After four hours listening to High Hopes thinking of Ancient Native American Indians in lyrics spinning the illusory 12? vinyl, ?The grass was greener? the light was brighter? the taste was sweeter? the nights of wonder? with friends surrounded? the dawn mist glowing? the water flowing? the endless river? forever and ever??, lost in the Light of God, the Light of the World, reborn into the Eternal Light of Life, a quarter gram, N,N,-DiMethylTryptamine? DJ Skulicybian?s bizarre and amorphic shimmering teeth of thick and heavy etched solid gold, spelling ?GAIA? stretching up and around calls, Natashia the Destroyer @ 7:15am as the Light dances on the walls, ?Wanna pick shrooms? I KNOW there?s out there, the Shroom God was standing in my kitchen all night, arms crossed, head tilted as if to say, ?Well fucker! Are you our are you? Huh? Well fucker?!?? And Natashia the Destroyer?s all hungover and shit, ?Yeah, lemme get ready and dressed.? And DJ Skulicybian?s like, ?How?s your car? My battery?s low.? Natashia the Destroyer says, ?Mine?s overheating? And DJ Skulicybian says, ?I?ll be there in thirty minutes?. Crank. Go. Zoom. Knock knock? ?I?m getting dressed? Come? Smokin? outside with Dr. Suess?s cats and there?s the omen. The mescaline spider?s web and the mescaline spider in it?s web. Fingerly flicky the cherry. Butt misses the can. Fuck it. Closer look. Armies of ants are crawling in endless streams coordinating reserve supplies to their hidden base head quarter grams. Inside. Dressed to hunt. Dressed for battle. Dressed to kill. They jump into her car and blaze the glowing morning fog, the morning sun is shimmering into the atmosphere and they talk of F-E-A-R. The Bull God will kill them if they threaten the heard, ?it?s cool? I got this little trick I learned from Bhudda, just hold a mushroom in my hand up in the air as a flower and the cows are enlightened, the young look in fascination creeping ever closer and the Bull God stands sideways his horns of devil death, so we pass unscathed and laden down with pounds wet, born alive, soon to die into our unlocked souls?. DJ Skulicybian hunts the flow of energy; one cap seen means two missed, flowing the flowing and following the following walking a pattern as a spider spinning a web after eating a fly doped with mescaline, ?Thank you for this one, that means two more.? Natashia the Destroyer plops down in the middle of the heard asking, ?Can I get up now?? Honk! Cool she?s in the car. She asks DJ Skulicybian, ?Didja get any? and he?s so totally like all, ?Ohhhh Yeeaahhh?? Crank. Go. Zoom. Inside. She?s saying, ?You eat those whole?? and he?s like, ?Umm? yeah? They taste like mushrooms??? like from the store? I like ?em, see? Munch, munch, munch? Oh but fucking no she?s got to throw them into the QuizInArt axe of death and shred their flesh like the cruelest torture device know to man in the deepest dungeon labyrinth of the crouching tiger/hidden wire, dumping piles of Kool-Aid dry mixed with Kool-Aid liquid. DJ Skulicybian prays to them, ?It?s all right? you?ll soon be in us? Then uncompherended cruelness transmorphs to kewlness in the blast of a purple liquid glass. She orders Dracula 2000 and it?s the holy fucking death bomb! Blood sucked from the pulsing jugulars of sex machine wicked beauty bitches turned to the unborn dead in ignorance and blood lust. Dracula is Judas Iscariate, Vlad the Warlord (Impaler) and the dramatic special effects of the shrooms and the theatrical special effects of the flick merge inseparably. Then it?s DJ Skulicybian?s turn to drive Direct TV. Channel: Sounds of Seasons. Pure unadulterated music and no hypnotic strobe light that drains time and life into a glass tube that is in fact a fucking vacuum god damnit to hell and back! He crawls up under a blanket and sees the patterns hidden inside the patterns and the patterns of the world integrate into time and space. The story reads into his own eyes and he knows it is him that he is reading about. Now! This has got his attention! Looking for something? Answers perhaps? They?re right here inside the patterns hidden in the patterns of the patterns of the world. Natashia the Destroyer?s young daughter tells of bit?s and pieces of her recent likes and DJ Skulicybian earth naturally flows into the transdimensional role of the eternal father in heaven channeling lessons of what is god, good, right and wrong in the command of voice from the heart all day into the night and ending with both singing, ?I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!!!? in real smiles of joy. She retires to her own private space in peace. Now the night is rocking on. Madonna is on the glass plasma in masterful grace, beauty and elegance in dance and larynx. The performance keeps tugging raw flowing tears that stream as a stream of consciousness into the flowing movements of that soular woman?s expression of her entire life drawn into this moment again and again, rhythmic. Getting the fuck off! Getting the fuck off! Getting the fuck off! Friends call with a sheet. (Yeah right fucknuts) Anyway time to drop one twenty fifth gram diazapam and rest. Hours passing and Knock knock? In flows the mass of friends with a jug of hot purple shroom liquid tea, tripped out make you know their tripping expressions smiles, and DJ Skulicybian meets this one and that one and bam! ?Hi my name is Djini.? Wholly fucking god in heaven, he?s down to his last wish and just made it! ?Hello, my name is DJ Skulicybian.? Her boy friend (an old friend anywise) says, ?no, it?s Djiniette? well, ?Oh, sorry? Djiniette? nice to meet you.? Respect. Beer. Slam one, two, three, infinity. Ahhhhhh. Alcohol. DJ Skulicybian is secretly pissing and praying and praying, ?Unlock my soul? unlock my soul? unlock my soul? and the next thing he hears is, ?dude I?m tripping, you can?t be tripping? and DJ Skulicybian?s saying, ?Didn?t you see me drink that whole glass of shrooms right there, I?ve been tripping all day? And Weldon?s in his face saying, ?I?m Weldon? you got a problem with that?? (drunk) And DJ Skulicybian?s like, ?hmm? This is a challenge. Give a moment to think about this one?? and a moment passes, and he says to Weldon slowly moving his face into his eyes?, ?In answer to your question? Is there a problem? The answer is? No? You have boundaries, there is only so much you will take and so much you will give. You are Weldon and I am DJ Skulicybian?? Slammed down to earth like a bolt of lighting out of the highest sky his knees shall be weak for the night and DJ Skulicybian reminds him to use the strength of his legs to stand up. Two of them are saying Skulicybian is strange, no, not in a bad way, just strange. And Skulicybian says, ?Yes strange, I?ve always been this way and always will be. Get to know me. Strange as in stranger. Get to know me then I will be familiar as in family? They want to go for a walk. ?Lets GO!? F-E-A-R delays their efforts? round and round and to the front and to the back. Then the time comes to walk. The three men walk. Into the unknown, full moon, winding road in near darkness, tripping balls, fractal transdimensional patterns under the light of the moon. Weldon wants to sit (weak knees). So the three men sit. And Weldon asks DJ Skulicybian if he?s gay. DJ Skulicybian says, ?No. I like pussy. That?s what I like? The last time I got layed a few weeks ago? she had the BIGGEST tits, we fucked all night drenched with sweat until holy fucking damn it was morning, fucking gushing slippery wet pussy like a vice grip, does that make my point clear?? Weldon says, "Well, as long as you don?t hit on me.? DJ Skulicybian says, ?If I hit on you it?s going to be a punch in the nose, that?s the only hitting I?ll be doing on you, a punch in the nose? Weldon says, ?Well, that?s ok if you hit on me that way?. Then DJ Skulicybian reminds him about his boundaries and how much he will take and how much he will give. And he gives in and confesses a marriage destroyed by alcoholism and his own mistakes. ?A cause of misery? Lemme tell you about my girlfriends and common law wives? (singing) ?I drank a river in my time to get on through, sometimes I drink too much, but that?s ok?? Resolution. Breakthrough. Weldon has to spend hours alone with God. DJ Skulicybian tells him, ?come inside when you?re ready?. Inside everyone is getting off and enjoying the fuck out of who can talk the most lustful, ooops, now Dead Pickins girl?s eyes are melting and dripping all over DJ Skulicybian (she always does anywise) so it?s roll the eyes in tracer circuit circles (as if). Natashia the Destroyer orders Dracula 2000 again and the dilated pupil?s dig it like a fresh grave. Stop. Look. Listen. We are out. Of here. Bye. The drive home is afterglowing and flowing, not a soul on the road except one, DJ Skulicybian, the one who reveals the illusion with the illusion itself, himself, God Abstract under God Concrete, so down with it, he?s underneath it. The underground. Lost in the darkness of God. The darkness of the World. The eternal darkness of Life. Whispering, ?The grass was greener? the light was brighter? the taste was sweeter? the nights of wonder? with friends surrounded? the dawn mist glowing? the water flowing? the endless river? forever and ever??
Eat 'em Alive and Love IT to DeathEdited by oneoverzero on 09/06/01 07:05 AM. Edited by oneoverzero on 09/07/01 07:48 AM.
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Actually the short story came out rather Hunter S. Thompson-ish, sorta just re-hashing a burned out style of writing I guess - I picked up that idea from the cafe unte website from an article on not repeating what's already been done.
What got me going tho, is I bought this book by Ray Bradbury on how to write - at Books a Million I was flipping threw the pages and saw all these great lines and phrases to "steal" and "plug-in" to my writings. Sorry, but it was my firm belief that every writer's dearest wish was to be plagarized. Well now... once I really read through the first section, I was amazed that what the book was truely about was how to unlease the genius within and create something completely new, how to develop characters and such, techniques, etc..
So I got this Ray Bradbury book right? I also found this old science fiction fair booklet from May 22, 1976 I'd been keeping around for years, with his autograph in it. So I opened it up and took a good look only to be stunned seeing the autographs of Ray Bradbury (twice), Marion Zimmer Bradley, Richard Lupoff, Fritz Leiber, Forrest J. Ackerman, Poul Anderson, Gary Wolf, Michael Kurkland, and Robert Silverberg... that's when I flipped out and wrote this story. I got so fired-up I sat down and hammered out what I thought would be a spiritual/shroomy reflection on how fucked up (hence the ab-use of profanity) things are, with the lead character adhering to spirtual values in a shroomy context.
Only drank a six-pack of smirnoff ice writing - to loosen up my knuckles and finger joints, hehe.
Forever Never StopsEdited by oneoverzero on 09/29/01 06:37 AM.
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