The Gypsy card reader told me of a heavy iron lid upon a great blaze – the fire suffocating in its own emissions.

I’m in a room. The curtains are drawn. I know that it is time to leave the room, but I can’t move. Outside there’s an obsession. The room is a cube. One must to engage the room. If I look out of the window they come for me. Head Pigs. If I’m creative with writing I’m creative with schizophrenia. I don’t draw a distinction.

They left the door ajar last night. It’s a trap. Still, I’ll be gone when they get back.

My actions in this world, and my place in this world, as a man, is somehow tainted because of my gender. As though I feel I have a superior sense of entitlement underlying my journey through life and my deeds

Everybody beats their woman… in some sense, just as every woman beats her man. We humans beat the shit out of everything. We beat the shit out of ourselves. We’re violent, and anybody that isn’t violent is gonna get violence. Transmission received, sir.

Boys and girls are different. Boys are sparking at the beacon like an arc welder. Girls are little fireflies letting the light in at the heart. All men can do is control everything.

Once you pass through it you see it. Innocence is slashed away as the red bone rises from the deep.  Purity is attained. Actions take on new meanings as new deeds supersede. The shutters are torn off in that storm. The clouds dissipate over a period of weeks. Sunlight floods the chamber. The Shaman is nowhere found.

I’ve entered a new echelon. I needn’t take to the bear trail. I am permitted to travel by road. There are no signs of authority this deep in the wilderness, but I know I’ll hit a checkpoint sooner or later. I wouldn’t afford the cost of traveling the government trails without proper documents. I found a corpse face down in a muddy puddle. I took his boots – my feet were already tattered. Not a good look. I picked up a sweet scent on the icy breeze. Frozen perfumes and cured meats. Outside of Yakutsk I came upon them – displaced peasants. They didn’t spot me. I followed them for some miles undetected. I took to the tree line and stalked them from obscurity. It was around this time that I came to understand what sort of a person I am, or rather, what sort of person I was to be this time around the sapiens circuit.

In time I selected my victim. Yvegnia – a young woman.  I dragged her off into the thick of the woods. I raped her. Strangled her. Chopped her up with an axe. I cooked some of her meat, but I was harassed by wolves so I left her remains. I wasn’t really attached to her flesh. I just felt the need to consume her completely. Ritual. I could not do enough to her. Something inside me was missing. I could never put it back. Looking back on this I understand that our voids were entwined. We were at apex. We’ve been lovers throughout eternity. Paths crossing and healing. Malice transcended. Murder but a carrier. A host. A surrogate.

My head fell apart soon after that. I left the road. Should I have met officials I’d have come across in fragments. Even with my papers they’d pick me apart. I was picking myself apart. They would reflect me, as I would them. I went on some sort of a feverish trip. I regressed into a more bloodthirsty reflection held deep in my corridor of mirrors. Forty-six manifestations. Each of them human. Was this the forty seventh? I saw no primate among them. Something to do with the tether between the cerebral and prefrontal cortex. Animal life was never at the root but only presented in the fountain. I tumbled down that hall like a deck of cards – the sound of the gold coin ringing in rotation. Bottoms up. Low end high. I plummeted into bleeding shadow. The mirrors down there creaked like snow underfoot.

I found the mineshaft upon a full moon. I’d nailed an animal to the trunk of a tree as a symbol to initiates. I entered the shaft. It smelt like the earth of a thousand-year-old mass grave – dusty and flat. I read the smell like sonar and felt the cloak of shadows encompass me. I came over all strange and he attached himself to my daath point. He told me he would speak through me, and that I had a message for mankind. I was to go on a boat – a great hulk of creaking rust. There I would meet the Goatkeeper and engage his assembly of oracles. At the time I didn’t actually realise what this meant. In actuality, I was to be kidnapped in Wellington by Russian merchant sailors. I was to be taken aboard a container ship used for the trafficking of Balkan sex slaves. At gunpoint they would force me to cook methamphetamine. At night we would play cards. Eventually I would stab the Goatkeeper in the throat with a chicken bone and jump into icy waters. This shadow was manipulative. That’s all I really got out of the experience.

For a day-job I work in film set fabrication, but that's not nearly close to the feeling I get when I'm writing or creating music. I'm currently working on several screenplays, but this site is where I come to dump my quick-fire ramblings and expunge difficult emotions or experiences. I hope you take something from these writings. Each and every one of them comes from the heart.

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