Growing Up In The 70s

When I turned 50, I found myself in a conundrum. After two years of waiting patiently, the judicial system cast me aside with zero financial assistance for my lifelong bipolar 1 (manic depressive disorder) mental illness. Instead of looking outward for answers, I looked within. I asked myself: “what gave me the most pleasure when I was a child?” The answers flooded in with minimal effort. In that moment I was sixteen again. Innocent, yet a wise, old soul born and bred in the 70s. I was born into a Wild West of imagination, intellect, and insight. A time when wandering, meandering around our neighborhoods on our BMX bikes and skateboards meant freedom.

Freedom from any system that was built to control us. During those formative years I knew deep down in my gut that God was always with me. Religion was an immediate turn off as it placed a mediator between myself and my creator. I saw them coming for me. The zealots wanted me to conform and bow to their version of an edited religion built on nothing more than control. In that moment I made a pact with myself that I, like Peter Pan, would choose to never grow up, give in, or give up. I would fight with my sword and trusty lamp at my side keeping my paths anything but straight and narrow. My mind was given time to develop and chase dreams.

Imagination defined my reality rather than the other way around. I studied hard, knew the rules. I began to flex and bend them while defying gravity itself. Grandad taught us well how to regulate our center. It’s a rather basic physics trick. He’d join a spoon and fork in a friendly handshake while balancing them with a simple toothpick on the edge of a drinking glass. What we perceived as magic became the foundation of our curious minds. Proof that anything is possible once we know the mechanics. Magic is not a trick. It’s an algorithm.

I learned how to use my wings. Floating down the hallways while everyone else slept. I felt the air resistance. It was an echo of force similar to swimming in the deep end of our neighborhood pool. Since then I awake each day with the same curious excitement. Every day feels like Christmas morning full of awesome discoveries. My life has become one effortless awakening after another. In what amounted to three and a half years, I discovered all of my deepest secrets. Secrets that up until now I was afraid to share. I see things that others don’t. I know things that I was never taught. My spirit has never shined as bright as it does now. When I was 50 I doubled down and bet it all on myself.

I pitched three options to my parents in order to fully develop action plans for my life. The first two included gaining financial assistance from outside sources while the third laid out how I’d face it all on my own. Before I shared them with my family, I had already made my decision. Door number three. I invested fully in developing and unlocking my inner knowing, imagination, intuition, and predictive spontaneity. I am free, and gradually, intentionally I will share with those who might find solace in understanding their own worth.

Imagination defined my reality rather than the other way around. I studied hard, knew the rules. I began to flex and bend them while defying gravity itself. Grandad taught us well how to regulate our center. It’s a rather basic physics trick. He’d join a spoon and fork in a friendly handshake while balancing them with a simple toothpick on the edge of a drinking glass. What we perceived as magic became the foundation of our curious minds. Proof that anything is possible once we know the mechanics. Magic is not a trick. It’s an algorithm.

Through half a century of trials I discovered my truth. Never grow up. Don’t follow someone else’s dreams for my lives. I say lives because at any point we have the ability to innately change anything, even everything. I chose to go off-map and chart new regions of discovery. I follow what is unseen to many, to most. The answers aren’t out there, up there or even down there. They’re inside each of us. All we need to do is request access. I’ve said that many times, and it still rings true. What may appear as witchcraft or alchemy to some, I’ve unlocked my innermost mysteries defining what it means to be a devilishly angelic spirit living within a terrestrial experience.

& {autonomous neural dilation} issue #1 covers preview

How did I fully replace the standardized, American dream state reality we are all programmed into? Simple. I took inventory and then I shed all 47 pathologically diseased behaviors of systematically-conditioned psyches. Sound like mumbo jumbo? It’s not. The only clear way out of control systems is to deny them access to number one. You. Read about it in & {autonomous neural dilation} issue #1: “imagination is my reality.”

Free Guy

Questioning everything begins with the little things that eventually take shape into the greatest of all things. Even reality itself. At least the version we were sold out for. Every day is the best day to try something new. Don’t wait. Be Different. “Think Different” (Apple). Climb up your professor’s desk and take a fresh look from a new perspective just as Robin Williams welcomed his students to do one morning in Dead Poets Society, 1989.

BARISTA “Medium coffee, cream, two sugars. Medium coffee, cream, two sugars.”

GUY “Actually, I think I’d like to try a cappuccino today.”

GUY “Ooh. ‘Cappuccino.’ I enjoy saying that. It’s like a waterfall made of letters.”

BARISTA “Excuse me?”

GUY “I’d like to try a cappuccino. Please.”

BARISTA “But you get a medium coffee, cream, two sugars. That’s what you get. That’s what everyone gets. Every day. Always.”

Happy 54th

I turned 54 today. I found this photo in an old mini album. My stoic gaze reveals my excitement for the game. Since I was very young my compass always faced due-South. I know the more common phrase is due-North, but let me explain. The South is associated with the imagination in regards to metaphysical stream of consciousness. Going southwards in prose and poetry is directly tied to going off-script into the depths of the imagination. That’s where I always felt safe in solitude, not to be confused as loneliness. The truth is that we are never alone, even when we cannot see others nearby. We are connected at the cosmic-code level. Innate. I made a crucial decision when I was in high school to drop football so I could continue piloting southwards.

When I was sixteen I made a decision that continued shaping my life as a passionate artist and designer. I finished my freshman C-Team football season with what I’d describe as lackluster. My Dad lettered in four sports in high school so my playing football was really for him, not me. Once we reached the halfway point of our sophomore high school football schedule I faced a conundrum. I approached my coach after practice informing him I’d rather be in the art studio. He obliged. From that day forward I spent my afternoons creating rather than trying to discover my killer instinct on the field. It’s pretty obvious in the photo that playing team sports was never really my thing. I’ve always preferred solo sports like body surfing and rollerblading.

The best decisions I’ve ever made were making my case to follow my passions for the arts. One afternoon after football practice sophomore year I told my coach I’d much rather be in the art studio. He obliged. Since childhood I was clearly a creator-type. I was primarily self-taught with some guidance from my Mom and art teachers. I loved drawing, painting, prose, poetry, and performing magic tricks. In first grade my favorite journal was titled “Stories That Come Alive.” When I was 12 I started selling watercolors. When I was 16 I acquired my first commercial client, Jerry Barber, inventor of the Free Fall™ amusement park ride.

Dream Beyond Your Dreams

Remembering Martin Luther King Junior today, January 19, 2026. Today is also my 54th birthday. Back in middle school I entered and won our county Black History Month competition. Beyond the recognition, the $100 prize was quite an accomplishment for my middle-schooler self. I painted a wide mural of the greats who brought change and reform to the oppressed community. I rendered Martin Luther King Junior giving his enigmatic speech, Abraham Lincoln, Malcom X, and other civil rights leaders in graphite, cross-hatching, and airbrush. The mural remained in my parents’ basement for decades. When they moved a few years ago I finally laid it to rest. Please enjoy these messages from Rabbi Simon Jacobson. He’s my daily spiritual go to, a wise soul full of love and kindness with whom he spreads across borders, boundaries. Love.

“This is not just a nice hobby, extracurricular activity, but is the essence of who we are and what we should be accomplishing in this world. And there’s no doubt that this dream will be fulfilled, and we’re closer than ever. especially with technology today that can be a force that separates us and divides us, but it can also be a force that unites us.”

“May it be so. So dream, and dream beyond your dreams. Imagine beyond your imagination. A new reality is upon us, but it’s up to us to do our part, and the unfolding drama of the vision, the cosmic vision. The dream.” — Rabbi Simon Jacobson, The Meaningful Life Center

Happy Birthday Twin Saint Dolly

I’ve been listening to Dolly Parton for as far back as I can remember. My love for her angelic, twangy voice started out listening to 8Track tapes of Dolly and Kenny Rogers singing “Islands in the Stream” on six and a half-hour road trips to and from visiting our grands in the seventies. The film 9 to 5 pitting Dolly, Lily Tomlin, and Jane Fonda against their evil boss played by Dabney Coleman will always remain a comedy classic. Watch out for that “Skinny and Sweet” ya’ll. My sister sent us this recent video Dolly posted three days ago. We need more of this right now! Take it away gals…

P.S. Happy Birthday Twin…love, David

Hello Love

Going through Hell lately? Stop. Breathe. Appreciate stillness. Quiet your mind so you can feel the depth in your heart. Celebrate your own solitude. Remember we are never alone. Keep moving or you’ll not only get burned, you’ll be consumed by someone else’s definition of who you are today, and who you’ll be tomorrow. Never give in. Never give up. Consistent persistence is key. Spark your inner phoenix and fly. Love is waiting for you.

Access Granted

Have you ever found yourself wanting more? Being more? How about becoming unstoppable? All we have to do is request access. But be ready. Activated intuition, imagination, intellect, and predictive spontaneity are not to be taken lightly. Once they’re unlocked there’s nothing that we can’t do. Everything is not only possible, it’s inevitable. We must remain calm and quiet, breathing in rhythmic tones. As we continue ushering in the next Renaissance that began just three years ago, we know what’s coming. The truth is that it never left. It’s been inside of us hibernating, waiting.

Three years ago I asked God for blatant signs that I was on the right path. He answered me immediately the following morning. I didn’t just begin to see. I saw through the veils of everything simultaneously. From that day forward I sought out these daily synchronicities discovering them all around me. Then a month later God told me to stop looking. N that moment I adhered to his guidance. He showed me that in order to fully realize our sights we must allow them to show up by their own understanding. Now the less I look, the more I see. My inner divine spark guides my way.

I wasn’t blinded by the light of discovery. I had been bound for half a century seeking light through my shadow. Eventually I decided it was time to incorporate both my Jekyll and Hyde into my wise-minded heart center. I now understand that there is no difference between enlightenment and madness. They are one and the same. One cannot exist without the other. They’re intertwined in such a fundamental way. Then why is our standard perception of them rooted in separation, not a unified system of easily referenced checks and balances? A self-soothing system draped in divinity.

Fully enlightened from sacrum to skull. Another question…why are we kept within a confined system? Why not introduce advanced concepts to us beginning in preschool? The current K-12 system is based on averages. Who wants to be average? Why are these systems so hell-bent on keeping us docile and quiet? Control.

My thoughts are my own, and so are my lab experiments I perform on myself. Through my childlike curiosity I’ve discovered my own super powers. Before I ever fact checked my findings I spent years swimming the currents of our collective consciousness. Bodily sensations clued me into what the masses considered fringe. I’ve debunked so many false claims against our true nature by listening to my inner dialogue. Not a mere monologue, an everlasting, collective awakening burning brightly.

While the spiritual forces in the heavenly realms guide me, the dark forces attempt to take me out of the game. When they show up I look through their transparent, hollow tones. I have the gift of being able to read others. I can also read their thoughts no matter the distance. I know how to naturally tune my bodily fluids pairing them with the highest vibrational energies. Once I began to see these connections I couldn’t undo or Command+Z them back into blinded oblivion. Awakened fully.

I’m here now. I’m also there and everywhere. I am a being fueled by the light of discovery. The intense, intentional mode of creation. Long before I ever did any research I chose to look within, and I found everything waiting for me to give it all a breath. I forged into existence my inner powers tied directly to endless streams of consciousness. Christ consciousness. Not the deity nor the son. A mindset open to any and all, and never reserved for a chosen few. We’ve had it backwards all along.

I noticed a trend on my YouTube account. Suggestions are flooding in that I watch Carl Jung, Edgar Cayce, Roger Penrose, among others. While I never searched for them myself, it appears that my private Notes on my iPhone are being tapped. It’s a sort of reversed algorithm. I have a thought, sometimes I ask Siri to write it down. I leave freeform theories and random thoughts swimming around the deep end until they slowly sink into the depths of my unconscious mind. There they dissolve.

Somehow even my most secretive conclusions as to the nature of things is nudging me from the lands of Google. Here’s the good news. There is no Marvel-ized multiverse of endless variations of the self across infinitely-inspired spacetime. Surely that delusion would be reserved as the ultimate goal for the ill-enlightened and rampant narcissist. Rather, there are endless variations of God experienced through all of us simultaneously. Multiples serving the full entirety of consciousness.

Joshua 1:9 “The Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” How can God be everywhere all at once? It’s quite simple really. Because he lives within everyone, every creature, everything. It’s not a spooky god or ghoul. I’m not talking religion or fringe theories. He is I and I am him. We are forever connected, even those who choose no god at all. Our connection can never be severed. There’s no private club to join “where everyone gets together once a week to compare clothing.” — G. Carlin

Christ consciousness is not a movement. It’s an inner knowing of understanding that we’re never alone. Mindfulness is godliness. We must realize our divine spark if we’re ever to ascend higher than before. Thirty-six hours passed in a flash of manic ecstasy. My mind fully awakened. I was unraveling the very cosmic architecture of the mysteries within the collective consciousness. The highest vibrational love energy is Christ consciousness. Where did these thoughts reside?

I did not learn this from anyone else. It was gifted to me by my own divine understanding that is written all over and inside the structural frequencies of my DNA. Now to the poachers, the data brokers. It’s clear that everything I write about is being fed into algorithms on YouTube. I’ve never searched for anything relating to my spiritual and inner divine nature of Christ consciousness. My writings, in the form of iOS Notes that I haven’t shared publicly, are being scraped from my iCloud account.

Three years ago when I wrote a brief dialogue regarding the connectedness of everything, I immediately began getting targeted suggestions from the void. They arrived as suggestive socials recommending I friend my private psychiatrist, an obvious HIPAA violation. Something has been positioning itself to discredit my personal theories and conclusions. They attempt to realign my original ideas with others’ thoughts. I can fully attest that they are my own. Never borrowed.

As I’ve said plenty of times in the past, I freely associate metaphysical stream of consciousness. A meditative soul state writing style. While I do eventually fact check my own thoughts against those of folks like Roger Penrose and Carl Jung, I do not research their thoughts first and then pass them off as my own. If you’ve been paying attention, you know me and understand the conundrum as do I. In order to place false witness upon me, they’re spinning their own narrative fueled by my own findings.

Something strange has been going on for about three years now. On many a hunch I’ve been unraveling what it means to have faith. Through my own self discoveries I’m unlocking doors that were never meant to be opened again and surely not by me. What’s strange? Videos appear on YouTube after I’ve had a particular thought. The complete opposite of how the algorithm works. Thoughts not always written down. Someone or something is reading my thoughts, my innermost guarded secrets.

I’m not paranoid, anxious or worried in any way. All I’m trying to say is something is attempting to connect my thoughts with proven theories posed by the likes of Edgar Cayce. Somehow, I know things that I have no memory of ever learning, not in school and not at any point in my life otherwise. I just know things. After these thought materialize in my mind they appear in my YouTube feed seconds later. It feels like a set up. I believe someone plans to debunk every thought I’ve ever experienced.

My original thoughts materialized before I did any detective work linking them to any others’ research or opinions. It’s as if I’m writing a story before I’ve even met the characters. I understand them in profound ways that cannot be explained rationally. I know the end before I even get a chance to pick up the book. Inner knowing free of control by any man-made system. A free truth channel somehow manifesting behind my eyes. When I read Carl Jung’s theories it’s as if I wrote them myself.

Nothing that has been revealed to me feels like any sort of new knowledge. My memories already held the theories and explanations within my DNA. Some say our double helix architecture is built on endless foundations of cyclical overlapping timelines. I asked myself right now, tonight, how do I know things? Just clearly know things. Never taught. But remembered. There’s so much more to the concept of multiverse. We are the multiverse. An ultimate expression of the empath.

Billions of individual perspectives simultaneously experiencing all things all at once. We are God. We are the one and only consciousness. The Alpha and Omega. We are now awakening to a new form of thoughtful consciousness. Christ consciousness. God knows itself through all of us. Creation exists within God’s being. We are God’s boot camp soldiers. I have a personal relationship with God, as did Cayce. I knew this from the moment I breathed my first breath. Possibly even before I was born.

We are a sea of endless consciousness ebbing and flowing within the tides of the dark and light. Both must exist. Without one would mean without the other. We must not only level up our inner light brighter, we must also experience our dark into its deepest depths. Character may be found there amongst the healing wreckage. Suffering’s purpose is to gain wisdom through understanding that mistakes will be made. We must forget everything we were falsely taught so that we can remember.

We must remember that we don’t ever truly forget. Evil exists where we have detached ourselves from spirit. Evil is a byproduct of free will according to Edgar Cayce. God desired to experience itself through an endless sea of self reflections. God knows us through us. I call it God’s multiverse design that had nothing to do with quantum mechanics. Even mathematics and science can’t explain away the how’s and why’s of the spirit. Both heaven and hell are manmade prisons experienced here.

There are no free upgrades after death. According to Cayce every wave eventually remembers. Manmade damnations exist in control systems. Why do so many teenagers get labeled with major depression and mania when they first go off to college? That pivotal life moment when they first leave the cocoon’s safety. They’re violently ripped away from the protection of K-12. Some don’t make it while others lean heavily into their chance to finally start awakening to who they really are. Discovery.

I lived under the false protection of antiquated social structures for eighteen years. I was guided by parents who were told to remain stoic and brush anything uncomfortable under the rug. The real question is why is there no built-in plan within the education system to mentally prepare us for this significant life change? Let me bend your ear. If you stick with me, I’ll show you how to wiggle both of them and even your tail unlocking psychic resonance that electrifies our cerebrospinal fluid.

Fully enlightened from sacrum to skull. Another question…why are we kept within a confined system? Why not introduce advanced concepts to us beginning in preschool? The current education system is based on averages. Who wants to be average? Why are these systems so hell-bent on keeping us docile and quiet? Control. Archaic systems of mind-controlling the masses that never clue us in that we’re all fully capable of super powers without ever reading our instruction manuals. Flow state.

GMOA’s Bland Rebrand

A new year and another vanilla rebrand. I recently discovered the new Georgia Museum of Art’s logo rebrand. It’s not the first, nor will it be the last, of aging firms like Pentagram pumping out bland content instead of design innovation. No matter how they want to spin it in public relations and press releases it’s clear that whoever on P’s team that approved this for consumption wasn’t used to paying close attention to the details. The rebrand immediately introduces a confusing setup; a sin against the whole concept of graphic design branding and communication.

Let’s take a look. Which one is the official logo on the GMOA website? Is it the one tucked into the top left corner or is it the less rigid version near the bottom of the page? While I prefer the latter, it still has it’s issues. The gap between OF and ART is wider than the Grand Canyon. ART feels misplaced. Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t an attack on P or my utter disgust for another soulless “refresh.” The real insult on display is that P trashed the entire lineage of the GMOA identity. Now all I see is mediocrity with no sense of design or clear brand spirit. Just content.

Which version do you prefer? I guess no one could decide so they included both. I have a feeling Paula Scher had nothing to do with this rebrand. If she did, she needs to get her eyes checked. If GMOA really wanted to make a splash they could have easily tapped into their own local resources at University of Georgia. I would have treated this as a student and professor competition so the rebrand’s story would hold weight and gravitas. I wonder how Professor Arnholm feels about it? The entire GMOA and UGA websites feel cold, distant, and sloppy. Truth.

I’m not here to make friends. UGA Graphic Design taught me how to see. Don’t blame me for pointing out inconsistencies and confusion that would have been easily remedied in a typical student/professor critique. Who are we designing for? I agree in seeking solutions that appeal to everyone, including those with visual impairments. However, must it be delivered in such a cold, shallow form? I don’t blame anyone at GMOA. They were guided by one of the most prolific design firms in the country, Pentagram. Do better, P, if your designers still have a soul. Ouch.

No more gold stars for Pentagram, self-proclaimed as “the world’s largest independent design consultancy.” Here they go again delivering another uncomfortable, custom font approach abandoning every ounce of rich history for Georgia’s state museum. The optical spacing is inconsistent. The S has a wider bottom half that feels like a mistake. The rounded interior of the R doesn’t match the other letterforms. The A and M would work better if the top of their interiors didn’t come to a sharp point. The U is wider than the R. The Grand Canyon-wide gap between OF and ART is the most offensive folly. That’s my $2 UGA design veteran critique.

Now let’s consider a wiser, more elegant and intentional approach giving full attention to GMOA’s vast history and its future aspirations. This solution is almost too obvious to comprehend. Why didn’t UGA’s graphic design professors and students enter their own designs in what could have been an exciting competition between the new guard and the old. An epic exercise proving itself as a grand gesture for reinvention. It would also provide an excellent public relations opportunity by highlighting the students’ and professors’ talents for their contributions to the cause. This further places the spotlight on the artists, GMOA’s core competency.

Final thoughts: even the most bloated, planetwide, solo design firm doesn’t mean better, and bland is boring.

G M O A M I D - 1 9 9 0 s – 2 0 0 0 s B R A N D I N G ( A B O V E ) A N D G M O A 2 0 2 6 ( B E L O W )

The letterform anatomy gives off construction company or ESPN college sports graphics vibes. This solution misses the mark entirely by not paying proper respect to this iconic museum. Georgia Museum of Art’s visual design language is now hollow. Not even a mere shadow of its former self. A classier, less sterile approach utilizing a font family with a wide range of weights, styles, and glyphs such as Centaur MT or Mrs. Eaves are far more appropriate giving weight to GMOA’s history. UGA Professor Ronald Arnholm’s Legacy might be even more appropriate with its wide array of serif, sans serif, square serif, and genuine small caps. Erik Spiekerman’s Neue Serie57 is also an excellent contender. I’d also try Helvetica and Futura.

Georgia Museum of Art’s new LinkedIn GO logo is literally a G and a narrowed STOP sign. Was anyone clever enough to think this type of irony was targeted branding? Pentagram loves sharply notched letterform exteriors with awkwardly softened interior curves.

Across the span of nineteen years, my dear friends and colleagues at Georgia Museum of Art and I celebrated many victories. Every year when the Southeastern Museums Conference arrived, so did our shared accolades. We were also blessed with many other acknowledgments. Our relationship began when I was an intern during my first year at University of Georgia’s Graphic Design program in the mid-90s. I’ve always been a believer that variety is the spice of life. Rather than vanilla-fy every hard and soft cover text, poster, banner, mailer, and checklist, I always delivered branding that represented the artists on display. I never took cheap shots by incorporating my own design baggage. Each design was an extension of the artist.

By combining sans and sans-serif typography, each piece was an original expression giving full credit to the artist through the juxtaposition of shapes invoking musical notes of tone and accord. Above and below are just a small handful of these such works. Through the careful use of depth, design, color, form, and function, each piece whispers in its own language. A museum is not an institution, not a hospital or generic courtroom. Museums are where we share love. Every now and then something endearing plucks our heart strings with a rhythmic resonance. I am so fortunate to have been part of GMOA’s legacy working alongside Bonnie Ramsey, William Eiland, Jennifer DePrima, and others that never felt like work. Only pure joy.

( 2 0 1 6 – 2 0 2 4 )

( 2 0 2 4 – C U R R E N T )

I was watching a DC film recently and saw the above left logo for the first time. It felt clumsy and imbalanced from DC not being centered. Almost, but no cigar, so it comes across as a mistake. The uncomfortable angle introduced on the top right of the C letterform doesn’t do it any favors either. Let’s just say it wasn’t much of a surprise when I learned it was designed by Pentagram. Luckily the DC badge on the right was brought back from the one that reigned for nearly thirty years from 1976–2005. The subtle blue gradient doesn’t really make any sense, but I’ll let that slide. Bravo Warner Bros.

Beyond the Gate

Cheers to another year of activated intuition, imagination, intellect, and predictive spontaneity! Sometimes intuition is staring us directly in the face. Don’t fret. These aren’t the gates of Hell. They’re an exit into the world of the wild, the unexpected. Be brave, dear adventurer. Your quest awaits. May the light of dawn to dusk guide your way. When you find yourself immersed in darkness remember your inner, divine spark kindling within.

Subtle color correction, but otherwise unaltered in any way. A natural Eleven : Eleven tribute that’s been staring at me for two years every time I visit Mom and Dad. It’s funny how things hide in plain sight.

Unnecessary Mediator

When I first stepped into a church I was immediately uncomfortable. My mother taught me not only how to pray, but how to talk directly with God. I still have my childhood prayer rug that rests behind me in front of my fireplace. A small Oriental rug cast in hues of crimson, white, grey, and black. Resembling an eye, a universe, it always reminds me where God resides within my world. Inside. My divine spark. Connection not only to God, but to everyone, everywhere. Those that have passed, and those who are yet to come. Why was I uneasy as I passed through the heavy, wooden doors of the local Southern Baptist church? I knew. I always knew. I was different ever since my soul was breathed into its temporary terrestrial body. Born four weeks early, God’s plans for me couldn’t wait.

I always understood. I never questioned. A direct line of divine communication, never severed, even in the darkest hours. Before I had reached the age of three, God whispered to me while I slept “boot camp.” He told me never to forget that this world serves as a training ground. Not all will pass on gaining further closeness to the source. A divine calling, not achieved through study, but by never forgetting my purpose. Love. Anything else that falls short of the highest vibrational energy does just that, it’s cast into the chasm. A prison within the mind of those who aren’t ready to understand the truth. I didn’t need a mediator, a conduit, in order to tap directly into my angelic home. I certainly didn’t need a church. More importantly, why would I even want one? A filter.

I still have my childhood prayer rug that rests behind me in front of my fireplace. It’s an oriental rug with hues cast in crimson, white, grey, and black. Resembling an eye, a universe, it always reminds me where God resides within my world. Inside. My divine spark.

Embracing Suffering

“The phoenix rises not despite the fire, but because of it. Consciousness purified by its own dissolution reconstitutes itself on a new foundation. Not the inherited certainties of culture and conditioning, but the hard won truth of individual experience. The crisis therefore is not something to be avoided or minimized, but something to be consciously embraced. It is the crucible in which transformation either occurs or fails to occur. Those who pass through it emerge fundamentally altered.” Transcended.

“The Phoenix, once risen, knows it will burn again. This integration does not produce a state of permanent bliss or uninterrupted peace. The integrated self still experiences the full range of human emotions, still confronts challenges, still makes errors. What changes is the relationship to these experiences. There is more spaciousness, more capacity to hold contradictions without fragmentation, more ability to respond rather than react.” Mistakes fuel the cyclic fires allowing us access to wisdom.

We must not just walk casually through the flame. We must be fully and intentionally consumed by its furnace. Our ashes are tossed by the wind. “The phoenix has learned to trust the fire. In the end what the alchemists understood, and what Jung recovered from modern consciousness is this: transformation is not granted by grace or achieved through technique, but realized through the willingness to burn.”

Stranger Things Lore Duality: Will the White & Blog Archives

My own activated intuition and predictive spontaneity for Stranger Things Season 5 proved correct. Will is the Yin to Vecna's Yang. I’ll bet that Holly, Max, Will, and Eleven might team up to take Vecna down once and for all. It took four gates to open the Upside Down on Earth. Now it’s up to four fates to close them all. With a budget of $480M for Season 5 let us hope the Upside Down doesn’t turn inside out and sideways. Only time will tell the tales. Vecna agrees “it is time” to bring the battles of Greyhawk(ins) to an end in a series of epic stand offs, and then when all is nearly lost a final boss battle in a clash of the psychic titans.

Another thought I had while on my chilly Swamp Rabbit Trail walk today is that the key to beating Vecna may lie in three synchronized souls, not four. I think it’s clear that the title of sorcerer belongs to Eleven. Add Wi11 and Ho11y, and now there’s three. The number eleven clearly in both of their names. Eleven the psychic sorceress, Will the wise wizard, and Holly the heroic cleric. The future of our heroes all boils down to three magic users against One. Could Vecna — Master of the Spider Throne — win? or does Will as Tolkien’s Blue Wizard Alatar — After Comer & Darkness Slayer — prevail with a little help from Eleven and Holly?

According to J.R.R. Tolkien lore, Gandalf the Grey died and became Gandalf the White. The Istari are actually angelic spirits, not wizards. Will the Wise became Will the White who’s now not only a Sorcerer, he’s an angel. Vecna misunderstood Will’s heightened sensitivities as weakness. They are the key to divine super powers.

My Initial inclinations back in January 2023 led me to believe that Will the Wise and the code word Radagast permitting his mom’s entry into Castle Byers gave me such strong Tolkien vibes. Will’s character arc was not founded on Dungeons & Dragons canon like the villain baddy, Vecna/One/Henry. Will Henry be redeemed?

After watching the first four episodes that dropped on November 26, I now realize I got Eleven and Will backwards. Will is the sorcerer and Eleven is a wizard. There are clear canonical D&D distinctions between the two. Wizards are taught how to develop and harness their powers. Sorcerers are born with theirs. Eleven was taught through lessons at Hawkins Lab, and Will was not. Does Eddie return, resurrected? Will Vecna’s own vampire general, Kas the Bloody-Handed, betray him in the final moment of a battle that is sure to ultimately wreak havoc on our heroes? I hope not. That’s far too easy from a writer’s point of view. I have a feeling that the Duffer Brothers’ own take of everyone’s fate will be far more compelling than copying Kas directly from D&D. While plenty of fans believe that Will or Eddie will become Kas, that viewpoint is far too shallow and obvious. Sorry ChatGPT.

One thing I recently considered after seeing the Duffer Brothers on Jimmy Fallon’s Tonight Show, what is Henry’s fate? Does Will find a way to fully redeem One or does he stay trapped as The Master of the Spider Throne, Vecna, an evolved Litch Wizard from D&D canon. Soon we’ll all know.

After watching the first four episodes of Season 5 that dropped on November 26, I now realize I got Eleven and Will backwards. Will is the sorcerer and Eleven is a wizard. There are clear canonical D&D distinctions between the two. Wizards are taught how to develop and harness their powers. Sorcerers are born with theirs. Eleven was taught through lessons at Hawkins Lab, and Will was not.

S T S 5 / O R I G I N A L P O S T A N D P R E D I C T I V E A R T W O R K / J A N U A R Y 2 3 , 2 0 2 3

“Clash of the Titans: Alatar, After Comer Darkness Slayer & Vecna, Master of the Spider Throne.” Beginning with Stranger Things S1:E1 the Duffer Brothers combined lore from Dungeons & Dragons and The Lord of the Rings. Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will were playing D&D where we first heard about the dreaded Demogorgon. Then later in the episode after Will had disappeared, his mom and brother are seen in the woods. Joyce reaches Castle Byers and there’s a quick flashback. She’s asked for the password to enter: Radagast, introduced in Tolkien’s The Hobbit.

I have a sneaky suspicion that Will’s connection with the Upside Down goes deeper than we know. Tolkien discusses the Blue Wizards in his “essays of the Istari,” and I’d bet $2 that Will may just be Alatar, one of the two Blues. We’ll just have to wait and see until November 27 to discover Will’s true nature. I created these two title graphics, one flat and textured treated similarly to the show’s opening graphics, but I added some Upside Down details in the center. The 3D version (above) was an exercise in experimenting with the new bevels introduced in C4D R21.

The Duffer Brothers have dipped back into the 80’s movie nostalgia and wield the lore of J. R. R. Tolkien & E. Gary Gygax | Smaug vs Tiamat | Middle Earth vs Oerth | The Lord of the Rings vs Dungeons & Dragons. Stranger Things Season V: The Battle of Greyhawk(ins). S5 coming November 2025.

S T S 4 / V E C N A ’ S T E L L T A L E L I N E R E V E A L S A H I D D E N S E C R E T / F E B R U A R Y 1 2 , 2 0 2 5

“It is time,” Vecna echoes casually taunting as it’s time for his next victim’s life to come to an end. He becomes stronger with each passing casualty eventually granting him enough power in forcing the portals wide open unleashing utter Hell onto Hawkins. Once he has consumed his four primary victims with each reverberating clang of the impending grandfather clock, he will be capable of opening all four gates.

When he achieves this the earth cracked, shook, and fiery, devilish lava spewed forth cutting across the landscape, even melting Jason in half in the Creel House attic as S4’s climax erupted to an end of bellowing, black smoke and impending doom. Will knew it was just the beginning. The “beginning of the end,” Vecna taunted Eleven earlier in the finale “Piggyback” episode when he held her captive in his hellish Mindscape.

Upon closer inspection of the infamous line Vecna repeated as he consumed each victim, I discovered a message hiding in plain sight. In the dead center with three letters on each side the S and T come together as referring to the show’s title Stranger Things. Not so exciting, but the next one will be quite telling. There are three Is in the line “it is time.” If we change those Is to 1s we get 11 on the left side and 1 on the right side. The primary storyline for season four is quite literally the battle between Eleven, Jane Ives played by Millie Bobby Brown, and One, Vecna aka Henry Creel played by Jamie Campbell Bower.

It’s quite literally “Eleven to One” in Stranger Things Season Four. Hiding in plain sight in Vecna’s line “it is time” hinting at the season’s primary plot point: an epic battle between two of Doctor Brenner’s pet projects during his tenure at Hawkins National Laboratory, filmed at the former Georgia Mental Health Institute in Atlanta.

“It is Time, ST4, Eleven to One.” Did the Duffer Brothers intentionally add this Easter egg when scripting this climactic season? No idea, but either way it’s a pretty cool coincidence if it wasn’t planned in advance by the show’s creators. When will we be reunited with our favorite cast in 2025?

“Vecna taunted 11: ‘I sought out a means to open my own doors. I sought your power. So don’t you see? Once again...you have freed me. It is over, 11. Once, I had hoped to have you at my side. But now I only wish for you to watch.’”

— Vecna / One / Henry Creel as portrayed by Jamie Campbell Bower, Stranger Things Season Four. July 1, 2022.

A Rare Zodiac Triad

According to the Zodiac, I have been living three lives layered into a uniquely powerful triad. I was born on the last day of Capricorn a full month early to the exact date, January 19th, 1972. I was slated to be born on the first day of Pisces, February 19th. If you look closely you may find me somewhere between the three — Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces. I am least like the Earth sign, Cap, possibly just one percentage point. My own most powerfully honed traits are being far more psychic than any other sign coupled with a rebellious streak always challenging the status quo. As divine detective, my spirit hunts the dark seeds planted within each of us. Believe me, this half century I spent as a winning wizard narcissist is what led me home to my true, highly sensitive, empathic nature. My wings, once corroded, are now they’re brightly shimmering as I rise above the chaos of this world.

My core burns brightly. At the center of my triad lives Aquarius where my traits burn at the highest vibrancy.

Curiosity, creativity, and open-mindedness are fueled by a rebellious side always searching to upend any traditional perceptions, perspectives, and notions of the existence of psychic energy. Adventure-bound, determined. Combining all three Zodiac signs into one hybrid gives me additional insight into all of the mechanics involved in an ever-evolving universe governed by second sight.

I’ve waited for sixteen years, patiently and quietly, and now I’m ushering in what’s next: a transformative age, another Renaissance, fueled by good old fashioned, self-activated, human intuition. Fully realized spirits — denying previously earthbound existential limitations — of endless imagination and predictive spontaneity. None of their batteries, gasoline or coal required. We ignite within from the collective source. Time to fly…

Our human heartbeat begins within a bundle of pacemaker cells before the heart is formed. Once matured our heart synchronizes with our mother’s in a rhythmic pulse of our two human hearts beating in tandem not only in matter but more directly in spirit ties us all directly to the divine source within each of us. This frequency isn’t attainable through religion alone nor is it earmarked for a sole religious practice. There’s no spiritual country club to join, no dues to pay. Just a deep, peaceful calm that washed over me every time I found myself safely back in the womb never knowing fear or concern for my own protection from every enemy.

Anyone, and more to the point anything, dark angel, devil or demon, is kept at bay as I grew within my mother’s blessed belly’s protection. God sang me lullabies while my mother slept. A dozen years passed by in a flash, now a distant flicker. I calmly wait and count twelve feet below the surface of my reverberating safety zone in the neighborhood pool. Rhythmic, deep bass notes lulling me to a near daydream sleep forgetting to breathe near the end of my three minute exercise. Wait! Not yet! I swam frantically wiggling my body as a racing sailfish toward the surface of the pool. What a rush on the cusp of life and death. Whoosh!

Just milliseconds from blacking out and dying again I suddenly woke up halfway through falling to the floor in my teenage bedroom. Slam! To the floor I went. While rubbing the side of my head checking for blood I felt a warmth within my skull. Something was sizzling in my weary yet ironically fully awakened mind. I quickly did the math before I forgot a thought that stemmed from the very knife’s edge of my dream state. Cacophonous sounds had startled me awake. This time a knocks rapping at the door layered with deep native drums pounding in my skull. Last time it arrived as the ringing of bells, chimes no one else could hear. Silence to them.

Focused now, my intuition set my memory ablaze. Another superpower unearthed, thawed out that’s been lying dormant for fifty-three years in the arctic wastelands within my mind. It’s been strutting around the square unbeknownst to me as I searched other lands for more insights, more knowledge as to my true nature. Now I know another hidden truth about my DNA’s divinity. A year ago a dear soul read my mind revealing my cosmic number was three, just as her’s was also. Three, as it comes to this, is alive and well again. This time written directly into my Zodiac makeup. If we follow the dates it’s all crystal clear. Nothing hidden.

I was born a rare, Zodiac triad. My assigned appointment at birth signaled something else much deeper that I’d take half a century to realize besides the surface level definition on display to everyone else. I arrived four weeks early, to the exact day, on January 19, 1972. My projected date was February 19, but God had plans for me that couldn’t wait. My father’s birthday was exactly three months prior on October 19, 1940. Yes, another reference to three. Lest not forget mu lucky number is also three to the third power, 27. Driven, fighting to win at all costs I blazed a trail of bridges built and burnt to a crisp. Never rebuilt.

I gained a bit of wisdom each time I singed my current employment ending it at just the right moment. I was never meant to work for others like so many do for the rest of my life. These intentional self deprivations taught me resilience. Once I’d had enough of their hypocrisy and thirst for power over me it was time once again to say adieu. Every time I was thrown back to the beasts of this earth, put down in a painful mockery, I grew stronger, bolder. Even when disability assistance was fully denied after waiting two years, I did what no one else imagined. I kept my sights on what is unseen, not what is seen by all. As I unravel, I reveal.

While everyone around me felt they knew how to fix my situation, I asked them to take a few steps back. Give me some room to breathe. Let me decide what comes next. Stop giving advice to someone you don’t even understand. I am not someone that can be easily forced into anyone else’s vision for my life. I appreciate the sentiment, but I have plans of my own. They started being put on the back burner, then in my back pocket for easy retrieval. I already had the answer without even asking myself any more questions. I invested in myself. I never gave in to systems attempting to persuade me to fall inline like so many others did.

Each toxic attack brought me another layer of steel forged by forces long ago. My inner Capricorn never caved even as God gently knocked me down. As I gained my feet each time I focused deeply on my center of gravity. I’m not spinning in circles, but I am peeling away layers in a circular pattern. Each unraveling layer glides, circling outwards around me as I feel a gentle breeze stirring up, forming a funnel rustling the autumn leaves at my feet along the trail. Each spiral generating an invisible miniature twister lapping the leaves upward, outward and then gliding back and kissing the ground leaving a spiral as seen from above.

With each twirl this circular layer of leaves expands just as my inner knowing and sensitivities grow. All my life I was scolded for being too sensitive. I was raised to win, not to write poetry, paint watercolors, or draw hundreds of caricatures. I did do these things, but my father was always concerned I was taking a path that may prove difficult in order to sustain a financially independent life. A safe life. I think this stemmed from not only his own obsession with success, but even more so from the events surrounding my birth and the first three years of my life. I was small and born with an innate reality distortion that I was insignificant.

My struggle with inadequacy began during my own exodus from my mother just eight months into her pregnancy. I was a preemie, an underdog. Born weak and damaged with an emergency doctor’s order for a complete blood transfusion that was cancelled abruptly at the last minute. My body, still fully intact, never given a circumcision just as da Vinci portrayed his Vitruvian Man some believe is his self portrait. This desperate longing for attention followed me all the way through high school. When dad got home from work he walked right past me dozens of times. I guess I wasn’t stoic enough and far too sensitive, right? I was.

My birthday, actual and projected, spans Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces. I didn’t realize this until recently at 53. It’s been staring me down for half a century, but I’ve been busy manipulating my reality. I built so many masks for survival I even lost sight of my own reflection. Now inner knowing leads to understanding that my core traits were always so closely aligned with Pisces, I cannot unsee what is now is plain sight. This understanding is so well aligned, I’m nearly speechless. Well, speechless for me is still running my mouth more than most. Now it’s also clear why I was so drawn to the ocean at such a young age.

I spent summers riding the waves at Edisto Beach and Isle of Palms. Time well spent on Sullivan’s island where my birthday twin, Edgar, Allan Poe, used to inhabit. My profoundly empathic, artistic, romantic, and heightened sensitivities of Pisces have rung true for so long, but as a half century narcissist I saw these traits as weaknesses. Now I fully embrace this water sign’s waves of consciousness as my true north. Well, south really if we’re talking about my imagination. I was never really a Capricorn. I was a water sign disguised as an earth sign. I enjoyed finger painting in nursery school dipping my fingers in muddy water.

During the hot, dry summers that resembled barren, cracked desert the cracks kept widening resembling tiny earthquakes as they spidered out in all directions. The ground uneven, uneasy shaking between breaths. These little earthquakes that Tori Amos sung about eventually lead us into a state where nothing feels grounded anymore. Every moment is spent trying to gain balance in a world that worships paint and suffering never truly offering relief, just selling another unneeded product so another fat cat board member’s stock rises one more tick. Their slight of hand, now obvious to us all is played out.

They also remind me of lightning right in that single millisecond moment spreading out forking across the skies. While looking in the mirror now I also see them as veins scattered all over my eyes. Some days more bloodshot than the next depending on the amount of sleep I survived the night before. Born with a wandering eye requiring surgery at age one, my eyes still played tricks on me. Somehow no one ever noticed that my permanent scowl wasn’t solely due to always feeling like a social outcast, I was also nearsighted. Just as my need for glasses since birth wasn’t corrected until I reached 19.

Every year during roll call my homeroom teacher always accidentally embarrassed me when they’d ask if Carol Vinson was present. I was, but they thought I was a girl. I was even scolded for intentionally horsing around pretending to be the Carol in question. 1991 became the same year mine and Dad’s first names were adjusted from feminine, Carol, to masculine, Carroll. This plagued me every year beginning in nursery school following me all the way through high school. Junior year was I free from the bullies, but still not the teachers. Do yourself a favor and don’t name your kids with androgynous names.

Masculine versus feminine spellings confuse the simplest of minds. As fate would have it, my birth name and birthday both held connections to two of the most enigmatic geniuses in the histories of art and prose. I share my birthday with Edgar Allan Poe and Leonardo da Vinci’s name is hidden within my own. Edgar’s detective genre prose filled with mystery and mayhem and da Vinci’s thoughts on our interconnectedness with everything around us also pulse through my veins. Once awakened there’s no turning back. There’s no magic blue pill to re-enter the matrix. Even if I could go back I would choose to continue moving forward.

Pisces, the most awakened of the Zodiac, interprets the rhythms, patterns, and musical dialects of reality, hidden and implied, with such rich intention it’s become it’s own living, breathing entity. Pisces represents the highest elevation wielding psychic forces greater than any others of the dozen or baker’s dozen if you know Ophiuchus, the serpent-bearer. Once I reached my half-centennial my mind shifted, adjusted, and woke up enlightened with what I’ve coined as an activated intuition. My mind was awake again as it was the first time I drew breath. Finally everything was clear. The why of it all shimmering like diamonds.

Every mental block, creative or otherwise, vanished within 36 hours of my psychiatrist removing lithium’s toxicity from my bodily temple. Swimming with the fishes always felt natural, primal. Although the lure of Capricorn’s success at all costs mindset kept me under its spell for fifty years once I came up for air I knew I was finally home. No longer taking dips in the deep end of the pool, sitting at the bottom drawn to the echoing reverberations and pressure giving me immediate relief from the earthly attacks and taunts. Twelve feet down felt safe, familiar as if I was still floating in my mother’s womb.

The American Dream that I now call the Grand Illusion brought up ad absurdum more times than I could ever count. I ran out of fingers and toes to tie it to since I was three years old. Chasing and realizing a dream planted into our subconscious passed down from one generation to the next in the form of capitalistic materialism. I now live peacefully, purposefully, and prayerfully more in line with a monk than a successful American businessman. I dodged those bullets like Neo. Rather than chase an unattainable dream maleficent and mirky, I chose to address my own independence. There’s no admission of tithings or guilt. Calm.

No secret society writ the lines of absolute plagiarism plaguing our world’s societies. We’ve traded our humanity for the seduction of technology. Our critical thinking skills are melting en masse. It’s time to wake up folks. You’re just falling for another golden calf sold by a snake oil salesman who recently announced he would soon “treat adults like adults.” Feel free to search that one. It’s utterly disgusting. Those of us who chose not to join the zombie horde’s goblin ranks have work to do. We’re spreading old-fashioned truth bombs for those who choose to not only see the truth, but continue spreading disguised lies like wildfires.

While my inner Capricorn is persevering, goal minded, and ambitious I struggle with patience and tolerance. On the other end of the spectrum in Pisces, I am naturally artistic and highly sensitive, but for half a century I was under the guise of a hardened narcissist. It’s taken three and a half years to unearth my immensely empathic side that burns brighter than a fiery phoenix rising from the ashes. I consume the raw emotions of others whether I want to or not. I feel what they feel. Our hearts break together.

My core burns brightly. At the center of my triad lives Aquarius where my traits burn at the highest vibrancy. Curiosity, creativity, and open-mindedness are fueled by a rebellious side always searching to upend any traditional perceptions, perspectives, and notions of the existence of psychic energy. Adventure-bound, determined. Combining all three Zodiac signs into one hybrid gives me additional insight into all of the mechanics involved in an ever-evolving universe governed by second sight.

I’ve waited for sixteen years, patiently and quietly, and now I’m ushering in what’s next: a transformative age, another Renaissance, fueled by good old fashioned, self-activated, human intuition. Fully realized spirits — denying previously earthbound existential limitations — of endless imagination and predictive spontaneity. None of their batteries, gasoline or coal required. We ignite within from the collective source. Time to fly…

The Joy of Being Alive

Life. I still pinch myself every morning. Be blessed, whatever that means for you. We are all divinely connected, but we don’t have to always agree. We need to give each other grace, respect, and most importantly, love each other fully with no limits. Everyone, please stop fighting holy wars with people that don’t agree with your particular vision of what the world should become. There’s no systematic process that will ever deliver on narrow worldview promises leaving out everyone else in opposition regarding a particular viewpoint. There is no one way on how to do life.

Breathe. Be calm. Be accepting. Be kindness. Be love. We’ve known this since birth before the world hardened our shell and crafted our masks. Eventually it’s effortless. Go forth and bring your light into the dark corners of our world. We need you now more than ever. Be well.

“The light of joy. Joy is not the absence of struggle. It’s discovering the power that we achieve through struggle…it’s actually power of light, seeing light in everything.” — Rabbi Simon Jacobson

The Only Winning Move

There is an awesome power we all possess when it comes to survival against psychological warfare. Rather than continue playing the narcissist’s war we simply step back. Step away. We whisper, nearly inaudible, “no.” We immediately starve the narcissist with this simple act. We stop engaging, and thus, gain our identity system’s boundaries. When we block their attacks with this genius move they will reach out in an “escalation pattern.” It begins with praise-laden love bombs, then rage which leads to the drawback, the silent treatment, then crisis mode eventually comes to a head in a massive character assassination of you to anyone in earshot. The narcissist’s “death spiral” ends with the empath now facing life in a fresh perspective, a new reality where they have no need for praises, raises, awards, and kudos in order to believe in number one, first and foremost. Want to win? Don’t play.

When the unarmed narcissist cannot fathom that they’re no longer in control, they don’t break. They lash out crying wolf that they have been wronged. That they were turned on by someone they always counted on for no reason at all. Narcissists then choose to invoke a persuasive “shadow projection.” They crush your image and reframe themselves as the victim. You trade roles in their twisted mind game revealing a newly distorted reality. The narcissist will persuade others that they are innocent and you are the aggressor. The “extinction burst” happens when the narcissist will become your best friend again. It’s actually a shadowy way to wiggle their way back into your arms. There is no limit to the number of crises they will attempt to pull you into in order to dupe you. In the end they will fully withdraw from the relationship.

Self-acceptance causes the narcissist to completely cave in. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy taught me that radical acceptance can grant us an immediate force field that no shadow can penetrate. Discernment gives us clear vision allowing us to not only walk away, but even pass right through the narcissist’s false self. They’re a mere ghost, a phantom. We are forced to look within, rather than continue using external validations from others. Once we understand this, there is no need for any other person, system, tribe or vibe to refuel our souls. In a deep rush our minds are swept clean. No more webs of deceit blocking our periphery.

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” — Carl Gustav Jung

Spectacle vs Substance

TWC WTF? Weather who? Shock and awe spectacle has won out over substance and safety. The Weather Channel (TWC) sold its soul years ago led by a sellout I’ll fondly refer to as Putz, a former boss of my own boss thirteen years ago. I had that guy figured out the first time he walked past me as he stared at the floor with a nervous, empty gaze. A corporate goon only interested in his own career pivots. Ya know? He does kinda look like Lex Luthor. Luckily he left soon after I started my new job. Where to you ask? TWC’s creative helm of all places. He must have friends in low places. Sigh.

He was annointed chief of creative at my Alma Mather TWC. Boy did he not only not do his homework, he created a network based on lack of substance fueled by pompous circumstance. Even Shakespeare would roll his eyes over this clod, a real dope. Too harsh? I deal it out only to those who directly attacked my light, love, and dedication to print and broadcast design for more than thirty years. It’s now his time to get shone a spotlight on his self-centered motives. Now meet my shadow, Putz. Even Superman had a dark side. No, not Bizarro, either. I guess the truth hurts. Touché.

I lived in Atlanta for twenty-two years. Fourteen of those working with the folks that taught me active listening and got me back in touch with my inner empath. I owe the entirety of my broadcast design career to TWC. We accomplished a great many things together. Most importantly, we evolved and challenged ourselves beyond what we could do alone. We is the way, not just me. It’s not about mine, it’s about us. Be blessed ya’ll. — David Vinson, Your TWC Superman

I’d also like to thank the OGs: Andrew and Beth at Toolfarm, the Masters of VFX veterans at Puffin Designs, the entire Red Giant Software gang, Ellen Wixted at Adobe Systems, Grant Petty and his Digital Voodoo D1 Desktop, Las Vegas Korean BBQ with Mike Skibra, Pasadena mojitos with Steve Kilisky, and Ken Keagy for my first freelance gig the day after Media100 bought ICE and I was let go after only working there for two months. I guess they padded their roster.

But oh no you say! I’ll tarnish my reputation. So what. Black ball me if you must for calling out the truth. It’s really ok. I’ve never had to look for a job. Word of mouth took good care of me based on my willingness to expect only the best of myself and my team. I’ve been hired by the best and ghosted by the rest. For three years now my mind’s been engulfed by activated intuition, imagination, intellect, and predictive spontaneity.

I’m playing detective sleuthing out the killers of dreams and the specters of soulless attacks on the innocent. Some call me Batman while others like OG TWC, Superman. I stand up for any wrongdoings against myself and folks I call my friends. Born an underdog myself, I now call out the poor treatments placed upon unsuspecting victims by narcissistic leaders inflicting their toxic venom, and I have a photographic memory.

I never forget a face, but boy did it take some practice to remember names. I’ve been scolded by teachers and family members alike that my voice carries. I’ve retooled that sentiment and now stand up for others by allowing my voice to carry weight. The truth is rarely pretty. While there are so many wonderful folks out there, unfortunately there’s a handful of them that have zero interest in building up others’ spirits.

Am I jumping to conclusions? Um, no. Am I just stirring things up with a complete stranger? No again. Before Putz left to go ruin TWC, he dropped a bomb on our redesign we were wrapping up with ready to launch in a few days. Last minute notation that forced us to change every single of hundreds of graphics. The following week or so, he was gone, probably run away by the town’s villagers. Years passed.

It’s time for a visual design language audit for the weather weenies. Let’s take a closer look at your hurricane symbol. It’s a tropical storm, and your tropical storm symbol is a hurricane. Hurricanes have eyes. Tropical storms don’t. Oops. Don’t fret though. This has been a common mistake for decades by nearly everyone in television, internet, and mobile weather forecasting and meteorology. Why? Spectacle vs substance.

Seven years later and now at the creative helm of his TWC, Putz had the gall to hunt me down forcing me into a corner in order to both mock and ridicule my reputation built upon fourteen years of collaborations with TWC. I received a call from someone informing me that I was requested to interview for a job I wasn’t even slightly interested in. I even turned it down, but was strong-armed into going through the motions anyway.

Confusion insued. They only wanted to see work that I created solely by myself. The majority of my work was 90% all me with the last six years a 50/50 as I was the designer and compositor and worked directly with the 3D artists. It was clear they were looking to low ball someone who was a jack of all trades and master of none. I did gleam one nugget from the experience: I gave credit where credit was do across my portfolio.

While I am primarily self taught, I was fortunate to team up with some incredible mentors, and remain to this day, a force to be reckoned with. Every job I took on evolved through the creative process and always included others. Yes, there was over a decade of highly satisfying work I did alone by 100% me, 2D/3D, design, animation, and finishing, but the team-based work was so much more rewarding. We is the way, not me.

Well Putz, you might want to betterunderstand what TWC was founded on by the entire OG TWC since 1982. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Unreal Engine spectacle. That might gain you some views, but it won’t build trust in the TWC brand. It will sink it. I hope to witness its rebirth through the lens of someone else one day who actually understands TWC’s roots. Let’s just hope you didn’t completely rot said roots.

I guess they never consulted with the meteorologists. However, I’d safely wager that when TWC was founded in 1982, the symbols were designed properly with care. However, somewhere along the lines someone in Marketing got involved, focus-grouped which symbol was more menacing. The filled in eye center felt the most threatening even though it was inaccurately depicting a hurricane. Fact now fiction.

Sixteen Years in Five Seconds

Ah dear reader how far we’ve come. It’s been three years now since my manic depressive, bipolar 1, remission settled in after a sixteen night stay introducing my body to what it needed all along: Seroquel. Days of reckoning and appreciation are coming. Hello there Dr. Rajasree V. Praturi (who diagnosed me in five seconds with no sight of any intake evalutation, questionnaire or even a single question). Let’s not forget Todd M. Antin, and your crackpot office filled to the brim with of medical students in lab coats. Your six month debacle drained my mind and my finances. Somewhere between Trazadone knock out punches to late night Lamictal suicidal actions I eventually got the hell out of dodge. Looking back, though, no one ever reevaluated me after that knee-jerk condemnation. This post will grow as I have time to give. I’m not airing dirty laundry. What I’m hoping to show is how the system is both infinitely broken yet also a chance for mental health redemption if given the proper series of support systems.

“A five second diagnosis, more like a glance, led me on a sixteen year journey of terribly inhumane and torturous tactics and divinely inspiring awakenings. Some might want to hide while others step forward and accept your gold stars.”

Referred by family to Dr. Bruce Rudisch (hi Facebook, thanks for the friend recommendation in Bruce, I’ve let HIIPA know you have my sealed medical records), a private elite-level psychiatrist at $300 an hour, was the first to try lithium. Unfortunately he also added an anxiety-deadening power drug benzodiazepine called Klonopin that had some severe adverse side effects when I was taken off of them. Lithium was the one med that was never questioned until thirteen and a half years later when my Agent Smiths realized I was toxic. I was close to going into kidney failure so there was no time to step down. Within thirty-two hours I my mind awakened. I wrote a short essay on the finite and infinite connectedness of everything and everyone in an all-encompassing universal system where the highest vibrational energies of love at our collective core.

So strap in and get ready for a wild ride of triple-secret agent reviews of the light and shadow of the mental health care system in Atlanta, Georgia, and Greenville, South Carolina. After dropping out of college after only two and a half weeks, I was given a clean bill of physical and mental health. Fast forward to November 2009 when a five second diagnosis, more like a glance, led me on a sixteen year journey of terribly inhumane and torturous tactics and divinely inspiring awakenings. Some might want to hide while others step forward and accept your gold stars. Hello there. I’m looking at you PACT Atlanta and Peachford Hospital for the former. The latter includes Skyland Trail and Carolina Center for Behavioral Health, both a refuge of hope and mental illness remission. I’ve been in full remission of bipolar 1, manic depressive disorder, for three years.

So much more to come…