Twisted Treatises

Confessions from the Think Tank The book, brought to you by Dark Moon Rising Publications, is an anthology of psychedelic, dystopian sci-fi horror. 23 pieces from 18 authors. Each of these tales could be its own episode of…I want to say The Twilight Zone, but these are a lot more brutal than anything producers could show on television back then. Some of the stories are actual confessions, others of them could be, as if what you’re reading would later become one of those confessions, something you’d hear over booze if you knew someone who worked for a government-funded scientific agency. What’s a think tank? I explain that in the introduction at some length, but in a nut (which we all love) a think tank is, classically, a place where Big Thinkers chosen by the Powers That Be go to decide how to shuffle you all into demographics, after which they can much more easily advertise goods (and life choices) to you—the algorithm was conceptualized in a think tank. The first tank was made to c...

You’ve seen memes that portray what it looks like. The half-dead stick figure surrounded by his drugs and books, seeming to rot on the floor in some sort of useless self-torture, clearly in the first stages of the alchemical magnum opus (that cracks me up, the drama of it, but it’s like that), the Blackening, the decomposition of Prime Matter…now, let me tell you what that all means. I’m giving away a tiny piece of my occult book for free right now. Title? You don’t get to know that. Not yet. It’s too bloody good. The Blackening is the Decomposition of Prime Matter. The Prime Matter is whatever karma you’ve accrued previous to beginning this process. That makes it sounds like there’s special shit you have to do, but there isn’t…not unless you consider tearing your life into pieces to be special somehow. That is, however, the reason why someone like me would bother with this process. The Prime Matter—the First Material—that’s you when you begin the process. Everything shitty you ev...

Usually, I'd strike an entry as shit as the last one was from the record...I think I won't this time. I had to get through it. And yes, you had to read it! Ha ha. Lots of growl in the last one, lots of growl inside me, as was apparent. Never mind that old rot. I’ve stumbled upon something everyone else surely knew before I did—where I had thought I’d crossed the abyss as it were, I’d only done half of it. I seem to remember reading something about this in Jack Parsons’ Key to the Abyss , a book I ought to read again for my own special purposes. The sexy stuff isn’t really in that one; it’s mostly occult psychology. I can’t recall all that was said, but there was in there, and now that I’m writing about it, I believe it’s also seen in other books—only crossing the shadow realm of the abyss and proceeding before you ought to will get you knocked back into the sphere you’d rather not be in. He calls it the fourth. It might also be looked at as the seventh, and I’m beginning to th...

    This is day one of hardcore cutting down. I have to say that dispensary weed is a whole new ball game. I think I said this before. At nine am, I’m already feeling what I call The Fun. You know that feeling when someone is rattling off at the mouth and you’re just sitting their taking their shit while wanting to knock them out? That’s what I feel right now, but for no reason. I will take this for the time I’m writing and then go for a smoke. What I call the Shtistorm hasn’t started yet. It won’t until I go a full 24-48 hours with nothing. You just go and go and friggin’ go, and if anyone says anything untoward to you…holy fuck. There’s a song about it by Strapping Young Lad—that’s where I got the same. It’s about quitting weed, and it’s damn near the most insane song I’ve ever heard. I’ve you’ve been using weed to correct anger issues due to bipolar (as Dev was) when you quit, you, and all around you, are potentially fucked. If you don’t know what’s going to happen to y...

Let's begin with--I'm not anti-drug, not any drug. You can do whatever you want. I'm not going to judge you for it. My scales are all broken. Everyone knows this. But, in case I'm wrong-- TRIGGER WARNING: I have very little filter, and I’m notoriously batshit. If you know me, you know that. If you don’t, at least I told you. What more do you want? If that scares you, don’t read my stuff. And don’t try to turn this into “UHHHH, HUH-WHUAH! He’s a MAGA!!! Fuck am I tired of that schizoid horseshit. Fix your goddamn object relationship, spazmo. You fuckin’ sound like the flipside Hannity when you do that shit. Knock it the goddamn fuck off. There. If that triggered you, don’t read this. For about three months, I’ve been thinking about quitting weed. Yesterday, I decided I was going to follow through. That doesn’t mean cold turkey. I am bipolar. There’s some argument that it may have turned into a mild form of split personality disorder. I don’t think that’s the fault of w...

My  father is…for all intents and purposes, dead. He has Alzheimer’s and remembers nothing of his life or his children. But that’s okay. He spent thirty years telling the neighborhood what shit his kids were for leaving him, and my sister, my mother, and I got a nice, fat earful yesterday. Of course, this didn’t last long, for my sister has a propensity to blurt our past sufferings to any poor sucker who will listen, and she wound up talking to the woman for an hour. This woman was my father’s…something…for the past 25 years. She wasn’t candid, but since he left her his house) or perhaps houses-- my grandmother’s is also in question at the moment, and according to the Winnebago County records, he has two assets we can’t see that will be going to this woman. They ought to go to my sister and her children. That’s our position. What gives us the right? “But you didn’t see the man for thirty years!” You may say. The man was a monstrosity. Have I gone into detail at any time, or ...