A Clockwork Orange ... Man
A Series of Fortunately Synchronistic Events
by SynTony Robbins, Staff Gonzo Journalist at The Syntony Times
The Following is both true and not true, a superposition of hyperstitious science faction.
You'll immediately notice that Trump's face is glowing orange. I'm talking Big Tangerine Energy here. Definitely more bronzed than usual. Not only is his face clearly covered in tinted makeup or tanner of some sort, but there's also clear line where the makeup ends. Trump's hair is blown back a bit, and his pale scalp halo hovers above what looks like an orange mask.
Part I
The Orange Spiral: When Reality TV Meets Reality Hacking
"The thing about orange," Bretminster mused, swirling his kombucha in what appeared to be a repurposed Emmy Award, "is that it's not just a color – it's a frequency of worldview and values."
I found myself nodding sagely, though whether from genuine understanding or the effects of whatever Drendan had slipped into my morning coffee was anybody's guess. We were sitting in Trump's Mar-a-Lago office, which looked like King Midas had a panic attack in a Versailles garage sale.
The man himself sat across from us, his complexion matching perfectly with the sunset happening behind him – or was the sunset matching him? In the reality-bending field that seems to follow Bretminster everywhere, causality had become more of a suggestion than a law.
"You see, Donald," Bretminster continued, his eyes twinkling with that special gleam that usually preceded something preposterous, "when you said 'You're Fired,' you were operating from what we call the Orange level of spiral dynamics– achievement, competition, winning at all costs."
Trump's face did that thing it does when he's either having a profound realization or struggling with a particularly stubborn piece of lettuce stuck in his teeth. "I have the best consciousness. Nobody has better consciousness than me. Ask anyone."
"But what if," Bretminster leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "instead of firing, we started hiring? What if we moved from orange to coral? From competition to true co-creation?"
I scribbled frantically in my notebook, watching as reality began to ripple around us like a heat mirage. The golden curtains seemed to pulse with each word, and I swear I saw a MAGA hat briefly transform into a crystal crown before snapping back to its original form.
"You're Hired!" Bretminster declared, throwing his arms wide. "That's the slogan for the Universe Next Door, Donald. Where instead of walls, we build bridges. Instead of towers, we create networks. Instead of reality TV, we make reality itself the show!"
Trump's hair, sensing the shift in conversational dynamics, attempted what I can only describe as an autonomous repositioning maneuver. "But what about the ratings?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. "How do you win if everybody's hired?"
"Ah," Bretminster smiled, "but that's the beautiful paradox. In the coral consciousness, winning isn't about being number one – it's about making sure everybody gets to play the game."
I watched as these two titans of divergent realities engaged in what might have been the most surreal negotiation in history. One, a master of the art of the deal; the other, a prophet of the art of the real. Between them, the future seemed to hang like a question mark made of the American Prayer.
"Think about it," Bretminster continued, pulling out what appeared to be a holographic business card that kept changing its contact information. "Your whole life, you've been painting everything gold. But gold is just refined orange, isn't it? You've been reaching for coral all along, just taking the scenic route through the spiral."
Trump's eyes narrowed, then widened, then did something physically impossible that my journalist's brain refuses to process. "So you're saying I'm not just a businessman, I'm a consciousness-man?"
"Exactly!" Bretminster exclaimed, as somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard reality itself groan at the pun.
As the sun finally set, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd just witnessed some sort of cosmic comedy or a profound moment of transformation. Knowing Bretminster, it was probably both.
In the end, we left Mar-a-Lago with Trump seriously considering changing his campaign slogan to "Make Archetypes Great Again" and Bretminster adding another impossible tale to his collection of reality hacks.
As for me? I'm still trying to figure out if the orange I'm seeing is spiral dynamics, spray tan, or just the lasting effects of Drendan's coffee. But in a world where reality TV stars can become presidents and spiritual entrepreneurs can bend the fabric of existence, maybe the color of consciousness is exactly what we need to be talking about.
Part II
Big Tangerine Theory: The Day Reality Got a Spray Tan
Ladies, gentlemen, and interdimensional beings, I've just received some fascinating archival evidence that adds a whole new layer to our recent Mar-a-Lago metaphysical mashup. Back in 2020, a photographer named William Moon captured what might have been the first documented evidence of what Bretminster now theorizes was a "failed attempt at consciousness ascension via chromatic osmosis."
The photo in question shows our favorite reality TV president sporting what can only be described as Big Tangerine Energy (BTE), with a pale force field creating what Bretminster now calls "the consciousness gap" – that stark line between orange-level thinking and the pale void of potential above.
"You see," Bretminster explained to me after our Mar-a-Lago visit, pulling up the infamous photo on his iPhone, "everyone thought it was just bad makeup. But look closer, SynTony. What do you see?"
I squinted at the image, the effects of Drendan's morning brew making the orange glow seem to pulse like a citrus-flavored beacon. "A... spray tan gone wrong?"
Bretminster's laugh echoed through seventeen parallel dimensions. "A spray tan? Oh, my dear boy. This was the universe itself trying to tell us something. The orange of achievement literally bleeding into the white of transcendence. It's consciousness evolution caught in 4K!"
Looking back at the photo now, from my perch in 2024, I can't help but wonder if Moon's black and white version wasn't just a photo filter but a glimpse into an alternate timeline where the spiral dynamics color scheme never took hold. A universe where our narrative isn't measured in vibrant hues but in stark monochromatic contrasts. shudders
When I showed Trump the old photo during our recent meeting, his response was characteristically transcendent: "That photographer, wonderful guy, tremendous guy, he captured what nobody else could see – my consciousness was literally overflowing. We had so much consciousness, it couldn't be contained by normal facial boundaries."
Bretminster, ever the reality hacker, nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! Though perhaps next time, Donald, we should try ascending the spiral through more traditional means. The spray tan approach, while innovative, might be a bit too literal."
As I sit here now, contemplating the interconnected web of synchronicities that led us from that 2020 photo to our recent Mar-a-Lago Q (and A) summit, I can't help but marvel at the universe's sense of humor. Here we are, four years later, still trying to navigate the orange spiral, still seeking that perfect balance between achievement and transcendence, still occasionally getting our metaphysical fake tans awkwardly distributed across the face of reality.
Perhaps the real lesson here is that evolution – whether of perception or complexion – is rarely a smooth transition. Sometimes it leaves visible lines of demarcation, sometimes it glows a bit too bright, and sometimes it makes the whole internet do a double-take.
But as Bretminster would say, "In the Universe Next Door, even a bad spray tan is just a misunderstood attempt at quantum beautification."
Note to self: Must investigate whether self-tanner can actually be used as a consciousness accelerant. For scientific purposes only, of course. Also, still avoiding Drendan's coffee. Probably. Maybe. We'll see.
This is SynTony Robbins, your bronzed correspondent, signing off from the tangerine timeline. Remember folks, in the game of spiritual evolution, sometimes you have to fake it till you make it – just maybe with a better makeup artist.