Recipes for Financial Freedom & 고추 두부 | Sailor's Log No. 22.07J04

What is a recipe beyond a list of equipment with instructions? If a recipe (along with some practice, or what I like to deem the “doing of a thing”) is all that’s needed to, theoretically, create some thing or complete some goal, then why do people seemingly refuse to follow the recipe toward wealth? Or is it that everyone—literally everyone—has been misinformed, misguided, misled? What then is the recipe for Financial-Freedom/Wealth-Generation?

That’s a question that most people refuse to answer, in my experience. And the reason, in my experience, why most people do not answer the question is because they simply do not know the answer. Unless you know someone who is truly wealthy, truly financially free (and no, the Kardashian/Jenner Klan is not financially free, remember this), truly raking in more money than they can spend, then why would you take anyone’s advice on how to become truly wealthy, truly financially free, truly raking in more money than you can spend? It’s pointless to listen to someone who is NOT rich about how to GET rich. Ya hear? 

My point is that I’ve been given a recipe or two over the course of my life, thus far, and for the most part, I’ve lucked out that the lists of equipment/instructions that I’ve been given have mostly worked out. The frustrating part is that I’ve actually received very few recipes from my parents. They’ve essentially taught me very little beyond what’s required to “enter the kingdom of heaven,” etc. And so, I’ve found it difficult to acquire recipes toward Financial-Freedom/Wealth-Generation, etc. 

I did, however, receive a starter recipe for Financial Freedom about ten years ago that my bodybuddy/lifemate and I have been using and following for some time now, about ten years, and so far, it works. The recipe, in fact, is more of a Prelude or the foundation upon which the recipe for Financial Freedom may be built, because every person is in a different economic reality, in a different environment with vastly different life-experiences, thus, the personal financial recipe that we've created for ourselves could have only been created after our relentless pursuit to accomplish the Prelude recipe over the past decade. And honestly, it is so simple that it’s not really much of a recipe at all. It is, nevertheless, the only thing that a person needs to know, accept and then DO in order to reach even the slightest semblance of a possibility toward true Wealth.

And the Recipe for Financial Freedom is as follows:

1. Spend less money than you make from your job. 

You know, it’s the same kind of recipe that underlies physical health: eat real food and move your body, and yet, the willing are so few. The problem with this recipe is that it is only the first step before you can even start the real steps toward Financial Freedom. If you cannot do this one simple thing—first and foremost—you will never be truly wealthy, truly free. Sure, someone can win the lottery, inherit money, etc., but that’s not wealth generation. Wealth generation, in my book, is creating a personal financial strategy that then frees you from being someone else’s Exploitee, which then frees you to create a professional financial strategy in the form of a business, i.e. entrepreneurship. For it is only through the Vehicles of Capitalism—a business—that true wealth may be generated within a system of Capitalism. Are you starting to get it?  

Back in 2010, my bodybuddy/lifemate and I started our first joint venture (he had directed/produced a feature-length film in college, and I had had many-a small businesses as a young entrepreneurially-minded child) called Twigim. It was, in its idealized glory, supposed to be a build-your-own eggroll fusion food truck/mobile media center. We had this vision to sell concessions out of the truck, while the truck itself also projected “film as art”-type productions around the city of Denver. We never realized this full iteration because the first iteration of the business taught us enough to know that we did not want to actually do this with our time.

The first (and only) iteration of Twigim was a food stall with an Asian-fusion eggroll menu (1 for $3 or 2 for $5 back in the summer of 2011) at our local farmers market, the Old South Pearl Street Farmers Market. We set up our tent every Sunday after prepping food at our local commissary kitchen all day Saturday after working full-time temp jobs Monday thru Friday. Twigim never would have made us enough money to quit our jobs, nor would it have made us rich. These were two facts based off of the sheer time it takes to run a small business like this that made us realize we did not want to build this type of Vehicle. For adults, the payout for the hours worked in a business like this is not worth the time traded to make it happen. Thus, this is the type of business that most high schoolers should create and operate. It’s easy enough, because, for a high schooler, the time spent would be worth it because they don’t need to make the kinds of profits an adult needs to make in order to fund their adult lives. 

Thus, by the time a person enters college, s/he/they ought to be able to run a business (get started here!) that now requires less time from them but brings in more cash. In this idyllic scenario, this particular high schooler may never have to work for someone, be someone’s Exploitee. Instead, this particular high schooler would enter the adult world as an employer, a boss, the next generation of millionaires. 

And so, we learned a lot from our summers working our little Twigim stand. And then we learned the hard truth as we began to rise through the entrepreneurial ranks by learning how to become real estate investors. During our real estate investing journey, we learned that we were broke-ass poor, and this was at a time when I was making about $50K/year (in 2012). We not only learned that we were poor. We also learned that because we are poor we really have only one option toward wealth generation, and that option was wrangling in our own finances, lowering our expenses, and paying off consumer debt. Honestly, the entire process required us to overhaul our entire life, and so we did. We were young and agile, so we did it. We ditched all of our worldly possessions (selling my car covered all of our consumer credit debt, but we are both still encumbered by student loan parasites), packed five suitcases, and moved to South Korea, where we taught ourselves what money is and how to manage it.

In reality, the entire process took about three years to really get the hang of before we felt truly comfortable with the new process. By 2016 we were humming along and taking the first vacation—of many to come—that was wholly financed in cash that could be spent outright, guilt-free. It was an awesome feeling, and we’ve continued to chase that feeling ever since. In 2018, we flew our first international flight in Premium Economy. 

Today (after a grueling history of trying and trying again and again), we are at a point in our personal financial strategy where we both only work part-time jobs (three nights/week) doing menial labor stocking shelves as overnight crew for a national grocery retailer, jobs that we both entered at minimum wage, jobs that have also given us incredible insight with which to write a report on livable wages in these United States, which will hopefully progress me toward my longer-term goal of one day being a presidential cabinet member, etc. In short, we tightened our expenses down so tight that we can comfortably afford our current lifestyle with income at the level of poverty and nothing more, and we live in the most expensive “luxury” (and I use quotes, because if you know, then you know) apartment building in our city (granted, the city in which we live is not exactly the hottest spot in these United States, but it was named the best city in the country not too long ago, so there’s that), so there’s that. The other four days of the week we spend running our company(s), ideas, and plans. We are finally so close to liftoff, i.e. no longer being exploited by anyone but ourselves, that I can finally taste it. And honestly, it tastes good. Delicious, really.

But the sad reality is that what we’ve discovered by living on a dual income of about $30K/year is that this is not a livable wage for a single adult. Sure, they could live in a not-expensive apartment, but they would not be able to own a car, and they would have to work six days a week. We’ve given up a car for the “luxury” of our apartment, because we do not think that individuals should “own” cars, and we work from home more than we work a job (1.2 miles away from our front door), and so, the comfort of our living situation vastly outweighs the need for private transportation. We each bought bikes in early 2020 (mine for $100 new, his for $60 used), and the mediocre, read bad, public transportation here is free due to circumstances that are related to the state's public transit relationship to this city, etc. 

Nevertheless, our rocket ship took about a decade to build. So, there’s also that if you’re over thirty and just now reading this, realizing that I speak the truth, and thusly, want to follow the recipe.    

I understand that I am speaking to a privileged group of consumers who are employed, housed, and flush with disposable income. To be making more than enough money to survive in this country (anything over $4K/month as a single adult) and to still be in debt, bouncing on zero, or living paycheck to paycheck is the fault of the spender. You are not a victim of systemic poverty, nor are you a victim of anything other than your own ignorance. This is why I degrade you and call you stupid, because to be making so much money in a country of such great wealth and to be a willing economic slave in this situation means that you’re the idiot. On the other hand, to suffer in systemic poverty does not mean that you’re an idiot, instead, it means that the country in which you’re systemically poor does not care about you as a full human with fully human needs. It’s a different tragedy of a whole other kind. And so, obviously, I am not speaking to those who are trapped within systemic poverty, because, to be trapped within a system of poverty means that the entire system needs to be overhauled, and that’s a light that will never illuminate the end of this United Statesian Capitalist Tunnel. Sorry, truly sorry.

But those of you who are simply living beyond your means, I have zero sympathy. You’ve dug your own debt grave trying to “keep up” with whoever seems to have the most. And this “seemingly rich” sorta spending is one that I will never be able to wrap my mind around. Why?, why in all of Ladybug’s good greenness would anyone, anyone, want to “seem rich” as opposed to actually BEING RICH? I will never understand this. Because to “seem rich” one must spend all of their money on things that “signal wealth” (remember, the Kardashian/Jenner Klan?), but what the truly wealthy understand is that in order to BE WEALTHY, you must HAVE MONEY, and so, if you spend all of your money, you will not have that money. Duh. (And no, I’m not speaking about the kind of debt/credit that business and companies need, i.e. capitalism,  in order to thrive, this is not about that.) When you trade your money for some stupid-ass thing, say, a TV, then that means you now have a TV, instead of money. Duh. Good luck paying your bills with that TV. But the even more heinous crime is that most of yuhs spend money you DO NOT HAVE on this shit, digging yourself into consumer debt, the worst, most god-awful kind of debt there is, because it’s the kind of debt that nobody needs. It’s a trap, a prison of your own making. 

Ugh ... the tedium.

Thus, I’ve included the recipe to the lunch that I make and consume in the video that used to accompany this post but that’s totally unrelated to the content of this writing. 

Until next time:

고추 두부 (Gochu Tofu) a Recipe

• tofu

• soy sauce

• gochujang

• vinegar (rice, white, apple cider, etc.)

• sugar (white or brown)

• diced onion

• minced garlic

In a bowl, mix ½ C soy sauce + ¼ C gochujang + ⅛ C vinegar + 2 T sugar, then add ½ C diced onion and as much or little garlic as desired; chunk about a pound of tofu into one-inch cubes; marinate in sauce overnight in fridge; next day, over medium heat, dump tofu and marinade into pan; sizzle over medium-high heat for about ten minutes, or until the sauce is sticky as opposed to liquid. Enjoy with fresh rice or whatever you find to be delicious. Probably also delicious cooled/cold on a salad.  

Thinking of #Inflation as an opportunity for #Adaptation toward true #WealthGeneration | this message is brought to you by tkscm, limited—the original LOPSIII

 

Please, learn more about Capitalism, Capital, Capital Flow, and $Money at lopsiii.com

*peace*

And PLEASE feel free to share the ways that you're adapting!

We wish you well on your Quest toward Wealth Generation through this cyclical opportunity to Adapt to this current state of Inflation,

tkscm, limited

A Haiku | Sailor's Log No. 22.07J03

An 'I Do' Haiku 

+ a rhyming conclusion

Does your mental health

need a break, but you cannot

afford to take one?

What a shame. I wonder who's to blame?

Sailor's Log No. 22.07J02

 

In Good Company with White Yoga Murderers, I mean Instructors; the overwhelmingly ignorant (slash) idiotic American Polity; and an update from Anne Marie!

re White Yoga Instructors/Murderers (&not the other way around, à la Zoolander)

White on White crime means that White people are "naturally criminal," right? If you are a Globaux, and you’ve ever taken a white yoga class, then I hope you understand the vibe that I am about to examine. I've taken exactly a dozen (obviously this is a guess) in-person yoga classes with a dozen different white yoga instructors, over the course of about three years about twelve years ago. I never paid for a single class until a “friend” of mine hosted a class online as a newly minted instructor during the pandemic, but I only attended once in support, cause I didn't really want to attend again, for the reasons I'm going over, right this minute. The reason why I never paid for a class was because I never liked any of the instructors, and since instructors typically offer a free trial sort of whatever, you can test out teachers and get their vibe before shelling out cash. 

What I am wondering now, is if yoga instructing attracts psychopathic egomaniacs the way that being a surgeon does. And then, I am wondering if yoga instructors (prominent ones) are simply failed wannabe surgeons because they weren’t smart enough to go to medical school, so they opted for another sort of egomaniacal post—yoga instructor, lifestyle guru—in essence, someone who tells you what to do and feels as though they have your life in their hands, etc. 

But I have since been introduced to Globaux yoga, and it’s, obviously, very different from white yoga, because as we now know, white yoga is a fraud. I’ve always known it because I felt it, and now, I feel vindicated. I stopped participating in yoga altogether about a year ago cause I don't like online instruction, and I don't want to enter a hot, moist, crowded room to enjoy yoga in person despite how much I enjoyed the classes I experienced with newly found Globaux instructors. Sorry, truly sorry.

Obviously, I never really identified as a yogi for the reasons stated above, but I liked doing yoga, until I didn’t. I don’t think that yoga likes me very much, and so, for the past two years or so, I have been trying to re-identify as the dancer I once was, focusing on the strengthening and stretching exercises of the barre, not that I want to be a dancer again (thank you bum left knee), but as a form of exercise, I love to dance the most. Not to say that ballerinas aren’t or can’t be murders, just to be clear. I am not pointing out that yoga instructors are murderers or that yoga creates murderers. I just think that it’s so fucking hilarious that a yoga instructor went ape-shit, nationally, by murdering another white lady. I mean, seriously, white ladies be cray.

And obviously, I'm so saddened by the senseless loss of white life, as saddened as the whites are when others are lost, needlessly, senselessly, violently, innocently.  

My point is that anyone is capable of murdering you, no matter what they look like, no matter what sort of inner zen they’re supposed to possess. So, watch out (especially for them White Ladies)!

 

re America, the Land of the Woefully Ignorant

If you are a rational (not even logical, merely rational) human being, you innately understand that one cannot be both anti-abortion—"The Churchstate makes it very clear how one does and does not enter 'Heaven'"—and anti-vaxx—"Tell the Churchstate that it's My Body, My Choice!"

You either believe or you do not believe, and under those conditions one does or does not enter the "Kingdom of Heaven," according to all of you, White-Jesus Subscribers. 

(these are not my words! they're yours, if you subscribe to White Jesus!)

All of this wishy-washy religiousness of White Jesus is so ... what's the word ... hypocritical. And I think that hypocrisy is frowned upon by the Church, but so are a lot of things that I see White-Jesus Subscribers routinely do. Nevertheless,   

The overwhelming majority of Americans are overwhelmingly uneducated. This makes this country particularly susceptible—an Achilles Heel of the mind—to any number of threats. The everyday American citizen equates the largely successful Elitist Capitalism-As-Usual Rulers who built this country into the greatest monument to Capitalism, in all it's glorious dependence upon the exploitation of the masses, as a reflection of their own competence/awesomeness. For all it's worshipful praise of the Individual, the individual is largely irrelevant here in These United States. They are, after all, a mass of people who are intentionally stripped of any meaningful education, equipped with zero capacity to rise out of their wage-labor, hourly-worker status, and then they are told that they deserve more all while the Elitist Capitalism-As-Usual Rulers enslave more and more consumers to credit/mortgage/car payments until they die, in the name of Growth, the bottom line, in essence, Greed as God.  

Be not fooled. I am no Democrat. I believe in a form of democracy, but I am no supporter of Mob Rule. I am, however, hugely supportive of an educated population, ruled by Meritocracy with a sprinkling of Central Planning. A country needs to have long-term goals—a Future. When I look at this Land of the Ignorant I do not see a future, and I only see economic slaves, everywhere. Everyone here is economically enslaved, but the particularly insidious nature of American Economic Slavery is that Americans, as a whole, believe that they are not only free, but also, they believe that they are entitled to wealth.

It is this duality that fuels their (seemingly) willing enslavement. Credit provides the means by which they may fulfill their entitlement of "owning" a house, car, and large-screen TV, while the "job" provides the means by which they can payback their debtors, one month at a time, until they die. This is also what pumps the breaks on any Government Assistance. Everything must be privatized in order for the Elitist Capitalism-As-Usual Rulers to gain total control. Don't get it twisted. These United States is no Democracy, for we are, undoubtedly, living under Totalitarian Rule, or more politely, Tyranny. These United States are, first and foremost, Ruled By Money, and we love it. 

Even those directly suffering from Rule By Money continue to subscribe to the Dream, because in America, anyone, anyone at all, can "make it big," may "HOPE," must "Pay to Play." We all want to Play, and we know that in America the cards are stacked against us. We all know this. But we also all know that some of us get lucky. Some of us rise up and out. But there must exist this lowest tier, the lowest class from which to rise, or the Dream dies; we all wake up and realize that this is no Dream at all. 

And so, waking up through rational thought is, quite literally, the Enemy of the Churchstate. Your mind, our minds, our collective intelligence, is the Enemy of those in Power. 

Come as you are, unless you are uneducated. The uneducated citizens of this Land of the Ignorant are eaten up every day by the System. What makes you think that you can survive here? These United States lure YOU with a roll of the dice, but do not support your survival. Arrive to Play, cause those who were born here do not even understand that a Game is being played, that they are an integral part of making this whole Dream come alive. 

Play the Game and Live Free or Die someone else's pawn. Either way, you're going to die. There are other great places to Play the Game of Capitalism, but America truly is Number One, at least, for the moment.   

 

re An Update from Anne Marie!

We received an update from Anne Marie Moseley! And it was hidden within the card that the bodybuddy/lifemate’s family sent to him for a holiday. Classy. It’s actually the exact thing that I did to my Father on Father’s Day, but this is not about that. 

Anywho, Anne Marie admitted that she “read” my blog, which I took to mean in the past tense, which is a weird thing to say about a blog as they are (idealistically) continuously being updated, but whatever, proper diction is hard. Also, I think she read it before I updated it with the post about her, hmph, cause she didn’t mention that I’m spelling her name wrong, but I’m obviously doing it on purpose because if she knew anyone who isn’t White, which she doesn’t, minus me, but I don’t count cause she hates me, she calls them whatever she feels like, and if she knows their name, she still definitely calls them the wrong name and/or spells it wrong.

Nevertheless, she called my blog full of hate, which I think is so totally ironic given that she thinks that I’m hateful by calling her hateful. Curious. I’ll admit I do not have warm fuzzy feelings for White women, nor do I have fuzzy feelings for most white women, in general. I don’t think that this is any secret, however. To anyone who has ever read my writing knows that everyone is fair game. It’s not hatred I’m spewing, it’s the reality in which we live, which, ironically enough, is the reality that Anne Marie Moseley has spent all of her precious votes building. Not to mention that my words are hardly anything to get upset about, unlike her actions that have real consequences in the real world, and those consequences are harmful for many real people. But White people have little to no care for collateral damage. Oh the hypocrisy of those who subscribe to White Jesus. Man, White Jesus really was some genius, wasn’t he? He sure does know the human psyche well, well enough to exploit and utilize it toward his will. Damn, I wish I were White Jesus.  

In the end, Anne Marie made it a point to tell us (I assume she assumes I’m up to speed) that they are moving to Florida to the condo that “they own,” which, again, so hilarious, cause why would she need to divulge something so obvious. Obviously, we—of all people—understand that the bank owns their condo, and the bank is letting them live in it if they keep making their monthly payments, or until they die, or until they’re kicked out (again) for failing to make payments. So, yea, sure, Anne Marie, I believe that you “own” your home, just like every other American “owns” their home, car and TV. Bahahaha! Oh, quick last thing, the first time I went to the bodybuddy/lifemate's parents' home (that they were being foreclosed on), the bodybuddy/lifemate's father literally introduced me to their 60" flat-screen TV. He (the father) walked me into their living room, and first things first, said, "Come look at this," as he points my attention to their TV, "It's sixty inches." I stood there, looked at the TV, looked at him, and trying not to laugh, calmly whispered, "Cool."

Shit, this stuff is too good. I can’t even make it up!

#FirstVideo w/ the #FirstApp I've Ever Purchased!

It's true. Not once, until today, have I ever shelled out cash for an app of any kind. The bodybuddy/lifemate gifted me an app of my choice as a present for some arbitrary holiday last year, and I've been dragging my feet for the better part of a year. Nevertheless, I've been testing out a video-editing app for the past year (the inspo for his gift, duh), and I finally decided to pull the trigger today, after proving to myself that I actually would utilize the vast array of features locked to those using the app in Free Mode. 

And so, here's my first little video with all of the app's features available to me:

Yes, there is no point.

... sail on ... 

2022 JUNE READS | Books 34-37/80

2022 JUNE Month Goal: 4/8

Year Goal: 37/80

1. Marxism: Philosophy and Economics by Thomas Sowell

Nonfiction | 335.4 SOW | 1985 | 281 pages

2.  Single Black Female by Tracy Brown

Fiction Brown, T. | 2021 | 368 pages

3. For Love Of The Dollar: The Portrait of the Artist as an Undocumented Immigrant by J.M. Servin 

Memoir | 325.73 SER | 2017 | 246 pages

4. She Memes Well by Quinta Brunson 

Nonfiction | 814.6 BRU | 2021 | 293 pages

&in Images 

 

Dei's Second Day

zzzzoooit. Dei hears the zipping zoom of a tiny insect. “—!” floats on the air but is too soft for her ears to make any sense of. “—!” again, just a murmur. “D—! D—eh! Dei! Dei!” Dei begins to clearly hear now. A huffing Ladybug perches itself on the pillow to the side of Dei’s head and shouts right into her left ear, “Dei! Wake up!” 

Dei’s eyes snap open. Dark as night darkness fills her senses. Is it nighttime? Where am I? she wonders to herself. Dei reaches her arms out to feel for her face and body. She has no arms with which to feel her body. Do I have a body? “It’s night, Dei,” Ladybug’s husky voice clarifies, and slowly, the world materializes before Dei’s eyes. 

“Dei!” Ladybug shouts, buzzing now, directly in front of Dei’s face. “Ladybug!” Dei exclaims while she sits upright after glaciating pretty hard after … but the memory already begins to fade. “I think I had a guest over?” Dei ponders aloud. “You did, but he’s gone now,” Ladybug explains. “He?” Dei wonders, to Ladybug’s annoyance. “Ugh, you’re as bad as all of them. Why, for the ephing love of the Listmaker, why in all existence do none of you remember an ephing thing?!” Ladybug dramatically laments. “It’s never on the lists to remember,” Dei states. “What?” Ladybug gasps, wings deployed, hovering inches from Dei’s nose. “What’s the point in remembering anything that happens to you that’s beyond your control?” Dei challenges. Ladybug huffs, and settles itself atop the blanket under which Dei nearly slept beyond the Middle Ground.  

“Of course it never quite happens the way that you remember it, after the fact,” Ladybug huffs, mid-legs atop hips. “What never quite happens the way that you remember?” Dei asks. “It, anything, everything, life, death, meaning, purpose. IT!” Ladybug insists. Dei mulls this over for a bit. 

And as she mulls Ladybug’s antics, the Barn begins its ascent into the nearby plane of some other space and time. Dei gently removes the blanket from her lap—as Ladybug has made itself comfortable—and sets it back on the plushy chair. The Barn quakes a tiny quake. Purple makes its way through the windows. Dei looks up into the dark void above her, feels for the chain dangling beside the Lamp’s post, and with both hands, she pulls down hard on the chain, and serenaded by the zipper pull of the chain’s job well done, night turns to day.

The screams of children ring out as Dei reaches the south-facing window to see the Man walking, weapon in hand, away from the schoolhouse. Dei sighs, “This happens every day?” “It is your purpose,” Ladybug solemnly states as it makes its way to Dei’s right shoulder. “What’s my purpose?” Dei asks out loud, unconcerned but curious. “You shed light on the goings on in the world we cannot see or understand,” Ladybug whispers, “It is your light, Dei, that sheds light on all of the things we simply do not or cannot understand.” “Then why can’t I simply keep the light on, all the time?” Dei asks, filling with some sort of hot rage. “Dei,” Ladybug attempts, “Please stay calm.”

Ladybug waits a moment for Dei to find calmness. Dei takes a deep breath in and a long exhale out. 

“Dei, it is only within the veil of being unseen do the true natures of Men—all creatures, all life, really—show us what they’re truly made of,” Ladybug slowly states. “What do you do, when nobody is watching,” Dei whispers. “Yes. And so, it is only within your light, the Light of Dei, that the true nature of all things can be revealed, but only after all eyes have had the opportunity to turn away,” Ladybug somberly states as it buzzes down toward Dei’s right hand in a woeful attempt to hold it. “The burden of the Revealer, Dearest Dei, is a heavy one,” Ladybug nods with a lowered, mournful head, but then, Ladybug suddenly cheers up. 

Jei bursts through the backdoor, same as the day before, runs through the Lamp’s post, quickly wriggles through the Barn’s barn door, while Dei and Ladybug—through the window in front of which Dei seems frozen—watch Jei tackle the Man to the ground. 

“It’s a task far too great for Jei, Dei. He was nearly crushed by the weight of it all, but here you are, nearly unfazed—aside from that broken heart or what?, bout of feelings you’re currently feeling about all of this—after two whole pulls! You’re doing great. Just great!” Ladybug congratulates. Dei watches as two bubbles, Red & Blue, coalesce into a green that green’s made of as two Bromides—not the same two from yesterday despite the same color structure—appear out of thin air. “They are the same two from yesterday,” Ladybug corrects. “They do this every day?” Dei asks. “Of course not. We’re merely watching the present, Dei. Keep up,” Ladybug demands. 

Sitting herself on the floor in front of the window, Ladybug buzzes onto the window’s sill—Dei shakes her head, “What if I can’t do it?” “What do you mean?” Ladybug asks, legitimately confused, “You already did it. TWICE!” But I don’t know. “Don’t know what, Dei? What don’t you know?” Ladybug prods. “I had a weird dream,” Dei begins. “The trapped in your body dream?” Ladybug inquires. “How did you know?” “Dei, you’re not the first Monitor to be a Revealer, but you are a particularly unique Monitor in that you weren’t born of Monitors, so I suppose you’re sort of one of a kind, but don’t let that frighten you. You should be excited!” Ladybug exclaims. “But what about the dream?” Dei now prods. “It’s typically one of the first dreams a new Monitor dreams. I’ve been told that it has something to do with aligning one’s chakra—do you know what that is—?” Dei nods, as Ladybug continues, “—with the alignment of this place, the Middle Ground.” And then Ladybug takes a step back, “Wait. Why do you not know any of this, already?” 

And in that moment, Jei appears on the inside side of the Barn’s gelly doorway. “Jei,” Ladybug says with a cautious tone, “You alright?” Jei looks at Dei, and then looks at Ladybug on the window’s sill, “We should get out of here.” “Are you crazy? You’re Monitors, you can’t leave!” Ladybug shouts, hovering now, in the air, buzzing about in a frenzy. “Dei,” Jei reaches out a hand. “No, Dei! Please, you cannot go! You cannot leave this post!” Ladybug begs. Dei slowly stands and looks into Jei’s hand. In it—his hand—Dei sees the reflection of a cat she does not know. Dei reaches into Jei’s hand and grabs the paw of the cat. Pulling tightly, the cat pulls itself through Jei’s hand and into the Lamp’s post with Dei, Jei, and Ladybug.

“What now?” Ladybug asks the Lingerer.