*The recorder falls to the ground. RRRage says, “You are Snow, the Benefactress of Bayou.” The recorder is jostled as it's lifted. Only the noise of Cicadas follows *
Snow be our lovely Dagger slave we got from a little young womanly thing I spotted hiding under a raised root system and up to her shoulders in water. She a lovely lil’ Cherie. But she a Dagger lil’ Cherie now.
“Dry flies for dinner, Seth. Predator satiation. We can eat our fill of these little bugs, and so can everything else round here. Then the survivors will breed in peace. That's no different than Daggers an' th'allies an people. Allie emerge from a dead Dagger... the Dagger come from the dead ta begin with... the dry fly shell goes back to been dead... the ally goes back to their place. What would I be like as a dry fly? Snow! Over here! Orchestrate a dry fly feast! I want em Cajun! Lots of beer! She on that?”
“Yeah. She's on that. If you were a dry fly you'd be the last dry fly breathing.”
“You'd be second to last, Seth.”
The Sun’s going down. Still light, mostly light before still night, mostly night.
Get a meal by darkness, prepared well courtesy of a generous country homestead, be eating real food this night. These bugs don't come around but for once every however many years. Seven, I thunk.
Maybe I'll stick around till morning en travel back to da armada. Maybe we'll leave ta go back affer dinner. Maybe sleep be in order. Maybe a party in order... With Dagger women dancers. Drug abuse? Oh yes. We can use en abuse dem drugs tru deeze canals. Send da guides away en get lost. Awesome idea. I'll refuse to call a helicopter just to fuck with Seth. Voila. We'll be in the Keys before we're even lucid and after a lil’ jokin. Think I'll call in the mimes from their perimeter to gnash. Scratch that. They can make they own dry fly feast. The mimes are my Father's Daggers, they don't talk except sign and mime. All Daggers speak sign language.
$Genocidal Tripping$
Sun setting aboard the Texas- a battle ship I recommissioned- out in the open gulf of Mexicoil, with the armada beyond me, outta sight in every direction; Seth and I watch a barge floating nearby from midway up on the viewing deck; fresh tripping on LSD.
Dead calm water stretches and shines in the sun sinking at our backs; casting golden rays on the iron barge rocking in the waves. A 12 foot no man’s land stands between fifty miles worth of swamp Daggers packed into either end of the barge; naked, confused, and eager. Men, women, and even kids. The allies love this sort of thing.
Staring directly through the blinding sunset the allies hover; watching the battle from across the way from us. Their spirited essence swirls like a living galaxy; visibly ultraviolet in the golden sunlight. Seth is holding the pistol, giving me a funny look. I nod at him and glance to the gun.
The bullet blows the world up and in layers cosmic echoes course across the water and ripple. Euphoric body highs flow through my nerves. The cries and screams are cries and screams of monsters in pain; dirty dead Daggers tearing each other limb from limb. They bite at throats and the bones snap, similar to the gun shot. As if we’re bubbles in a carbonated drink; all shook up. There's white noise singing like whales behind the screaming, and the water jiggles under the rocking barge like that same zen motion the kids with autism love.
Seth is wearing a captain's dark leather cape over a black and white striped shirt and cheering for the democrats. The cards are stacked against him; we know how vicious republicans had to be to get the way they are…
“You should have never put faith in politics!”
“Why do you say that?” Seth says.
“Politics was a virus detracting from the health of humanity.”
“Oh.”
They're tossing the dead and dismantled corpses overboard. I reflect on misery. I see it everywhere and never feel it. How do I feel things? No one feels things like me. I walk to the other side of the deck to stare into the sun. Seth is behind me, transfixed on the action.
“No one feels like me. No one feels things like me.”
The effect of the violence and the LSD is to my back, emanating toward the sun. The star burning life into this world. Fueling growth. Energizing my face the same way it would yours. That is exactly what an organic man would see. At least for a moment. Soon enough there's allies in my eyes with UV filters to catch the damage. I can watch this thing burn much better than you can. Damn it all. I’ll never be like you. There is nothing about me like you; besides my form.
I've got a brother that's human. My brother is what I have in common with the humans. No. He's more like me than them. My eyes are the same as their eyes. No. False. My eyes tell all facets of existence. Or show, excuse me. My eyes always say something different. Their eyes show fear. Nothing ever but fear. Except for Seth.
I move back to my Brother as he's shouting obscenities at the melee.
“Hey Big T! Big T! Rip his fucking eyes out!”
That's cute. He named one.
“Hey! Hey!” he's saying. “Hey! The Republicans aren't gunna make it. My Democrats went crazy on them and your republicans started playing dead! They're fucking eating them!”
“Then they're demigods, too...” I muttered that.
The democrats are eating republicans. Tearing away limbs; using rusty hunks of barge for cutting and hacking. The allies are dancing, and whistling around the pain bubbles. The cosmic pulse waves emanating from the air glow with colors of infrared and ultraviolet; the most intense hues molding to the forms of pain moving through this atmosphere of the dead; of LSD and me.
“L! S! D! And Me!”
We watch for a glorious moment; the feeding. Even the allies become as calm as the quiet. We hear the ravenous sound of cannibalistic devouring. The warring is over and so they feed. They eat... I am vaguely intrigued. We watch the carnage until the democrats wander back to their corner. They're either satiated, lying in recovery, or leaving their carcasses behind as they bleed out.
“The allies are dispersing. What did you think of that, Seth?”
“It is like when you burned down Houston. And my fake family and my friends died. Only this time I don’t care.”
“You know they were not your friends. There are no friends. There are just enemies so vile you think you love them. Family brings you into this world kicking and crying. Another person to destroy and consume. If you cannot have friends then neither shall I. I shall just have one brother.”
“Yeah. I like that. Me too. I will just have one brother, too.”
$Torching The Armada$
Off the coast of a far western Key in southern Florida’s Keys we've filled the armada with personnel from all 12 branches of law enforcement from the region. Control freaks. Every last one of them. They are still human, and more or less alive; many wearing crumbling uniforms. They've been being held in high school auditoriums for the past couple weeks. Starving. Praying for death. I hear those prayers. The allies tune me into the good ones. Isn't that sad for them? Their prayers go to me, of all beings...
'Nurture the souls of my family,' is common. They wish for my death; pouring their hatred into me. You would call the feeling, ‘exhilarating.’ Personally, I feel empty without the influx of others' ire.
Haven't been on this sandy dune long. The impending display took a few hours to arrange but it was the first thing we ordered when we arrived. And while we've been waiting we are enjoying the finer things in life.
The Dagger's out here used to be yuppies; cheating wives and droves of gay guys. Definitely a Dagger place, out here. Except for those warships packed with glorified authority figures out on the water.
Waging war on drugs. Good for them. There didn't need to be a political agenda taken out on drug users. Drugs claim lives as it is and so you wage war against the problem? That is backward logic. How will you ever find a balance when you keep attacking, violently, the things you don't understand? Chaos and crime for the sake of control under the guise of compassion. Y'all never had a sense of personal freedom. Pena
l codes were created to enforce penal codes. Imagine that. Never been allowed to make your own mistakes. The laws dictate the mistakes you'll be making. Your situation in life does much the same. Did. Excuse me.
A mediocre debater could argue justly for the lives of these doomed men and women on the boats. I wouldn't be listening. To me they are among the better of examples exposing this country’s deep rooted greed issue to a true light. Less government is more government, and more government is less. Control is not the answer. Never was, never will be. That is why your friends are really enemies. Because as long as somewhere someone is out to get someone else then no one anywhere can be free. Humanity needed more discipline. It wasn’t meant to last in the way it was.
Two aircraft carriers are stationed out at the center of the near horizon. They stretch far in contrast to the smaller boats but from where we're sitting this scene could be blocked out by a dinner plate. In front of the giant boats a full sized nuclear submarine is floating at the surface; a long dim hump and a modest tower. They are the prizes of our exhibit.
Fanning out toward us is an array of armada warships, some stealthy and low, some battleships proud and tall, boats from Cuba, Mexico, the US Coast Guards. The Cutters are in the hands of the Daggers. Ha!
Daggers shuttle smaller crafts to and fro in the last minute organizations. We have the DEA on one ship, the Coast Guard on another, police scattered through the smaller boats, etcetera. So on and so forth. The Daggers out there are the necessary operators and crew. It's written down somewhere. Or at least recorded in the agenda of the allies guiding the Dagger's around.
Me and Seth are on our second beers waiting to push the button. His eyelids are heavy and his head is hung over. We finished a joint recently and are sucking down some dudical Cuban Cigars. That's Seth's word. Dudical? Kids, man. Innocent minds edging ever closer to a destiny so far unforeseen.
“How you feel, Dice?” I call him Dice. He loves throwing dice.
“I feel good, RRRage. These seats are awesome. The air smells like fish. And I don't have to hear any engines for once. I like the sound of the water better.”
He says this without picking his head up or moving it whatsoever. However, he’s right, the giant futon seats draped in black fleece are a nice touch.
“Why don't you call in the death from above?”
“Roger that.” He's looking with his drunk hand for the walkie-talkie.
“Put the dial on 7.”
“Death from above. Repeat, death from above.”
We wait for a moment, watching, trying to discern the movement atop the aircraft carriers, though they seem impossibly far away. No matter, binoculars aid the visuals and we both fiddle with the zoom nobs to see better. I am very attracted to this. On the edge of my seat. These unusual events are the moments I cherish most. Exploding Mount Rushmore felt a little like this. Burning Houston was more grand.
Seth, who can't hardly move, had predicted resistance. He doesn't yet fully understand they cannot fight back. The humans are always helpless to the power of the allies. At every moment they've got the cosmic equivalent of a hat pin to their ear.
In rapid succession dozens of apache and comanche(that’s ironic) death machines lift into the air. In the hazy sky I can observe the reflecting windows and shining lights. The blades spin trails of dim purple light in circles through altered ether as the intoxicated state of my consciousness dictates the appearance and nature of what you consider to be reality. Yeah, but I'm talking about the everything essence. Static, what have you. The water is a sucker for the difference. Even the hues of the blue sky will mold to my whimzie.
Florida needs cats, I think. For every cop we kill today I will deliver one cat to its own territory in this state. They'll come from zoos across the nation. Maybe I'll release the big zoo cats here- see what comes of the experiment.
The helicopter squadrons have positioned themselves in both left and right peripherals with a half dozen on either side; weapons aimed at the distant boat. And the fighters have begun to take off into the sky from the runways of the carriers. The screams of the engines burn through the thunder of the rotating copter blades. These powerful vibrating sensations make Seth throw up beside his chair, as indeed, to him, this effect is as nauseating as a tossing rough sea.
When three jets have departed from each carrier, the missile assault of the choppers begins. The lesser vessels closest to us are the first to burst into flames sending shock waves across the water and through the air. I love that feeling! That shock wave!
More missiles penetrate into the firestorms; causing them to grow. From the nuclear submarine a single rocket shoots high into the air. Then another rocket launches. Then several more.
The fighters scream toward the boats directly over our heads. Having targeted the remaining ships they unload more firepower into the engrossing destruction that bulges and leaps like ecstatic clouds of fire across flat water and over the vertical and capsized boats. An inferno for the memories. A city burning on the ocean. Populated by the worst of the worst; beautiful.
The jets streak over the strike zone, raining down bombs. From what I can see, through the binoculars, and with my naked eyes, even the larger battleships have been blown into nothingness and the three largest ships are the last remaining.
Seth is awestruck, still wrapped in his giant black leather cape, anxiously revving the quietly rotating circular saw on his wrist. I have my black panther gear on; just black pants, shirt, and slip on jail shoes. Red bandana, of course. We chug on these beers and watch the show.
High in the sky, the burning rocket fuel marks the position of the incoming missiles heading for the three targets. From the distance in six directions comes a six pointed star formation as the fighters break the sound barrier; gearing to kamikaze the carriers as the rockets strike. One jet strikes, then another, then another, and another, another, another; in rapid succession, like frantic pulls on pistol trigger but so much bigger.
The planes’ collisions are shut out by the larger blasts of the bunker busting submarine rockets. An especially jagged and jarring series of obnoxiously large explosions sends Seth running to my chair, grabbing my side.
The sonic booms, the heat, vibrations and pulses, the roaring thunderous sounds; these wisp over us for exquisite moments; swaying us this way and that way playfully. These blasts permeate like hurricane winds, for sure. We can feel heat from miles away. The breeze burns in the gentlest way; alcohol causing invigorating bodily sensations to roll through me. I feel fire like the touch of an angel; flames as beautiful as bare breasts and Hawaiian eyes.
The boom thunder reaching us is off the decibel scale as it rains down steel and cop limbs out there. Finally, the billowing flames settle into each other and the black smoke thins out by a minor degree. Once the last metal frames have sunk I see no evidence there were ever three enormous war machines out there. And that's the way it should be.
I've spotted something much more special than these boats and dead authority figures. In the distance there is an extraterrestrial presence warming my heart. I can count six of them in different places around us. I smoke my cigar with a pressure in my skull gentle enough to pass for a greeting. They said hello, and now they glitter red, blue, and golden light as they sparkle and loft in place. Over the firestorm, a slowly twisting vortex has appeared way high in the sky; the smoke being pulled into this vibrant phantom green force; swirling migration of spirit moving toward the source.
I wonder, ‘Where does that go?’
Recording devise cuts out
This is Seth talking, “... not what the adults I knew said about dying. I heard about heaven. The allies weren't anything they mentioned. They said there is nothing afterward. They said, 'black nothing.' Why would we live a life if there is nothing after it?”
“There is nothing before life, either. You gotta learn to enjoy the little things, Seth. Your race went their entire existence never seeing a
vortex of this significance. I presume…. Can't say for sure. Just look at the beautiful way the smoke's turning green and the vortex is spewing that color through itself and out across the entire sky- the only sky- but the smoke goes someplace else through that portal. Those cops are going with the smoke; into the sky, or beyond it. No matter where they go, we are staying here. With the big cats.” The helicopters have positioned themselves over the flaming water, and then they simply flutter, falter, and drop in curving dives toward the ocean below.
$Wandering and Wondering$
I've never seen sands whiter than these. The shallows stretch out for about a mile, as far as I can see, and this windswept sandscape is speckled by sparsely distributed palm trees. We're not necessarily in Key West. That place is further... west. This may as well be there though. Without the town. It’s nothing more than a little blotted mark of a key.
Who would waste the opportunity to bask in the bewildering tug of a heavenly vortex while submerged in the emphatic beauty of this key? It's uplifting in the most twisted way. The great hole in the sky is no longer visibly inhaling inorganic commodities- not visibly, and it would be shrouded in night’s darkness were there not an evanescent glow emanating from its currents.
The air is fairly clear and calm, as I desire. The black skies are lit with green light like fumes, or aurora borealis too far south. The water no longer appears blue. Instead the water is reflecting shades of green and black. The sun set an hour back but a full moon is glowing low on the horizon over the perceptual oddities of this moment in my life.
Seth switched out the cellular circular blade on his wrist for the cellular fire thrower we had made. He's rushed out on amphetamines and magick mushrooms. He's been throwing fire at a hungry panther stalking us; just keeping it at a distance. Though this black panther, of course, is not a hallucination. She is very real and very wary from the air lift down from a zoo in Georgia.
We're two little kids to the cat. Actually, Seth is a little kid. I probably don't register to her. I'm like air to most animals; not even there, but I think they’re beautiful. This girl wants to eat Seth, though. He calls her Dizzy. We think she is actually dizzy. I mean, I don't. He does. The cat's perfectly fine.
We should really feed this cat, though.
“I need a pig and I need it's legs broken upon arrival.”
I'll show Seth a little something about the way animals experience pain and fear and distress. Pigs, as it is, display these characteristics in an unmistakable way. They panic like a little human child does. Like any human would. Pigs know when they’re going to be slaughtered.
“I'm getting kind of bored of playing with this cat. I want to stop.”
“You got the fire, Dice. Dinner'll be here in a minute and then it’ll leave us alone.”
I hear the first faint squeals of a terrified swine coming closer through the quietus. I really would rather have not done this. The significance is so palpable. If a young boy is to respect nature, and the wonders of this awesome planet, he should see a pig die right about at Seth's age. The child should observe the way the pig is aware of it's impending demise. And children should see that the pig wants to live exactly as much as they themselves want to live.
A screaming uniformed police officer arrives on the wind. There were extras. This one looks feisty and wiry. He could hurt her.
“Better break all of his limbs. Keep the bones in.”
As he drops to the ground and the allies disperse, the guy shrieks bloody murder at the snapping of his forearms and shins, but he falls silent in shock nearly immediately.
“I thought you said you were going to feed the panther a pig?”
“That was a joke, Dice. People had a lot of problems with the police during this last era and called the police 'pigs' as an insult. I don't know how much cops act like pigs or don't, on average, but I'd say it's a fair way to demean them for the way they blindly hold society to laws created by the most miserable, selfish, and corrupt minded of people. They would let what little good they were doing outshine the frivolous laws destroying stability for the people they oppressed, and they would perpetuate the illusion of having the moral high ground.”
“Dizzy's gunna bite him. Why's she rolling him over?”
“She can crush his brain stem quicker than she can choke him.”
“Brain stem is in the back?”
“At the bottom of the skull. It's what tells your lungs to breathe each breath. And it's the reason your heart always beats. He won't ever move again. Not dead yet, though. His mind isn't feeling his body anymore, no more pain. Death comes a moment after. The heart beat stops. The blood halts and stagnates in the brain. Now he's dead. He will find his way to the hole up there, too. That's where the raw consciousness goes, beyond the veil, past the atmosphere, and up up away from here.”
The lesson here is to never eat pork unless you feel the meal can honor the dead pig. The animal wanted to live. And maybe they called cops pigs for that reason. That something can behave so similar to you all, but for obvious reasons are nothing like you, nor, as long as he is a pig, will he ever be.
We'll wander on through the night. Over the keys. Walking on water. Sometime tomorrow night we'll arrive at my Mother's house. We'll have a manatee for dinner tonight. An old bull. An old bull, I'll have. In the moment before the manatee dies I'm going to acknowledge he was alive and wished to continue being so, and I'll do the same again in the moment before I put his meat into my mouth.
$Initiate$
“She lives on that island in the distance. A castle on stilts. Five m-60 guns on every corner tower. Various kinds of stinger missiles and grenades, too. We can be in range immediately. But first….”
From 20 feet up a rubber raft is thrown down to our left, throwing a tremendous splash of water vapor stunningly through the moonlight, and we move toward it. It is filled with food: Fruits and vegetables in one rubber tote; we'll float these out last. Dead fish in another tote. Chum. Oatmeal. About 100 live crabs. These crabs need to go first.
The crusty crustaceans rise high and swirl briefly at tornado speed and then fly through the distance toward the fortress on the horizon. They'll swirl and hover high and low like they’re in a drunken orbit until the birds come for them. This isn't enough chum and we don't really need these fish for much. ‘Use the chum and pop these fishes in the water around the home.’ The fish and the bloody mush rise and fly away.
“Here's a beer, Seth. I got the rest in this bag.”
“Thanks. You got shots?”
“Yeah.” ‘Hey, dump those fruits and veggies out over the floor; lightly mash up half of them, and send this raft out to float. And fireworks. Loud screaming ones. Booming ones. Arm some of those leftover police. Like five SWAT teams and give them the biggest guns we have, and grenades, and stick them in orbit with instructions to take out the defenses. And if you can keep the pigs coming, that's all the better. The more the merrier. But get fireworks out there, too, cuz the sun's coming up soon.’
“This is going to take a little longer than I expected.”
“Whatever. Can we get hammocks?”
“Brilliant Seth! We have been wandering for almost an hour…. Hammocks for all! I want those dead cops orbiting on hammocks, too! Wait. Scratch that last thing. But shots. I almost forgot. Rum shots.”
“We can have the shots right here while we're waiting for the hammocks. You see the dolphins over there? Blowholes puffin water? They're coming this way, sort of. Probably getting the same vantage point we got. They're fucking geared up waiting to see some crazy shit go down.
“Here we go, Guava Rum. That's a good sunrise rum. Kinda weak, but chill, too. You know Seth. A drunk is a noble thing to be. There have been drunks since as long as there's been hooch and as long as there's been hooch, there's been society and society rains on the dreams of the alcoholics. Alcoholics gain the wisdom of the spirit. The wisdom of an effect passed down since time immemorial, immortalized in the dynamic relationship of spir
it and man, and man and society. Gamblers have it, too. Worse even. But, no. We have to cheers to addiction is the point here. Cheers Seth.”
“Cheers RRRage. To addiction.”
We fell asleep to rapid bursting of gunshots and the distant hardly audible screams of dying pigs. Brilliant flashes, whistles, and explosions of fireworks and overwhelming intoxication. Things are beginning to become very surreal. We must have dozed away an hour before I got the call to arise. The sun's broken through the horizon to the east, beyond the little key cities. The green hues of the night aren't much more than a dissolved solution barely perceptible in the fiery oranges of morning. The feedings have been primed and are awaiting our arrival.
In the distance I can see the home of my Mother. A whirling swarm of birds is the visual. They’re catching the influx of crabs. Some vultures feeding on cop corpses I imagine. Corpses floating around. Ready to be laid to rest in the cemetery of the sea. Oceans red with chum about to bleed deeper with the appetites of hammerhead sharks. It’s a magical world.
They tell me my Mother is right there waiting at the middle most point of her fortress home; listening to the automated gunfire and watching the sharks swim below her feet. I never knew anything about Killingworth until recently. I also almost killed my Brother, too. This lady is the other part of what created me. The Yin to the Yang of my God. I hope she's amused. I know I am.
$The Frenzy$
Neither Seth nor I have dark skin but Killingworth does. She's a pistol. Real foxy lady. Like this gypsy who radiates sex. Her flowing brown hair is sun kissed and her white satin Capris pants and matching tank top shape her masterpiece figure of curves. Currently, she's enjoying key lime pie with Seth. I don't want any of that stuff. We're observing the water from the south west corner deck as this is the closest proximity to the various bio masses and feeding frenzies. We can see the show through some open storm windows. Storm windows I guess shatter easier in a storm? Because they're kind of thin. Them water birds are obscuring the view of the sharks as they dine upon the fallen officers. The peace keepers. The street cleaners.
“So you just talk into a tape recorder all day?” Her eye sockets are almond shaped. Pointed outward. So seductive. She cracks a smile and her curls bounce in the light breeze.
“No, Mom. It's a little more complicated than that.” There’s going to be transcription involved.
“Do you know I was still one of them when I had you two? Human?”
“You don't say…. Listen, what comes after this? The cops are dead. The sharks have fed. The water's bled. But the demons aren't dead. We're still here. So, what now?”
“Now you live on. You free the animals, as you've said. Far and wide, RRRage. This is a big world filled with cages to be emptied. Carnivores will eat people and the livestock will roam free. And look at the water. You've already devised how to sustain struggling carnivores. We eliminate the humans. They really had it coming.”
“Yeah, you're right. I can feed them cops. I can feed them whoever, really. And they'll have the space they’ve always needed. But this wilderness won't look like the original one. This planet is polluted and toxic and dramatically warped by the scars of man. These third dimensional environments are breast feeding from a sickly, cancerous, old woman. Can she ever be quite right after what we've done? Ma?”
“Yeah. I don't know. So, how about those baboons out on the raft? You didn't think that one through, did you? These birds are vicious.”
“Well. They're baboons. They'll just keep mauling them like that. Look, you can kind of see them flying a little less close to the raft than they were. Yeah, they won't even go near them anymore. The monkeys are eating that one bird. And there’s another swimming in circles. I give it 15 seconds until a shark is on that. I never knew there could be sharks like this in one area.”
Seth says, “It’s a feeding frenzy. I like how the scraps are still floating around; half eaten.”
What Seth would remind the reader of this manuscript is that they need to understand how everywhere I go objects tend to float about. If you haven’t acquired the visual yet…. They hover. They levitate. They loft. There's inertia involved. People have witnessed similar events in poltergeists. And for the sake of your fragile comprehensions you can identify my power as a transcontinental, all powerful, poltergeist. By all means.
That shark took a bird!
I wish you could see this. Blood red waters all around; distorting the shimmers of sunshine. The sharks- big or small- attack fiercely. Then the bodies tend to disappear below. This is the ocean as I would have it be always. Though, as much as my indulgences fall short of actual possibility and the waters everywhere can't bleed forever, so too can they always bleed when I’m around.
“How long are we going to be here for? It smells like birds.”
“Well, Seth, first, it’s not going to smell like that the whole time we’re here; second, we'll relax for a while; then I think I want to know what you would do and where you would go, if you had a choice.”
“I'd go to Ireland. We can kill the Catholics! And the other ones? Who was it Mom?” Seth asked.
“The Protestants. The whole country has been hunger striking because of us. Could be interesting.”
“I think now is the end of this story. Me and Seth got here to you, Mom. That was the plan. But I do believe we can go to Ireland. When we leave here it'll be to go there. What month is it? Not Summer…. No crop circles in England. Then definitely Ireland. Wait!
“Let's make Seth into one of us...”
“No!! No! RRRage! No, you can't. Momma?”
“I think he's against the idea.”
“Please. No.” RRRage puts the microphone up to and into Seth's face and the sounds of sobs become muffled and crackle.
“No Brother. You will stay the way you want to be. Because you supposedly mean something to me. And your meaning means I grant your requests. Like a Djinn. Undoubtedly more unfortunate, informal, and unorganized.”
“You can't recognize your own order RRRage. Your form of action echoes the cries of Gaia. You speak for the Grandmother. For her. The Earth Grandmother. Your father was invested in the indigenous peoples of the world. He had a vested interest in their trade negotiations. Their souls helped to restore the life of the surface world. Your deeds are cleansing and rejuvenating specific targeted demographics of nonhuman and human life. My purpose is to heal. Your father's job, like reproduction in nature, was finished the quickest. In and out. No. He saw every corner of this planet, really. He planted the seeds of you and me. Not you Seth. Ha. Kidding baby. You'll have to get used to demeaning jokes. Inoffensiveness is low on the agenda.”
“Who impregnated you?” I ask her.
“Wouldn't you like to know? It could be anybody and still not be that person. You won't guess and I can't give you clues.”
$oMEGA$
There was gummi bears and there was jubilation. There was beer literally falling from the heavens. There was flaming bird feeders burning grain alcohol. And I'll admit, my spirit is getting a little frazzled.
I think I've altered the minerals inside of me somehow. Could this be my downfall? Yeah. Right. Nothing will ever defeat me. Save for time…. I never was and never will be again. I was born Eternally Dead. When the Pale Mystic is within you, you feel it like the sun on a summer's dawn. You would feel like the sun if you were me.
My star collapsed into the first moment of my awareness and I've been a black hole since. Never actually eternal but as close to eternal as this universe allows for. I long to explore outer space. And I may one day. I want to see the entirely different universes; mere specks in the energy mass of the omniverse. I cannot explain to you the power of my desire to explore those other universes and their limitless possibilities. I fear I will never experience another universe. For now my biggest concern is getting to Ireland. Though I fear even Ireland is out of reach.
I feel as though I am shutting down. There is finality lurking in
every direction I look. The allies stare at this fucking stuff. Black fizzles of spooge lofting around me; fading in and out of existence. The Omega. Omega forces. How could this be the end? It can't. For one thing, my lifeline runs up to my armpit. I mean. Your death is not your decision. I thought mine was. I'll be martyred. Or I'll martyr myself for the religion of Me. Either way. I feel a need for jail. I feel I need to be confined, or I'd rather just leave this body behind; return to the Black Hills to find my mind.
I want this carcass to rot on the rubble of mount rushmore. I want to never remember what happened when I came to this place. This human place. I see the beauty of nature and in a moment I gasp; for I am breathless. I have shed tears in awe of Gaia, and then I remember what you people did to her. Your stupidity allowed greed to know limitlessness. I constantly ruin the fucking moments when the Mystic within me should be melding with the Mystic beyond me.
Your behavior has put chores upon me. I'll be freeing every single imprisoned animal on this planet. Resetting your karma. You're welcome. I'll assign Daggers to care for the sick and support the various needs of this global project. There are Daggers worldwide thanks to Heinous Henry- by the way, if you didn't catch that fact, I mean. The operation is simple, really, and not worth discussing. I mean, we can feed the regeneration of wild cats with human meat. Wild human meat. Live human meat that runs or cowers in shock. It will be easy for the herds to graze when jungles grow over your cities and the weather levels the remains.
Some species might not make the transition. They'll be missed. The animals I release will do better than people’s propaganda lies- about inability to adapt- said they would. And, I mean, that's basically my plans. Some of you will live, of course. Wait. Yeah. Probably. The enlightened ones. Places like Mexico, Tibet, India, Peru, Shaolin, and so on.
I might start a zoo of my favorite human specimens. That would surely get boring. No. It might be worth it. I could keep people in jars. With air holes. And one stick and one leaf. To recreate what they're used to.
I don't always talk into this recorder. Mom could use it. I'd like for her to have more face time with this recording devise, but she is an elusive and mystical woman. My guess is she spends most her life as a mermaid.
Alright. Let me survive this time in my flesh and then we'll do some real big things. Seth. Mom. Me. Ireland. The omniverse. And cats! More cats than were excluded from the bible. We'll see how well this recorder picks up eye contact and body language while I communicate with the cats for a day.
Are you still upset about the extermination of the humans? Forget about it. I did you a favor. I swear. We'll talk it out sometime. We'll talk about how you can avoid repeating their mistakes. Rejoice, I found paradise for you. Remember, you were chosen to live. I was chosen by the Omega Forces. They're agitated. They're the dead and I am still alive.
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Near death experiences/ Solving the puzzle/ Before my eyes/ With my hands/ With my very life/ Viciously cleansing/ Culmination/ As all the lighters/ Lose their fuel/ And I've never seen/ A Pisces sun like this/ Like a karmic grease trap/ Getting cleaned out/ Back when:/ The landlady postponed me/ And my van became weighed down/ By homeless furniture/ And the squirrel/ The almost second squirrel/ Ran under the vehicle/ But made it out the back/ Alive/ Only ever killed one thing/ With a car.../ That I know of/ Six years ago/ That squirrel was cursed
Back when:
I'm on suicide 6/ In the heavy van/ Motor struggling/ And the Possum/ Gnawing on a carcass/ Passes underneath/ I hear no sound/ And the animal lived/ A rare glimpse into a Possum life/ And I knew then what I know now/ About the Pale Mystic/ I experienced the message/ And was unable to interpret/ Unable to interpret the way/ The land lady could postpone me/ When there was so much at stake/ The animals were warning me/ Of something I was already expecting/ Two narrowly escaped their deaths/ Revelation is oddly obvious in hindsight/ I should've been in the apartment/ Why did this happen/ In the first weeks/ Of meat abstinence?/ Then today/ As I struggled/ Again against the vortex/ The sun was bright/ For the first time/ In a long time/ Driving down the dirt road/ There is a Beagle/ Then a Lady holding a bigger Dog/ A burly brown One/ I pass the Beagle/ I pass the Lady and Dog/ With a cryptic half wave/ A nervous half wave/ Soon a sigh of relief/ Then thumping/ So much thumping below/ Brakes slammed/ Park/ Throw open the door/ Hands on my head/ Was the Dog dead?/ No./ There hobbling to it's feet/ And away to the Lady/ The sexy but cold Lady in gray/ I see a limp in a hind leg/ The Lady absolves me/ Somewhat/ She blames the Dog/ It's leash had broken/ As it chased a squirrel/ All I care is the animal/ Appears fine/ I neglect to inform her/ Animals hide injuries/ The dog had been rolling/ Another day/ Doing my job poorly/ Weighed down by furniture/ And psychotic complexes/ About house keys and ownership/ Everyday this guy/ Plays Russian roulette with my job/ And the law/ And my life/ And my stresses are blowing me down/ Under the forces of a Pale Mystery/ Black helicopters haunting my movements/ Military surveillance/ One small red light/ Right overhead at the CVS/ While Mars has spent eternity/ On the cusp of Leo/ Dancing backward to Cancer/ Planetary taunts of Mystery/ En route home:/ I receive a phone call/ From my Spiritual Adviser/ He describes to me his own/ Key Mystery/ I describe my Mystery to him/ He reminds me of the UFO/ I remind him of the Pale Mystic/ Us two chosen among ourselves/ I approached home/ And turned back to town/ To go play Go/ Buy some herbs/ Discuss the synchronicity/ Of the yogurt to my job/ Another dead local/ And new vegetarians/ Replacing the finished ones
Back when:
I needed my mother’s advice/ But turned away to buy pot/ So I gave her a phone call/ And told her the Mystery/ To which she prescribed me:/ The White Light/ And yeah, Mom was right/ I drove past the hollow at night/ And asked for the White Light/ Specifically to stop harming animals/ I cranked the radio/ And turned left onto 195/ Great song/ The sound needs adjusting/ On a small two lane road/ I barely look down then/ I see headlights in my lane/ And headlights in the other lane/ I swerve to the right/ Fully prepared to hop a curb/ Toward an upward slope/ A pickup truck moves between/ Myself and the other car/ The entire van rocks/ I survived/ And I'm driving/ White knuckles and adrenaline/ Synchronizing song/ Someone else survived/ Survived on two counts even/ The Third Party/ Was the safest throughout/ Unless they had a Baby/ I called my Mother/ And She told me the answer:/ Those three Animals/ I nearly killed/ Were telling me/ I was about to die,/ Even the cursed Squirrel/ They inspired me/ To consult the Her/ Who gave me/ The White Light/ And so I survived/ As I talk to Mom/ Chelsea in South Dakota/ Texts me the Imagination Song/ Quite randomly
Now:
I talk to my cat with respect/ He's not equal, He's better/ Animals saved my life/ When all the while/ I nearly killed each/ I am honored to get him cold water
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I wish you'd want to hear this story/ About black and white images/ I see you in the dark photograph/ And I remember a dream/ Completely black and white/ At the fifties party/ Abstract art distracts/ We three flee swiftly/ Stealing away to the attic/ Where stars shine/ Beyond the skylights/ As the little black dresses/ Slide from shoulders/ And to be a gentleman/ I tend to the Italian/ But my dreaming heart/ Was pumping my physical blood/ For the one I've lost/ Almost every single night/ Since I was fifteen/ And as I penetrated the Italian/ With my face between a Dream Girl's thighs/ I felt something immediately awry/ They faded from me in an instant/ And I awoke to the dormitory/ I was humping my bunk/ In a sea of pinstriped/ Farting prisoners
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I've found another vortex/ At a cottage by a lake/ A private dirt road winds/ Through woods/ And past a couple neighbors/ A job three years in the making/ An avenged rejection/ I should have known it would come to this/ Like growing on the limbs of a career tree/ Without an inkling of the coming view/ Rising up is for the view/ When I can't even tell you what I do/ What is this place?/ Where arbitrary laws/ Control unimaginable consequences/ Why would I side with an agency?/ One I never see/ W
hile the client controls me/ Clutching me in his psychosis/ Tearing at me with his insanity/ My life line is a dying van/ Waiting to fall from underfoot/ As he orders me across the miles/ This is my place/ At the cross roads of integrity/ Facing the event horizon of insanity/ Lock box, lamp, fish bowl, table/ So hollow, so vacant and empty/ As though this world is nothing/ Howling wind clattering trees/ For the sake of love, remind me/ What I used to be/ Before the vortex consumed me
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Take away our freedom and say we earned that/ What do you know about debt?/ Dress us in a uniform and call us a threat/ Too often forgotten significant differences/ Too bad these ants already know the alphabet/ The problem is criminals are equal and the facilities ignore that/ Pinstripes in a circle, an equal, an identity, unique in individuality/ Common through collectivity/ I see men sharing a curiosity about our surroundings inherent obscurity/ I see wisdom attained by an injury; sever the leg and the mind will grow/ I see an old man who never lost his sense of wonder, no matter how many times they tried to take it/ I see sadness kindled like a final ember to be shared with no one else/ A middle aged man struggles to overcome feelings of inferiority lingering since he was little/ One man alone, his thumbs twiddle/ Some spend their whole lives in the middle/ Others struggle to enjoy small pleasures/ Younger guy so shocked, traumatized, shook up, and scared/ I'm pitying his mother/ And to my annoyance/ As the inmates settle down I can distinguish less and less/ At any rate, whenever lock down ends, I'll see some more pain again/ As we mindlessly grasp at our severed individuality
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Today the second eclipse is moving into position/ Crowded in with the criminals is my disposition/ A card flipping pencil scribbling waiting tradition/ They don't care that you're not comfortable/ They don't care if they're not dependable/ Within this system we're all expendable/ And I hate the way they make me feel/ The way you would hate the way they make you feel/ Like my cell mates hate the way they feel/ Because only our disbelief is real/ We can't believe this place is real/ Or that minutes can be like hours, so real/ Yeah, maybe I'm weak and unable to deal/ Only by comparison to another’s nerves of steel/ Either way, jail is a wound that never heals/ We walk in endless circles, blistering our spirits/ Creating a callous; tap us and you'll hear it/ Park by a prison and you'll feel the pain we emit/ The prisoner’s plight is a losing fight/ Fought every night with wishes we'll be alright/ Until tomorrow comes and brings more sorrow/ Like trout being stocked in a hollow/ Guards change and inmates stay the same/ Men of every color, creed, race, and nation/ A single sex congregation/ This is the eclipse moving into position/ Four days and I'll be free/ Of this place where they torture we
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In reality,/ The totality craves/ The same delusion as always/ Yo, Uncle Sam/ You sick fuck/ What's your problem/ Evil monster/ Letting people die solemn?/ Do the right thing/ Let the power fade/ It's your final hour/ In the newspaper column/ They told me I'm free/ Beautiful obscurity/ Crushed by a monarchy/ What they do can't last too long/ Mister and Misses King and Queen/ Your next door neighbor/ Slice of the pie/ Dead to the stars/ Born to the stripes/ And we all know/ The time is ripe/ To crush the capitalist/ And his greasy life/ Herbiverous revolution/ We reject the delusion/ Change the system/ With Veganism/ End world hunger/ End the strife/ Become a vegan/ End the genocide/ Change is forged/ By peasants on hillsides/ Simple. Accurate. Legitimate./ Honest. Effective. Considerate./ Consider it. Consider it. Consider it./ Now:/ Slip back to the static of stagnant solutions/ Understand the fate of a philanthropist/ Meat is murder with no guarantees/ Take away the meat and trust me/ End the genocide, I guarantee/ They'll say you're wrong when you know you're right/ They'll tell you to quit when you have to fight/ They call change deranged when there's nothing else sane/ They call change deranged and there's nothing else sane/ Herbivorous revolution/ Stop eating meat and get pissed off/ Be the change/ Embrace innovation/ Kill your television/ Fuck the politicians and fuck the system/ Fuck Times Square consumerism/ Think about the children/ End the confusion/ One message, no delusions / Our new evolution/ Herbivorous revolution/ End the greed/ End world hunger/ Feed your sister/ Feed your brother/ End world hunger/ End world hunger/ One vegan world/ One vegan world/ One vegan world/ One vegan world/ If we consume the earth we consume ourselves/ We're sending the kids straight to hell/ Forgetting about the souls we sell/ We're so selfish and we can't even tell/ Change the hunger inside of you/ Rising up is for the view/ Stop dying for the fucking stars/ Hungry others are your blood brothers/ We can feed everybody/ We can burn all the money/ Socialist Philanthropists work as one/ Start the vegan revolution/ All the animals dying together/ Screaming agony to the weather/ Damn the vicious imbalanced culture!/ If you won't help, then there is no other/ We fucked it up/ Now we gotta fix it/ We fucked it up/ Now we gotta fix it/ We fucked it up/ Now we gotta fix it
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Perpetually overlooked/ By peers, contemporaries, and women/ Ask why/ And cry./ Most integral manuscripts!/ Weigh heavy on failing shoulders/ Like/ You will./ Validate/ Vicarious successes/ Hyena writers on all sides/ Eating some of me./ A failing/ literature writer’s/ disillusionment knows/ no anguish control, nor contentment./ A star system/ Unimportant star system/ Show me how well I'm conforming/ Don't break or build, just be.
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Give me a bullet wound/ Or at least create a new scar/ Inflict some other pain on me/ I have had enough of final decisions/ There is nothing but crying guitars and stabbed beer cans/ I am through punching myself in the head/ My knuckles are starting to hurt/ So I've taken to pulling my hair out/ I am through eating and I am through sleeping/ I am through teetering on the edge of weeping/ The phone book is not truly as interesting as I've been finding it/ Maybe it is/ Fuck it/ My 'F' looks like it's dancing/ My 'F' looks like it's romancing you/ Hold on while I check if my nerves are still working/ ................................................................................../ Yeah. I guess they are/ Pain is still pain no matter how much pain you're in/ Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuck. Fuck/ Sorry. I hit a wall. Not literally/ I blew a fuse/ I need to blow a fucking Vicodin.
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There's a river I shudder to recall/ A shore of blood and broken glass/ The lingering curse of burnt shampoo/ The state says they own the place/ I'm the only one who'd trespass/ When the floods come,
The Natchaug gets formidable/ On the shore I had a tent/ And sometimes friends and fire/ My pugga wugga walks beside me/ Through the woods to the pond/ Along the clearing she trots in the sun/ Her tongue pants and her eyes sparkle/ I hadn't seen her smile in years/ At the forefront of the pond's oblong?/ Well, I did lots of things there/ Most recently burned a camping chair/ And the van bogged down in grass/ Originally,/ I failed to seduce neighborly beauties/ Or burned my childhood with gasoline/ I did a lot of entertaining/ As much as I possibly could/ It was something I enjoyed/ Someone once said/ A Leo is like a bonfire/ I say,/ Only the friends burned away/ Some were never meant to last/ Or even to ever exist/ And up a short ways by the driveway and house/ Oak trees are survivors, yet forests loom beyond/ Always/ I hear the owls screaming through the witching hour/ I should be asleep and yet I'm not, I should call out/ “I'm not going to work today and I have no choice!”/ The house I grew up in is there always/ One day I might see this go away/ My cat is around somewhere/ He might be around somewhere/ If he's inside, I'm jealous/ Only for the warmth/ I'm writing through the winter/ This is the time, you should see it/ This is the time when I have to do/ what I have to do/ and I have no options/ Trapped in a moment of time/ The spirit of the gargoyle/ Among a Dead Bride,/ A girl named whoever/ And the Love of my life,/ holding my skull in her palm/ My Mom has rose bushes now/ Those are nice/ Though the frost is here/ And I doubt many blossoms remain/ I still walk up the street to hang with J/ Creep past the new neighbor,/ so unlike the old/ He wasn't expecting the spectacle of I/ Always lit up across the way/ A guy you've never met, yet/ Already
don't understand/ Uncomfortably, one to keeps to oneself/ It's come to this/ I need the cold in my bones/ To convey a grim reality/ My sacrifice to what/ We as a world face/ Self-awareness murdered the planet/ Our oddly fragile world/ I wish you could see it from my mind/ We are in a crystal dish and,/ Life is like a flame, and we're smoldering/ Away, releasing the spirit, all of our spirits/ We're fucking going home!/ And we're leaving the dirt/ where it belongs; in the ashes/ I'm riding a current/ Foreboding like the Natchaug in spring/ Keyboards claim the fingertips of gloves/ Me and my computer against the fire/ I could tell you about a nameless road/ Where a certain pit hosted a vandalism/ Or the creek where I played on slimy iron/ All I'm saying is/ I always knew it would come to this/ I speak only to survivors/ I can only imagine how much worse/ The fascists’ actions will be than what I imagine/ So to you, I'm sorry/ But you live/ And when you die/ You will go to the place we all go/ Exactly where we belong/ And me, I'm/ Living my greatest fear;/ A lonely apocalypse
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If you're not mine, I'll be better off dead/ The day I can't love you, will be the end/ If I can't have you, then I'll die instead/ I weigh the options and get sick with dread/ The less you help me the more I descend/ If you're not mine, I'll be better off dead/ There's always less and less skin left to shred/ Without you I don't know what is pretend/ If I can't have you, then I'll die instead/ There is a stinging inside of my head/ Some poison for the antidote; please lend?/ If you're not mine, I'll be better off dead/
I can tell this poem really ends in red/ Love. We like to think we can comprehend/ If I can't have you, then I'll die instead/ So much said. Still, so much is left unsaid/ Damn. I was hoping these lines wouldn't end/ If you're not mine, I'll be better off dead/ If I can't have you, then I'll die instead
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When I fall asleep I awake in tears/ You belong in this bed more than I do,/ I suppose, I've been dreaming of my fears/ That no one alive might feel this blue/ Your dad had the mattress lying around/ The sheets you bought are as black as my heart/ The thick red blanket sops up my raw wound/ The brown fleece wraps me like we aren't apart/ I haven't seen the sun much in months since/ Like your absence, the world's omnipresent/ You leave easy and stay hard to convince/ I lament, repent, and choke on torment/ Sleep to sleep, and in-between, you stay gone/ Wake to wake, in this bed, you still belong
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