Tuesday, September 30, 2008

i was running through the afterlife, looking at the clouds, the flowers and the fish, the patterns in the wind. a man in a white suit pulls a flower from his sleeve, he presents it to his beloved and she swoons. later they bring their lips to one another, they begin to disappear but their lips hover together in a kiss just like floating goldfish. a pelican with a top hat smokes a cigar and sings an obscured pink floyd song from a soundtrack where everything explodes like an italian orgasm. there's the smell of lemons and the breeze is carrying the strained sounds of a familiar voice. i wander listlessly in it's direction following my nose and the rhythmic beating of my heart only my heart is pumping out elvis costello's 'tokyo storm warming.'
elvis appears before me, wearing a pork pie hat, glasses and a flash suit. the flash blinds me momentarily, darkness envelopes me and i stumble and fall to the ground, only the ground is no longer there, replaced by the abyss. i call upon my daemon, i call upon my holy guardian angel, i call upon the elements and the elephants, hindu deities, icons and angels, devils and demons, one of which appears. archdemon. we do a quick deal, some colombian cocaine for my safety. archdemon laughs as i seal the deal.
somewhere in the alley ways and streets i score some coke from a man who says it's the real thing, he deals in memories primarily so i trade mine for a bag of marching powder. i offer the powder to archdemon in a ritual conducted at midnight, under the full moon, he's pleased with me and offers me a line. i decline and slip into a fugue state, some divine light crosses my path, i shake it away, transfixed and tantalized by the beautiful illusion and temptation of sex with the seductress vampyric entity with the red hair and luscious lips. she looks familiar like stacia the hawkwind dancer, free form erotic follower of the babylonian current we indulge in congress when the director yells 'cut' and the exploitation industry packages our performance under the title, lesbian adventures in lust. i look at myself in female form, not unpeasing, stacia winks.

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