Don't recall when I was
thrown into the world, does anyone? My first memory was in some
kind
of mansion where the sun filtered through a round stained glass
window. A big man with a messy beard, wisping out like
excremental
cotton candy from his face stood over me. I saw a couple of
fools,
my parents looking up at me as I floated into the air. I was
levitating, but the big fat Doktor just looked straight ahead,
so
ends this little wash of recall. I was around three years old
in the
house. I was at a neighbours house when a toy gun clipped my
fingers and the metal took a chunk of skin out. I did not cry.
The
old neighbours; man and wife, laughed about how tough I was,
and then
giggled when I began to black out. For some reason I hated
these
people, I hurled a rock at their car when they were driving to
go
see a parade, put a big dent in the door. My mom spanked me so
hard
I saw my feet fly in the air. Sometimes I would walk around the
neighbourhood and not remember leaving the house, ringing
doorbells
and running away. My Mom got tired of this and put me in
preschool,
sometimes sick, where I would barf until one of the teachers
covered
it up with sand. There was one teacher who was an evil looking
woman
with eyes like the demoness Lilith, Adam's first devil-wife.
She and
another woman gave me a ride home, but I don't remember ever
getting
home actually, I don't remember where I ended up on that ride.
One
day I was wandering around the neighborhood again, and I peeked
through a mail-slot in a door and I saw a room with velvet red
drapes. I saw an altar with an inverted pentagram, with candles
which were not lit. The Chalice, The Bell, The Sword, I knew
what
these were but I had no words for them, I had somehow been in
that
house but I did not recall ever going there. Weird things
happen
when your only three, in some ways you are already old. I saw
too
the vast room filled with hooded figures! A giant Jackal-Headed
statue black as night around 200 feet tall, was flanked by
braziers
wafting clouds of incense. Beneath the vast altar was a huge
pit
with low burning fires. The small sacrifices were hurled like
soccer-balls; soaring through the air into the flaming pit.
Pitiful
cries and screams of torment were heard. In this way the
forgotten
ones of the maternity wards were given a manifest destiny. I
was
scared, but a priest told me that I "need not fear in that my
hourglass had red sand."
After my parents split up I ended up in a big house, bigger
than the one before. I found crucifixes made out of wood and
for
some reason I liked to turn them upside-down and break them
into
peace signs, but the sides would not hold and would fall on the
ground. I then found my sisters old barbies and scraped the
boobs
off of them against the wall so they would be flat chested. I
was
around 8 years old when this happened. When I was nine I
developed a
craving for wanting to drink human blood. My friends would cut
themselves and let me drink their blood. Their parents found
out
about this and called my folks, and my folks were alarmed by
this
disturbed behavior. They took me back to the Doktor with the
wispy
beard that looked like cotton candy made out of shit. The
Doktor
told my parents that their was nothing wrong with me, just
going
through a weird phase. This Doktor pretended to talk with a
German
accent, but I knew he was faking!! He knew that I knew, and
gave me
a mean look. He had dead eyes.
I was a teenager and an occult shop opened up where I lived.
It was run by a real fortunate son, he seemed very fortunate
which
was strange in that the shop was not doing that well. I started
doing a lot of acid in those days, and would practice black
magick
rites in the makeshift temple in the back. Once I did a
ceremony to
summon the 7 Crown Princes of Hell. Only Belial showed up, he
materialized in the incense outside of the magic circle. He
gave me
two visions: The first one was of a witch cackling and stirring
a
giant cauldron, on a very dark night. The second was of a naked
man
taking in a giant beam of celestial fire; drinking it into his
face,
with his arms outstretched and his legs parted in a standing
embrace. I still don't know what this signified. At the occult
shop
one day I also met a company man.
I was 26 and it was a very bad year. Too much debauchery had
caught up with me, as well as other things. I spent some time
in
nuthouse, but a nice shrink helped me recover. He gave me
Dilantin
and Centrax at the same time, it kept me in a mellow mood.
After I
got outta stir I moved in with a very weird madlady who indeed
was
legion. She was a lot of people in one person, and I did not
like
any of them and they did not like me. Except for two
exceptions: I
liked the little kid that came out as her sometimes, and the
old
medicine woman. The little girl told me all about the company,
and
how they like to turn one person into a whole bunch of people;
and
tell them to do things with the same body. Its a hobby of
theirs, a
game, maybe even a joke, but its a killing joke. I thought the
story
she told me was about as daft as a flying doughnut. After
awhile I
believed it but she was such a bitch I could not stand her and
moved
out. I did not care about all the spy stories, or politics at
all. I
was an occultist! She said she knew more about the Occult than
I
did. She was lying. The last thing she said was this: "Your
just
like all the bad people, because you think that life is
meaningless!" Whatever.
I was 31, and I met up again with the fortunate son in VEGAZ;
another cult scene, but not too hairy. He was a big dip-waffle
who
tried to use me and did. But he needed me, as he was in the
market
for a MAGUZ. No modesty is not one of my traits. I cannot
afford to
let it be, due to the fact that I am a collossal failure. I
learned
to put myself in really great trance states and bring down
demons
into my body. I could still maintain control though, and could
kick
them out at any time. We called down voodoo loa, devils and
demons
as cute as the conqueror worm. We hurled astral shit through
the
vortex; flinging it at the enemies of the fortunate son. One of
his
enemies succumbed to the sorcery; a woman had an asthma attack
and
died. The enemy coven thought that our magick did this, and the
girl's mother called the fortunate one and cursed him on the
phone.
The fortunate one got freaked out and sent flowers to her
funeral,
thus denying that he cursed her and denying the devils that
slew
a-one in his name. Like Peter denying the Savior the curse
rebounded
on Fortuno's head and his life turned into shit. I got sick of
him
using me, so I cursed him as well. I would drink bottles of rum
and
evoke the Petro Loa and dance around the altar, flinging
hateful
laughter and raging curses upon his worthless ass. It seemed to
make
things worse for him which delighted me. At this time too I met
this
guy who was a big fat liar who said his uncle invented Ritz
crackers. He said he was related to a big-band leader with a
big
beat. He told me that he was levitated high up over the ocean
and
floated into a cave on a summit of the Na Pali Coast in Kwaii.
When
he got floated into the cave he met a Kahuna Shaman who
instructed
him in the delicacies of Sumerian Sorcery. This guy's mind was
as
fried-out as a toasted jaybird in a torched forest. And damn
it, he
made friends with another one of those people who was a bunch
of
people in one body! A girl who was a martial arts and weapons
expert, on top of everything else! She knew about the fat
liar's
uncle and his big beat band: "Booker M.K. & The Ultras." One
day
she was flipping out and Fatso panicked and brought me down
there. I
told her that a mandala was one image, yet it had many facets,
many
in one, and one in many was still one. Finally she mellowed
out. I
was really scared, because she had a black belt in Karate and
was a
weapons expert, I on the other hand was a wuss who had only
shot a
B.B. gun at age 12. She was real nice to me and said that she
would
protect me from enemies, but Fatso got between us and kept her
away.
At that time I was just getting through day by day, and did not
care. Although I did once bring down spirits that came through
my
body and cracked the inside of a crystal that I held in my
hands. So
goes it.
Amused and bemused; this story is a tragedy in a laugh, and a
laugh with a crying face. I found out later that Doktor
Shit-Beard
ate some Uranium 235 and bought the farm; ded of cancer. That's
the
funny part, so you can laugh now!! But you know, when the
Romans
sacked Jerusalem and routed the Second Temple in Palestine,
they
killed a lot of Hebrews and impaled babies on their swords. But
the
thing is, is that this has never stopped. There are many
walking
wounded amongst you, who are locked in gulags with invisible
walls,
tormented by translucent tech. hands, mocked by unseen voices.
There
are mindless masses and complicit Doktors who will just call
all
this madness. Perhaps this is why I thanked God, when I had
that
dream about the world being destroyed by nuclear weapons. I got
out
my last praise indeed; right at the moment where I lost all my
atoms.
