Come Here

I hear you
can u hear me

Why do the good die young
While evil lives in various forms always one halfstep ahead
Why

Why why why why can’t you seem

Why why why why seem to see what we see

Oh why

Precious darling Lotusflower

kiss the night and stand in the rain
‘long as I’ve got you, sweet babe
i can take it flaws & all
& I’ll  chill

daring

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Case Study: A Near Sighted Clairvoyant

Here we find a metatypical Creature, with a shining aura that smells of sweet peaches, in very typical surroundings. A room with urine colored wallpaper with swamp water green striping. Soft rubber runs along the edges of a coffee table and empty tv stand, which are the only furniture in the room that is presumably the living area.

The place is unnaturally quiet. No music, no lights, no beer, only tap water, musty air and sneaky sunshine slithering through small windows with dingy blinds. There are scratch marks on the oak floorboards, right between the seems of the wood panels, as if the boards have been lifted before.

This Creature seems to possess a special gift [A “Shining” for the laymen] of spontaneous peculiar prediction. Capable of seeing what is measured as 24 hours ahead into the future at a time. Images of car crashes, gunshot wounds, a group of rowdy bastards with iron knuckles, explosions, Fear; all from a first person point of view. Tremble, this Creature does at such ghastly sights! Rightfully so.

However, what this poor Creature fails to realize is that while it may be possible to predict the future in a general sense, it’s not a precise science. It cannot be guaranteed that the perspective you see is even yours. Fate decides which path we choose. Whether we choose the corridor with cotton candy or go down the one with a piano hanging above on a wire.

How much would this knowledge ease the furrowed brows and tightly hunched up shoulders of the Creature? Would it inspire It to open the door?

If for no reason other than to break the damned ungodly quiet that’s enveloped the place, as if we’re actually in space. [And at this point, it’s hard to argue that we aren’t!] The hellish inception of the deep down Icky that may erupt at any moment.

The Creature is hard to make out in the near dark and floating dust.

File Under: “Electric Madness”

An Urgent Memo from The Psycho’Desk

Hark!

Bask in the heavenly ebony as the unbeautiful harpers caw away, red in the face; please ignore every elegy of non esctacy!
A vast disgrace when a confederacy becomes so willing to try an attempted remedy for an unbroken legacy.

Tsk Tsk. We can’t allow this to continue for much longer.

The Thumpasorus Folk will rise once again!
A brood, presently incubating, will extend out beyond earthly boundaries, and will bathe in an aura several thousand times better than any one of us can imagine. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to get a taste of that sweet nectar in this collective lifetime.
How does that sound? Surely you understand the magnitude of this, yes?
Basking in the heavenly ebony now, embracing it genuinely, we can expedite the process sans time travel!

Hark Hark! Duty awaits.

Case Study: A Perfect Gentleman

Certain creatures require a certain caliber of habitat
with a temperament to match their ideal temperature.

Here we find a typical Creature
as typical as one can be
blood-pulsing oxygen-converting mind-synapses a’snappin.
Typical.

Never you mind the four-inch razorsharp talons jutting from The Creature’s fingertips
manufactured as some Divine Being intended.
The talons help to scratch its desiccated skin
relieving itches between the gaps of stalactite-like rides running along its spine like flying buttresses crafted from shameless material.

Oh yes.
Typical!
I can assure you.

No need to avert your eyes, though
it would be understand if you did, truth be told.
No need to cross to the other side of the walkway.
Nor run away as The Creature approaches & greets you in an unsteady voice

“Excuse me, sir and/or madam, I believe…”

You took flight on sight!

It was simply attempting to return a handkerchief that had flown out of your bag during a slight updraft.
Most unnecessary action on your part.

Since you no longer had desire for the hanky
The Creature stores it in a cloth deposit at its hip,
after it first wipes away a sudden crimson discharge from its eye.

Certain creatures require a certain caliber of habitat
with a temperament to match their ideal temperature.

It understands the conditions and continues on its way.

Typical.

 

A Letter from The Psych’o’Desk

The Present is a never-ending state of being, which becomes increasingly obvious whilst attempting to maintain a mindful state. The Universe is in constant momentum at all times; even when your minuscule section of the world falls asleep for the night and appears to be still. To be engaged is to be in perpetual travel forever and ever & ever and ever…
Typing that sentence alone was exhausting in its own way.

Most of my life I’ve believed my biggest fear was of clowns… [shudders] Okay never mind, that concept pulled directly from the darkest nightmares of hellish beasts are still enemy #1.

But there is something to be said of Time..though I have difficulty fully accepting it as something that aids in my daily dose of the The Fear, there is something quite unnerving about a force that may truly be infinite and you’re just along for the ride.

In Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind Shunryu Suzuki writes:

“In one sense our experiences coming one by one are always fresh and new, but in another sense they are nothing but a continuous or repeated unfolding of the big mind…we accept our experiences as if recognizing the face we see in the mirror as our own.  For there is no fear of losing this mind. There is nowhere to come or to go.”

We are not really going anywhere yet you can never stop moving!

This reality is akin to seconds of Time being measured by each grain of sand in a colossal hourglass, each one eventually to never to be seen again. Each one seemingly decreasing in insignificance as it becomes more buried under others with each passing second. But its existence absolutely necessary – even for just that increment.

*pounds fist on desk*

Indeed…but with this reality also comes with a lot of responsibility, it seems. Tasks that must be completed. Places to go. Papers to file. Assorted bizarre oddities to adhere to. Hands to shake. Faces to smile at. Things to do, man. THINGS!

So, there may or may not be enough Time to be asking such questions. Or answers – for that matter.
There is much to do and it feels like Time is a’tickin.

Basically Get Busy or Don’t.
Either way you look at it, you’re still kind of doing something.

 

 

 

 

Another Memo from The Psych’o’Desk

A single day away from becoming a supervillian. Maybe a Robin Hood-like cat burglar stealing from fat cats and paying off students loans. Or maybe a bio-terrorist burning down the steely excess and returning the land to a state where the buffalo can roam free…or maybe a man who wants to watch the world burn.

An agent of post-fascism. My deeds will make all of The Damned look up in awe as everything they valued, what they thought held any kind of weight, crumbles under the fiery justice of chaos and flutter up to the heavens, charred snowflakes in reverse.

A flash bang of pitch white. Thundering pounds from somewhere drawing nearer.

Monuments of decadence fading away into the ether, they will stop and realize how little significance the world on top of The Pillar that was fabricated really was. Flimsy nonsensical fallacy filled hot pockets.

And they’ll finally be able to breathe with faces unsubmerged from the shallow vomit pool  expelled from The Leviathan. And they’ll stretch their hands upwards, wondering what’s next, hoping they’ll be able to feel tangible proof of the upcoming next Big Thing.

Some would merely cry. Some would not be able to handle the change, pulling their hair out from the root so hard that specks of skull come out with it. Vultures would pick away at their cerebellum until they passed on.

The Others, the ostracized, would band together. For the first time in modern history, there would be no structures, no bullshit, no distractions. The dust will settle and The Cosmos will be fully visible. Just for a moment, we will all reach a singular conclusion.

.  .  .

Until that single day comes.

I guess I’ll keep selling my soul in exchange for scraps of ugly green imagination and force the faces of slave owners to buy me sticks of deodorant and bottles of Cognac.

Memo from The Psych’o’Desk [Undated]

All history is gossip. Here-say from folks no longer here nor there. Must be a gene passed down through the generations that drives us to try and make sense of events leading up to the present moment, to take a crack at being prepared for what may be lying in wait like a bear trap in the future; though

True as it maybe that a clear understanding of the Previous could shed some light, getting to the point of it is like playing a twisted game of Telephone. You’ll end up with “the Mutated Cow Overlord’s first stage of revenge is complete!” when the original message was simply “Hey, the McDonald’s down the street ran out of burgers.”

Or imagine an excited child with a shovel on the hunt for dinosaur bones and only finding fossilized animal doo.

So just let it be.

And it’s alright if it can’t be left at bay. Whatever happens, happens.  & and the vestigial remains can be morphed into a pill that’s a bit easier to swallow in the future, though it may not go down quite right

because it’s a suppository.

Bottom line, nothing makes sense and that makes perfect sense. And there are more important things to be done than trying to rationalize the irrational.
Like Naked Truth & Extravagance.
Human Problems are Secondary

Cheers.

.