“When coincidences pile up in this way, one cannot help being impressed by them—for the greater the number of terms in such a series, or the more unusual its character, the more improbable it becomes.” -Carl Jung

I’m getting too freaked out. This is a story for those who believe in synchronicity. Believers in coincidence can just stop reading right here. For the rest of you, here’s the deal… and I want to stress that none of this is fabricated in any way. I have nothing to gain from fabrication.

The last three days, I have had all of these weird parallels happening one after another, after another. First it was this thing with this my friends last name. That came up 4 times:

1. In my horoscope. The same one that told me that I’m normally very intuitive, which is very true. I can sniff shit out and sense things that are happening pretty much in the moment they’re happening. This is a blessing and a curse, as there are some things I’m better off not knowing. Anyway, this horoscope said I’d have this clairvoyance thing going on for a few days; moreso than my normal intuition.

2. On the phone with Progressive (car insurance). The lady servicing my needs had the same last name as my friend and the last name of some psychic whom I shared magical extra sensory powers with according to that horoscope.

3. Reading Tao Lin’s description of every poem in You Are a Little Bit Happier Than I Am. The poem You Are Somewhere In Florida Right Now was written for the drummer in the band 86cheese who’s last name happens to be the same. Okay. Since I just gave it away to anyone that knows how Google works, the last name is Dixon. The psychic was Jeane Dixon, the lady on the phone was just “Ms.” Dixon and the drummer is Ryan Dixon. The other Dixon will probably read this and think I’m crazy, but I could care less at this point. ALSO, the Dixon I know hates cheese and I think the year he was born was 85, so the fact that this guy is in a band named 86cheese is also pretty… never mind. Maybe that’s far fetched. Lastly…

4. I also called AT&T to change the day I’m going to pay my phone bill since I’m very, very poor. Again, I spoke to someone with the surname Dixon (Saying the name makes this all much easier. I’m so glad I’ve decided to disclose it). So, as you can imagine, this all seemed pretty freaky. But it’s not. In comparison, it’s the farthest thing from it.

In between this whole last name thing, there were also weird reoccurring mentions of Jason Robards and me ALMOST posting a picture of a reappropriated frozen pizza, which parliament-of-owls beat me to in THE SAME NIGHT. There were a few other things that I blanked out because the ensuing series of events made these things seem so insignificant. I wish I could remember them now. I’ve taken to carrying a piece of paper around with me to take notes on all of this shit. Please people… I know this all sounds crazy but this stuff happens often. There’s always a string of four or five months that nothing will happen, but then BAM, all at once. A snowball of whatthefuck. Okay. PLEASE DON’T STOP READING NOW. That was the warmup. Here’s the real story (with pictures!!!). I’ll call it, Why Miranda July is the Devil.

So, I was trying to find out if Miranda July had ever published any poetry, cause I bet she’d be pretty good at that and I likes me some poetry. My search turns up no such thing, but I find a book on Amazon called Learning To Love You More. That’s a book I’m not willing to spend my non-existent money on because, let me reiterate, I’m poor. Tracking back, my Amazon search was what also brought me to Tao Lin, which was part of the whole Dixon thing, so… full circle. Anyway, I check my local library catalog and sweet jesus, my tiny, little branch has it! Unreal. So, with 20 minutes to spare until the library closes, I go pick it up. I really wanted to read it that night, but short track speed skating was on and since I’ve completely morphed into an Olympic nerd, duty called.

Propped up in bed, watching Apolo Ohno (not attractive), I noticed a bruise on my crossed legs. This bruise happened to be right next to this birth mark and little cluster of freckles that I have (cute). I’ve looked at this thing a million times, but having the freckles in such close proximity to my face, I’d noticed a vague pattern. It was one of the Dippers. Later research would prove it to be the Little Dipper. So, being the dork I am (watching the Olympics), I decided I should grab a pen, and connect the dots and take before and after pictures to post on here. My intention was to post them that night but since the fucking Olympics are on until like 1AM, and I was watching them in bed, the natural progression of things was to just go to sleep.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

I woke up in the morning with the book at my side, so I decided to read a little before I actually got up and did anything productive (the usual). For those of you who don’t know, this book is a compilation of a pretty cool project. Miranda would post ‘assignments’ on her website for people to complete. This went on for a year (I think?) and once the project was complete, people could submit their assignments for inclusion in the book. So, I’m turning the pages, riveted. It’s such a cool concept. I love it. I’m IN love with it, until…

Next Page. Assignment:

DRAW A CONSTELLATION FROM SOMEONE’S FRECKLES. I dropped the book like it was covered in poisonous snakes. I proceeded to tell everyone I knew, all of whom agreed that it was “fuuuuucked up, dude.” Indeed it was. I left the book until today. And I knew… I just knew something else crazy was going to happen. It was just how my week was going. These were the words in my head; “There’s probably someone I know in here, or there’s a submission from someone I don’t know but lives around here.” I should have said those words out loud for my cat to hear because I’m pretty sure no one believes me. If the cat had heard, she’d understand. So again, I’m flipping, I’m flipping, looking at the captions now, not even bothering to look at the content itself, annnnd…

Now, I don’t know who Shira Bannerman is, but I sure as fuck know where Poughkeepsie, NY is. That’s here, my friends. Where I live. It’s not a big city, or a cultural mecca. The odds are fucking slim. Way slim. Again, I do the freaked out thing. Talking loudly to myself. Telling no one in particular to “Shut the fuck UP. SHUT UP.” Do you remember what my last prophesy was? That I would know someone in this evil, evil book.

At this point, I’m not even looking page by page. Three times, I just put my finger on a page, any page, opened the book and glanced. Third time.

THIRD TIME:

Oh, Carol Candeloro (lower right corner). Hey there. I worked with you at Renegade Handmade in Chicago. Nice to see you again. Actually, I was just thinking about you last week because I finally figured out who that parliament-of-owls girl that I don’t know in real life looks like. She looks like you!! I hadn’t thought about you in almost two years, so it comes as no surprise that I’m staring in disbelief at your name, and a tiny paper replica of your bed.

The last thing I see, as I put the book down, resigned to the fact that this is just my life, is this…

The Big Dipper.

I blame all of this on either Miranda July or Jason Robards, who came up randomly in conversation and then on the TV, both on the same day. He was in Magnolia and we all know what that movie was about.

What I really wanna know is, what’s behind all of this? Forces of good or forces of evil?