May 5, 2017 at 9:05 am #99465
Jack drives chomping on the pink banana.
Jack swerves a little. He thinks he just saw a coyote. Barking pointy-eared bastards.
Jack finishes off the banana and chews on a smoking cigar. He knows where the hiders are hiding.
By the damnit! The horn’s blowing hard! Who’s that bastard driving too slowly onward?
Jack shouts out the window of his station wagon, “Bloody bastard, punch it! I’m in a hurry!”
“And where are you headed, then?” asks the man in the car ahead with a greater quantity of
etiquette than might be justifiably expected.
“I don’t know,” says Jack.
The man in the car ahead appropriately accelerates his vehicle. Jack treats his own zoomie to a
similar adjustment, and they’re off at a decent rate.
Jack slams on the brakes before he bumps the bumper of the man in the car ahead. “And what the
hell’s the holdup, now? I’m still in a hurry, you know.”
“The road is ended,” says the man in the car ahead apologetically. “I can’t very well punch this ol’
“No, I sympathize,” says Jack. “This bitch of mine couldn’t make it afp – away-from-pavement
either. We’ll have to turn around, I suppose. Huh. The road ends. How do you like that?”
“Strange,” says the stranger in the car ahead. “I feel myself vanishing.”
Jack blinks and the road extends and the stranger and his car have disappeared. Jack drives on into
the Moe’s Tavern parking lot and parks in a rude angular manner. He then finds himself sitting at the bar in
front of empty mugs. The next thing he knows, his vicious fists are swinging, and those guns down
drunken bastard. Soon after he’s sitting on a park bench with a wino talking about the case.
“So,” says Wendy the wino, “So, so. So who’s the vic?”
“His name is Mark and he wears slacks,” says Jack, “says Jodie Foster.”
Wendy looks cross-eyed. Says Wendy, “Sounds like a bum I know.”
Jack says, “Great so just show me where he’s at and I’ll be grateful thanx bunch.”
Wendy says, “Listen here pal I ain’t no rat no how so none of that sly manips `gainst the old
woman my grandson’s about your age. Can’t give him up sorry pal can’t do it but so out of curiosity
what’s he done?”
Jack says, “Uh lady a person in your position would not want to know too much guilt-pressure.
But hey I’ll tell you anyway because you asked and maybe I’ll get your help after all, you hear this. See,
Mark not only wears slacks but also has the mindset of a thief he steals bacteria. Chemical warfare man it’s
the only one of the only well big threats right now to us and maybe Mark’s a terrorist and anyways I’m not a
Wendy says, “Well now that’s a different story isn’t it? I think I recognize you, you’re Jack. I heard things
about you and your tramp. Evil persons shouldn’t breed is the word on the street. Yeah, I heard about you,
Jack. Your man’s at the docks man sleeping in his b-oa-t/fl–ting house waterbed. Don’t kill him too hard
man Mark used to b e a-o.k. guy ago long time”
Jack says, “Hell yeah, lady, thanks!” He speeds off in his station wagon parked somewhere in the
park and drives to the docks he has spent many weekends with in order to familiarize himself with the
terrain as a just incase, foreseeing unpredictable future occurrences such as the future at present being
Mark is at the docks all right. Mark is in his slacks sleeping onboard the outboard motored boathouse.
His bed is a white net swaying lazy because Mark’s lazy. He is playing with dangerous chemicals
and carefully contained bacteria.
Jack says, “Yo you’re going down clown. Jo mammaI’ve fucked I used to pop the beef.”
Mark says, “Hey, pig. Onto me at last, aye?”
“Your eyes taste yummy, they shall. Egg-like, like my favorite eggs. It will be a delicious midday
treat!” says Jack.
Mark says, “Yo copper ain’t got nothin’ on me back it off the scare tactics.”
Jack pulls a switchblade from his pocket because it is his favorite knife and he is planning on
cutting severely the target Mark. As Jack executes desired action, Mark gurgles a scream before he loses
that ability, a window of opportunity shut rapidly. As an afterthought to a promise, Jack eats Mark’s
Jack is delighted. He will soon be munching avariciously away at pink bananas galore. But wait,
the menacing music is playing…
“AHA!” shouts Jodie Foster in/with/containing glee. “Falling right into my trap, the boyfriend is… AHA!”
Jodie Foster mixes magical potions carefully, distributing magical elements and separating
magical elements and all-around getting magical with the elements. Can you see the purple smoke clouds?
“Aha! Ha Ha! HA! The rat is in the cage. His death will sate my rage. I am evil like a weasel.
Chillin’ and killin’ and bringing down the town. There’s no stopping this drop—In life force,” says Jodie
Her evil plan is unfolding right before your eyes. Jack should have gotten himself better
acquainted with his girl Suzie’s friends. If he had he would have known about this psycho crazywhore.
Jodie Foster looks up names in the phone book. She makes some calls. She connects all her
connections. She arranges an ambush.
Jack makes a call through the telephone lines and as his voice travels into Jodie Foster’s earpiece,
he considers the many treats he is in for. The earpiece says, “Hey lady I killed the Mark and I’m coming on
over for the payoff.”
“Oh, there’ll certainly be a payoff,” Jodie says. Her hand covers the mouthpiece and she ejaculates
Click. Click. That conversation proved brief and rewarding. The real rewards await us in the
distance… Forever in the distance.
Jack pulls into the parking lot. He frees the hurdy-gurdies. He rushes into the building and shouts,
“I’m here for the bananas!”
Right off, nose twitching, Jack senses something fishy.
THWAP! Says the salmon that slams right into Jack’s back. Then, THWAPTHWAPTHWAP!, as
more salmon join in.
The gang’s got the fish by the tails. The gang’s playing Jack like a kettledrum. Only, there’s
something the gang doesn’t know about Jack.
prose poetry / poetry from Eschillion KeyMay 19, 2017 at 6:23 pm #99590
I really like that one, Mal!
Elsie, by Cobs do you mean corn cobs?May 20, 2017 at 1:36 am #99599
Little Boy Blue,
Come blow your horn,
The sheep’s in the meadow,
The cow’s in the corn;
But where is the boy
Who looks after the sheep?
He’s under a haystack,
He’s fast asleep.
Will you wake him?
No, not I,
For if I do,
He’s sure to cryMay 20, 2017 at 1:39 am #99600
An epitaph for a saint.
A great lion
as wounded and perplexed
as any other scion
whose root was seed in sex.
Not of woman born:
a god, and that strangely.
A soldier and a hunchback whore
and got by buggery.
Mother Crowley’s bratty beast
always got a beating
when the little antichrist
said god’s minister was satan.
Then the honeymoon with debauchery begins
on mountains, lakes, islands, deserts.
She is, after drunken sex, in a dream,
and chants dogs’ names in reverse.
Satan appears, in his stronghold,
and calls aloud his name: I Was!
He leads the dweller to the threshold
of the abyss beyond the pit Because.
Burn like a Meteor into Night!
(Satan says), and so the imp jumps,
Like Lucifer my Lover Leap into Light!
drunk on disgust, depravity, and junk.
Grown fat like buddha in sinless selfishness
regenerates for a time and an old man has grace.
But a man may not dwell forever in elvenesse,
but vacate the nest as new gods take their place.
Before the silence of the end, a murmur,
seventy-seven times around the sun for the prize,
and in the beginning of the answer
always is this last expiration of surprise!
Line 0: The title is reported to be A. E. Crowley’s last words.
Lines 1-2: The Vision and the Voice, 29th Aethyr.
Line 5: Macbeth, Act V.
Line 6: The Soldier and The Hunchback, Crowley, Collected Works.
Line 20: Liber AL 2:27
Line 22: Crowley, The Book of Lies.
Line 24: Crowley, Leah Sublime.July 10, 2017 at 7:57 pm #99989
Keeping this going: unplanned stream of consciousness poem (oh no):
The summer sun beats down
On the beasts and their burdens.
All have heads down,
Waiting for their turn.
No one thinks much or wants too much.
All just rotting slowly;
There are too many things right now,
And all are too dirty.
In the time of the dog days,
the dog himself pants himself to sleep.
No one can feel much due to malaise,
but all eat way too much (mayonnaise).
It is the summer of our awakening.
As old columns finally crumble,
to new ranks of bright old ideals.
We await the coming of the Fall,
Not only for a respite,
But also for the All.
July 11, 2017 at 1:35 am #99998
- This reply was modified 2 years, 1 month ago by christibrany.
the multiple cummings (with apologies to W.B. Yeats)
Spurning and burning in the widening fire
The women cannot hear the womaniser;
Veils fall apart; the edifice cannot hold;
Pure liberty is loosed upon the world,
The Moon’s blood tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of transcendence is the crown;
The rest black their conviction, while the Whore
is full of passionate intensity.
Surely this revelation is unmanned;
Surely the Cumming in a second by her hand.
The Multiple Cummings! Hardly is that juice out
When a vast flood out of that pink hole
bathes my sight: everywhere in marketplaces of the slaves
A shape with a woman’s body and for a head a Star,
A gaze deep and infinite as the outer space,
Is moving Her muscular thighs, while all about Her
Real women in the dignity of self-possession.
The juices drip again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of lying spectres
Were vexed to nightmare by a broken bridle,
And this tough bitch, Her Truth come round at last,
gifts or sells Her favours as She will.July 13, 2017 at 12:23 am #100016
elsie that was very juicy. thank you very much. no pun intended. i think. not sure.November 5, 2018 at 7:24 pm #110130
This one isn’t by me (of course) but I had it stuck in my head today so wanted more to read it 🙂
by Aleister Crowley
Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
In the pleasuance of the roses with the fountains and the yews
Where the snowy Sierra soothed us with the breezes and the dews!
In the starlight as we trembled from a laugh to a caress,
And the God came warm upon us in our pagan allegresse.
Was the Baile de la Bona too seductive? Did you feel
Through the silence and the softness all the tension of the steel?
For your hair was full of roses, and my flesh was full of thorns,
And the midnight came upon us worth a million crazy morns.
Ah! my Gipsy, my Gitana, my Saliya! were you fain
For the dance to turn to earnest? – O the sunny land of Spain!
My Gitana, my Saliya! more delicious than a dove!
With your hair aflame with roses and your lips alight with love!
Shall I see you, shall I kiss you once again? I wander far
From the sunny land of summer to the icy Polar Star.
I shall find you, I shall have you! I am coming back again
From the filth and fog to seek you in the sunny land of Spain.
I shall find you, my Gitana, my Saliya! as of old
With your hair aflame with roses and your body gay with gold.
I shall find you, I shall have you, in the summer and the south
With our passion in your body and our love upon your mouth –
With our wonder and our worship be the world aflame anew!
My Gitana, my Saliya! I am coming back to you!
CHRiSNovember 7, 2018 at 3:23 am #110132
a driftApril 27, 2019 at 11:39 pm #112740
Its a shame that we have Facebook BC not enough people truly share ideas like we do on forums like the ol’ Greeks.
Wrote this in my head before drumming .
We are all just little demon egos
Running around in piles of our own excreta
Both mental and physical.
We ascend for a bit (if we are lucky to know and learn)
And go to the supernal restaurant
Sampling the bright tasty spiritual treats we find.
But eventually we have to go back to work and descend into our own personal repetitions.
Over and over again.
The wheel of samsara is a hell of a bitch.
Take your knocks and get back up.
Stop being a pussy.
And when autocorrect gets you down
Tell the man to shove it where Malkuth dost not shine.May 14, 2019 at 10:36 pm #113105
re-reading tBoL 🙂 not tBotL
Verily, love is death, and death is life to come.
Man returneth not again; the stream floweth not uphill; the old life is no more; there is a new life that is not his.
Yet that life is of his very essence; it is more He than all that he calls He.
In the silence of a dewdrop is every tendency of his soul, and of his mind, and of his body; it is the Quintessence and the Elixir of his being. Therein are the forces that made him and his father and his father’s father before him.
This is the Dew of Immortality.
Let this go free, even as It will; thou art not its master, but the vehicle of It.
ps its nice to see that crazy rant from ‘babalon’ or ‘scarlet woman’ of last night was deleted. That was something else…May 15, 2019 at 4:17 am #113108
bothering why ?
head in the way
still thinking .
that must a been quite a rant
you saw obligedMay 15, 2019 at 3:09 pm #113111
The rant was like unto a rabid dog on speed
Full of venom and quite a nasty screed.
Fair reader picture if ye will
A woman unhinged and ready to kill
All of us ‘cunts’ because we’re unworthy
To partake of the ‘knowledge’
We are too topsy turvy.
In her mind we un-evolved, idiots on LAShTAL
Spew endless male idiocies but think we know it all.
The dog-catcher came, and put down the dog
So that most of the crew would not be agog.
😉May 15, 2019 at 4:03 pm #113113
Well let’s hope the dog doesn’t have 9 lives .June 5, 2019 at 3:33 pm #113641
Nice images of the ocean and some other things. AC:
Lo! I lament. Fallen is the sixfold Star:
Slain is Asar.
O twinned with me in the womb of Night!
O son of my bowels to the Lord of Light!
Ο man of mine that hast covered me
From the shame of my virginity!
Where art thou?
Is it not Apep thy brother,
The snake in my womb that am thy mother,
That hath slain thee by violence girt with guile,
And scattered thy limbs on the Nile?
Lo! I lament. I have forged a whirling Star:
I seek Asar.
Ο Nepti, sister!
Arise in the dusk From thy chamber of mystery and musk!
Come with me, though weary the way,
To bring back his life to the rended clay!
See! are not these the hands that wove
Delight, and these the arms that strove
With me? And these the feet, the thighs
That were lovely in mine eyes?
Lo! I lament. I gather in my car
Thine head, Asar.
And this—is this not the trunk he rended?
But—oh! oh! oh l—the task transcended,
Where is the holy idol that stood
For the god of thy queen’s beatitude?
Here is the tent—but where is the pole?
Here is the body—but where is the soul?
Nepti, sister, the work is undone
For lack of the needed One
Lo! Ι lament. There is no god so far
As mine Asar!
There is no hope, none, in the corpse, in the tomb.
But these—what are these that war in my womb?
There is vengeance and triumph at last of Maat
In Ra-Hoor-Khut and in Hoor-pa-Kraat!
Twins they shall rise; being twins they are one,
The Lord of the Sword and the Son of the Sun
Silence, coeval colleague of Voice,
The plumes of Amoun—rejoice!
Lo I rejoice.
I heal the sanguine scar
Of slain Asar.
I was the Past,
Nature the Mother.
He was the Present,
Man my brother.
Look to the Future, the Child—oh paean
The Child that is crowned in the Lion—Aeon!
The sea-dawns surge and billow and break
Beneath the scourge of the Star and the Snake.
To my lord I have borne in my womb deep-vaulted
This babe for ever exalted!
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