Welcome home Midnight Ravers,
As far as secret fraternities of evil villains goes, this is a good one. The warm covenant of shame and degradation that sends marchers up the spines of us all. The walls have long since closed in. The strange scent of greasepaint, marijuana and grapes. I miss the days when this small one room apartment in East New Delhi smelled more like waffles, peanut butter and used panties. After spending all day researching the ancient tantric rituals of mid grade prostitutes I would spend my evenings buried in a hash haze pouring through Sanskrit poems foretelling the return from duality into singularity. I have learned a lot on the left-handed path, but my trips to India were always special. The Order sent me to school but I had to do the work myself. There was no real career awaiting me upon graduation. I still had to get up and go out and work just like everyone else. It didn’t matter, it didn’t bother me one bit. There’s actually nothing out there that you can’t find inside one self. The surgeries the machine elves gave me aboard their ship helped me survive that one winter in St. Louis, but that was about it. Any special esoteric knowledge gained from the process could have equally been gathered from dusty books in far away libraries that have since been entered into the digital tomes. After a few years in the wild I missed the comfort of my box. I returned to the tombs and cocooned myself awaiting rebirth in a springtime that never came. Yawning and stretching I spread my bent wings, unkempt and disheveled made my way back out into the spider web. Still mashing together my metaphors like a cockney whale. Stronger than untamed horses! Swifter than raging winds! Braver than mighty lions! Wiser than wisdom, and kinder than Galahad is Master Man. Blatantly misogynistic in his tone “Why settle for simply being a super-man, or a marvelous captain, when you can be the master.” Time passes differently in the snowy peaks of the Himalayas. You forget all the shows that used to come on Thursday night. Time also passes differently on that couch in Arizona. You forget what that one old drunk monk said to me in Samye. We are living in a new Gilded Age. You go out the way you came in; stringing random syllables together to form random words that make up random sentences. Drop that!
Vanquish all Thy Enemies,