Can't Teach a Old Dog New Tricks

I can feel it rising, coming on strong, seeping outwards from the back of my neck. Like an electrical socket i.v. drip. Chaordic tesseract. God she was beautiful this morning, still sleep-blurred and only wearing shadowink. She tasted like tears and sweat. She talked in her sleep and the rhythms and vibrations of her words crept through my skin into my dreams. Now I'm nodding and chain-smoking and I think I've gone colorblind. Last Friday I slept 20 hours. I shot guns today and it was like history was coming -- the orgasm refracted through loci of gunpower and potsmoke. I took mushrooms and baptized myself in swampwater -- a dip in the rotting, scummy waters of life. Palingenesia at backwoods altar. Sufi meditations and strong drugs during an afternoon of American bloodlust: Alterity and Transcendence. Did a ritualistic invocation of the Age of Horus to set fire to my wings -- to wage occult warfare against dysteleology and heat death. A Ludic dance. Today I passed a man drowned in the gutter. Sclera oozing and skin jaundiced; a lotus grew from his navel. We're all like that, my friend said. Drowned in the Hypokeimenon. It will not let us free.

A long stumbling through alam-i-khyall coupled with selfish self-destruction: thank god for marlboros and pharmaceuticals.