Tuesday, June 16, 2020

American Bardo

Do I believe in ghosts? Fuck no. But there's some weird shit going on more interesting.

And besides, isn't real life horrible enough? Not enough terror for you? Well, your brain kindly takes care of that in your nightmares.

Item: The last night I stayed at Mom's house. The place was already cleared out. May was cold and rainy and the heat was shut off. So I crashed on the floor in the room above the garage,

Because I am old, I have to get up to pee. I opened the door to downstairs, and it was a pitch black ice cold dead heart of the house kind of vibe & I thought of all the demons in the dark and blew it off as silly.

One of these days, it won't be something silly.

In any case, I screwed up my courage and thought, shit, I'm the most dangerous thing in this house.
Went down and peed.

Item: after smoking a joint I was attacked by a large friendly ghost dog. A big white huskey if you must know.

Item: My mom had a shitty cat called Molly that I called Hissy. She had it put down. Next time I was at her house, I saw a white kitty out of the corner of my eye. Again during late night pissing.  I don't beleive in ghosts, but I said


And then there's the dreams. If I go through my pleasure hut*, I find all of my dreams are negrophilic. Meaning the characters in my dreams or avatars or mechanical elves are dark complected, and usually very dark complected.

I have a recurring dream of a daughter who is black as can be. And she is a treasure. I love her.

That's hard thing for a Northern Barbarian, to admit love.

So I have a dream we are in one of those endless houses of American Suburban Bardo. {Not to be confused with Urban or Rural Bardo. I have visited them all.} We end up in the basement(s). Check the corners, Check the doors. Check the holes. And vigilance is not eternal. And my daughter is snatched. Not by monster hands. By my kind of hands.

By my hands.

Of course I woke up heart pounding little beads of sweat and agitated.

And maybe that's the awakening moment when you realize you are a fucking monster. You meaning me. Me and mine.

I wonder if Jordan Peele's use of  horror and the current #BLM movement have pushed a much needed sea change? Problem with that is we all know, above the age of 8, that it's a horror show, and the monsters are real.

The question now is, can we stop being monsters? We meaning me?

Wow this one went off the rails.

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

Flow My Tears The Policeman Said

Let's talk Star Trek.

What is it with us humans? We're small, weak, savage, dumb.

Dumb little weak little savage little monkey babies that apparently hand every alien their ass, including occasionally the Borg and the Q.

Romulans don't believe in Luck so they have no explanation for such a childish race as the humans

The Klingons see us as children, prone to sentimentality. A Star Fleet uniform is a child's uniform.

The Vulcans? They were afraid of us, because we reminded them of their own horrible Orc children.

(So there's also keep in mind Vulcans and Romulans are elves descended from gods*. I really wish I had set up my Vulcan Brothel in Las Vegas back in the 80s. I am an idiot)

( I mean who doesn't want to fuck a Klingon whore or stud? Who is this strange category?)

Who's left? Keeping up with the Cardassians. Which honestly, would be fun in bed you can tell.

So I guess Star Trek is humanity fucking every thing in the Galaxy** it could fuck.

Anyway, neoteny. Humans retain the baby characteristics of all Star Trek aliens into adulthood.

That's why we creepy little monkey babies unify the Galaxy through fighting and fucking.

Oh, also some digital creations reacting to the times around me.

Please police me

Stay safe and sane fellow babies.