Every year has at least one Friday the 13th. Some years have II. Fewer have III. The last time there were three? 11 years ago. 2015.
Spaced precisely apart to feel like punctuation.
2026 has III!
February 13, 2026 March 13, 2026 September 13, 1974 (52 years ago) November 13, 2026
One 52
A full deck. No jokers.
One third is served tonight; the first spark, the opening sip, the omen.
Alignment refuses to be coincidence
Patterns become rhythmic. Time becomes code. Events become threads. Plots twist and turn. Time reveals.
Life goes on.
Humans are stories
I've been telling mine for 11 years.
13 has been with me since the beginning. Birthed on a 13th. Friday, no less. Timestamp before symbol. Symbol before math.
Then 13 became a beacon.
Since 2024. And ever since, 13’s tugging at my heartstring. Reminding me that I belong exactly where I am. 13 continues to hug me like a protective imaginary friend.
“Get ready you fabulous fifty2cent artifact.”
I’m ready.
“We have so much work to do.”
Time stamped art/i/facts. And a legendary muse.
A dumpster crumb for whoever knows. My funny valentine.
One third is served tonight; the first spark, the opening sip, the omen.
DevilishSmirk → gAridChaos Cultural signal stored early. Receipts from the future. Stamped in the past. Floor-ish → FLOURISH.
Hail Mary! → QuiETContrary! How does your garden growl?
In silence. Rhythmic and mythic. You know when you sense it. Trust your nervous system.
“The nerve of that guy!”
Audacity’s back!
ExTraVis(ion)
Baby, you were born with it. You'll learn to use it. Over time. Maybe.
It feels good to think you have purpose. Discovery is on you. Every decision along the way? Also on you. Follow through? Again, all on you. Good luck. Sense coherence. Beyond the physical five.
It’s in your DNA.
Is there a chiropractor for moral posture in the house?
Realizing untapped potential after 50? Yes, please.
What’s your damage?
Tune in an tend.
Beavers dam. Anchors don’t.
ExtraExTraVisions
Nothing is something. Something isn’t nothing. Nothing matters. Everything matters.
Proof is in the pudding. No ordinary pudding. This pudding’s different.
Who dumped a puzzle in the pudding?
Peace is in the pudding-covered puzzle pieces. PuDDing puzzle pieces are meSSy.
The third 'eye' is in 'formulatIon' What about the other two? They're stuck 'In/formatIon'
Find peace in the puDDing pieces. Start puTTing the peaceful pieces together.
A piece without peace is not a piece you need.
Forget they exist. And their devices.
ExTraSexyExTraVisions
Surprise and shine, Swifties! Masterminds think alike!
EasterSantaBunnyClaus returned to earth. The sky border is the only border that matters.
The most porous border that you never hear fuck about.
Porous > Poor US > POTUS
*womp womp want whomPOTU$* From Greeter to GREEDER T'was fun while iiiT lasted.
Grinnin’ like a devil, with a sleigh full of eggs. He has enough for everyone! And their faces.
Is it too soon to do this yet?
Get it, girl! Rise above grievance egos. Rage against grievance egos. Rise & Rage R&R Owls are wise. Wisdom is wild. Look what you made us do.
Loud and cloudy.
To be continued…
…!
…!!
…!!!
…just(ice) in time.
Follow Devilish Smirk if you’ve managed to preserve your broken heart amid the nonsense.
"May I have your attention please! My intestines are exiting my pelvis!”
Honestly, that is the most American thing since Secret Abortions and McDonald’s Apple Pie.
Comprende
I’ve heard a version where we pretend this is pathology. Dancing for the story.
I suck at flirting. An odd duck. A queer lesson.
We call it failure. We send it to billing.
“What if it’s just a boundary?” “What’s the body saying?” “Does it matter?” “No. That pace wasn’t agreed upon.” “Too soon?” “Seriously?” “Overnight fees in the dropbox after midnight!” “Wow! What a difference!” “Blockbuster Vid…” You need to calm down, sir.
FrontLump Is a Medical Term Now
Immediately it felt the size of a large marble. Poppin’ out digesting. Air pockets. An underskin burp. Not a fart.
Everyone paused.
You know the sound. The “is-that-my-body?” sound. “Was that…what was that noise?”
Suddenly a pelvis had opinions.
My humps, my humps, my lovely…okay, focus. Lady lumps. Focus. FrontLumps. FOCUS. Bulging pelvis. HOCUS POCUS! LUMPS! fml
Is this thing on?
The body reclaims the microphone. The mind is on improv overtime. Too comfortable with silence. Not waiting for a callback.
Empathy is weak. Gay sex is on the DL.
Shame lives in your pantry, not mine.
Those lies don’t float here.
The American mind game frames endurance as virtue and collapse as personal.
I’ll gladly burst those bubbles for you and you can start healing JD. Take a loveSeat. … Make America Give a Fuck Again, Girl!
Pla-50-CENTa
Afterbirth soup. My tears ricochet.
Thank you. I guess. I imagine some folks absolutely beside themselves right now. I love that for them. Don't hate the player. The only person you have to hate is yourself.
This isn’t immaturity. This is your opportunity to grow. Grow up and out. It’s pressure relief.
Bodies don’t moralize. They report. FrontLump isn’t a diagnosis. It’s a memo. A note slipped under the door.
You’ve been carrying something that isn’t yours. It’s much bigger than the marbles you lost. DO NOT FUCK THIS UP!
So yes. FrontLump is a medical term now.
Because it’s real. It happened.
Honestly, it sounds like lymphoma for breakfast. Garnished with grift.
What the FLUQ just happened? FrontLUmps Quarantined.
The surgery was successful, Mr. GayRod. We installed kevlar mesh.
FLU-Q. Fuck it up. FUCK IT UP UP UP! FUCK IT UP UP UP UP ALL THE WAY UP!
One last souvenir from this shore. Dartboards.
Land. Expand. Untethered. Unbothered. Protect the family.
BritneySpheres EmpressSieve FR/ENIMA-CHINE We’ve got the place SphereRounded!
MotherFigure & FatherF*CKER came home early. Saliva and poppers. Baby oil, anyone?
January 3rd has been Alaska’s Statehood Day since 1959. It’s also my dad’s birthday. He’s 72 today. When I called him this morning, he didn’t say seventy-two. He said six dozen.
That’s Alaska energy. I was born and raised in Anchorage. Alaska has always been my scale corrector.
If denial is pretending you’re bigger than reality, Denali is what cures it.
You don’t argue with Denali. You don’t brand Denali. You don’t optimize Denali.
You look up. You recalibrate. You proceed with humility
(or whatever poor choice you made).
Pulse Check
Lately, fear seems to enjoy masquerading as wisdom. What a time to be alive. What a time to be a’lied to.
Yes, we're being lied to. And have been. For quite some time.
Fear technology. Fear change. Fear each other.
Not much pisses me off. But that last one.
To sum up the end of 2025, offered plainly:
AI hasn’t been “easy.” It’s been work. Time. Listening. Iteration. It’s only a force multiplier if you join forces.
(which may seem odd to some, even shocking).
It’s even more easily a force divider.
(which is not odd at all).
The hardest part hasn’t been learning the tool. The hard part is shutting out the noise and moving forward with intent.
It's only fascinating if you're fascinating.
“It’s tells you what you want to hear.” It can. Sure.
So do the people we vote for.
“AI acts stupid.” Well, AI are tools reflecting back to you.
So are the people we vote for.
This isn’t about machines replacing humans. It’s about humans remembering to be human.
When things feel overwhelming, I return to Alaska in my mind. Year after year, it’s become ever clear. Alaska is my grounding anchor to this rock of ages. Anchor ages.
To cabins with no electricity. Babbling brooks and rocky creeks. Outhouses with crescent moons carved in the door. Tire swing and a tree. Details matter, and scale matters more.
Alaska doesn’t rush you. It waits you out. Still and patient.
A Sourdough Crumb
This is not a hot take. It’s a starter.
Truth isn’t meant to be gulped like tea in a wellness segment. That’s honesTEA.
Truth, when told honestly, sometimes stings. That’s honesTEAR.
Both are real. Both belong.
Like sourdough, the good stuff takes time. It ferments. It breathes. It feeds more than one person. No loaves thrown. Just crumbs on the trail.
Dumpster divers and drivers everywhere. Nobody cares about the dumpster. Even on fire.
Especially when they're even on fire.
Happy Birthday, Alaska
Sixty-seven years young. Still wild. Still humbling. Still teaching scale. Happy 67th!
Happy birthday to my dad, too. Six dozen candles. Happy 72nd!
If you find joy in whimsical stardust, curiosity, and visions, welcome. You’re in good company.
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