“From one extreme to another!” That has always been my curse and credo. Consider someone who has been strapped to the max over the course of his life. And possibly many others? Consider the wrath of the feminine. Consider there is no power on earth that exceeds the fickleness of the womb. Some evil goddess in control of the portal of life. Someone not to be pissed off at or taken lightly!
If anyone wanted to know why one could find themselves at whit’s end, belly up to the bar chugging wine straight from the bottle? Well there it is! The fittest explanation of that ‘mother octopus’ standing nearby in human attire. Those characteristic Saturnine extra four limbs simply folded out of sight. Maybe when such Goddess gives birth from their core, they do so in order to clone themselves? But find much to their distraction a much less than miraculous choice? Cursed to bring into being an indifferent nemesis that is opposite in every way? Or perhaps an insufficient clone that is in so many ways their duplicate but as such potentially inflexibly antagonistic. This current epoch advising the species of woman to abandon the notion of birth for the sake of their own sanity. Postpartum indentured servitude legally imposed by that careless world of men demanding the minimum of eighteen years of their life. Then in rage this deity come up from the depths of darkened emotion to enrapture with all her appendages so as to pull her rivals down into the ravages of her biddleling beak. Tearing one chunk asunder here and chewing a bite there at her convenience. The portal of death offering no possibility of escape as the demigoddess will follow you throughout an eternity of lifetimes. Through the current cults of science won’t believe in your devils. The only thing real is her ceaseless unending pursuit.
The opposite os such being a vengeful scheming ‘Bluebeard‘ in his lair killing off young male proteges to steal their identity to take their place. Vats and chambers of boiling acid dissolving all the evidence in proliferation throughout. Lodged under hatches screwed down tight. Most often mistaken for refinished floorboards. Femme fatale, Mata Hari, deceiver, a nemesis. It was a ‘what you expect‘ situation. She didn’t care. She was indifferent. And I was trying to get her attention just like the fool I always am. Sat in a bar. I wound up didn’t want to be around her because I wanted to tell this tale. And yet nobody really cared! I split into two. Part of me walked out. And that someone else tried to follow. But I had their machine that was used to torture people. And though I was unauthorized to use it , I still had it and so on and so forth . . . (grunt). But I just left it there somewhere in Indiana. Somewhere in Middle Europe. I just walked away. Sad evidence of the way that things are done.
At one point I was belly up to a bar. A mostly filled bottle of wine found me which I grabbed and started . . . (sigh) . . . sloppily . . . pouring into my mouth. Half drinking it, half letting it slobber out. Maybe I was drunk? Maybe I was pretending to be drunk? Maybe I was drunk. I knew that she was in the room. I knew that one of those ‘PC’ correct friends of her’s was behind the bar think about how they were going to try to cut me off. And all I was think about was escape. And that’s what I did. I niched the bottle down and unexpectedly walked out. And, (uh) had the machine with me. They, of course, thought that I was going to try to keep the damn thing. Part of a secret mission, no doubt? To expose . . . some . . . nefarious techniques to the outside world. But wherever I was, Budapest or Vienna, whatever? I just left it in the square . . . (pause) . . . and walked away completely free of any trace that might trip me up.
Since segments before, being in the neighborhood, I was in another part of town by a body of water. Again, a neighborhood setting. Nothing gigantic or metropolitan. And the issue for many was traveling around town. By public transportation, I happened to be bounded by the lake or ocean, or something like that. And one option was to take a sky trolley. This was something ethereal more than it was physical. Some ghostly trolley that rise up diagonally into the sky in a great arc and disappear in the clouds. Looking at it, it looked half transparent as did its tracks which were essentially really, just a ribbon that would arc up like a rainbow. Again, without the colors but sort of a thin light blue set against a cloud filled sky. I had the impression that it was a one time trip. Certainly terrifying to look and wonder if anything mechanical could stay upon such a narrow ribbon without dropping like Icarus into the ocean to return no more? The most brilliant memory was that of sitting on a bench below and seeing the arc not too far away almost above me with its trolley moving slowly up its curve.
I’m now in the ‘hipper‘ part of Chicago. At least hip in terms of the assize of the ‘Y’ generation. It turns out that there are a bunch of realtors that are administering. So they’re going to take me along on their trip and then we are going to go out in the suburbs. Go to a party, supposedly? So fine, so we go to do there’ and they give me an address to meet them over there. They are actually! If I drive with them, there’s another three flat, a six flat, or a nine flat, . . . or something like that? There’s an old man that they want to get the rent from and they have a thing on the door and . . . uh? The guy comes to the door. And now they start playing games in terms of . . . like uh . . . when they got him in his living room they use his phone like they’re talking to somebody else who’s ready to come in and rent the place. It turns out there’s a Puerto Rican couple that are inhabiting the back room. And, they’re naked the mattress. There’s some surf board candy. Big pieces of the stuff that one of them is interested in. And they take it. And I am sitting there telling them that some of it has a lot more sugar than the other. So you better look up the amount! Which sounds kind of crazy. And, I”l meet you out int he suburbs! But first I’ve got to stop by where I live. And this time it’s O.P. not E.P., and so forth so . . . ?
Dark, dirty, filthy swamp. My old man and I were out there fishing. Not quite camping. But on the edge some fat ugly guy starts trying to start trouble. He’s sitting farther, a little ahead of us on a little bank kind of beyond the water. At the initial part of the water. So, it got to a point where he had enough of him. And he starts to walking up there and just went and gave him a shove. Like he was going to fight me! And I shoved and he fell back in. And he moved off. But then later on I woke up and I saw some broken stick next to me and I thought to myself this is, “settle out'” this is, “Let’s get the Hell ought here!“. I don’t like what’s going on here. And he got up and took off.
No obviously, I was in a rarefied atmosphere. Being amidst some of the richest people in the world. Somehow, I was involved in a documentary that was tracing the curious . . . The curious habit? The curious phenomena? Where some of their children would turn into vampires. I seemed to have the privilege of staying in some of their estates in the Caribbean along with others. And at some point it was my time to make a little thank you speech. And though I had had a lifetime of suspicion, and really nothing good to say,I did compliment these different families on their hospitality. Something that even I was surprised at! The episode concluded, there was one little girl that I was warning. That I had to have my arms around her in case she turned into a vampire. And I told her as much.
Central Highlands: Hmong. Three or four dot yellow markings on everything. Traveling outside of town, running into them everywhere. Very strange? Patriot assembly photo with the different elements. Another segment of dream. Some guy’s face with the proper expressions. Somewhat goofy, . . .but yet? Noticeably insane! Two different elements or items that designated him as part of the clan. Well, this all came after another segment when . . . which . . . Marty and a whole variety of people were living not he West coast somewhere, I don’t know? Somewhere? And the volcano erupted! Or so it seemed? It erupted in a very short time. I came over to visit. And they were sort of giving me the lay of the land in terms of certain information and . . . uh . . . so forth. And . . . uh . . . it seemed that . . . uh . . . there was another incident. And I thought initially was . . . uh . . . began and earthquake from or something from a volcano. But it wasn’t and it seemed like it was a good time to get out of there. And so, I got in the car and started riding away.
It was a very long . . . long . . . room. It was made up of many rooms but it also had many doors. Of which I was closing many. Because there was an onslaught of people coming. Some people that lived there said, “Let them in!” I cleaned everything up and swept it. And as they came in, they were careless and brought it back down to the original condition. Sawdust, turds and everything everywhere. And I swept. I swept the trays. And I swept other things away too!
I had angered a group of outlaws be exposing some of their nefarious deeds. And it turned out that they were going to get even! When they found me, I was in court. And a couple of them sat by the hall looking in the door. After a while, the one of the two let out and went over and sat next to the one who all of a sudden got cold feet and started going around the corner. I found out later that the others had gone and shot somebody. Somebody I knew. They had an undertaker that was part of their group and I went to that undertaker’s place of business which was in the Western tradition, also a library and other things. And when they walked intuit he door, I started pushing everything over and tearing the place apart to exact a little revenge. I didn’t really do as much damage as I could have hoped. But in the end, with all of them, I got the point across.