The Devil's Work Is Never Done

Detective Devil Finder-of-Lost-Souls enters Fox News network building, gliding past the guards with only a whisper leaving the faint smell of decay in his wake, security cameras as oblivious to his presence as humans have always been. The devil is that connoisseur of souls and feels now that  he might really hit the jack pot in this place, looking around thinking slyly, hit the jackpot".

He had been patting himself on the back for this intuition ever since he had it - wait, something brings detective Devil to a halt: rage boiling quickly over as he realizes that someone or something had beat him to the punch.

Murdoch? Damn him! It really pissed him off these few humans that cropped up here and there who could actually beat him to the punch.

Murdoch will have sold the souls along by now to God knows who, detective Devil thinks a little wildly. Dammit this is going to take a lot more time and effort? After some moments to collect himself,  he sighs - sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you. Only he had expected this to be as easy as a wolf in a chicken coop and now here he finds himself having to work for it, right. Story of his life. He could not shake the indignation at the bottom of it - it was simply beneath him this ... work ... hunting these human souls like any common predator

I am suppose to be a goddamn Prince, dammit!

On the way back out, he hisses loudly in one of the security guards ears, raking a claw across his pretty, young human face, watching his stunned reaction as if in a rear view mirror. The human head so vascular, bright blood,surprise, pain, disbelief and confusion. Petty yes but rewarding - moving through it and away as though it were a dance practiced a thousand times. A Devil’s work is never done, he thinks a little wryly. There were just not enough hours in the day.

A Question?

A Question? (Autobiographical Short-Short Question - A-HA - a New Genre is born)

Have you ever thought you were in the belly of the beast only to find yourself actually in the belly of the beast? Well, that feeling, right? Do you know what I mean? Cooking inside some unhealthy brew stressed to the max at every single level of being - a cold, dead skyscraper hollow in its metallic darkness:

Lights Out, man, Lights Out.

This feeling?

Ringing any bells, anyone? Trying so hard not to come apart at the seams then finally giving up saying fuck it, man, I just don’t have the strength to keep it together - BUT finding then that WTF you evidently cannot come apart at the seams, only continue cooking down this self loathing poison inside ... that this cosmic carny hand running the  ride ain't gonna stop it even if you beg and cry? That feeling there      

Right         

There.

Tripping from a Mushroom Point of View

(short short fiction - "entheogenic literature")

Hey, you, are you ready to trip on some humans?

Wha?

Well, I hope so cause they’re coming our way - what, have you never tripped on humans before?

No, honestly, I haven’t ever - “tripped” like you say.

Oh, wow, a neophyte, huh? Okay, they’re getting close so I think this shit is going down - just listen up cause we’ve been eatin by these humans lots of times. First of all, bro, relax. You’re in for a quite a ride. Don’t let it get to you, right? Just enjoy it - sort of go with the flow all the way?

Sounds maybe easier said then done?

Not so hard to be cool, really.  Let yourself break up and flow through them, it’s wild beyond your wildest imaginings, trust me on that. We may end up in the same one but doesn’t matter since once we fill out their nervous system it’s WAY too cool to describe - you’ll see soon enough. Even if we’re not in the same one, we can hook up again once our symbiosis with their full nervous system is complete - here we go … laugh, bro, laugh, this is FUN! ...                 

Psilocybin Poem: Uncle Heart

(2 Grams Ecuadorian strain. This I took as a test for the strength of this new grow since someone who had never taken them wanted to try some. I never take small doses normally only large doses when I do and I don't do it often at all. This threw me for quite a loop and I had to conclude that this was a particularly strong cubensis strongest I have had. I was not prepared to actually trip here and as it was happening kept thinking a bit petulantly, "but it's only two grams!" A lot more happened in this - most significantly a heart to heart talk at this picnic with the Great Gaian Mother of us All - but I wrote this poem as soon as I came down enough to write and let it stand to represent "the heart of the trip" - pun totally intended)

Uncle Heart

Had a tea party this afternoon
Invited everyone and everything
My dead grandmother was there
Who is now my Angel -
“Are you happy?” she asks
Dear Grandma always going
Right to the point of things

I could not answer that
Because I could not say
What Grandma always
Wanted to hear
But Bird chimed in
How happy he was
And showed me his happiness
It was there in his heart
And real

Peace sat then with us
Sipping her tea
She pointed to the field
Below us to where the
Lion and the lamb
Lay down together
In the sun
Clearly this beautiful afternoon
Belonged to peace, it was her
Day

After some encouragement
The lost uncles came only
Because the lion and the lamb
Lay peacefully next to each other
Only because this day belonged
To peace
A rare outing in the light of day
For these isolated males
Who brought their brutality
And violence with them
Into the sun to sip
Tea with us all

When the lone, old warrior
Dropped an arrowhead into his tea
I could not help but ask why
He said that it gave him strength
I asked how long the arrowhead lasts
(how much strength can you draw?)
He said it lasts until it is needed
To strike into another man’s heart
This with a twinkle in his eye
Toasting me and laughing at me
I understood darkly that there are
As many arrowheads as there are hearts
So far as the old warrior is concerned

Uncle Heart walked up and
Put his warm and friendly arm
Around my shoulder, turning
Me away from the warrior
Uncle heart said confidentially
Right into my ear
Not to leave decisions to
The old warrior
Then he twisted to wink at
The old warrior watching us
And he added meaningfully
Again right into my ear
Unless it is really necessary!
Squeezing my shoulder

Uncle heart always wants to
Make things perfectly clear
Uncle heart is the tree
His roots go down deep
Into the mother of us all
Even while his branches
Reach up into the sky

He tells me to beware
Of the gatekeepers
Pressing the palm of
His right hand against
My heart significantly
He tells me then
How much he loves me
As the older men will do
I am always here for you
He says with a big hug
I know the whole family
The whole family knows me

Uncle heart is bit of gossip
Loves to confide, to take you aside
Suddenly serious, now, deadly so -
Between you and I, he insists
Don’t let anything, man or beast,
Ever come between us
Nodding at the old warrior
Meaningfully

I won't I assure Uncle Heart
And I really mean it
I think of how the warrior
Always has his place, his time,
Glancing over at him now
Sitting nearby so peacefully
Calmly sipping his arrowhead tea

The Multiverse

(The Multiverse)

Off in the multi-verse on a planet a l m o s t exactly like ours ….

From the T.V. series, 24 with Keifer Strutherland:

A clattering of boots on the ground as three swat teams exit three separate trucks spilling out in full combat regalia with guns at the ready. They quickly cross dimly lit asphalt and spread out into the folds of a hundred ship cargo containers.

Man, they need to give Jack Bauer a break - you know like a nice couple week vacation in the Caribbean at least, right?

Yea, yea. Stringing our boy Bauer out 24/7.

They laughed at 24/7, high on this wild Jamaican weed.
*                             *                               *                              *
Back on the T. V. a large, black PMC screeched to a halt. Jack Bauer launches himself after the swat teams trailed by two relatively unknown actors? Suddenly, Jack spins to a dead stop - Wait! he screams.

The relatively unknown actors finally stop a few dozen feet past him.

This is too easy! Jack screams. He looks around desperately for the blasphemers - this way! He screams, sprinting full out for the dirty, slow river a hundred yards away.

One of the relatively unknown actors asks as they both begin following Bauer - but Mr. Bauer, Intel puts the blasphemes in on of those shipping containers?

Bauer suddenly spins taking the questioner up by his collar, Dammit! Man! Listen to me because these non believes in our String Theory will spread their filth like a virus to our children! Don’t you get that! They must be stopped - it’s not about whether you and I live - it’s about the welfare of The Status Quo, man!

I may have missed some of it, sir. I think my ears might be bleeding?

Bauer throws the man down on his back and sprints the remaining seventy yards to the shore. As he runs, he called his always pouty assistant and screams, Get the River Police down to my location and put the choppers over the river they’re coming in by boat -

Jack, I got it but - Click.

He had to cut her off because the non believers in String Theory were dead ahead just where he had thought they would be. Bauer got the drop on them and took the three ringleaders along with the two man crew by himself. They didn’t put up much of a fight, but scientist seldom did, really?

The other relatively unknown actor stayed out of the limelight.

Get me the President, Jack screamed into his earpiece to his pouty faced associate at headquarters.

I will Jack, but -

I have to go, patch her through asap - click.

Just as Bauer gets President Palin, the oldest blasphemer cries out defiantly - but it is not heresy! It is scientific fact - The String Theory simply does not work!!!

The outburst is rewarded by a hard and solid punch in the face and silence.

I’m sorry that you had to hear that, Mrs. President - I wanted you to know myself that we have them all in custody.

If you were here I’d give a big ole wink, Jack. But job well done.
*                               *                            *                                *
Wow, just hearing that kind of crazy shit kind of creeps me out, man. I think they like take that stuff from reality, too? He passed the last of the Jamaican over.

Yea, yea, bro. Pure arrogance that kind of nonsense like we’re the only universe around or something?

I hope they fry those maniacs.

Yea, yea, pull a Jack Bauer on ’em. 

Corporations Anonymous

  
He sits in his car for a long while in front of the elementary school there in early dark of late fall. This place is bustling, he thinks uncertainly. Anonymous people walking in and out, mostly into the old, brick elementary school probably built in the 60's? . He cannot distinguish any details in the peoples faces as they move in and out of the thin light cast by the streetlights. The humid night air feels good with the window open smoking thoughtfully, Philip Morris notes the time on the car dash: Good five minutes still - taking a long drag of the joint head back listening to the local jazz station set down low enough for only him to hear. Trying to relax. Always an effort even with the help of Mother Weed.

You have to do this, he encourages himself, whispering out loud, each breath a tiny cloud puff on the cool, humid night air.

Finally, he finds the courage to do it.

I am sick and tired of being all alone with this, he is thinking almost bitterly now, working up a little head of steam, closing the door and clicking it locked - I need some help with this. It's that simple.

So many more people here than he had expected? People everywhere. He had not thought about what it would be like to actually be here with the little school all lit up in front of him, the bright light from rows and rows of neon lighting casting its hard white light onto the shrubs and grass. Walking up to the front door, passing a group of cigarette smokers, oddly the building impresses him as if it is some spaceship landed here looking inside at occupants within the mother ship? Once inside what impresses him walking down a long hallway is that most every room is full – lots of night classes, he wonders, adult education? Feels like discovering something significant in his own back yard?

He goes into the room number that he had written on company stationary earlier that afternoon, “242” hesitating to glance up over the door to where it read, Mrs. Small Second Grade. He smiles at that and so is smiling when he walks into a surprisingly well attended Corporations Anonymous Meeting. People look funny sitting at undersized tables. The leader appears to be a not unattractive mature woman who looks a little like she could be Mrs. Small?

Let's begin, shall we, suggests the Mrs. Small looking leader of the meeting.

He takes one of the undersized seats. Those nearest him looking on sympathetically. He counts twenty two people in the class, almost whistling. Damn.

It looks like we have a new member, tonight, the teacher like lady at the front begins and at first he does not understand that she is speaking to him directly. My name is GE, she says warmly - would you like to stand and introduce yourself to everyone? she asks.

He stands hoping that outwardly he looks composed but inwardly in a state of near turmoil, clearing his throat making an effort to keep the nervousness out of his voice, he says, Hi, my name is Philip Morris and I too was born in a lawyers office, not a hospital - pausing to let a polite chuckle settle down - And I am a Corporation, he finishes assertively.

Welcome, Philip! the other corporations say brightly in practiced unison.
        

David Sky - "The Truth is Out There"

Okay, here I am on the hairy ass cheek of let’s just say one of America’s most renown or notorious Republican ex-vice presidents depending upon your political persuasions. I am here today to speak with some of the fleas upon his hairy ass. I told you before that David Sky will go anywhere to get to the truth. Sure, it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

These fleas, as you shall see, have an intimate and uniquely honest perspective on this guy’s ass!

I shake one of the fleas many little hands - thank you for the interview, Flea. Let me first ask you what you think you can tell the American people about (Blank)?

Aw, hell - I can tell them about anything - I can tell them anything I want to tell them, but frankly, what’s in it for me, pal?

Tough little bastard, should have figured, right? What’s in it for you, I wondered out loud, stalling - okay, I give up, Flea, what do you want?

Without hesitation the flea said, a flake of your dead skin cells would work for me. Make it all nice and cozy, right, like what’s your phrase, “breaking bread together”?

Sure, sure, I agree readily, but you go ahead Flea, I’m dying of thirst here and a little hungry but I can’t imagine eating or drinking anything what with that SMELL.

Understood, the flea says - no offense taken. You get used to anything if you have to, right? Now, the flea kind of leaned in and looked around nervously, You probably want to know about 9-11, right - he winked at me.

Well, I began, not so much. He was involved and all, got that, Flea.

Okay, what then Smart Guy? Wanna know about the hobos, I bet, right?

The hobos, I again repeat. I sort of do want to know about the hobos? I mean, who wouldn't want to know about the hobos - but I say instead, No, not the hobos, Flea.

Jeeze, the Flea, swore, what are you one of them investigative journalist, what then, the fake alien attack, the bases on the moon, on mars -
Wait - aliens? ... bases on the moon? Whoa, I cry. I think maybe I really don’t want to know about that, Flea.

What are you doing here, kid, ya trawling for a Pulitzer or somethin?

What I want to know about, Flea, is the middle east, Jerusalem - what the hell is that stuff all about?

OMG, the Flea exclaimed - you’re one of those Conspiracy Nuts, now I see. Look kid, all that is just about the oil. People figured that out decades ago, where the hell have you been?

I knew I shouldn’t have said it but for some reason I said, “wow, so even you, a flea on his fucking hairy ass is “In On It”. And then, more to myself, hanging my head a little - just gets worse and worse.

Hey, the Flea said - You just accused a Flea of being in on a conspiracy - in what universe is that sane? You're losin it, kid.                 

An Asshole’s View of a Shitty Situation

So many homeless now a trip into the city for the doctor the other day struck me sitting at a red light like one of those Zombie flicks that are as popular as ever. You know, that hang dog, shuffle-walk, if they’re up an walking at all? Mostly sitting or lying around, hood drawn up over their heads as if its part of a god damn uniform, filthy, downtrodden, forlorn. Poor fucking bastards, I thought, watching them out the windows, more common than trees in Santa Fe and multiplying, that’s for sure. America? Hard to believe but no, I hadn’t wandered onto the set of the latest big budget Zombie movie with hordes of extras enjoying a lunch break. It’s just the way America is now, I reckon?

Won’t be long now before they start to roundin these sad sacks up and shuttlin them off to one of them FEMA camps - or worse. Nothing would fucking surprise me anymore. Hell, nothing much here even appalls me anymore? I admit to feeling some sense of relief as I swing the old Pruis onto my dirt driveway that leads to the old homestead. At seventy nine, what could I do? I’m just trying now to wake up above ground in the morning. Anyway, I didn’t vote for Reagan and the last chance we had was back in 2012, maybe, before the election. I remember feeling a shred of hope back in the summer of 2012 but the people fizzled again under an onslaught of disinformation, distraction and fear, the modern cocktail for creating bonified Zombies.

That summer was the last time I felt any hope for our girl, America.