I
I kept thinking to myself, I know what to do here. Oh yeah, now I remember. Son of God. Remember the teachings. Not my will.
In my mind's eye I saw a golden chalice brimming over with cool refreshing water. I acquired the warm overwhelming sensation of Peace of mind and body.
I only connect from safe points of reality now. Fleeting orbs of darkness are a constant in my peripheral vision. I must be careful what I say, do, think. How bright a Light in the Darkness. What is grey? Red, orange, and yellow create the grey of warmth. Violet, blue, and green create the grey of annual equinoxes, of wintertide. Achromatic grey is but light reflected from a grandeur density. Dyspraxia, ironically is the modern ethos. As the paradoxologist Chesterton pointed out:
Sherlock Holmes is not really a real logician. He is an ideal logician imagined by an illogical person. But Sherlock Holmes is an ideal figure, and in an imaginative sense a very effective one. He does embody the notion which unreasonable people entertain of what pure reason would be like.
* * *
The tower of the King's dreams has formed, and its beauty is horrible. Only the people remain. Their historicity has been disestablished. Life is community, community is natural, nature is cruel.
Anna, the child of Venus comes forth to fulfill her role in Capricorn. She pauses momentarily at my side.
"Do you want to come to the Zelandia Pentantric with me tonite?," her eyes ask, full of laughing scorn. "Midocin is going to bring his harvest of Amanitas."
"Mmmm," I reply decidedly while shrugging my shoulders and drawing my head to the side.
Community leaders are the Earthly representatives of the Heavens. Every heavenly host is represented. Anna's red hair pours over her pert youthful breasts. The crone is within. Her green eyes, illuminated with the knowledge of all things hidden, follow the gaze of my eyes. She is the temple of seductiveness. Of course I was going, though my reasons for doing so were far different from the others.
"Do you suppose it will be Din's troupe?," she attempts and fails to ask in a careless way.
"I would think that you would hope that it would not be him nor his troupe, but women are arranged strangely, are they not?" This time it was me who laughed with my eyes.
II
We have learned more of the 11 fold theory. Our forefathers would consider us heretical; and yet we must go where truth leads us. We can now find and access the preferred lines consistently. Harmonic portals can usually be oxygenated by an assembly of five females, three males, and four participant witnesses of the same calling name. Every ritual is accompanied by a musical theme.
The House Nourisher, Avocado Wolf, now of 36 Cycles, has a slight fixation on raw cuisine and necrology. He is quite rustic, with a long 5-MeO-DMT drawn face, unusual slimness, and a crouching stature. His shoulder-length auburn hair is oft permeated with the fat of his meals. He smells of venison. Much of the vegetarian community reels at sudden appearances of his countenance. He, is charged this nite with melody.
Earlier in the day, whilst in the latrine powerfully defecating, I became cornered by him. He took the time to confide in me that he had based his musicale for tonight's Pentantric on the legend of Zelandia. His chosen instrument was to be the Tesla coils. Zelandia is a local site upon Beaucatcher Mountain. The legend says that a woman, Helen, had hung herself from the stone bridge there after her daughter had burned to death in the old Zelandia manse. In the midst of necrological studies, Avocado had become convinced that Helen held a gift for Elsbith, pubescent daughter of Sol, community couturier.
Once summoned, Avocado would inquire of Helen not as to the truth of the thing that had happened to her, nor of what lies beyond life, nor of even what gift she had for Elsbith. He would beg of her some covetous thing; which is I believe to be the enlistment of her as a helper. Avocado told me upon the smoking of his powder, and after his own tumultuous and quite liquid defecation, that since childhood he has been most experienced in the post cognitive arts as well as culinary arts.
"My talent with the knife, the hooks; it all comes down from my great grandfather Binnie Wolf. He told me, when you open the flesh, you let something in."
Germs, I thought, that's what comes in to your open flesh, germs.
Avocado stated this with enthusiasm whilst pulling a 10 gauge hook slowly through the skin of his forehead. He became ecstatic at the tearing flesh, the shredded exit hole, the ejaculation of what he called love. I thought, you idiot, you've just let a stream of fecal inhabiting germs, bacterias, and viruses into your stupid holed head—Campylobacter, E. Coli O157, Enterovirus, Giardia, Hand-Foot-Mouth Disease, Hepatitis A, Infectious Diarrhea, Pinworms, Polio, Salmonella, Shigella...
Avocado continued as he bled from the head, "I am the image of my grandfather as well. I am convinced of DNA destiny."
Avocado's great grandfather was said to have been the water witch who was responsible for the finding of the communities water source—an immense well situated in the middle of a heptagram in the middle of the market.
"He was a dowser by trade, damned good one. His goodwill hobby was to refurbish diminished grave sites that had become no longer visible to this world. He not only divined the layout of sites which were so old that no markers were to be found, but also divined the names, birth and death dates, and causes of death of the forgotten. Indeed, remains were below where he pointed from above. The dead need houses, was his explanation. The Forest Sanctuary was his own work, said it was the oldest site known to him."
Undoubtedly, the massive necropolis in the forest was Avocado's great grandfather's greatest accomplishment. His methods for the movement and placement of huge granite slabs is still unknown.
I slipped out of the latrine as Avocado set fire to more of his powder.
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