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    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’
    clunker off-road.”

    “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
    many a
    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…

    (Scene switch)
    “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.
    (Scene switch)

    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
    mad laughter.

    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 Key



    I really like that one, Mal!

    Elsie, by Cobs do you mean corn cobs?



    christibrany: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezra_Pound%27s_Three_Kinds_of_Poetry

    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 cry



    I’m Perplexed.
    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.



    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.

    • 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.



    elsie that was very juicy. thank you very much. no pun intended. i think. not sure.




    This one isn’t by me (of course) but I had it stuck in my head today so wanted more to read it 🙂

    La Gitana
    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!

    93 93/93




    in mirage
    right there
    a drift



    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.



    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…



    Crazed moments
    wonder ?

    flux vested
    pulse analog
    bothering why ?


    head in the way
    still thinking .


    that must a been quite a rant
    you saw obliged



    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.




    Well let’s hope the dog doesn’t have 9 lives .



    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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