Day 7 of 108 · The night series
I woke up at 1:48 in the morning and drove to a bench outside City Hall.
All black. White tee. Gold chain. Moonlight. No script. No lights. One take. Thirty minutes. Eighteen minutes before a window closed that I did not know how to schedule.
I want to show you the whole thing. Not the lesson — I gave that away in the video. The making of it. How I knew to get up, why the title says what it says, and the six places in your own chart you can go look tonight.
Because the video was the performance. This is the mechanics record.
The word that can’t be argued with
Everybody is authentic already.
You’re authentic with your mother. You’re authentic in the group chat. You’re authentic at the job you know you’re not supposed to be at. Nobody has ever failed at being authentic, which is exactly why telling somebody to be authentic changes nothing.
Authentic is who you think you are. And who you think you are was handed to you.
You came in a blank slate and every identity you own was given: the name, the religion, the neighbourhood, the story your family tells about you at dinner. Then you got old enough to pick some yourself, and the ones you picked were borrowed too. I’m an empath. I’m a breathwork healer. I’m an alpha. You are those things. But there is a you underneath the you that is begging to be seen, and no amount of authenticity will get you there, because authenticity is loyalty to the version that already exists.
Specific is different. Specific costs something.
I was driving one night and saw a mural: Dalí, Frida, Basquiat. Three people you could dress as for Halloween and be recognised across a room. Unibrow — Frida. Purple and ruffles — Prince. That’s not a personality. That’s a signal compressed so far down it survives being drawn by a stranger.
That’s how specific I want you to be about yourself.
I had to kill a name to get there. My government is Elton Conrad Anderson Jr. and you can’t find him anywhere now. I don’t believe in him. That was the 3D soul, and I killed him, and L10 RAW is the director who walked out of it.
A friend told me not to lose the artist in me. It sat on my chest for days, because he was right and I’d already started. I was getting technical. Analytical. I was building tech and losing the thing that made the tech worth building. And my first instinct was to reach for another title — spiritual artist — which is what I always do. I try on titles like costumes.
Here’s the part I didn’t say on camera: the reaching for a new title was the problem, not the solution. I don’t need a better costume. I need to take one off.
Your light is not lost. It’s under a pile of clothes. You are not designed to go find it. You are designed to remove the layers.
The third eye has been pointed the wrong way
Two eyes look out. They project. Everything you see out there is a reading of what’s in here, which is why two people can walk the same street and come home with different cities.
The third eye was never supposed to look out.
But that’s what we’ve all been doing with it. Watching the spiritual content. Balancing the chakras. Reading the man who died in 1972. I did all of it — I lived in Bali for two years during the pandemic, every psychic, every reader, the whole ballet. Respect to all of it. It was somebody else’s homework and I did it beautifully.
Turn the eye inward and there’s fog. That’s the brainwashing. The fog is every identity you took in and never questioned, and clearing it is not mystical, it’s mechanical: you get specific until there’s nothing left that isn’t yours.
You are the only book you need to be reading. Treat yourself like a rabbit hole.
And the chart is not a prediction. It’s a cheat sheet. Mine told me to speak daily — Mercury in the third house, which is corner-store talk, group-chat talk, the way you speak to people you’re comfortable with. It told me to do it strange — Aquarius on that Mercury, and strange is the whole point. It told me the door I come through is Scorpio, which means depth before disclosure, which means I don’t warm a room up, I change it.
It told me I expand where it’s hidden. Jupiter in Scorpio in the twelfth. When the veil is thin and everybody’s asleep is when I can say the thing.
That’s why I’m on a bench at 1:48 in the morning and not at a desk at ten.
