Leaving the Valley

The library's cement outer corridor was cold tonight. The oversized Christmas lights flashed out of sync near that shadowy gazebo, offering no light of truth. Rather, the oversized pine that had seen most of the evils of this once-gated town stood between me and that pulse of Dionysian, Masonic, Mormon-infused magick—the crimes being committed behind that clustered row of houses.

I was not innocent either, but I was here for a purpose, I think? These days, I was quickly losing myself. It begins with a set-up, a betrayal. What can you do when multiple evaluations in the weighing of your very soul get tangled up in the quantum observation—who the hell is watching all of this, anyways, who in the hell could possibly be staring down!?

I am alone again. I am overly nurturing with the sweetness found in self-corruption. I burned so many years. I fought the shadows and stung the gods, or are they demons? Exhausted, I never did recover, yet here I seem to live and breathe, with no books, no harmony or justice, and certainly no order. Evil comes in many packages, but justice isn't included in any of these plans. I wish I knew that.

Remember the old tacky saying, "if wishes were horses beggars would ride"? A beggar, for his weak and fleeting life, who died miserably, spat that out once in vitriol and pride. The ashes were all that was left. Now a conjured demon assists his evil daughter's fleeting, mad campaign.

Stuck in This Place

Bob's got a few bucks for western bacon burgers. Life is over now: change phase. And misery is a rhetorical, overcast, foggy seaside town. He says he can spin the weather again—only requires a breakfast sandwich and an orange juice—so make haste. Mat's dusting off his demon again so that he can look down from his DID moral-objector alter ego. Absent are they in these transitions and transmutations; far too numerous are these events.

Time ripples. Singing it, living it—oh no, I'm jumping again.

 Drifting in and out of reality as those tall angelic mutants run past me again. Busting clouds, I knew at the end of this long day's walk a mad-hatter demon witch would be trailing a 23-foot-long ribbon behind her all the way to Denny's at 2:53 am. I wasn't young then, but I certainly was not old. Just a middle zone in a liminal realm, bouncing off the friction of this other unreality then.

The Witch

The witch picked me up again. I was now aware of my avatar looking upon the cackling broom hilda bot driving another minivan under heavy expiry. Round eyed Ian's playing Charles Manson violins within his mind - was he truly successfully firewalling, effectively blocking out his Monarch daycare aquino-bot connections.

Time jump - another quantum skip.

How now could I be fat and old, yet not as fat nor old as I would soon aspire myself to be -manboobs. Passing out in random Lyft cars as the sun dilated over the windmill and played a cat chase string game - paralaxing a press away from the sunset observatory.

A mad world this was and is today but something lost certainly, with great certainty.

A SNAP of a Safeway holiday meal. Starbucks would fix it, that siren could fix it all still. I simply reach my wond of an early generation apple watch out -maybe it would work this time near Edgewood, where mad memories haunt me still this day. Maybe the damn apple mob would just bust my bank all together, level me back to zero? Still this Christmas pumpkin slice and that hot frothy creamy gingerbread latte would chase me to the pot behind those S arch corridors again.