Twisted Treatises

It still lurks. 369 days like a goddamn week and a half. I didn't keep track. I figured after one year I might not think about it anymore. I didn't have a basis for comparison. This is the first time I've gone a whole year (and more) without either opiate or speed to guide me through. My journey involves sailing away from both. I imagine a boat sailing to a nowhere horizon when it gets hard. It shouldn't still be hard. But I'm realizing if I was ever going to follow through on this kick shit, I should have kept a kindergarten habit like most folks do. Mine started functional, stayed that way for a while but...  Big street habit right? My mind runs through random scenarios starring amalgamated hypothetical kicking junkies who had a much easier time of things than I am. Starring snarling, disdainful academics calling me a cunt for not being on kick easy street by now. This mingled with tell of some others who kick and it's like--or at least they make it seem like-

I was talking to Bubba, trying to figure out shit to blog. I ran into a problem with a submission, see. If I want to publish it, I can't blog it more often than not. A few mags don't care, but a lot do, and when I say they care, I mean they CARE. Even this blog is print to an editor, never mind the plebian view. Since I am a plebian, I ran afoul of my own ignorance. Can't keep doing that. So who do I go to when I need to think linearly? I said: "I wish I had nice memories to blog about. Heh. What am I gonna do? Talk about Gramma searching the house for any kind of alcohol including hand sanitizer or Uncle Dana talking to the radio in his brain?" (Inferred harrumph) He said (after, I imagine, his trademark shoulder hunch and head tilt) "Dig deep. Look for stuff from your childhood. Even the ugly stuff will suffice if you make it funny." Well. The shit we did was pretty damn ugly-funny. In the Filmwalks post, I mentioned playing Call of Cthulhu... For a wh

So many Sevens in the esoteric mash of world religion. Lights, seals, churches, elements. A 777 trying to connect them all and that is also days to be God's number. Fuck sake. A lot to gobble. Even more to digest. Religion needs a diet. Maybe now, just 7 simple things will do. The Shrinks sought to hash this all out but they used billions of words to do it--can the dross be removed? Why not try. The first 4 things. (1-3)Thought+Will+Habit. (4)Integrity is the name of god. (5)Person is the whole manifest whose poles are (6)I Am (7)You Think. It is the same as these four things: Father+Son+Holy Spirit. Yahweh. Azazel+Samael+Lilith. Satan. Nuit+Hadit+Ra Harkuit. Aiwaz. Vishnu+Shiva+Brahma. Aum. Etc+Ad+Infinitum. Rhetoric. There are many fours. Pick one and call it faith. Add 5-7. The Self, and The Self-Image. Who your inner monologue says you are plus what it says others think of you based on your evaluations of your own doings. Also what experience tells you is the truth of y

----bloody streets of old allah rain sanguine on shiva--bear erect witness to god cocks of industry----  tanning in dhaka  swimming in almonds  bathing in cancer  carnegie's gaslight rockefeller's christ abe's genocide train and lastly--roosie the pimp--dickie the stealer--holidays and insurance the bulbous micturating god cocks of industry american mollosus at gate judge trumpet belch  cacophony of rabies astute adepts prolapse uterine walls into cthulhu's snore and ahriman strokes the epididymus unto weeping protect matriculating c*untess of industry in magnificent magnate magnanimity in dank stink of old boxers in absentia dally  infect rite of star yantra secrets built  in burnt bedroom ----packs of dogs chew fender from parked car back to the feral--left roaming by masters' industrious genitals---- bloodline skip tracer  track surname to high-class egypt send zealots to diddle corresponding mummies thus controlling undesirables from a past life  you never got

In a                              Habit        Etheric double                                       Is Yen                       Drag a man           To himself.                                         Yen      Don't even know                   Why it needs                        When need has an ego                         Not Japanese currency. When Yen dies         Of ope starvation                    You can take the Weed Cure. Partake-- To keep calm and forsake.        Every stem cell                             Burst up the ghost                Rib muscles strike        Freak bang utot.  Who needs Baal you got boy?  Rocks and blows and tarry joy. But take the weed cure.                                  --Cuidado--                        Weed adds sensitivity                  To skin           And that head fuzz Can hurt like an                 Absolute                       Goddamn                                 Motherfucker                      Breathing                 Reg