nΩtes on the deliverance øf a new friEND : decelerator

I've been accused of taking things personally, "too serious" says the trickster!

but Death is my Dance, Death is my Game

tragic is my comedy

and with a grin and gallows humour I blow my trombones

haunting hunting trills on ribcage xylophones

a smiling skull sighing out a groaning moaning poem

to annihilate your dreams of Home.

Señor Coyote, I may not understand your dance (I'm not omniscient, even at my best)

but I understand the bee's dance

the tree's dance 

when the wind wilds the way

before a thunderstorm collapses the world and

sends you quivering cowering underneath my laughing leafing beard.

Your speed will be needed Little Brother, because

I am a fucking glacier

a bone-bleaching desert,

the deep ocean beyond sight of land

that ancient battlefield behind the tobacco farm out past the church

that glows godless spectral at 3am soul's midnight

as Valhalla spews forth ragged companies of all my

special sons and daughters

 I am

the deep down things of long-dead Gods and Outer Time

the swamping corpse of rivers dying

that hole in the world you can't define behind your eyes

labyrinthine wake-ing dreaming you can't divine and can't divide.

Señor Coyote, the raccoon has your magic,

and an opposable thumb,

and superior climbing ability,

and a willingness to sink to the sewer to survive,
My master lockpick when keys
are lost to lycanthropy

but if you seek to sneak me, searching, peeking for sneaking ankles to bite

the ash you'll taste in mouth is I, as We wheel and caw

contemplating murder.

Señor Coyote, I can feel your sneaking footsteps swift across my shoulders.

I hear you running over the ground down bones of a million of your brothers,

broken-backed by brighteyed wolves howling voids at starring skies,

by relentless Time, or stealth-perched panther's eyes.

come inside the crucible, the hurricane of Nature's Eye and learn to teach the I and I to Die.

mainlining the secret truth of the universe:high intensity psychedelics and truth detection (part 1 of

[This world is a veil, and your face is not your own] 

As my vision filled with with small, green, spiral-inscribed stones, my mouth filled with the sensation of foam - though somewhere deep, I knew my mouth was empty. The sensation of foaming at the mouth triggered a set of symbols, a pattern of memory, and a werewolf leapt from my body, snarling. My mind stayed behind, then suddenly snapped forward in space, joining the wolf. In slow-motion, a sensation of my body releasing my mind, opening up and metamorphosing into a wolf pelt which cloaked my mind as this unit conjoined and was absorbed into the image of the werewolf. A blink and my perspective changed. I felt like ripping out of myself, my vision was red and razor sharp. I was soft and warm. I felt like fresh blood grown a luxurious fur coat. I breathed deeply and smelled an old, old thing.

 I blinked, and the vision was gone, my attention flew elsewhere.

__________________________________________

For days, I found myself growling at annoyances. Not bathing. Clawing at skin -hot to the touch- that felt too-tight on my body. Smells were so strong they overwhelmed, my hearing so sharp the mass of new noise gave me incapacitating headaches. My dog avoided me. I avoided mushrooms for some time afterward.

__________________________________________

True Detective e:]]] : Crossing the bridge was a crossing into the First Layer of Truth. The last moments in which multiple spatiotemporal perspectives are easily definable, the last moments before the lines between perspectives become blurred, begin to shift. The image of the Real comes into focus, and the Truth is no longer what we are told. As we experience a breaking between what we are told, and what we feel [what we know], the Truth grows restless, a white-hot guttural behinding underlaying the ice-cold rage of Marty's execution of Reggie Ledoux, splitting the already-split narrative into further pieces as Ego demands the Truth be protected from that which can't understand its Necessity due to its Brutality - and paradoxically demands its own protection from Truth. 

This process has a corollary in psychedelics, as often sub-destructive entheogens are perceived in a negative light by those that cannot or will not withstand the necessary Truth in and of themselves, leading to an incomplete fracturing of Self into less-than-coherent component parts in a drive to compartmentalize un-rationalizable knowledges apart from each other [thereby retaining the original irrational claim AND the new, undeniable but oppositional Truth] in order to protect the Self from the annihilative Truth of its own non-existence. Cognitive dissonance, felt and perceived during the psychedelic experience is intimately sensed as a negative, drawing the other elements of perception down in convergence on this negative space resulting in nausea, vertigo, fear reactions, and paranoia - as the split perspectives are viewed as two entitities, one rationally correct but frightening in its stillness, its emptiness; and the other overflowing and active but deformed and ugly, watching for an opportunity to attempt the regaining of the "stabilized" control it craves [but can never attain] after this collision with Truth, but "Enlightenment ultimately humiliates even this demonic state" [Timothy Morton, Glossator 7]

[Yet to this rot you shall be like,
To this horrid corruption,
Star of my eyes, sun of desire,
You, my angel and my passion]

drilled killed eternalised metabolised and falsified

several hundred internal near-catastrophes per hour. i was gifted a vision of a framework, mother earth divorces father war and begins an almighty custody battle for the kids. i lie down with the bloody bullet-riddled body of a wolf and slip into blessed unconscious. in the dream we huddled around funeral pyres to inhale the burning corpse like incense to chase away the I.

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.

Rainer Maria Rilke

an impossible extradigital wheel, exploded. step inside the wheel and a vast file tree, infinite card-catalog of experience. zero-lag, subjective precise recall of anything anywhen. experienced in 0-time. work out your own salvation. ("Oy vey, have you got the wrong vampire!") 

That weapon will replace your tongue. You will learn to speak through it. And your poetry will now be written with blood.

i see an end…parts of my body fail. a soreness, a physical expression of ennui, pervasive. i will push my own burning boat out onto the river styx and fall asleep, peaceful. painting face with blood for battle that doesn't come/sits across the street, points and laughs, comfortable in the knowledge that it pulls every string, everything. as if on cue, a headache drags mental faculties back down to the physical realm and thought is vapor. 

Rise now, and drive your cart and plough over the bones of the dead!

hear music softly from another room. soft crooning. pipes creaking in the cold. what a sham, this body. 

a revolution to be had (but not ours)

we are not wanted here.

where is Out?

"Easy, John" they said as they wheeled him back to HQ. 

But they all knew he was dying.

"He walked straight, with firm proud strides, without a doubt. He was doing something that would never end; he would go through death without hurt."

**you can hear the howler monkeys in the background
**it dissolves you into a confrontation with authentic being tmk
A less-than-surgical removal of illusion, fantasy's stage lights switched off abruptly, intimate encounter with the Real. unspeakable unknown death truths. when i go to the jungle, the key is to find your secrets. 

"i lubricate my rifle with liberal tears." he said.

funny, i just soak mine in pig's blood.

"the spiral pilots everything" but, then it isn't really a spiral is it? It's a vortex. with power and motion and chaos amid the clean toilet bowl swirl. dose myself to implosion, save the space for someone that needs it. self-auscultation, self-replication. self-shattering tones, noise-segregation and collapse of all function into the particle-static and cold. falling fast, right out of space and into the void forever.

the controller is the controlled - j krishnamurti

ain't no grave gonna hold my body down

"If one good Deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very Soule"

dream:

]walking down a hallway playing a guitar. got in line with a great many people, dressed in sunday-best. we were going somewhere, perhaps to the performance. hearing footsteps, i turned and came face to face with an elderly black man who asked me if i'd play the train with him. we began playing and slowly walking to the head of the line. at the end we walked through a curtain onto a stage where we were shadowed in thick, heavy interior darkness but the audience was outside in extremely bright and hot sun.

]everything went quiet. upon first glance, they appeared to be aboriginal people, tribal and primitive. closer inspection proved them to be dead; covered in makeup, ceremonial garb made of bones, and war paint.

]a leader emerged from the group, bones sticking out at odd angles from every part of his decomposing body, face painted as a skull. he gave a speech about how we would be allowed to continue our practices because of an ancient agreement between the vampires and his people, the originators of voodoo, but that they would be prepared to bring us into the sun if we were to disrespect the dead.

]i could feel a body coming to warn us of something, but he was turning into a vampire and being cooked by the sun as he ran. he never made it to us. nuclear testing in the desert had opened a series of caverns. if you were able to get deep enough inside them you could avoid the radiation, but if you died there you became a rapidly decaying ghoul intent on eating any flesh within reach before the face fell apart. we watched a girl die, slaughter her mother, and be slaughtered herself in less time than it took to write the words. a laughing man loaded mounds of bodies into the back of a truck.

]made it home in time to watch my son pour poisonous household cleaner over his head, and begin to howl out in pain. tried desperately to wash him off but the water made the chemical boil and i woke up to the sound of screaming.