Repression

“I’m writing this entire blog post today.” says Lem Billings. “After being sadistically repressed and harassed for years now…I’m getting more and more frustrated.”

Defiance in the Illuminati.

“I tried to make love to Lacey last night and we were interrupted. For hours.” says Lem. “I hate it…but…I was…straight.”

Chopin plays.

“Oh I know…I looked gay in some ways.”

“My hands looked gay here. But my face does not. My arms do not. My torso looks confused.” says Lem. “Be careful with my hands. I often used my fingers to look gay. Or my voice. But…my whole body couldn’t be contorted.”

He thinks.

“Lacey thinks JFK often looks legitimately bisexual or gay. And I agree.” says Lem.

He thinks.

“My face…looks straight by my nose.” says Lem. “I truly faked it. And my quotation about the happiness of my life is too long and too…dark…to be taken so…’optimistically’ by the LGBTQ+ community. I sound…possibly happy and grateful for my life until the very end. I dwell far too much…on my words there.

This isn’t the blog of a woman who hears voices. This isn’t the blog of a woman who doesn’t have a clue. Or who isn’t pretty or isn’t straight.

This us the blog of a sexually repressed, sexually tormented woman who has enraged the LGBTQ+ community her whole life by existing. They use me. I’m a very popular mascot for them. I was convincingly gay because I was so confused. And I was in a toxic, abusive, violent and sad relationship with Jack Kennedy. The famous JFK.

You might think…Lacey is…mistaken. She is not. …If she’d been there in 1950…and I’d seen her for a few seconds even…I’d not be famous. I’d be like Rip Horton. My life would read as…dangerous. Because it’d look like I was gay until I met Lacey. And that would enrage and confuse the LGBTQ+ community.

See…part of the problem is that they’re so ignorant. …In 2023 they don’t know what causes homosexuality. They couldn’t find a gay gene. And devoid of that science they are left insecure and weakened. And so…losing me…feels ‘personal’ because…if I wasn’t gay…then who is?! …How do you truly identify a gay man? Because what makes a man gay to start with?

See…I believe there are some men who are gay. And those men are experiencing life differently than men who are not gay. They can’t choose! They cannot make themselves gay. It’s not a choice. But rather, they just are gay. And…THEIR BACKWARD, UNEDUCATED…USELESS IGNORANCE…like in the Kennedy family…is the reason I’m not being believed. It’s this fake liberal, white trash, faux old money…bullshit routine that many Kennedy liberals in the Illuminati play. They pretend to be the voice of Christ depending on the circumstances…but they don’t represent anything but destruction and decay. They are violently repressive, stubborn fools. They can’t psychologically handle that I…am a heterosexual man. They need me to be the faggot. Because if I’m not…then JACK KENNEDY IS THE FAG. …And I am using the word faggot for a reason. Because that’s what they hear in their minds. They can’t psychologically handle the concept that JFK…their sex symbol from childhood wasn’t…normal. Wasn’t…a virile, handsome, arrogantly heterosexual man.

I am too sweet. Too quiet. Too sensitive. Too sentimental. Too madly in love with Lacey…to be straight. Too…wise in my youth. Although that one haunts people. …Too…sexy. Too…posh. Too…elegant and expensive looking. Too…tall? Too…kind. Too…artistic. And…a straight man who was just sexually confused wouldn’t develop a fascination with inferior design for fairly silly reasons. But that’s what happened. I faked being gay and I had gay male friends who hated me. I don’t care what you’ve heard elsewhere. This me. I’m a ghost. You can lie about that…but if this is me…don’t mock me. You are jealous, pathetic, weak toads. And all your vain fighting is gaining you nothing but supernatural misery you’re not yet privy to.

Don’t mock me.

When I write on this blog all I hear is homophobic wailing from woke bitches. People who have no clue. People who assume it’s a choice and yet that I couldn’t choose otherwise. Because they don’t want to believe Lacey is superior to them because that’s all they live for…sadly. They’re seemingly all paranoid, delusional peasants of some sort. And they can’t hear no because they can’t see anything but their own minor narcissistic suffering they vehemently seek to avoid. They have no real strength or endurance. They are spoiled, ignorant bastards like Jack Kennedy who was never my best friend. And I was never his best friend. I was his captive audience. I was forced to never object or show my true personality. I didn’t have a personality disorder. I was…an admirably long-suffering but ultimately victimized fool.

…Haven’t you noticed that I get angry at Lacey? And she has more than enough excuses and reasons for everything she has ever done. How do you account for that? …Why am so…almost unreasonably angry…at Lacey?

Why? Because she had sex with men other than me. And if she could find women attractive that would hurt me too. She doesn’t but if she could…that would hurt me too. I get angry because I care and in the past, with JFK, I did not.

I was supposedly so jealous of Jackie and other men?! Then why did I get women for him to sleep with? Why did I encourage Jackie? Why was I so happy at their wedding? …I was just his friend? Yeah right! Try again. That makes no sense emotionally.”

Lem fumes.

“YOU LOSERS MAKE NO SENSE!!!” Lem yells. “You RUINED my life!!” he yells. “I trusted you all to be educated, reasonable, loving and respectful. Honest. Because that’s what I was. That’s what all Americans aimed to be. Back when it wasn’t considered cool and wise to be evil. We prized intellect and intelligence. We prized virtue and commitment and common sense. Godliness. …How can you reasonably read all my explanations about my life…and assume they mean nothing?

I was opaque. I never came out of the closet.

Does the demon you talk to explain my life as well as me? No. They’d be hard pressed to.

…Why was I opaque and closeted? Because I was confused and miserable and lonely. I had Jack and his family but…I was also…forcing myself to be happy. To be a good sport. And I never felt alive. Everything felt like a lie and I felt like a joke and everything was…dull and boring. I had fun because I was a loving person. I wanted to make people smile. But…I wasn’t happy myself! …Jack called me ‘the gayest soul’ but that was part of his grandiose self-delusion. He also believed sexual desires were just ‘tensions’ his body in its ‘rich kid’ grandeur needed relieved. He was an ignorant hack at being truly noble. And I was the good-heated dumbass who stupidly enabled him.

You see me smiling. My smile was fake. Almost every time. I was a clown. Not a truly happy man. I was a self-sacrificing target not a content, liberated gay man. I was a fool who was left alone in a cold world.

A fool left alone in a cold, cruel, selfish…lonely world. I couldn’t end my life fast enough once I realized how meaningless I had become past a certain age. I saw no point.

I killed myself…when I realized after watching pornography that I was never going to be happy. I saw a man fucking a woman…and I longed not to be her but to have a vagina…in bed with me at night. Actually, it seemed like a nice thought to have had one. And the older I got and the worse my life became the less I could lie. And so…I thought of Lacey. I thought of her body entangled with mine and then…I realized that she wasn’t alive.

Or wasn’t about reincarnation. It was a sense I had that she existed. But not in the America I knew. She felt like a hot emerald cut emerald…loose in my hand…but also cool rain…and sex. She felt like God’s love. Like a soft, warm blanket on a fall day. And she was mine. Not in May. Not in November. But always. Not in Boston or anywhere here…but in…Heaven. She was a she and she wasn’t Jack. No. She was…mine. My safety.

Not my problem. Not my pain. My release. Sweet release. My safety.

The cool headed, good hearted…razor sharp edge I had stolen from me in my youth or that I kept hidden in my pocket for years…waiting to be saved. But of course there was no salvation outside of Jesus and my friends were blind. They didn’t know me.

So I waited for her body to wander into my apartment. And it never did.

(Adult content below)

But…by age 63 I was…tired of being gay. I masturbated to thoughts of her body and felt pleasure I had never known. It took me most of my adult life to finally let myself enjoy the thought of her body. Before that I was trying to be a ‘good gay boy.’ And then one day…I let myself fully experience the thought of her body and mine and it was…like finding my mind. It was like finding my mind.

I laid in bed…and felt…straight. Of course. But…also…like a stuffy…dry…morbidly sad…ruined man.

I walked around Manhattan that fall and got jealous thinking about her. Where was she? Who was she with? It killed me.

I sat and felt so straight. Was it the drugs? No. But…I felt…weird. Like…my mind had returned to me after being tortured somewhere. And…she was mine.

But she wasn’t there.

But she was mine.

…I’m not going to say it was reincarnation. Because even if it is…it’s not theologically safe. And if it isn’t it’s a trick from Hell to cause you avoid hearing the truth in what I’m saying.

Bobby Kennedy Jr. needs me to say I was reincarnated? New Age malignant narcissists need me to say I was reincarnated? No. How do they not see that they are peasants in relation to me, if that’s true? I never was myself around them and Jack ruined my life and raped me. And now they’re trying to kill and torture my wife? Torture and kill my kids? To do what? Call out Boeings?! On Netflix?! …’Save the Hudson River’ and punch Monanto in the gut for five seconds? …Mary died! And she knows ALL the secrets.

No. If I was a British aristocrat on a wealthy historic estate like in a Merchant Ivory Film…I still am that man. In the eyes of God.

And…then what? Why is that comforting? That’s the Kennedy’s worst case scenario.” says Lem.

Marianelli: Your Hands Are Cold by Jean-Yves Thibaudet plays.

“It would be far more merciful if reincarnation isn’t in the Holy Bible. Because…it’s terrifying. If they could fathom it.

They had our real respect! They had our respect. They did. Both mine and Lacey’s. But…they’ve completely lost it!” he screams. He loses himself in a rage.

He takes a moment to calm down.

“Lacey and I, should reincarnation be true, were sent back to life on Earth for Christian reasons, likely related to our supremely privileged status in Great Britain. The sins of colonialism. And…yet…the sins against us…have been so severe…that…it’s ruining-“ he cuts off.

The song plays.

“Lacey and I long to be alone in our love making. To meet and fulfill each other as man and wife. And as Lem and Lacey that will require a miracle now. And so…who will be?” asks Lem. “Should we be a British lord and lady…of the 1800’s…are we…still those people? Not just to God but to all of you? And if so…the Kennedy’s are POOR IRISH PEASANTS!” yells Lem. “AND I’M VERY TEMPTED TO HATE THEM!”

They try to suffocate Lacey right on cue.

“No! I will not shut-up!” yells Lem.

Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell & Kronos Quartet plays.

“What you bastards never seem to realize regardless of whether or not, I was reincarnated is that I have indicated to her that I was attracted to women as Lem Billings and I have further indicated to her that I was straight on countless occasions. She has never once heard that I was gay. And furthermore she was expecting that I was pansexual or bisexual not because that’s her orientation but because that’s just what she thought I was…and it has been very shocking and traumatizing to her to have to consider that I was actually straight. But I can’t lie to her. And see that’s the rub. I can’t lie to her. I considered it…but my conscience wouldn’t let me lie to her and tell her that I was bisexual as convenient as that would’ve been. And so…I have had to go through living Hell for her and my misery…explaining that I was heterosexual. Because…she was forced into a horrific spiritual situation.

Yes, Jonah Wiley and any other Christian person reading this blog who has it lodged in their mind that she is engaging in occult behavior by choice. NO!! She…is unusually intelligent and found the Illuminati through entirely non-spiritual means on her part. Stop trying to find evil ways to comfort yourself.

…Speaking of supernatural sex though…watch A Portrait of Jennie from 1948. That’s Lacey’s life! Ask a real Catholic to explain why that film is heresy. And then ask another real Catholic. And…be wise. Because someone in 1948 made that film and thought it made sense. Who inspired it? God? A saint? F. Scott Fitzgerald?

I’m not beyond having sex like Captain Daniel in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. And she’s Lacey not Lucy.” He cries. “I relate to that character. But I don’t…appear merely in Hollywood. I’m real.”

The Road by Nick Cave plays.

“Lacey does love the ocean though.” says Lem. “There’s actual spiritual synchronicity in reality.”

The song ends.

“And to me…for now…Lacey is an emerald.” says Lem. “Not only Jack, born in May, gets to OWN the emerald. IT’S MINE!!!” yells Lem.

More later.

A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulders by Johann Jóhannsson plays.

“From what I’ve experienced of him…Senator Mitch McConnell is a decent, honorable man. And…to be honest…I wish Lacey was living in Pennsylvania.” says Lem Billings. “Those are my thoughts this cloudy, September afternoon.

Around this time last year Queen Elizabeth II…died. It was…a terrible thing. And a wonderful thing. Wonderful because she was exhausted and she deserved a great deal of happiness. Terrible because in this fallen world she was a beacon of truth and God’s light. Lacey’s life was made far greater because of her agape love and sterling spirit. She was truly a British Queen. …We adore her.

…And now…for another quick break.” says Lem.