Anything can happen. Typhoon clouds move across the mighty desert mountain driven by the shifting jet-streams of a warming planet, a dying ocean. A gift from the universe turns out to be a transdimensional mindfuck of tick-born-illnesses. Fame has never looked so desperate: a yellow-pussied fascist. Stay tuned for the 10 o’clock news: “Amurica, you’re fired.”
Welcome to the desert of the real. Please enjoy your visit.
Ayahuasca — technology from the ancient future, holiest of holies, consumed by monkeys with drones and guns. The rich get richer and the poor get dumb.
Uncertain survival, chase vibrations from the celestial spheres — dulled by static and noise. Listen, collect, collage, assemble. Stop watching television immediately. NPR sucks cocks in hell.
He leaves the elite career he had believed he always wanted. He will punch the next person who uses the word ‘pedagogy’ in the mutherfuckin’ pussy. He refuses insanity for chance proximity to celebrity. He believes in the authority and the autonomy of the (individual) magickian.
ReCreate Reality. Anything can happen.
Pig-cop, piss-pen, pig-face, Brexit. Send them all back home. Russian Allepo Nazis fight TPP at Standing Rock. Snowden/Manning split the Nobel Peace Price; Bob Dylan writes a song about it. Thank you, Jesus, I am porn again.
Space/Time is merely an object observed from the Fourth Dimension. The Tower is a card of collapse, of the total ruin of all that has been built by aeons of progress. But, you can’t get to the Universe without it.
He bled for three months but told few. It wasn’t just physical, he was being punished by Madre whose vow he broke in Portland. Sexless and sick, looking for a recovery that will take months.
The spell asked that he protect his purity, but degradation is so much fun. Grab them all by the pussy. (“‘I’m with her, but I still fell the bern.’ Ask your doctor if neoliberalism is right for you”.)
The universe is built from disparate parts. It destroys before it creates. In the desert no one will know about their reunion — whether it works or fails, again.
Rachel Maddow fingerbangs Anderson Cooper while Bill O’Reily and Megan Kelley gyrate in the corner. Ratings have never been better.
The whole neoliberal deathfuck comes undone.
No one is prepared or spared. Technology connects us all.
Quick, grab the Alex tinfoil.
All he had to do was gather the data, and that was even before he put his palms on the jungle floor and asked to feel Gaia’s pain. In Peru, he promised Madre he would fight for her. He asked to be made a warrior, then spent three months on his back in a river of blood.
The DJ is deaf and dumb if he doesn’t understand the movement of sound through medium; the ability to co-create new realities in the environment where a sonic story is introduced.
Language is not the only virus. Infect the system; destroy the two parties. Grab Lady Liberty by the pussy and don’t let her go. Anything can happen.
Fill the vessel with intention, hide it in plain sight, let it out into the world.
You cannot change a broken system from within. At a certain point the fuck-it-all card must be invoked. The Archons are waiting offshore.
God Bless you Amurica, you proved Plato right: humans aren’t decent enough for democracy.
A prayer for the long evening on the edge of apocalypse: thanks for the American Dream to vulgarize and falsify until the bare ass lies shine through. Thanks for the KKK, for nigger-killing lawmen feeling their notches, for decent church-going women with their mean, inched, bitter evil faces. Thanks for the fag of red whitness and blue. Thanks for Hillary Clinton, Chelsea, and Bill too! Thanks for Apple and Foxconn Suicide Nets. Thanks for Trump and Pence and Palin. Thanks for Toni Morrison and wealthy white women who care about elephants. Thanks for Nascar and Nader, Blue Lives Matter, Cliven Bundy. Thanks for the Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians and Greens. Thanks for mass incarceration, social media, free trade, fracking, and $6 cups of coffee. Thanks for the beer I would rather have with neither of you. Thanks for a country where nobody is allowed to mind his own business.
Until we meet again somewhere between your seas and shinning seas of plastic, Amurica, enjoy your apocalypse. Anything can happen. Lay back and think of every developing country you’ve tried to screw. The chickens have come home to rouse.
I’m out here in the Outer Reaches of Oregon, signing off.