SALAMANDER ENKI
AND OTHER TAILS OF EVOLUTION
Copyright 2000 Rev. Wyrdsli
CONTENTS
In the Beginning, there was only the water
and it was only there because it had finally cooled
from being the first breath of God.
And as it were the first breath of God,
it was full of life.
And it came to pass in the following eons,
that are a blink of God's eye,
that the Paramecium and the Amoeba
coagulated to form a more complex organism.
And from this mass cooperation of
one-celled life forms came tiny creatures,
the worm, the jellyfish and simple crustaceans.
And Lo and behold! These civilizations
of microscopic entities learned to work the DNA.
They learned to re-work the exoskeleton into
bones of cartilage, sinews and muscle.
From that came fish and the very first sharks.
Stronger bones brought the amphibian -
the frog, the skink and the salamander!
One day a young and adventurous salamander named Enki looked again
at the surface of the water, the only sky he had ever known.
He was always fascinated with the way it shimmered.
He had always wondered if there was anything past that barrier
that the elders had forbade anyone to cross.
He wondered why he was forbidden to even try
to climb into the sky and see what lay beyond.
He wondered if going there would bring him closer to God.
He traveled to where the mountain met the sky
defying the ancient law of the elders,
putting one little web foot in front of the other,
he finally broke through the surface of the water
and found himself on dry land.
Only he knew no word for the sensation he felt under his feet.
Enki coughed the water out of his gills and became
the first creature since God to breath air.
His head felt light and the heat of that Mediterranean sun
in the summer was more heat than he was accustomed to.
But this experience transcended everything he had ever known.
He returned to his people to share his discovery.
But instead of being greeted by an enthusiastic reception for
word of the world beyond,
he was met by an angry mob ready to string him up
as a heretic salamander.
Sensing their mood, Enki implored them:
(IN WATERY VOICE)
"My brothers, I have had a wondrous and enlightening experience
that has shown to me that we can rise above our present
level of existence and may even prove
to be a turning point in our evolution"
The Crowd, not properly understanding him,
lynched him without a second thought.
Still, in the weeks and months that followed,
their curiosity ate away at them.
And when no one was looking,
they went and looked for themselves.
And they found that he was right.
Eventually, there were creatures that
only lived on the land. And the truth that Enki
had died trying to bring to his people was
just a fact of life.
So as you walk the earth,
and pay a visit to the sand.
Have a drink for Salamander Enki
The first to walk the land.
Hear me oh Children of God!
I was sacrificed as a lamb, but I return as a Lion.
I am Alpha and Omega, I am the first and the last.
Out of my mouth shall come a sharp sword
for to strike the nation of Babylon down.
I am the Shepherd with an Iron Rod.
I have come to lead you out of darkness
to the light
Oh, my people, you have been seduced by the
Great Beast already.
You call him big brother, but he is no brother.
He is a beast and who is like him and
who can wage war against him?
This Brother is a beast, but he is no one and
no body
His name is legion and endless are the faces.
But you honor him, you honor him when you
shop at his markets with glowing lights and shrink wrap plastic.
You pay with plastic because his word is no good.
And you pay homage to him when you pray unto
electronic graven images on his alters of tubes and wires.
Babylon with her beautiful voice
that is heard everywhere has seduced you with song.
Oh, my people, rise up and awake!
Resist the Beast!
For he has hurled blasphemies against God,
reviling him and his tabernacle and those that reside in Heaven,
Resist the Beast!
For he has waged war in my name and he must be put down!
If any man have an ear, let him hear.
He that leadeth into captivity, shall be lead into captivity.
He that killeth by the sword, shall be killed by the sword.
Here is the patience and the faith of the Saints.
Resist the Beast!
For he caused that all, great and small, rich and poor,
free and bound, to receive a mark on their right hand or forehead,
or the top right corner of any official document, that no man might buy or sell
save that he that had the mark,
or the name of the Beast,
or the number of his name.
Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding
count the number of the beast
for it is the number of a man and his number is 3 digits,
two digits and then four;
Divide add multiply and understand.
Depart from Babylon oh my people.
For her sins have reached even unto heaven
and God remembers her iniquities.
Come out of babylon
and honor not the beast
and in the end times
God will lead his faithful to Eternal Salvation.
For my voice is as the trumpet of Gabriel
to awaken the dead to life,
that they might see signs and wonders
of the light.
And be glad thereof.
Oh my People,
throw the money changers out of the temples!
I used to hang with a decadent crowd. We thought we were cool, a hip underground of metaphysics, the Beats of the New Age. They said "Everything you know is wrong." "Nothing is true and everything is permissible." and "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law." We thought we were freeing ourselves from society's stupid chains. We railed on Christianity. We talked endlessly about the Inquisition, the Crusades, witch hunts, McCarthyism, the slaughter of the Templars, the persecution of Willheilm Reich, Timothy Leary and Aleister Crowley, compared them to the condemnations of Galileo and Copernicus. We were the enlightened ones, brave thinkers of revolutionary heresy. The Templars come back like Heaven's agnostics. We studied the Cabala, ancient paganism, Alchemy and the rituals of the Silver Star. We drank and took drugs, worshiped obscure, strange alien Gods and made unsuccessful attempts at orgies. Who would've thought there was a downside to the darkside? Who would've dreamed the left-hand path was a wrong way street. I learned. Violence and betrayal were my teachers and Evil was the lesson. I learned the hard way that immorality carries dishonor, dishonesty and disgrace. Looking for integrity amongst immorality is like looking for a needle in molten lava. Evil practiced becomes evil perfected. Evil assumes power without accepting responsibility The most important thing I learned about evil is that, like insanity, evil never confesses itself. Evil always has a rationalization for what it does. I have long since abandoned that crowd, and it has dissipated. Where there is no integrity, unity is fleeting. I am gone from there. It is behind me, but never far enough. The scars inflicted on my heart have yet to heal. The nightmares still haunt me. The path of roses has grown over with thorns. I have come to wonder if it wasn't the Catholic Church that was the driving force that led us out of the dark ages, keeping us from resorting to barbarianism. But the world is an endless rainbow of colors, not black and white. Evil is still relative, but every cloud has a seed of thunder. Comparing Paganism to Christianity is like comparing Capitalism to Communism - none of them are any better than the peopple that practice them. I am not perfect. I am no one's saint. But the struggle to rise above the sins of my past is valid for it's own sake. I am forgotten but unforgettable. I am in limbo, but it is better than hell. This reform I attempt to perpetuate is not easy, but it is the only way. To surrender to past darkness is to be defeated by it. I know I have a long way to go, but to turn back is to fail. Because sin is the beginning of redemption, as confusion is the beginning of understanding and ignorance is the beginning of knowledge
I have found her
The one I crawled through pubs to find
The one I danced with on the astral plane
and thought I would never meet in Assiah
The one I knew before and craved deep in my veins
like a heroin addict
I have finally gotten a shot of her in my
blood and I won't let her go
I am now addicted to her...
She is my morphine, calming my agitated nerves.
When I am in pain, she brings me comfort
and I knew that this would happen soon
all the signs,
the flashes of deja vu
The nagging feeling of a new level of initiation
I was to undertake,
but I had no idea what it was...
and then I found her,
She is my Blood Lover
My Fellow Americans,
I come to you tonight because our country is at a crossroads.
In Democracy, it is the duty and privilege of the people to vote.
This ensures not only that everyone gets a say, but that everyone is heard.
Our Forefathers founded this great land knowing that
destiny lay ahead and believing that for government
to best serve the people, the people must hold the
ultimate power to decide how and in which direction our country should go.
When Abraham Lincoln was elected and half the country seceded
he realized his support was not solid.
But he kept to the high road and freed the slaves
and thus ensured his place in history as a great American President.
When Franklin Deleno Roosevelt looked across the Atlantic
and saw how tyranny had spread virtually unchecked
and how desperate our allies were,
he took the high road and a great sacrifice.
But today, Europe is better off for his vision
and the sacrifices of countless Americans.
Today we stand on the verge of a new Era and the brink of reversal.
My opponent would have you believe that he has
the vision to lead this great land through the difficult years ahead.
When I hear him say this I am reminded that
none are so blind as those that won't see.
He has not been to the streets to see the poor wallowing in misery.
He has not been to the schools to see the children
cry out for knowledge and understanding.
He has not been to the prisons to see
the murderers and rapists pump iron and watch T.V.
My opponent would lead our land into a darkness
that we might not ever recover from.
We have come a long way
but there is still much to do.
We must continue to be strong.
To that end we must weed out weakness.
We must recognize that we have enemies
in our midst that will not hesitate to strike when we are weak.
I ask you for your trust in me to make us strong
and to see the enemies around us and ensure
that they do not destroy our integrity
or the honor and glory that is the American way of life.
My fellow Americans,
vote for me in November and
I will bring us back to the
power and beauty of our new Rein
and the world will bow down to us.
Poverty makes you stronger if it doesn't kill you.
I should know.
I've been lighting bong hits off the stove.
THE ANSWER TO THE WORLD'S PROBLEMS
I've been thinking, The world seems to be such a mess,
what with wars, strikes, acts of terrorism, corporate mergers,
frivolous lawsuits, artistic dissent,
failed families, high crime rate, racial tension etc.
I believe the answer is for everyone to be a heroin addict.
Think about it. If everyone was high,
floating on a cloud and feeling groovy,
why would we need to bother with conflict anymore?
Wars would end immediately because
all the generals and soldiers would mellow out
and wouldn't want to fight anymore.
Strikes would stop because no one would have a job anymore.
Acts of terrorism would be way too much hassle
while your busy trying to get that next hit.
Corporate mergers would evaporate because
they're too damn complicated and fucked up anyway.
Frivolous lawsuits would at least
become more interesting and entertaining.
Artistic dissent would be a passing thought at best,
such conversations would only arise briefly between runs.
Failed families would decrease proportionally
with the plummeting birth rate.
High crime rate would nearly disappear into thin air
as soon as the drugs were made legal, cheap and relatively safe.
Racial tension would ease as soon as
the drugs worked into the brain and dissolved tension.
There, now that I've figured it out,
lets all write our senators.
Why did those black men rob and beat my wife
while they held me at bay with a gun?
Why do young healthy articulate black men with
a big shiny black car and big shiny silver guns
jump me and my wife for $4 and her tube of lipstick?
And if you wanted the money, why did you have to
keep beating my wife you piece of human refuge?
She thinks she may have a broken rib.
What happened to the dream?
What happened to the dream where little children of
all colors were dancing together?
When did it become the nightmare where black men
pull a gun on me and beat my wife in front of me?
So much for the dream. I guess Martin
took it with him when he left.
This white boy and girl never owned no slaves.
I come from Abolitionists. I wonder if that counts for anything anymore.
They say black people can't be prejudiced,
but we got mugged for being white.
Emergency wards are full of stories about
the black men in the black cars and the big shiny guns.
They shoot anyway.
It never fails.
They shoot when you cooperate.
They shoot you because you're white.
The race war is well under way.
And I look at the politics of this sick little world and I wonder.
Have the black now become the oppressor?
They elect black mayors, city councils, sheriffs etc.
I read in the listings in the Loaf every week
Black this black that blah, blah, blah.
Can you imagine what would happen to me if
I tried to have a poetry reading called
"White light" and invited "white poets" or "poets of light color"?
I'd be branded a Nazi or Ku Klux Klan.
This white boy gets the cold shoulder treatment
all day long in 60% black Atlanta.
But that's the least of it.
"No justice, no Peace" huh?
My idea of justice is every black man that's
raped a white woman should be put to death without question.
Besides, there is no peace now anyway.
The race war is well underway, what happened to the dream?
This is not a love poem You won't find a single dove, flower or term of endearment. I'm not in love, I'm just in pain. Because it hurts to wake up every morning with the sun right in my eye, but it makes me wake up. I'm in pain because now I'm permanently disfigured, and fixing the cosmetic problem could cause a functional one. I'm in pain because I miss my ex-wife, I miss holding her, even though it hurts to call her on the phone. I'm in pain because I miss that bird, that I never fed quite well enough, and did too little too late when he got sick, in that apartment that never really wanted the two of us there. I can hardly stand to go on without him, and he's not coming back. I'm in pain because I can't stand the world the way it is, and I have no power to change it. I'm in pain because I can hardly stand myself, and I don't know how I want to be.
Seems like old times
I wake in the morning to go to work
and she is still asleep. She was up all night drawing
I never wake her.
We slept in the same bed,
but we are worlds apart.
She is not my lover,
and I have long since ceased to be the man of her dreams
I am Venus in Scorpio,
deadly is my venom's desire.
And I stung myself to death,
when I was in the flames.
I love her and she tells me the same.
But we will never be in love again.
She is no longer the starving desperate waif
that fell in love with me once upon a time
We are eternal but not to be together
And neither will we ever be
We are fated for each other,
but not to be whole again.
Pain, like death, is a great equalizer.
We smoke the Peace Pipe and cry one more time
I am Venus in Scorpio.
Deadly is my venom's desire.
And I stung myself to death
when I was in the flames
Laura stands on the stage, slender, shy and graceful
Her belly button peeks out like a wink.
Just enough body to hold her ghost,
just enough courage to hold court for poets.
Is she too nervous to be obnoxious?
I think this job was thrust on her.
I have seen so many open mike hosts,
I have been one myself.
Most are brash exhibitionists.
Kitty Beat was dry and sarcastic, I modeled myself after her.
I am tempted to give her pointers, but would it violate the purity of her presence?
Should I feed the white bird of peace
my Lizard blood?
Would I risk poisoning her to make her stronger?
Laura, you are beautiful, don't ever change.
Women are held back by biology,
their bodies tend to be smaller, weaker and vulnerable
Women are held back by tradition,
it's a relatively new idea that they're not property.
Young men, love the girls.
I don't mean just tell them you love them so they'll
strip and lie down to give of their bodies to you.
And don't tell them that they'll do it if they love you,
you wouldn't do that if you really love them.
And there will be time enough for that later,
when you know the time is right for it's own sake
and not for conquest.
I mean love them. Look inside and see their beauty-
even if they hide it,
even if you can't see your own,
See their beauty and reflect it back to them.
Tell them that their good and lovely and
deserve to be treated well,
and then treat them well.
When they cry, don't run in fear of emotion's intensity.
Hold them and let them cry.
Let their tears soak your shirt - for there is no purer baptism.
When they raise their voices in anger,
do not respond in kind.
Put Satan behind you and look again
for the beauty and speak to that.
Young men, love the girls.
Because love conquers all.
Because love bears healing in it's wings.
Because love makes the world go round.
Because love is the Alpha and Omega.
Because love is reflected in love,
and beauty answers beauty.
When memories have come and gone,
and sorrow and anger are my only friends,
I will remember you again like a summer daydream.
The hours you spent by my side
when we thought there'd be no end.
The minutes we spent arguing
as if there were no answer.
And I will wonder one more time,
if there wasn't another way.
I will wonder one more time,
where you are that day.
When I was aggravated and unsure
of anything but my pain.
You were charged with energy
that wore me to a fray.
But I will remember you again,
like a whisper in my ear.
I will remember gentle kisses,
and the love I threw away.
I shall regret only my economies.
When I have forgotten my own name
and all the permutations thereof.
I will remember where I was all the times
that I was lost.
I won't remember why I came, only why I must leave.
And if I see you again, all I'll know to say is:
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh God on high, I'm sorry.
HAS NOTHING CHANGED SINCE SALEM?
It seems to be the last great acceptable prejudice.
People who might see themselves as politically correct,
enlightened even,
who would never dream of uttering the "n-word"
can toss the epitaph "devil worshiper" like a frisbee, like it's okay to treat
Pagans like third class citizens, like Salem and the Spanish Inquisition never happened.
Freedom of Religion is little more than
a pretense in this "Great" Christian Nation.
Courts take children away from Pagan mothers.
Employers fire Pagan Employees.
Police treat them like criminals for their religious beliefs.
Has nothing changed since Salem?
Am I less of a person for seeng God
more in the beauty and power of nature
than a corpse on a cross?
Is there more God in death than life?
Am I evil for believing that God
is as much Mother as Father?
Am I less of a person for reading Tarot cards,
Aleister Crowley, Isreal Regardie, Gerald Gardner,
Robert Anton Wilson and Eliphas Levi?
Am I evil for having thoughts that you don't approve of?
Am I less of a person for not swallowing
Christ as my personal savior
like so much Jimmy Swargart Seman?
Has nothing changed since Salem.
Why is it that Christians fear the Devil so much
if God is so powerful?
Most Pagan don't even believe in the Devil.
Christians and Muslims do,
I guess they need a scapegoat.
Is the Devil really any more than the
Ultimate Boogie Man?
Eat your broccoli George, or SATAN will get you!
Do they fear the Devil because they know
that the evil in their own heart
is stronger than the good?
Do they think that it's easier
and more fun to be bad than good?
Is that the real Devil?
Does free will keep you from doing the right thing?
Why are so many priests child molesters?
Don't you wonder why these 'devil worshipper'
kids want to side with the bad guy?
How has Christianity alienated them?
Doesn't it bother you that so called
agents of Christ want your money so bad?
Didn't Jesus say that it's easier for
a camel to go through the eye of the needle
than for a fat rich televangelist to get into heaven?
Why do Christians use so much violent rhetoric?
Onward Christian Soldiers,
kill savages for Christ,
ethnic cleanse the Muslims exterminate the Jews.
I'd like to ask Jesus himself
what he thinks about a lot of things.
But if he ever came back,
his ass is behind bars.
Because he always was a trouble maker,
and very little has changed since Salem
Hey, I have read the Bible. Do you know what I see?
In Genesis: God lies, the serpent clues them in,
that the fruit won't kill them and will
actually make them more aware.
And you continue to praise the lying manipulative God.
I don't understand that.
In Exodus: "Thou shalt not kill"
is followed pages afterwards with
"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live".
What's wrong with this picture? Which is it?
Can any Bible thumpers reconcile these
for me?
Leviticus: Has anyone out there read Leviticus?
Can I see some hands? Well, if you had,
you would know how to properly sacrifice
the pick of the herd
on the altar of God
and sprinkle the blood on the coals
as a sin offering.
You think I'm making that up?
Go read the damn Bible yourself!
Second Kings: Elija the Tishbite
could raise the dead and left the earth
in a wirldwind of fire.
And to this day we wonder
if we're alone in the Universe.
Hello?
And don't get me started on the Gospels.
Virgin Birth?
None of it written for years after the events
allegedly occurred?
Good thing we don't apply journalistic standards to the gospels.
One of my general problems with the Bible
is all the translations it's been through.
I'm no linguistic expert,
but I know just enough about the
complexities and subtleties of the Hebrew language
to guess that it don't be go in latin real fuck good.
And by the time it gets to a medivial English king,
thou shalt give it up.
For woe unto him that looketh for the word of God
in third or forth hand translations.
It is as listening for a whisper in the tower Babel,
babel on, babel on.
God doesn't write on paper,
he writes on our hearts.
Just as real secrets aren't real secrets
if they can be spoken.
I'll acknowledge the Bible as a cultural reference point.
But ever since Constantine,
it's been one of the most powerful tools
for social control
- and the greatest piece of propaganda
Western Civilization has ever known.
Funny, how my sweat seems to smell different in Texas, more intense, more toxic. It seems I lost myself somewhere between Atlanta and Austin. I used to be someone, what happened? Am I not the same Reverend Wyrdsli that... invoked IAO in the name of the Gnostic Saints, that trusted in the face of deception, that dropped acid in New Orleans and discovered the Lizard of Oz, that slept on the streets and dragged himself up, that wore a black robe and burned incense and candles in the name of art, that was well known in Little Five Points, that hosted open mikes and poetry slams, was called a 'poser' and made his way to community access T.V., that accepted the flower of innocense from a Catholic school girl, to be stalked by her later, that read at Atlanta's High Museum of Art and the University of Bonn, Germany, that could almost count on being recognized before leaving the airport when returning to Atlanta, that loved, lost and hurt only to go on? But I followed Angel to find heaven. Her heaven is Hell and the aftermath is suffocating. Did her family destroy me so thoroughly that Jimi Hendrix and Black Sabbath were replaced by Dr. Laura and Rush Limbau? I used to be someone. Help me Satan, I need your strength. I need the strength to persevere. I need the strength to be cruel when tempted to weak compassion. I need the strength to be violent when tempted to inaction. I need the strength to pursue when tempted by laziness. I need the strength to not care if I matter in this world. I need the strength to fight in the face of hopelessness. I need the strength to carry on when there is no reason. Help me find my way back to myself. And something told me, read again Liber Al Legis, The Sacred Magick of the Lizard of Oz and meditate on Baphomet. Are you testing me my sweet Satan? I think I lost myself somewhere between Atlanta and Austin. Funny how my sweat seems to smell different in Texas.
Can I call up God and get my karma report? I keep looking for his (hers? Theirs?) Web page - god.gov, heaven.com, afterlife.net Does God have a 800 number? I want my karma report. Am I black and beautiful or blood stained red karmically bankrupt? Have I done enough good in this life to take a second mortgage on my soul, or am I still paying off Satan for stealing gum, smoking pot, dropping acid, listening to devil music and wearing black t-shirts to school when my mother said she didn't want me looking like motorcycle tough? Am I forever damned for the abortions I allowed and abetted? And what about all the pets that have died in my care? I've left more women that cared about me than been dumped - I'm not bragging, I'm worried about my karma account. Is the five years I spent with that satanic cult minimized by the nightmare they put me through, or the damage they did to my life? Do my studies in magick and mysticism make me a para - angel? Do I get points taken off for not having sex with women that were clearly willing? Do I get points for letting people walk over me and manipulate me? Sermon on the mount, is all that for real? It doesn't stand up to skeptical scientific testing. For all the Bibles and churches, they don't have Jesus on video tape. It could all be a shell game. Do I get any points for the mace, the guns and disrespect dished to me from the blacks? I sure wish I could ask my abolitionist ancestors. How about my ex-mother-in-law threatening to kill me when my ex-brother-in-law got the mistaken notion, in a drunken rage, I was beating my wife? Where can I write to get my karma report? I want to check it for errors.
I know my tongue is a dangerous weapon. It's caused havoc many times. Maybe I should keep it locked up in a cabinet I'm considering registering it with the police as a deadly weapon. If I don't keep my safety on, one false slip can cause irreparable damage. Better yet, I think I'll lobby congress to enact yongue control laws. That way innocent people don't need to fear a rouge tongue shooting them down with a brutal insult. Sure, first amendment creeps will put up a fight, saying "Tongues don't hurt people's feelings, people hurt people's feelings" But how many times have they looked into the eyes of someone destroyed by an unkind statement. How many times have they seen an ego crushed when forced to look into Van Helsing's mirror? But tongues are dangerous, they should be locked up where children and the mentally unbalanced can't get to them.
Trying to read my mind? I'd advise against it. It's not a happy read. It's dark and heavy. A sad and gruesome tale without a happy ending or even a moral that can be used in mixed company. Convoluted subplots that go no where, unsavory characters with ulterior motives and few redeeming characteristics. It didn't get good reviews. They said it didn't have good family values. It's not for children, the elderly, more sensitive or basically decent readers with heart conditions. Jesse Helms wanted it banned because it's obscene. Rated X for language, nudity, violence and existential angst. But NPR said it was ahead of it's time, and Oliver Stone has bought the rights to make a movie.
Inessa leans out of the color picture
in the free catalog I got in the mail.
She has the face of a China doll.
Her silky looking brown hair brushes her shoulders.
A white lace blouse wraps around her neck.
A tiny pearl earring hangs from her lobe.
Her eyes, dark brown with just a hint of blue shadow,
are sad, they say:
"Please, come and get me out of Russia!"
Inessa is twenty six years old,
five foot five,
one hundred twenty six pounds;
and a University Graduate in Engineering.
Her English level is three out of five,
She says:
"I'm faithful, kind, serious, intelligent, optimistic.
Seeking serious W. (I guess that means white, or wealthy) man
who could become my lover and husband."
I am already in love with Inessa.
I have fantasized scamming the dollars it will take to go to Russia,
whatever it will take to bring her back with me here,
where she will not doubt melt in Texas heat after surviving Soviet winters.
She is sweet and gentle and in love with me.
She moves gently and with just the right touch of trepidation.
Eternally grateful for getting her out of Russia.
She is intelligent but sweetly naive about Western ways.
I lovingly explain in simple English.
Confusing her with my private jokes she won't get for another year.
She looks at me with her big sad brown eyes and says: "Okay."
On the other hand, she is a wizard.
She downloads the service packs from Microsoft
fixing the bugs in my Windows NT. And the apartment is spotless.
I have come to this.
I have come to dreaming about a mail order bride.
How pathetic must I be?
I told someone, and she said:
"But what if it doesn't work? What if she goes
and sleeps with your best friend?"
"Well I don't have a best friend." I joke.
"Besides, she would never do that to me,
not my Inessa."
I think I'll pick up a street walker for a dinner, so I'll have someone to talk to while I eat . I'll cruise down the boulevard in my late 70's LTD, find one just a little beaten up and the make up just a little heavy, and say "Hey baby, how much to have dinner with me?' When she gets in my car, I'll tell her, "Shhhhhhh, don't tell me your name, I'm going to call you America." I will take her to the nicest restaurant in town. Where the busboys and dishwashers are illegal aliens that are paid in food and threats of deportation. The waitresses are doing lap and table dances, the Matri-de is openly trafficking drugs and the bartender is cheating you on the drinks. They do these things because the owner pays them next to shit, charges outrageous prices for the dishes and gets a tax cut for his 'exchange student work program'. America and I will dine on the elderly, their liquid assets for soup, leafy green cash for salad, the bulk of their estates for the main course, and what's left of social security for desert. And she will get drunk on the blood of the Saints. She will boast loudly about her achievements, her power and her glory. She will brag about her puppet governments and intelligence missions, her Commonwealths, Colonies, her business and political influence everywhere and her black ops. She will excuse her self to 'powder' her nose' with a gift from the CIA. But I know better, she has gone to sell her ass in the bathroom to a terrible, horrifying beast of extraordinary strength with ten horns, iron teeth, bronze claws.... I know this because when she comes out, I see his mark on her. I will grab her and say: "America, you are a Whore! You are the whore that sold us out to the Reticulans so you could build faster computers, bigger planes and smarter bombs. You are the whore that sends our young men and women to wars we've ceased to understand, that sets up puppet Shah's and then acts shocked to find the Arabs hate you and call you the Devil. You are the whore that said you love our children, but you burned them up in Waco and blew them up in Oklahoma city, and you want more cops to watch us. Your skinheads and Klansmen disgrace my abolitionist heritage, and your blacks rape my white sisters more than I have fingers on my hand, toes on my feet and hairs on my fucking head to count. The things I have to do for a dinner date!
Life is funny sometimes. Like, I had this teacher that was always giving me shit cuz I was stoned in class and didn't have no homework. It just kinda pissed me off. So I put this ad in the paper with his name and address that says "have found loophole in laws concerning child pornography". Sure enough, the feds were on him like Clinton on pussy. It ruined his career and he killed himself in jail. And I was staying with this girl. And she's giving me shit cuz I'm always stoned and I never cleaned up. It just kinda pissed me off. So when she was gone, I took her cat and shaved it and painted it silver and took it to NASA and said "Look, it's an alien!" They looked at me like I was crazy. So that girl kicked me out cuz she thought I did something to her cat when she saw all the cat hair and silver paint. So I went back home, and my step mom goes, "Oh great, pothead is back" It kinda pissed me off. So I say "Chill, Ma, I'll fix you a drink." I make her a bourbon and pond water. Sure enough, half an hour later, she's doubled over moaning looking like a Raggedy Ann doll. While she's throwing up in the bathroom, I replace Daddy's heart pills with tic tacs. When Daddy gets home, I say "Oh, she's just drunk again." But when he can't find a pulse, he starts to freak out. So he grabs his chest and runs for his heart pills. And I laugh when his eyes stick out like those dolls that go "Blahhhh" So I figured Huntsville is a little too hot for me. So I hitchhike outta there. I get picked up by this Jesus Freak. And he's asking me if I believe in Jesus and blah blah blah, All that Religion talk kinda pissed me off. So I grab his collar and bang his head against the window. And the blood splatters on the windshield like tiny roses on the vine. He veers off the road, but I used him as a cushion. So here I am in Austin, and it's pretty cool here. Except for that Jeff Knight guy, so insufferably wholesome, so despicably decent... Man he pisses me off... Hey, I think I got an idea.
It was a sad day. It was so sad that God herself cried rain that dripped down from the umbrella that Tiger held to keep the rain off of his friends. And in his cocaine psychosis he believed this was his way of being strong. Piglet passed Tiger the joint that was helping them take the edge off the day. Piglet had barely left the raves except to drop more ecstacy since he heard the news. The trails he was seeing could not blot out the reality that the coffin bore - Christopher Robins's dead. Owl minded the rain less than the smell of marijuana so he stood just a little away. Eyore barely noticed the rain. It was all he could do to keep from nodding off. He'd been using heroin for years to numb the pain of the nail in his rear end, and today he needed even more. Rabbit rattled off the eulogy that he hoped would prove he was morally superior to the rest of them. Rabbit was the only one that wasn't more worried about Pooh. Pooh was taking it pretty hard. After all, he was the last one to see Christopher Robin alive, and maybe, Pooh thought, Pooh could've stopped him from driving off in his black Camero that night. Christopher Robin had been at Pooh's house that night. They went through a lot of Honey Ale. Mind you, Pooh could put away a fair amount of Honey Ale on his own. But Christopher Robin was despondent over getting dumped by Pipi Longstockings. Pooh tried to convince Christopher Robin it was for the best in the long run. Pipi was into some pretty kinky stuff, and besides she would never get over that sailor thing anyway. Christopher Robin would hear none of it. He got agitated and began to seethe. "Chris, please," Pooh begged him "Calm down. There are plenty of other girls, Chris. They're like buses Chris, there's always another one coming along." "No, no no." Christopher Robin shouted. He grabbed Pooh and threw him against the wall so hard it nearly knocked his stuffings out. Off into the night Christopher Robin went in his black Camero. The Camero that minutes later, smashed into the Keebler Elves' Tree.
Once upon a time, I was a fairly important member of a
relatively unimportant chapter of an obscure occult society.
Some people might call it a 'Satanic Cult'.
Then again, some might see the United States Government in a similar light.
One day, during all this excitement,
Albert Greenspan asked to talk with me privately.
Albert was a good friend (or so I thought at the time)
so I agreed despite how odd he was behaving about this
private meeting.
We went out to the porch where the children of Pan would
enjoy the summer southern evenings.
"Jake," Albert began. "I often think of you as the
hidden hand of the House of Pan."
I took this in stride because in a lot of ways,
it was actually deserved.
I fielded many phone calls and did a lot of
stupid little errands and things that Bob Page,
our fearless leader, couldn't be bothered with.
Albert knew all this quite well.
Eventually he would follow Page down a moribund path
because Page had the charter for the local chapter
of the House of Pan.
Page had the monopoly regardless of how
well or ethical he was able and willing to conduct business.
"Uh-huh..." I acknowledged.
"Anyway," Albert continued. "You know about this
'Skrying in the Flesh' workshop Lucy and I have been working on."
"Uh-huh..." Indeed I did know about the 'Skrying in the Flesh'
workshop that Albert and his wife Lucy had been working on.
He had proudly shown the general membership of the House of Pan
the flyers he had generated on his computer.
(Back in the Eighties, that was still unusual.)
They'd told us how they had been working with this
powerful form of divination that involved sex and drugs.
We were all intrigued and curious,
but none of us had any real idea of what
exactly they did and how they expected to do
selling this workshop to suburban thrill seekers
they believed themselves to be smarter and more sophisticated than.
The members of the household of Pan didn't discuss it
much between us, but I sensed a certain amount of
alienation since Albert and Lucy had developed
this on their own and we didn't know that much about it.
"As you know," Albert continued. "We plan to charge
a fair amount of money for people to attend,
but we haven't even performed the working for any of our immediate friends yet."
"Some of us are quite curious too." I offered,
which I meant in an empirical sort of way as
opposed to a prurient one. But he probably wouldn't have believed me.
"I'm sure." Albert smiled. "So, Lucy and I were discussing it
and we decided to ask you to come watch it
so that we can see how comfortable we are doing it in front of you.
That way we can get a feel for how we may be able to
deal with doing it in front of strangers."
"Uh-huh..." I thought about it for two seconds,
that was how long it took me to consider the probability
that I might be harmed in some way and
how worried I would be about it. "I'd be honored."
I didn't fear being uncomfortable seeing them
naked since I'd seen them both naked before.
As a matter of fact, the first night I'd ever met them,
Lucy decided that I was cute and wanted to get into my pants.
Lucy was an exotic dancer with a delicious body.
Her getting into my pants wasn't difficult.
I was only a tiny bit bothered by
the fact she was married to Albert.
But that was more her concern than mine.
So after she dropped Albert off at home
we went back to the apartment that
Page used at the time for the House of Pan Mass.
I fucked her in the wooden frame and pillow couch
while Bob and Sheila fucked on his bed.
It wasn't too hard to ignore Sheila asking Bob
if he minded the heart operation scar on her chest.
Lucy was hot and hot for me.
At one point, Bob looked over at us and patted a space next to them on the bed.
"There's plenty of room over here." He invited.
"That's okay." I said. I didn't want to share Lucy
and I sure didn't want any of Sheila,
that heart operation scar wasn't the worst aspect of her.
It later got back to me that Bob thought
I was being unfriendly,
which I took with a grain of salt and didn't worry too much about.
So when Albert asked me to witness their
'Skrying in the Flesh' working, I was intrigued.
When you walk on the left-hand path, sex and drugs are tools to be loved.
I can't remember how I got there. I think Lucy drove me in her jeep,
the same jeep she drove the first night we met and she wanted in my pants.
I'm not sure what I expected either.
They had been pretty vague about the technique
they were using for this.
It only stood to reason that
serious hallucinogens and long hours fucking would be involved.
Instead, they pulled out this big beautiful
glass waterpipe with two hoses coming off of it.
Lucy loaded up the bowl with a handful of pot.
Albert didn't normally smoke pot and
often gave me a certain amount of grief
for my pot smoking. Which always struck me as
a bit hypocritical for someone addicted to zanix.
He must have seen the look on my face.
"You know that I don't normally smoke this stuff Jake.
I'm doing this for the working." He explained.
"Uh-huh..." I let it slide, not wanting to hurt the mood or the working.
After a few pulls each on this beautiful waterpipe,
Lucy helped Albert off with his pants and
he leaned back against the wall.
She took his tiny penis in her hand and
started to work it gently and with
a certain intensity in her eye.
Albert began to speak not much above a mumble about the visions he
was having. I observed silently.
I think this went on for about twenty minutes.
Time is relative in
ordinary waking consciousness,
it's almost irrelevant in ritual time.
Besides, I sure wasn't watching the clock.
Eventually they were winding down, and I heard myself
ask the question that had started to nag at me.
"And y'all are going to do this in front of
strangers from the suburbs?"
"Oh my god, Jake's here." Allen blurted somewhat
clearer than much else he had said for the
last twenty minutes or however long it had been.
Whatever I had expected, this wasn't it.
I probably hoped in the back of my mind that it would end up
a free for all that would make it okay for me to tag Lucy again
- this time in front of her thoroughly stonned husband.
But as disappointed as I might've felt,
I didn't stoop to ridicule or even question them beyond the superficial
level I'd already embarrassed them on.
I felt worse for them after the build-up they
had been promoting to the rest of us.
Needless to say, they
decided that they would not be comfortable doing
this for strangers from the suburbs.
Lucy drove me home. She was fairly irritated.
"I knew Albert couldn't go through with it.
He built it up and made all those flyers.
Shit, we sure could use the money."
She casually seethed.
When I came home to the Household of Pan,
all eyes were on me in anticipation.
"They've decided they're not going to do it
for strangers from the suburbs." I announced in
the most nonchalant way I could. Jesse didn't relax his anticipation.
"What?" I looked at him.
"I think he wants a blow-by-blow." Sheila chirped in. I laughed.
"Not doing a blow by blow." I casually refused.
It was just too much of a let down.
And I know they were disappointed in me for not giving them
the in depth report they were pruriently interested in,
but in a sense I did them a favor they may never have appreciated.
I let them wonder and create scenarios in their minds
that I could never fool myself with anymore.
I left them with a mystery I had sacrificed in the name of science.
Whatever we had expected, 'Skrying in the Flesh' was not.
I went to my room and masturbated myself to sleep.