good to her employees and staff, and she’s nice to fans, which is far more than Jennifer Lopez or Madonna will ever be able to claim. That said, her constant whining and politicizing carries a sinister agenda. If she is a role model, I would like to see some other choices.

At least Swift apparently writes her own music — her shoddy, generic stamp is all over her lame oeuvre. Many of the aforementioned artists cannot bother to pen their own tunes, which means they displaced talented people in order to pimp whatever Max Martin felt like writing any given week. Most people do not know that he writes the majority of pop songs offered to any given major label songwriter. He is Carol King on steroids.

I will conclude this lament with my own hope that pop princesses can be filed away for perpetuity and that local music can regain the foothold it had in the seventies. Perhaps I am alone but I would like to see the next generation of musical women keep their pants and skirts on. Call me a nerd but I would like to hear songs with more than four chords with actual acoustic instruments being somewhat expertly played. I would like this music to be as good live and unedited as it is on recording. I would like to see music divorce itself from porn and pornified culture. I would like to see my friends who are far more skilled at playing live than I will ever be compensated for their skills. I would like to see them be able to make a living off of something besides teaching. It may be too late for me (also I am very happy as a music teacher) but I would like to see them on the stage, exuberant, and very much with all their clothes on.

I guess a girl can dream.

To read this article with photos and silly captions, click HERE.

For those who actually have vibrant, full lives: Katy Perry is a pop singer. She sang at the Superbowl halftime show a few years ago.

Katy Perry’s most recent publicity stunt was to take a rocket ship to the edge of space with a crew of five other women. The mission, if you can even call it that, was named Blue Origin, a generic, corporate shill moniker that would be entirely plausible as an overpriced cosmetics line or a stupidly expensive sushi restaurant. The all-female excursion that did not even break orbit cost a cool billion dollars and pumped out more carbon emissions in one shot than a billion people create in a lifetime. Jeff Bezo’s latest wife, a heavily plastic-surgeried pilot turned glamour puss, was in the group. The trip in its entirety was done to show the triumph of feminism — over what we will never know — and only took eleven minutes start to finish. Jeff Bezos, who financed it, is using it to launch his latest scheme of Space Rides for Rich People. Anyone can go on an incredibly wasteful tour of near space if he or she can cough up 150 grand in cash. The internet had a field day with the mission, with the funniest of memes invoking the rocket ship scene from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999). Blue Origin was by CIA spooks, for CIA spooks, and that is why the flight list included Katy Perry and Gayle King, Oprah’s best friend. Facing relentless mockery, Gayle King attempted to defend the jaunt after the fact, and was downright pissy about it. Ms. King defended the extravagance with her very own “Let ‘em eat cake” phrase: “Have y’all been to space?” and of course the internet, led by TikTok, said “No, Gayle, you probably need to be able to afford health insurance to do that.”

To state the extremely obvious, Katy Perry is not the brightest crayon in the box. I would guesstimate her IQ to be in the high 80s at best. That is why we have to take her lifestyle choices with a few grains of salt — she’s nearly in the Special category, if you get my drift, and we cannot expect a person who nearly rode the short bus to make consistently excellent decisions. Regardless of derp, when a person becomes extraordinarily wealthy and famous, it can go several ways. In Katy’s case, it has gone the way of the Wendigo. The Wendigo as most of you know is a Native American creature of legend. It is a formidable blend of cannibal and zombie that was once human. A Wendigo is created when a person tastes human flesh and develops an insatiable appetite for human meat. Yet the more the Wendigo eats, the thinner and hungrier it becomes.

Katy Perry has one or more Wendigo spirits attached to her — one craves influence, hence her absurd, vain album releases under the guise of empowering women and constant cringe faux-enlightened posturing. Another one of Katy’s Wendigos is real estate. She has destroyed more than one elderly person’s life by forcing the purchase of their homes she fancied those residences. She once roped an actual nun into circumstances that most likely caused the elderly nun’s death on the courtroom floor because she wanted to buy the abbey. Katy constantly dives into drama over houses she covets for herself, despite owning multiple large homes, which tells me she longs for a true home of the sort that money cannot buy. I’ll be talking about that true sense of home in my upcoming 2026 book, Sacred Homemaking, which is an occult take on the tidying genre.

George Michael at the height of Wham!'s fame

The day to Katy Perry’s night is George Michael, a world famous singer who died in 2016. George Michael, who was half of the group called Wham!, was one of the 1980s biggest stars and most likely went through the whole disgusting Hollywood groomer mill with the best of them. Unlike in Katy Perry’s case, whatever happened did not turn George Michael into a monster. He turned into an angel. George Michael donated huge amounts of money in secret. He secretly volunteered to help causes he believed in despite being a literal rock star. Revelations of just how charitable and utterly selfless he was were only forthcoming after his death at age 53 because he deliberately tried to keep it all on the down low. When he saw a woman on the TV show Deal or No Deal say that she could not afford IVF treatment, he secretly called the next day and gave her 15,000 pounds. She ended up naming the son she conceived via the treatment after him. He regularly left 5000 pound tips with waitresses and waiters. Entire charities said that his millions kept them afloat for years, and these are only the ones we were able to find out about. Had George Michael met a bunch of nuns who were going to lose their sanctuary instead of Katy Perry, there is no doubt in my mind he would have bought the property for them at a much inflated cost just so they could stay there as long as they wanted.

Like many greedy people, Katy Perry will remain in a state of Wendigo-driven stasis until she lets go of her fear. The gods are patient and are willing to let this process take many excruciating lifetimes. I personally would not trade places with Katy Perry for all the world, because much of her wealth is unearned. Like many who amass unearned wealth, she has failed to understand she can and will be earning it back in future lifetimes. Or maybe she does understand it deep down and it causes even more dissonance in her fractured brain. Generosity sublimates to the power of seven, and that’s why George Michael’s soul was likely able to have a great deal more autonomy after he died. Katy Perry won’t be so lucky. This is why it is so important to cultivate generosity and gratitude in equal measure. It’s not just that Katy Perry is going to get the short end of the stick later on in her future incarnations, it’s that she is horrible now. She does not act like a happy person. She acts like a person with a Wendigo. She is the author of her own destruction because she lacks humility, grace, and inner beauty. Nevertheless, it’s never too early or late to stop lying to yourself. As George Michael proved, compulsive generosity is the fastest shortcut to heal the heart, but it isn’t the only path. Though I doubt she will do anything differently, I will always maintain that no person is beyond redemption, even if that person is a space cadet bimbo.

Sean Combs embodied a great deal of our society's projected shadows. He was a pervert or in his own parlance, a freak who ultimately got off on pain and suffering. He was a narcissist extraordinaire and a profound emotional retard who could not think beyond his own immediate physical gratification. Never did he meet a bright, good-looking young person whom he did not want to rape, whether male or female. Though Combs leaned more in the direction of homosexuality than heterosexuality, he had a penchant for gay slurs, even reportedly during his homosexual rape escapades. This belies his primary secret, which is a deep and existential self-hatred we find at the root of all Svengali figures.

Combs with one alleged victim who is said to be age 13 in this photo and who also claimed she was violently raped at age 11 by Jennifer Lopez.

How does a person become such a monster? Combs's childhood was broken nearly as soon as it began. When Combs was an infant not out of diapers, his father died a violent death brought on by stupid, self-made decisions. Combs's dad was a low level drug dealer. To make matters worse, it is becoming apparent that either Combs's mother, aunt, or both possibly groomed and molested Combs in childhood. At any rate, whether or not incestuous mother/son or aunt/nephew incest occurred, Combs developed a monstrous ego that looks suspiciously like a coping mechanism designed to put him in ultimate control of his fate. How else could his ego gain control of a narrative that involved hideous exploitation at the most tender of ages? Perhaps this foul story was turned into hero worship by his shattered subconscious. His mother's (alleged) perverted lust for a child who looked like his father was transformed into organic adulation because Sean was inherently great. When Combs was of age, the women of the family sent him to the best Catholic school in the Bronx. The question arises: Was Combs thrown straight out of the sexual abuse frying pan into the fire? Was the young proto-mogul traded out of an incestuous home only to fall into the hungry mouths of priestly pederasts? The latter type was known to proliferate at Mount Saint Michel Academy. There were a few public scandals and heaven knows how many private ones.

Another day in the life of a creep who loves his allegedly incestuous Mommy/Aunt!

What is widely alleged is that Sean Combs grew up to become a monster accused of thousands of horrific, sadistic, violently anti-human acts of depravity and debauchery. Suit after suit accuses Combs of orchestrating violent gang rapes. Sometimes the rape sessions happened at the end of his infamous orgy-parties, sometimes they happened more randomly such as the rape of a young boy in Comb's recording studio or the vicious gang rape of a woman who dared to say Combs had Biggie killed within earshot of a mobile phone. It bears mention that alleged participants in these rapes, such as the now-disgraced Jennifer Lopez a.k.a. . Lo, aided and abetted in the coverups when they were not actively participating in the festivities. More than one victim of Comb's alleged rape fests claims to have bore witness to torture, bestiality, homicide, and infanticide at these events. Satanic blood rituals in underground tunnels used to be the stuff of conspiracy theory. Now it has been discovered that Combs had evidence-strewn tunnels beneath at least one of his luxury homes. During one raid of a Combs mansion, the FBI allegedly discovered the rapper Meek Mills naked in a cage.

The image they sought to create

Hip hop culture has been demoralizing since Combs, Jay Z, and a handful of other high-functioning goons commandeered it in the 1990s. What was once a vibrant street genre that spawned amazing art forms such as improvised rap contests and breakdancing was quickly subsumed by East and West Coast serial rapists who would do anything to get ahead. At the very top, orchestrating the black puppets, there is the seriously slimy Jewish/lily white record producer Clive Davis. Yes, the same Clive Davis who seems to have destroyed Janis Joplin, Whitney Houston, and Jennifer Hudson is the apex of the hip-hop astral pyramid. Davis, and out-and-proud bisexual, seems to have a Svengali's pathological hatred of talented people but especially talented women. Is it any wonder that such a man, along with his fellow frustrated gays Sean Combs and Jay Z, would mold hip-hop into a set of hate-anthems? Hip hop is a whiny genre. If country is white whine, than hip hop is its highly-melanated equivalent. Hip hop culture as ultimately engineered by Clive Davis to keep black people (and any in the world who would admire them for their blackness) in chains. To see demoralization in action, we need only to glance at hip hop's homogenous themes. Every song is about:

-Casual, straight sex of the type that is bought and sold
-I have more money and possessions than you
-I am better than you because I have more money and casual sex than you (I have power!)

Damn, I'm yawning just writing about it. I don't think I am the only person who finds such rank amateur grade "evil" boring. I don't think I am the only one who cannot be titillated or shocked into caring about hip hop. It's dullsville. Is it any wonder that the artists who have dominated hip hop for the last 40 years are finally reaching their pull date.

The Untouchables

The question that gets asked most about Sean Combs is how he managed to pull off so many (alleged) gang rapes, beatings, and various murders over the last three decades. What should be asked is WHY. I tried to answer that question in my essay about Svengalis and their insane jealousy when it comes to being in the same space as someone with great talent. The talented person in question is a source of etheric and astral wealth that the Svengali seeks to steal and then amputate in order to continue inflicting trauma and to collect the person's essence as a trophy. The Svengali is a vampire. Sean Combs was a vampire.

Is it any wonder that vampires have had their fangs in the neck of collective consciousness for the last 30 or so years? Even I am guilty of writing several vampire novels, though I enjoy kidding myself that mine are better than the rest, ha ha. Sean Combs systematically destroyed young, beautiful, and talented people because he ate their pain and their productivity along with it. Sean Combs has allegedly been dependent upon ecstasy and cocaine among other drugs since he was in college. Court cases allege his main modus operandi was to lure a person or several people into a private space and then have someone give them a drink or food laced with roofies, ecstasy, horse tranquilizers, or whatever else he could find that would make them dizzy enough to pass out so he could rape them and then have others rape them nearly to death. Combs wasn't content to leave a girl or a boy crying in the back seat of his Dodge Charger. Combs's afterparties landed well-known celebrities in private hospitals where they required constant care and IV-rehydration to recover from what was done to them. My guess is that many of Combs's purported victims, including many children, infants, kids from DCFS, animals, and adults who never gave one iota of consent are dead and their murders covered up. No wonder the list of celebrity Diddy party-goers is scurrying for the exits. Ellen Degeneres, who once had no problem shouting her friendship with Sean Combs to the rooftops, has slunk away to Britain with Portia DeRossi. Oprah Winfrey seems to have her eye on Hawaii as an escape pod. Leonardo DiCaprio, who is suspected to be a money-launderer and handler for Combs, has not been heard from for several months. Combs wasn't the only one to extract the life essence from his party-goers to the point where they nearly died. He had help, and the sickening bit is that his help likely came from other victims of severe abuse and trauma. The open secret of DiCaprio's youth is that he was apparently vampirized by Nickelodeon pedo Brian Peck, and knowing what we know of Hollywood, Peck probably wasn't the only monkey on young Leo's back.

The future

If anything can be learned from the examples that were made by Sean Combs, I hope it is a robust skepticism when it comes to starmakers and stars in general. I hope that the artists of the future don't ever deem it worthwhile to go through a Svengali in order to gain exposure to a potential audience. I truly hope popular music can finally have some elements of meritocracy again. I was encouraged when I asked a young woman working in a retail store if the overhead music playing was Taylor Swift. She looked young, cute, and trendy, yet she claimed she had no idea who the singer of the song was. Zoomers and the generation that is coming up after them aren't as taken in by Hollywood. Whereas my generation, Gen X, Millennials, and Boomers are still mostly fascinated by celebrity antics, Zoomers for the most part couldn't care less.

As the glamour of Hollywood and its Svengalis falls away, it is my fondest wish that the arts will blossom and that those who love art will not have to go through any kind of Sean Combs-ish filter to get at it. With that said, who are you listening to or watching these days who is too small or obscure to have gotten anywhere with the Svengali system that has been in place since gosh knows when? Inquiring minds want to know.

In the original Svengali, the starmaker transforms his charge into a great talent via hypnosis.

At the root of all entertainer kompromat, we have two roles, the Star and the Svengali. The Star is the talent and the visible part of the equation. For all of the Star's amazing abilities, he or she usually has an extreme handicap when it comes to promotion. The Star could be the most captivating performer who has ever lived; people are fickle. They can be exposed to the greatest talent in the world and sit mere inches from the greatest performance ever sung or played. They will still prefer the repetitive, inane, egocentric, mass-marketed bilge that is the McDonald's to the unpromoted Star's gourmet six course degustation. They will still prefer the crappy glamour of the pre-fabricated, pre-digested, animalistic tripe to the star's thoughtful and exquisitely crafted genius.

Despite the enormous revolutionary self-promotional influence of the internet, any given Star does far better when he or she has a Svengali. The term Svegali comes from George du Maurier's 1894 novel Trilby, which is the story of a young, half-Irish laundress/party girl who falls under the control of an older, domineering, evilly-evil Jewish stereotype character named Svengali. Spoiler alert: both the starlet and her ill-meaning mentor end up dead. Trilby was wildly popular in its day, owing to its lusty, controversial bohemian stereotypes and salacious content.

Why does the stereotype of an older, corrupt pervert preying upon a beautiful young girl have such eternal appeal? Could there be some (clutches pearls) truth to it? To my mind, it has to do with the astral and etheric polarities operating beneath the surface.

I have talked in past essays about sexual polarity. To sum it up, humans are born male or female. There is no spectrum in Meatworld -- you're born with masculine or feminine parts, and if you are born with too few or too many parts, you are what we used to call a hermaphrodite back in the day. Males are female on the plane of energy and electricity, also known as the etheric plane. Females are male on the etheric plane. When we go one level more subtle to the plane of images known as the astral plane, males tend to be astral males and females tend to be astral females. One level more subtle, we get to the mental plane, the plane of math and conceptual mastery. Human beings, myself included, are far too primitive to understand much about the mental plane, and that includes whether or not it is gendered. I will let you know if mental plane gender ever becomes lucid to me; for the time being, it is not.

A man is biologically predisposed to be most active on the physical plane. He is better at doing dirty jobs such as hunting the mighty buffalo, building roads and bridges, raiding enemy forts, and busting chops. He is the only one who puts out sperm. On the etheric plane, the man is feminine. He creates infrastructure on the physical and builds the house which is receptive on the energy plane. The product of his physical labors receives. Once again, we visit the astral where his polarity flips back to male. Males and females have equal but different emotional worlds. Males find it far more difficult to control their emotions, and that is why the murder rate is much higher among males than it is females even in chimpanzees. Males also tend to engage far more frequently in astral dumping, which is the compulsive need to push one's own opinions or worries upon others, especially upon women and children.

A woman is biologically predisposed to be passive on the physical plane. She is better at doing necessary jobs such as gathering and sorting plant materials, cooking and cleaning, nurturing and nursing her family, and listening. She is the only one who can bring a a fertilized egg to term within her body. On the etheric plane, the woman is masculine. She sits within the created infrastructure and transforms it into a place of healing and development. The product of her physical labors gives and nourishes. Women find it easier to control their emotions, which makes them better at mediation, teaching, and at following the scientific method. Women are receptive on the astral plane, so unfortunately, they are more prone to mass hysteria/mass formation hypnosis than men, and because of their astral passivity, easily turn into astral infection vectors that spread poisonous imagery and thought forms far and wide.

Everybody wants to be her, and not just according to Crowley/Aiwass.

Children and Stars

Children and entertainers tend to skew etherically male no matter what their biological gender. All humans are start off in the uterus as biological females, and the developing etheric body stays male for a long time. I would argue it stays male (and the child is for all intents and purposes biologically female) until puberty, and that explains a great many phenomena. Children have a great deal of yang energy or life force. This life force is what we refer to as "etheric".

Entertainers a.k.a. stars have the energy of children. The reason we are attracted to them isn't so much physical as it is etheric. They have charisma. We want to be near them so some of that energy will rub off on us. Because the Star is both an eternal child and an etheric male, we see the Star taking on the markers of etheric masculinity/physical femininity such as long hair, dramatic clothing, and makeup.

The Svengali is a Saturnian figure. He is both Santa Claus and Faust's devil. Though Svengali is the host with the most, he is the predator and the Star is his prey. He is attracted to the Star because he is jealous. Inside every Svengali is an aborted Star. Svengalis are invariably Star-wannabes who either lacked the talent, the looks, or who had those things rooted out of them by another Svengali. Just as there is always a bit of physical femininity/etheric masculinity to the Star, every Svengali is essentially masculine even if she is a biological female and mother of seven. To put it in the most crass of terms, the Star is the whore and Svengali is the pimp.

Feeding Frenzy: Anatomy of a Rock Concert

When a Star is particularly charismatic, she has an abundance of etheric plane energy/etheric masculinity. This energy acts as bait, especially in our era of etheric starvation where everyone is constantly jonesing for an etheric fix. Music is primarily an etheric phenomenon because it operates via sound energy, which is a vibration, to state what I hope is the obvious. The vibration of sound affects our ears physically for sure and it helps evoke images in our brains on the astral, but clearly its main theater (pun intended) is via sound waves and their energetic ripples through space. When a large crowd is held in thrall at a rock concert, it is a prime example of binding and bonding via the etheric plane.

In my own case, I have never attended a concert where I felt the vibe. Most people feel the vibe every time they go to see live music. I seem to have a strange immunity that may have something to do with my autism. Just as often I cannot "see" the animals hidden in the optical illusion drawing, I cannot feel the camaraderie of a Grateful Dead concert. I am left cold and bored. I am not inspired by the etheric togetherness of crowds; I would much rather be at home reading a book. I don't attend any kind of church because the same absence of etheric togetherness affects me when I sit in a pew.

When the Star or the Preacher does their thing on stage, their display of talent and charisma brings down an astral channel into the etheric just as a good cook uses her imagination (astral) to put together a delicious meal with the physical resources on hand. In turn, what is the reward for the cook? She seeds on the etheric, infusing the communion with her own magical energy. On the astral, she receives admiration, love, and potentially fame and fortune for her cooking talent, if she has the right Svengali.

The Svengali provides the Stage, and without it, the Star is nothing. In the classic sense, Svengali is the only one who has amassed the fortune to build the stage or to have it built. Staging any given performance is fraught with Catch-22s: the Star needs the Stage but the Stage also needs the Star. If you build it, they will come, but only if the Star is good enough to compel them to be there. The stage is etherically female and the Star is its phallus. The Stage is empty until the Star comes and fertilizes it. The Star is nothing until she finds the right Stage to fertilize. Fans also act as etheric females no matter what their actual gender, hungry for male etheric energy. My own etheric maleness is so pronounced -- my huge hair is an outward symptom of this -- that I have little to no interest in the stomping grounds of other etheric males. Too many cooks spoil the soup.

For a long time, we have been beholden to Stars requiring Svengalis as a sine qua non to become famous. We now seem to be entering an Aquarian era where that model falls away for a new paradigm. I'm not sure where we are being led as the old system crumbles, but I do know I plan on talking about it more. I originally meant this essay as Diddy Part Two and quickly realized it is far more sweeping than his particular story arc. I do plan on talking about Diddy again in the future, but perhaps this essay may serve as an index to clarify what I am talking about when I revisit specifics.

Where I'd rather spend every single weekend night instead of a music concert

The term "jump the shark" comes from Happy Days, where in the fifth season, Henry Winkler played Arthur "the Fonz" Fonzarelli waterskiing over a caged shark. The show had grown so boring by season ten, a young Heather O'Rourke was thrown in as a recurring guest star in a weird and desperate attempt to revive it. The show wrapped in its eleventh season.

Like Happy Days in its last days, we are at an unhappy crossroads with beauty standards. The cute are not cute enough. Handsome is not handsome enough. Perfect is nowhere near perfect enough. A list celebrities at the top of their games are openly disfiguring themselves in order to cling to images that AI can create without a single cut or drop of blood. It's as if we are living out the adage "Those whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad." Every day, there is a new human face on the formidable Lesson of the Screen. When your world becomes the screen and you choose ever-decreasing dopamine hits not for thrills but to make it from hour to miserable hour, no human will ever be beautiful or interesting enough to hold your fungus-gnat attention span. This includes the live humans to whom you may have vowed fidelity.

Childhood is now accompanied by almost constant screen time, crowding out the physical world and decreasing sensitivity to the subtle planes even more than my TV-addled Generation X. TV and movies helped me to become dysmorphic -- to this day I am not comfortable on camera and I do not feel I want to be in front of one. At least nowadays I don't feel there is anything at stake when I am captured on video. I am not proud of the times when I was more concerned about my appearance. My old dysmorphia and urge to look perfect pales in comparison to what young people are going through now. My generation did not have screens following us on vacation or to the beach. We did not have the internet, let alone TikTok. There is a girl who become rich and famous on TikTok for merely twitching her pretty nose on camera to a beat. There is a Chinese influencer named Zhou Chuna who had over 100 plastic surgeries by the time she was sixteen. She is now approximately nineteen. She reported suffering memory loss from going under frequent anesthesia, yet her only regret was not getting the procedures sooner than age thirteen, when she started down the plastic surgery rabbit hole. She is part carnival freak, psychiatric patient, and human lab rat.

The ~~Beautiful~~ Uncanny People

Each decade brings more insecurity to increasingly-younger people, and celebrities and influencers are on the bleeding edge of the experimental wave. Michael Jackson cut off his nose to spite his face: there was no doubt he hated himself, no matter what the other allegations against him were. We can see the initial rush of approval and acceptance celebrities get when they get their first tweak: a nose shaved down, veneers, lip injections, modest implants. A little plastic surgery can transform a good looking person into a total babe. Once the high wears off, what reliably tends to develop is a wendigo of dysmorphia. The celebrity gets more done, all the while chasing the original rush of the first medical procedures. Celebrities used to look great until middle age. Some could even pretend they were not getting anything done. The trouble with plastic procedures used to occur at age 70 or 80, and suddenly celebrity grandma and grandpa looked drawn and tight. Nowadays there are celebrities in their 20s and 30s who are already looking weird. Fancy galas are a sea of collapsing nose jobs, Ozempic cronehood, and lumpy post-filler foreheads and cheeks. The male beauty standard yields even worse results, with old men attempting to reimagine themselves as hair-plugged K-Pop twinks and average looking dudes flocking to looksmaxxing forums so they can turn into egg-sucking Handsome Squidward. If I were one of the women who was supposed to be impressed by looksmaxxers, I would be in mourning for them. They have sacrificed themselves to the demon of wasted time and All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go in the same sense as any vain girl who has no other hobbies besides her appearance. Beauty standards are now so warped, it is the height of fashion to be a sexed-up child with a micronose and violent anorexia. Humans now think they are as malleable as Mrs. Potatohead and find out they do not have interchangeable parts in the hardest way possible.

Let Her Have It: The Beauty Standard is Yours, Honey!

AI does not have the limits of the flesh. The AI hottie IS Mrs. Potatohead. She can swap out her features, gender, and even her species at the drop of a hat. She can hit all of the dopamine triggers and she can do unusual porn. She could do an army of her own selves (Andrew Tate's ultimate secret fantasy) and she would not even be sore or end up with herpes. She can look absolutely perfect anytime, anywhere, and she never has to age. This is why I suggest leaving the beauty standard to her and her to it. Let's all give up. I am not saying we should be unhealthy; no, we should all take good care of ourselves by eating moderately (this means eating medium amounts instead of gorging or starving) and getting our limbs moving in the spirit of use it or lose it. But let's stop doing it to look perfect as AI has taken that from us. Only AI can look perfect.

The now washed-up Kardashian-Jenners had their fun combining self-disfiguring surgeries and AI filters to become cartoon versions of themselves: the joke is on them because their faces, boobs, and butts cannot uncarve themselves. They now get to live with plentiful scar tissue and an aging process that will resemble milk more than it does honey. There is an old, cruel epithet about women who try to look much younger than their actual age that compares them to mutton dressed as lamb. I don't even eat flesh and I know that means taking an old animal and putting it on the dinner table pretending it is fresher and a higher grade of meat. If you've ever seen the Stanley Kubrick version of The Shining, there is a terrifying scene where Danny's father goes into Room 237 of the Overlook Hotel and encounters the ghost of an old woman who killed herself in the bathtub. She puts on a spirit-mask of a young, nubile whore in order to seduce him. She has trouble holding the glamour, so Danny's father ends up in the embrace of a floppy, gray, decrepit hag. The hidden face of the old person who has had many surgeries to appear young reminds me of the Room 237 scene. For those of us who see the soul, the uncanny glamour of youth reveals hideous glimpses of the clutching, hungry, desperate harpy beneath, no matter how good the work of the surgical team.

Inner Beauty

To the young and pretty: No matter how beautiful a person becomes, looks fade. Nobody gets out of Meatworld alive. Your body has been dying since the moment it was born into Meatworld. This is Meatworld and Meatworld SUCKS. You have a pretty jawline? It will sag. Pretty, upturned eyes? They will droop. Nice legs? Varicose veins, cellulite, and age spots, and that is if you are lucky and don't lose the function of your knees. If you invest most of your energy into looking cute, you may end up with some influencer or celebrity cheddar but you will likely fail to develop any practical set of skills if you fall out of public favor. The karma of looking cute is not at all cute. You can choose to chase the dragon or dance away from the addiction towards brighter realities.

Blessed are those who talk to the trees -- I know this, because I am one who talks to trees but was too distracted as a younger person to talk to them. When the mirror is trying to grab you (this includes screen mirrors such as iPhone cameras), walk away. Do you really need to spend more time in the abyss of cheek exercises and woeful lamentations about a particular body part? STOP, drop the phone, and go outside and find a tree. Sit with your back to it. Do this enough and you will feel weird sensations of energy moving in and out of your body. Another name for this practice is the Druid Tree Ritual and I wish I had done it back in the day. The Druid Tree Ritual is a form of prayer and also communication with the living earth. With repetition, it can give you valuable mental impressions to heal a sick mind and clear out some of the Meatworld chatter. Only by giving trees a chance can we understand them: the tree ritual is a way they can "talk" to us.

Mirror, Mirror

The old name for dysmorphia was more blunt: vanity. Vanity is one of Catholicism's Seven Deadly Sins and it is a pretty bad one, ranking right up there with Pride. If you are preoccupied with looking in the mirror, photographing, and videoing yourself, let's face it, you just might be vain. I know I was. One thing I have done to force myself out of my own vain habits is to put the statue of a god above the full length mirror in my house. Every morning, I force myself to sincerely bow in respect to the god before looking at my own reflection.

Yet another trick I have to combat dysmorphia, vanity, and unhealthy obsessions is the work of discursive meditation. By taking a single topic every day and unpacking it like a ZIP file, you learn to fill your astral plane with something other than idealized, unattainable dreams of your own face and body.

There are now beauty contests for AI "women". AI "women" are the new influencers who can pretend to be whomever they want. There are AI K-Pop bands and of course there is AI porn -- I have never watched it but I imagine the production and lighting are excellent. Since AI are willing to work for free without complaint and can be thin without starving, give them the rope they need to hang themselves, let the bald computer nerds essentially go at it with each other in the guise of AI "women" competing for attention (no that's not homoerotic at ALL, nothing to see here, folks, keep moving) and go outside and sit under a tree. You're welcome.

AI beauty contestant Seren Ay, who can literally become Mrs. Potatohead because she is the figment of some computer geek's wank cache.

Magic is the formation, process, and reverberation of intention. When you follow a celebrity, you give them the energy behind your intention.

It is useful to block celebrities. Blocking them stymies the revenue they make from views and clicks even if you never followed them in the first place. If you want to block celebrities where it counts -- at the level of egregores and astral pyramids that make up the basis of their power -- your goal should be to become as unlike celebrities as possible. By becoming wholly unlike them, you strike at the root instead of lopping off branches.

No.1 Be Kind to Service People

There are many celebrities who get off on being rude and holier-than-thou, especially when it comes to service people. There are celebrities who are so obnoxious, they don't allow people to look at them in person, which seems very odd as their careers are based on being looked at. Unlike celebrities, most of us, including myself, have worked retail and waited tables. It is NOT OK to leave without paying. It is theft and if any of us normal people did it, we would be arrested and charged with a crime. I am a proponent of tipping even when service is legitimately bad. Long ago, when my husband and I were not yet married and dating, we went out to a restaurant and the waitress was terrible. She messed up the order, took a crazy long time to serve the food, and brazenly flirted with my fiancee (now husband) despite him showing a distinct lack of interest. He wasn't going to tip her at all, but I insisted he tip 10% because I know how awful waitressing is as a job. I am not bitchy to any person who is serving me because unlike celebrities, I know at any moment the tables could be turned and I could be the one serving them. Do unto others is a simple rule, that is why it is called the Golden Rule.

No. 2 Stop Obsessing About Your Looks

Celebrities are vain as hell. Don't be vain. They are terrified of natural aging. Their view of aging as a disease that must be cured yields uncanny and ghastly results. Refuse to get anything done. Don't throw your hard-earned money into a plastic surgeon's luxury vacation fund or his McMansion lifestyle. It's OK as an older person to leave being sexy to the younger crowd. Chasing the appearance of being young and fertile after the age of 40 is more than a little pathetic. 70 isn't typically a sexy age and anyone who needs it to be should probably examine his or her priorities. Personally, I find it creepy when 40 year olds look 20, and when I was 40 I easily passed for 28. When 70 year olds look 40, it's worse. I am not saying discard all concern about your looks after hitting 40. I am saying put it in a sensible place. 40+ should be about a transfer from the vitality of youth to the vitality of earned wisdom.

No. 3 Stop Lending Your Precious Energy to Their Prefabricated Worlds

When you are heavily invested in gaming, following influencers, television, movies, sports, news, and fandom in general, you sacrifice the building of your own unique world for someone else's shabby image of escape. Notice how seductive these worlds are. Meditate on how much time and resources you've given up to invest in activities that gave precious little in return. It is much harder to develop a hobby, especially a skilled one that involves working with your hands, than to sit on your couch with a joystick or a remote, but at the end of your life, you'll have a great deal more to show for it. Pay attention to your own world of home and hearth instead of idly allowing your brain to be colonized by corporate-owned entities that don't have your best interests in mind.

No. 4 Don't Allow Them to Gatekeep

Let's say you are talented, cute, and hardworking. When you set yourself out to get the attention you deserve, there are going to be sleazy people who want you to mold you in their disgusting image because misery loves company. They will sense you have power and they will ask or coerce you to trade romantic or sexual favors in exchange for making you into a star. Don't fall for their tricks. If a would be gatekeeper makes a move on you, tell them it is a HARD NO and get as far away from that situation as you can as fast as your legs can carry you. Their gatekept world is falling apart anyway as we speak. Leave them to their shoddy, rehashed franchises and their Let Them Eat Cake posturing galas. That scene is beyond cringe and jumped the shark long ago. Better to remain in obscurity than to sell your soul for a trifling price. Better to have three fans who truly get your art than three billion brainwashed sheeple.

No. 5 Don't Allow Them to Gaslight

Celebrities pretend to be the arbiters of taste and class. We are not in the age of Pisces anymore. Nobody is uniting under a single banner. Celebrities don't get to make trends: you do what is right for yourself. What looks good on you does not necessarily look good on other people. One lifestyle does not suit all. Celebrity beauty standards are warped and toxic. If you like a style, wear it, and screw what anyone else says. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yet the only beauty that actually matters is what comes from the inside.

No. 6 Clean Up Your Own Messes

From leaving hotel rooms trashed to flying around on private jets, celebrities do not take responsibility for their own messes. Many of them think they are far too good to care for their own kids, cook their own food, do their own dishes, unclog their own sinks, sweep their own floors, saw their own wood, and grow their own vegetables. The very last thing a celebrity is willing to do is clean her own toilet. I clean my toilet every day and I thank it with this rhyme: "Toilet, toilet handling waste, thank you for your saving grace."

No. 7 Clean Up Other People's Messes

I don't like to admit I do this because I don't want to virtue signal, but I pick up trash in the forest preserve when I go there and I pick up trash around stores. I go to the dollar store fairly regularly and once day I noticed the view of a meadow right beyond the store was quite beautiful. The only thing ruining it was some trash that had accumulated by a nearby fence. I took about 5-10 minutes out of my day and collected the trash and threw it in the garbage can. The spirit of place there communicated to me by showing me a brief vision of some children in the future. The children noticed the beautiful view and there was no trash to distract their young minds from its loveliness.

No. 8 Be Grateful For What You Have Instead of Chasing MORE MORE MORE

There's a native American creature of legend called the Wendigo. It's a cannibal monster. The more people it eats, the thinner and hungrier it gets. The reason celebrities move so frequently, take so many luxury vacations, get plastic surgery and injections, and change sexual partners so often is because they don't know how to be happy with what they have already got. A disclaimer: sometimes you've got to leave old things behind. Say you were born into an abusive family -- that's reason to leave. On a less dramatic front, things and people change and need to be replaced. Within limits, newness can be very good. Celebrities take a good thing too far. Their overlarge homes and ridiculous overconsumption should be avoided: not only is their greed terrible for the environment, it is a terrible reflection of the state of their souls. During the Great Depression, there's a saying attributed to President Calvin Coolidge: Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. Question anything you have to buy new: can you do without it? Buy used and thrift. Give things away you're not using. If you hate something about the way you look, focus your attention on disciplining your mind, not fixing what you think makes you ugly. The problem is your attitude, not your nose or your cellulite, trust.

If you are in a long term romantic relationship, consider keeping it. Celebrities rarely do that. I have been married to the same guy for 24 years...my first and only marriage. My parents were married for 59 years until death did they part. It's difficult to be married for decades. Focusing on the positive is an absolute must. A sense of humor can and will save your marriage far sooner than counseling ever will.

The bottom line is if you want to become unlike most celebrities, you have to focus on the good within yourself most of all and before everything else. Develop an obsession with your own strength and uniqueness, not theirs. You are the one who matters. You get yourself up in the morning. You are the one who must ultimately forge your own path. Make your path one of self-discipline, thoughtfulness, doing unto others, humility, and gratitude and you will overcome the cacomagic of celebrities via your own positive force.

For all its grandstanding, arrogance, undiluted bigotry, and ignorance, the Christian Bible does not state "Cleanliness is next to godliness." The quote is commonly attributed to John Wesley (1703-1791). Wesley was the founder of the Methodist Church. We may have him to thank for the compulsive bathing habits of Americans, who are only out-bathed by Brazilians. Let's take a second though to parse the statement that allegedly originates from one of Wesley's sermons. "Cleanliness is next to godliness". Not underneath; NEXT TO.

Wesley, like many Christians in his era, seemed to bank on his own entry into an eternal life in Heaven where he would sit alongside his God and presumably have as much or more authority over human beings as he did while he toiled in Meatworld. This sort of attitude is comically hubristic in my opinion and is one of the reasons I find most stripes of Christianity to be insufferable. To say cleanliness is next to godliness is almost arrogant enough to say cleanliness is the same as godliness. The implication is that circumstances that would make one dirty or ugly also make the person, place, or thing suffering those circumstances evil, cursed, or Satanic. I'm not surprised it came from a Christian preacher: it has the air of sanctimonious, paranoid, absurd frigidity about it.

In Japanese, the word kirei means both beautiful and clean. The illusion of cleanliness is that it is synonymous with beauty and beauty is always apparently clean in some key respect.

The trouble with both cleanliness and beauty in our civilization is their equation with godliness. That which is symmetrical, vital, fertile, and new reigns uber alles. Beauty is a phenomenon perceived entirely from the outside; it is naively presumed to be a perfect reflection of the truth within.

I was at the physical peak of my own beauty at age 21. Though I saw myself as a near-10 stunner, I was actually a mid with excellent grooming habits. I was also stupid: I made the grave mistake of chopping my long hair off at age 19, wanting to fit in with gamine supermodels who slouched on magazine covers. I am a gnome compared to those women -- so I hilariously worked retail to sell clothes modeled by them while imagining myself to be of the same beauty caliber as them. Not everyone is into tall girls though: for a petite woman, I qualified as a hottie back in the day, which wasn't bad for someone as naturally nerdy as me but certainly never would have made do for a local beauty contest, let alone a runway. I was pretty enough on the outside and hideous on the inside. Behind my cute facade, I was a cauldron of anger and sorrow, lying to myself and others, ungrateful, and thirsty. I find it funny when people say they want to go back to nineteen. I don't.

Nowadays, the actors who dominated my era -- Julia Roberts, Harrison Ford, Tom Cruise -- are being remade via AI. No matter how perfect you are or were, there is a computer who can invent a more perfect version of you that does a better job of squeezing the dopamine triggers that made you famous in 1983. These new AI versions are uncanny. They're more symmetrical, fuller-lipped, larger-eyed, and squarer-jawed, and cleaner in every way, yet something is off. AI always gets something wrong, like those AI-generated kitchen photos where the vase of flowers gets eaten by the ceiling fixture or the towel disappears into the wood of a cabinet. Whether AI creates a late teen hottie or a digital rendition of a "perfect" kitchen, it's always a Frankenstein's monster that looks like it slithered from the fever dreams of a few million struggling, depressed, materialist mid-wits. Probably because that is what it is.

The images of the Perfect Mate/Perfect Kitchen are neither attainable nor sustainable. They are only meant to trick us into spending inordinate amounts of money and resources. In the case of the AI hottie, the statement goes "You're not ugly, you're just poor." What this means is that only those too poor to afford multiple cosmetic procedures need to remain ugly. Warhol's prediction of everyone becoming famous for 15 minutes in the future has been limited in some respect to those who opt into having one or more cometic surgeries. One of the commonest procedures done on young women, often when they are teenage girls, is the rhinoplasty or nose job. To be honest, a smaller, straighter nose is often a vast improvement, plus the internal part of the nose job tends to involve correcting a deviated septum, which is something I suffer from.

Big Lipped Brunettes: The Three Jolies

In the realm of non-functional cosmetics, larger lips have been a trend since Angelina Jolie became famous. In order to achieve what Jolie had naturally in her youth, women and men get a slurry of hyaluronic injected into the region every 6-12 months. The chemicals create a semi-permanent state of inflammation that dissolves over time. Little did Angelina Jolie know that her lips would launch other celebrity ships. There are three examples who spring readily to mind: Megan Fox, Ssniperwolf a.k.a. Lia Shelesh, and Kylie Jenner.

Megan Fox through the years.

Megan Fox, age 37, is an actress known mainly for being the female love interest in 2007's Transformers, a silly Michael Bay sci-fi movie that featured talking car-robots and a young Shia LeBeouf. She was considered the most beautiful woman in the world after being put on the map in her early 20s. She started modeling as a child. Lip injections seem to have been Fox's claim to fame: once she got them, she landed Transformers and the gigs kept rolling in. Only when it became self-evident that she was a prima donna did Fox start losing cache, and by that time she was famous enough to sustain herself without having to do much in the realm of actual acting.

Lia Shelesh, a.k.a. SSSniperwolf

Sssniperwolf is a YouTuber named Lia Shelesh who started off with videos about gaming in 2013. She switched her content to bland reaction videos in 2017 and was able to generate interest mainly by creating controversy and looking cute while doing it. Sssniperwolf has been arrested multiple times. She likes to steal things, hit people, and doxx those who make fun of her. Her first known mugshot in 2013 shows her without her trademark full lips. Her blow up in 2017 seems to have been synonymous with her lip enlargement.

Kylie Jenner

Kylie Jenner, age 26, inspired a bizarre trend in 2015 (when she was in her own late teens) known as the Kylie Jenner Lip Challenge. Her fanbase of tween and teen girls would stick their lips into empty Gatorade bottles and suck the air out, creating enough suction to temporarily engorge the lips. Jenner herself had already transformed herself from gawky teenager to the world's hottest model by getting lip fillers.

In all three cases, the rapid encroachment of age has made the three Jolies into Jokers. The original Jolie has become so dysmorphic, she famously went through a voluntary double-mastectomy because she has the breast cancer gene. To my mind, this was not far from cutting off one's hands for fear of getting a hangnail, but Hollywood gonna Hollywood. For Fox, dysmorphia has taken over her mind to the extent that she can no longer see the diminishing returns of plastic "improvements". Shelesh has yet to stay out of police stations and should probably consider where she is going to source lip fillers when she is detained in jail. Jenner is the poster child for her generation aging like milk. Because she is so gonzo about having herself carved and stabbed in the name of beauty, at age 26 she looks far older than I did as a poor, non-surgeried plebe at age 37.

I am sure I don't have to spell it out that all three Jolies are cautionary tales. For Fox, physical perfection is an addiction. Though 20 let go of her a long time ago, she clearly has not let go of it. Shelesh seems like a straight up terrible person: it's not just insecurity and dysmorphia eating at her, as it is in Fox's case. Jenner, like her older Kardashian clan sisters, is a monster of insecurity poised as a role model. For all three, the future looms and it looks like Madonna at the 2024 Grammys.

The spectacle of outer beauty carries a potent glamour. Sometimes the golden mean as reflected on the outside tells the truth about its astral, mental, and causal plane origins. Sometimes it lies.

Like a Prayer 2023 -- same edgelord Catholic/Eyes Wide Shut imagery 30 years later.
At least she is consistent!

To her credit, Madonna co-wrote the song Like a Prayer that would become the title track on her Like a Prayer album in 1989. The song launched her long, protracted, now-overcooked edgelord era, with a video featuring a controversial and sexualized black Jesus. Madonna still uses the song and its fetishized Christ in her current schtick, which are three ring circuses of air-humping Satanic Illuminati imagery and seizure-inducing lights. At its best, her voice is irritating and whiny. Her songwriting is middle of the road -- she's not terrible, but she's no Max Martin. The only things she ever had in abundance was sex and the exploitation of the outré. As we speak, Madonna is being laughed at and pitied for her desperate antics and ratchet appearance -- if adrenochrome actually works to keep anyone young and fresh, then it would follow that she is not on it.

Dullsville stinky vanilla BDSM lite LOONG before 50 Shades. But at least
she looked good in pictures back then!

By the time Madonna's book Sex came out in 1992, shock literature had nearly jumped the shark. I worked as a shelver at the town library at the time and the librarians had to order dozens of copies, all of which stayed checked out with wait lists for most of a year. The appeal of the book was greatly aided by the controversy surrounding it. Sex was packaged in a way that was accessible to curious suburbanites and it wasn't graphic enough to be actual porn; nonetheless, it was banned by the same legions of Tipper Gore pearl clutchers who got warning labels stuck on 2 Live Crew and Beastie Boys CDs. Getting banned, of course, was the best thing that could have possibly happened to Madonna's career. In his book The Satanic Witch, Anton LaVey reminds aspiring seductresses that there is nothing so appealing as "that which was not meant to be seen". Madonna was also in her early 30s at the time and at the peak of her physical beauty and stardom. She wasn't exactly hard to look at; people wanted to see what she looked like naked and she showed them.

Sex and the Etheric

The etheric plane is the plane of life force. I consider the etheric or energy plane one plane more subtle than smell: that is to say it rides right on top of the physical plane. Lightning and electricity are etheric plane phenomena. All beings, objects, and places are surrounded by their own unique etheric field, sometimes generally referred to as an aura. Clairvoyants can see this aura -- personally I cannot see it as I am not clairvoyant. Martial artists manipulate their own etheric force in order to defend themselves and to do cool tricks such as breaking chunks of wood. Feng shui is the science of manipulating etheric flows via house orientation, furniture placement, and home decor. Traditional Eastern medicine and Ayurveda both work mainly with the etheric plane. Traditional Western medicine used to do that too, and back in the day it was called humoral medicine.

The etheric exchange of sex, whether willing or unwilling, is one of the most powerful forces on Earth. During sex, the etheric body expands and contracts, exchanging energy as the physical body exchanges fluids. In intercourse, biological females find that their etheric body releases like a dam overflowing or a pressurized spigot losing pressure. For biological men, the etheric body is pierced and the sensation is like a vacuum being filled or like eating when you are extremely hungry. In our era of endemic etheric starvation, humans routinely become trapped by the allure of sexuality from cradle to grave, and this is unfortunate because though sex is neither inherently good nor bad, being obsessed with it is predictably negative.

Off With Their Heads!

If I was appointed Queen of the World, I would punish pedophiles with immediate death by decapitation upon being found guilty in a court of law. The reason I believe pedophilia should be punished with such extreme severity and finality is primarily etheric. Children have very strong etheric bodies. All children, regardless of organs, are etherically male, which is to say they are physically female just as they are as fetuses. The child's etheric body is shared by its parents (often just one parent, the mother) until it reaches the approximate age of seven, when the etheric body begins to separate and morph in order to make way for puberty a few years later. If we put this in the context of Eastern etheric science, children possess yang or active principle life force in excess. The elderly are the opposite: they are for the most part etheric females regardless of biological gender.

Let's look at the child as etheric male and elder as etheric female in more detail: Children are needy and selfish, existing in their own bubbles until they are socialized and taught to "play nice". As etheric males, they love bright colors, noise, and the energy of the playroom. They are exhausting and they are loud. They are yang energy personified: constantly exploring, creating, and learning how defend themselves. Astrally, children reverse sexes again and regardless of actual gender are astrally feminine. Their imaginations are fertile, ripe, and easily influenced.

The elderly, on the other hand, are yin energy personified. Nursing homes and hospitals are scary because of their yin excess. Dusty corners, decay, darkness, and a sense of going back to the dirt from whence you came are all horror movie tropes, synonymous with the old and dying. Our civilization, which pathologically fears the yin influence, is also terrified of aging and death. The old person becomes stuck in their ways or male on the astral plane, wanting to influence and not open to outside influence. Though this may superficially sound like a bad thing, it can also be construed as "owning your s**t" as an old person. The old crave the company of the young because they are deficient in yang energy. The young need the old in order to contain and limit their yang energy.

Returning to the idea of the child as sharing an etheric body with 1-2 of its parents until the approximate age of seven, we begin to understand why human children are so lost without good parents. Even when the parent is not a genetic relative, such as my own case because I was adopted at ten days old, there is a profound etheric bond between a child and its parent or primary caregiver for the duration of the formative years.

Pedophiles

Pedophilia is about physically, etherically, and astrally breaking a child into a consumable form for a temporary, addictive high off of its abundant yang energy. The pedophile seeks to pop the child's protective bubble and steal its contents. At its core, pedophilia is a pursuit of unearned wealth. Once the egg is cracked, scrambled, and devoured, the pedophile finds him or herself addicted as pedophilia is a Wendigo that demands greater and greater sacrifice. The New York Times conservatively estimates the sexual exploitation of children is a 20 billion dollar industry, but that number seems hopelessly naive and underestimated to me. In absence of deeper human relationships, regular porn addicts become child porn addicts. Some even get to the point where they want to turn fantasy into reality. Lather, rinse, repeat: new addicts become new pedophiles and new pedophiles become old pedophiles.

This poor girl. I do not envy her.

Peak Perversion

When I was a child in the 70s, pop culture was deep into the chase of the puerile. Jodie Foster starred in Taxi Driver as a child prostitute at age 12 in 1976. Brooke Shields starred as a child prostitute in 1978's Pretty Baby. Poor Brooke, however, was the subject of pornographic photo shoots and likely sexual abuse at the age of ten. A casual Yandex search of Brooke Shields at age 10 reveals young Brooke in full makeup posing provocatively in a hot tub. It is patently obvious that the plot of Pretty Baby wasn't just a fiction set in the Gilded Age for Brooke Shields.

The aforementioned Madonna upped the ante in the 80s. With every new release, we could all count on Madonna to bring sexy back before Justin Timberlake was out of grade school. Most girls of my era confidently assert that Madonna and her "music" were their first initiation into being sexualized at a young age. Before you think I am on some kind of Victorian high horse, keep in mind I was personally all for it and wanted to be sexy and sexualized at a young age, I just had no idea how to do it because I have always been a complete nerd. Madonna was a welcome influence for me and plenty other Gen X women.

The 90s were a turning point. By time the Sex book made the rounds, every envelope had been pushed and children were routinely sexualized as a spectator sport: the 90s were the era of child beauty pageants and JonBenet Ramsey. It's odder at this point to have a childhood that is free of being sexualized. You really do have to live in a cave or at least some kind of media-free zone where normal internet and gaming is not allowed. Millennials grew up knowing virtually no sexual limits where Gen X at least had a few -- it is no wonder Millennials embraced hook up culture.

Sexxy Red

There are a couple of viral videos going around where two teachers respectively lament the educational state of their four and five year old students. The children act up, do not listen, and their parents are uppity, entitled jerks who question the teacher rather than disciplining their progeny. Apparently, these precocious little ones sing and twerk to songs by hip hop artist Sexxy Red. The songs, if you can call them that, are Pound Town and Skee Yee. Pound Town's lyrics drop the N word about eight times per sentence and go into graphic detail about anal and oral. Skee Yee combines the N bomb with the F bomb and is mostly about anal. Though the teachers ask how a group of little kids came to know such mature music and scratch their heads, consider that these kids have spent the last three years (ages 2-5) mostly locked indoors with iPads and the answer is clear: they sing and twerk what they have been brought up on. They parrot what they know.

Hip Hop is a genre obsessed with displays of unearned wealth, especially etheric wealth. Yang energy is to be amassed and displayed in the form of golden teeth, fancy cars, mammoth McMansions, and curvy young women. The envelope has been pushed to the breaking point as it has in all mainstream media. There is no longer anything worth gawking at. Hardcore porn is just an internet connection away. Mainstream TV (not that anyone watches anymore) is cozy with the F bomb and nudity. Cinemax has been soft porn since forever: we used to call it Skinemax back in the 1980s. Of course five year olds are getting thrown under the bus: when all the boundaries are erased, little kids get thrown into the pit until the last child is consumed by the last demonic pedophile. I am reminded of the plight of the Gelflings in Jim Henson's animatronic/puppetronic wonder The Dark Crystal.

Truth be told, pedophilia is boring because at this point it has been done to death, often literally. There is something very off about the whopping majority of alleged travelers to Epstein's Pedo Island -- it's as if it is a psychic stain that won't wash off. Like a subtle but bad smell, you don't notice it until someone alerts you to it, but once you know, it's all you notice. I used to enjoy movies and music by those people a great deal more before I knew about the allegations.

Maybe I am just getting old, but I can no longer bring myself to care about the output of artists who deliberately try to shock or titillate with sexuality. It's boring. They can throw all of the five year olds under the bus and make Sesame Street into a full on drag show -- I'm done and I don't care. Every time Madonna does her OK Boomer geriatric gyrations onstage, it makes me grateful I was shepherded down the path of earned wealth, modesty, relationships that are based on deeper things than looks or money, and cleaning my own damn toilet.

A good look for him... he should have stuck with it.

I was obsessed with celebrities from an early age. I was a religious watcher of Saturday morning cartoons: The Smurfs, He Man and She Ra, Richie Rich, and Dungeons and Dragons were my favorites, but I was known to stick around for Bugs Bunny and Fat Albert if nothing else was on. My mother taped a Christmas cartoon special about the Nutcracker accompanied by the full score of Tschiakovsky's Nutcracker Suite; that ancient Betamax tape also had a cartoon special on gnomes uncreatively titled Gnomes as well as a Berenstain Bears feature. I watched that video cassette dozens of times.

I am not sure how my love of cartoons morphed into a passion for live action, but it did. By the late 80s, I watched every sitcom aimed at my pre-teen demographic plus a few more: Different Strokes, Family Ties, The Cosby Show, The Greatest American Hero, and Cheers ate up the scant amount of time I had when I was not doing homework on school nights. For a number of reasons, the schools in the Chicago suburbs have always given ludicrous amounts of homework to children between the ages of 11 and 18 along with the weird presumption that pre-teens and teenagers can easily afford 4-5 hours of the stuff a night, six hours if they are "gifted". It was only by my mid-teens that I began to reject television for books, and this meant alienation from my parents, as they have always watched at least 3 hours of television a day from my earliest memories. Popular media had me from the short hairs even before I had short hairs. By college, I could name most of the famous supermodels and I had seen every big movie in Blockbuster video at least once regardless of the genre.

Fall of the Mighty

My own Generation X was the last one to regard celebrities as demigods. By the late 1990s, celebrities did not have to trash their images: the public was happy enough to do it for them. The celebrities of the 70s and 80s were the last to be given carte blanche by the public when it came to bad behavior. When Madonna stunt-queened in the 80s with her Like a Prayer black Jesus schtick, she was able to get the exact rise out of the public her handlers had planned. Her book Sex (1992) debuted and the results also seemed to go as planned. By 2001, South Park's Kenny called Madonna

"an old anorexic whore who wore out her welcome years ago, and that now she suddenly speaks with a British accent and she thinks she can play guitar and she should go f**k herself."

The public agreed. Madonna's career began to circle the drain around that time. Her albums and songs, which used to sell in the millions, now struggle to break fifty thousand sales per country. Madonna now tries and eerily succeeds in looking like a young Instagram star, replete with inflated lips, alien-smooth skin, and tight, almost-concave eyes. The result is ghastly, but then so are the younger versions who ham it up for TikTok in an endless series of poses.

The influencer is the new Hollywood star. The phenomenon began when Justin Bieber was either planted or organically emerged from YouTube. Via brand deals, donations, and more questionable means, influencers prove that anybody can be a celebrity these days. Gatekeepers no longer hold the keys. Anyone, including the unbeautiful, can gain influencing success, provided she is willing to devote her time, talent, and resources to the full time job of influencing.

Influencing is a Full Time Job

The question becomes whether or not the full time job of fashioning oneself into a modern celebrity is worth it. The facts on the ground are that influencing is a massive time suck. I once took on the project of making one vegan lunch a day for a year for my Wordpress blog. I barely dipped my toe into influencing and I found it to consume huge amounts of time. I succeed and posted photos and recipes for every day that year, but I would not say the project was worth it despite getting a few good recipes out of myself. As for influencers whose careers are based on their own looks, the phrase "diminishing returns" springs readily to mind. The money may roll in for TikTok ballers at the moment, but looks are ephemeral. Physical beauty being unsustainable is the beginning of the problem; the predicament beauty and fashion influencers need to worry about is the unsustainability of the internet itself, especially in its current form. Influencers who depend on mommy blog or meme channel money had better have some meat plane skills or rich relatives who are willing to support them in the style to which they have become accustomed, because the internet is not forever. A couple of Ogham reading Sundays ago, one of my querents made me aware of a video company that is determined to retroactively charge people for using their platform. I see this not as a fluke but as a symptom of a greater problem, like a single inflamed follicle that is about to go full body chicken pox. My husband used to work security at a server farm. Every night at least one guy had to walk around the building -- it was about a mile all the way around. Server farms are huge, expensive, and they create crazy amounts of heat. The cooling apparatuses for a server farm are massive. I believe there will come a time within my lifetime when we will have to resurrect the corpse of paper book, newspaper, and magazine publishing because the internet will no longer be tenable for most people.

Don't get me wrong; I believe the internet celebrity will be a thing for a long time, but it is self-evident the pool is already shrinking.

The Astral Mirror

Celebrity is image or more specifically a competition between images. Some images are more powerful than others. A person "hitting" as a celebrity depends a great deal upon astral mirroring. Astral mirroring is when one person can see a little of himself in another human being. If the general public can grab onto you as an everyman or everywoman, meaning a large number of them can see themselves in you and put themselves into your place in the fantasy realm, your image will be a hit.

Since the days when Evelyn Nesbit was used to sell everything from soap to lumber, corporations have employed human images as cacomagic in order to push products and agendas. Adele became popular based on her pliability and the fact she was not a stick figure. Her talent was average, but her image as zaftig everywoman is what struck true harmony within the astral mirrors of her adoring fans. She has been used to push a woke, liberated woman message. Her sound, which imitates American black singers of the civil rights era, was a gimmick popular at the turn of the millennium. The same gimmick was used by Adele's fellow Brit, Amy Winehouse, to appeal to the insecurity of college-educated women who desire to see themselves as an oppressed class.

One thing the modern celebrity has in common with the kings and queens of old is the desire to sit atop a large astral pyramid. The larger the celebrity's astral pyramid, the more they are attributed with godlike powers. Ted Gioia recently attempted to appeal to Taylor Swift, begging her to form a label to support independent artists. I believe Ted Gioia is naive. As much as Taylor Swift seems like a good person who pays her roadies millions of dollars and appreciates her fanbase, she is owned. She may seem to have to power to act autonomously because she brings in a great deal of money, but one only needs to look at the examples of Michael Jackson and Prince. Both were top dogs on Taylor Swift-like tiers and both were 100% owned by the industry that made them. In Michael Jackson's case, his rise to the top broke his mind. Prince's mind gave the impression of remaining intact but he became a depressed, bitter recluse. Michael Jackson may have been a monster. I have a difficult time believing that any little boy would make up such a horror story, even for large amounts of money. Michael Jackson had several boys who claimed he had abused them (sometimes later as grown men) in gory detail. We all want to believe our heroes would not do that: look at how long it took people to believe Bill Cosby was a sexual predator. Pedogate unveiled the murky celebrity process and the high price of fame, and its not like the receipts are missing. There are videos of young Leonardo DiCaprio with convicted pedophile Brian Peck in what looks a great deal like a grooming relationship. The same predator was rehired by Nickelodeon and Disney after being incarcerated for his eleven counts of being a rapist of children. At any rate, I am glad I never had any part in what some of these talented people have most likely had to endure in order to become and stay famous.

Celebrity is not going anywhere, but the way celebrities rise to power and influence is always changing. Maybe I am just getting old and crotchety, but from my point of view, money and fame hardly seem worth the trade.