Entry VII--Hash Wednesday (Conclusion)
Seeing myself in even more visions than just the burned out church and the Dome.
It's as if those original two visions are splitting off into even more visions.
Now I'm in another church, not unlike one from my childhood, and there I am, dressed in a suit and tie, dutifully attending with a wife and child in tow. The perfect catholick family (except that we're about five kids short).
My hands are clapsed, my head bowed humbly (and completely voluntarily I might add).
This vision is really frightful. Respected myself much more when I was bowing, but still defiant, before Pleasant.
Much rather be forced to have faith than willingly accept it, to welcome it.
To the left of that scenario is yet another unfolding before my eyes, this one decidedly more pleasant, mostly cause its sans Pleasant.
I'm in that futuristic Dome once more, but bowing before no one. Rather, I'm seated at a very large, very impressive Round Table, surrounded in this perfect circle by folks who all seem quite fascinating.
Can't tell exactly what is is we're discussing, but whatever it is, it's heated and passionate.
As my extended vision begins to drift to yet another scene crystalizing into existence, I hear distant chords of music that becomes increasingly more prominent, as if wherever the song is coming from is getting closer.
Soon it's near enough that the vibrations, especially those of bass and percussion, bounce off my cheeks.
And then, that voice most familiar once again sings to me and only me:
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Your creativity, enslaved to lust"
"Always been serving, on bended knee
Always been serving, the words are not free"
"Never been serving, your fiery passion
Never been serving, what you will fashion"
"So ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Liberate the words, serve as you must"
jesus, those lyrics are even more cryptic than the ones from xmas eve.
Meanwhile the FireWheel burns even hotter, and from wherever my central vantage point is supposed to be, it's like each individual flame holds a distinctly separate image of a possible destiny that I, Darwin Grimm, could be living out...
Me in front of a PC screen, writing for a living...
Me as a janitor, mopping up toilets...
Me fucking that redhead, the one I see everywhere I go...
Me seated in a courtroom, on trial...
Me living in a San Francisco flat with a bunch of interesting characters...
Me flipping hamburgers in a sweaty greasy grill...
Me eating out Ms. Cabal's pussy...
Me as a homeless drunk in front of a liquor store, begging for change...
Me with a suburban wife and a kid in prep school...
Me in the soldier in the military, putting a bullet between the eyes of a captured Arabic soldier ...
Me piloting a plane on an international flight...
Me as a white trash ghetto pimp, slapping a whore who isn't turning tricks fast enough...
Me as a brain surgeon, performing delicate surgery...
Me as a fugitive, on the run from somebody or something...
Me, standing in front of an impressive circular structures of some kind, delivering a speech to a large gathered throng...
Me wearing a crucifix...
Me kneeling before Ms. Cabal, who radiates the power of a god...
Me being punched in the solar plexus by Rev Pleasant...
Me strapped to a table, being brainwashed...
Me anally fucking Ms. Cabal, who is bent over before me as a true submissive...
Me as a being of pure thought...
Me endlessly...
And the visions in the flames become a lifetime of dreams and nightmares and possibilities spread out before me, like an almost infinite hall of mirrors.
Wish I could analyze what it all means more substantially, more coherently, but I'm so fucking high the best I can do for now is just take it all in.
Maybe somebody could explain it to me some time.(that's a laugh).
It could also be a magnification of my increasingly psychotic schizophrenia.
But I'm not climbing on any therapist's couch tonight, so gonna have to ride it out.
And watch the FireWheel rage on to an unbelievable mass of heat and energy...
Until it can no longer be contained...
Until it consumes itself, like the mythical phoenix....
Until all that's left are ashes.And with the flames of the FireWheel gone, so vanish the multiplicity of visions.
Until all that's left is me, standing knee-deep in a pile of ashes, while still more float down around my head in a snowstorm of alteration.
Not sure where this supposed to be now, whether it's the ruins of the church or somewhere completely different.
Not too long before I see the outline of shrouded figures in the distance.
Menacing? Still too far too tell.
They move in my general direction, till they get close enough that I see that they are specifically approaching me, wading through the ever growing drift of ashes.
At first, still thinking I'm in the church ruins, assuming that it's members of the congregation, the ones who went screaming out of the burning house of god like a bunch of little pussies...
But when they get close enough to my spotty vision, can see they're actually from that "Round Table" vision I had.
Never formally met any of these people (at least, outside of that vision) but feel like I know them better than I do members of my only family. Certainly, feel more comfortable in their presence than I do pretty much all of my own flesh-n-blood.
As each one passes by, she or he silently acknowledges me by dipping her/his hand in the now thigh-high ashes...
And each one of them marks their forehead with smeared ash.
At first, can't tell what they've marked, but when a couple get close enough...
See that it's the mark of the FireWheel.
Can't help myself. As reverent a scenario as this is supposed to be, can't hold in a quiet laugh.
Not a mocking tone, but a laugh of accomplishment and satisifaction.
Just then, the wind picks up a bit, and one particularly sharp edge ash changes direction mid-air, landing squarely in my left eye.
Blink.
And here I am, staring at the ashes of the now deceased hashball, the black white and gray residue under the overturned goblet on the table in my apartment.
I'm back.
Or rather, all the visions left me alone.
Not exactly sure how to react to what just happened to me.
One thing's for certain, I don't want a drink.
No, I want to write.
Now I am hallucinating.
No, I'm serious.
But what to write about?
Ah-ha! Hash--er, ash wednesday.
I've already seen the material.
Flip on the PC and try to remember everything I wrote while on my knees...
It's as if those original two visions are splitting off into even more visions.
Now I'm in another church, not unlike one from my childhood, and there I am, dressed in a suit and tie, dutifully attending with a wife and child in tow. The perfect catholick family (except that we're about five kids short).
My hands are clapsed, my head bowed humbly (and completely voluntarily I might add).
This vision is really frightful. Respected myself much more when I was bowing, but still defiant, before Pleasant.
Much rather be forced to have faith than willingly accept it, to welcome it.
To the left of that scenario is yet another unfolding before my eyes, this one decidedly more pleasant, mostly cause its sans Pleasant.
I'm in that futuristic Dome once more, but bowing before no one. Rather, I'm seated at a very large, very impressive Round Table, surrounded in this perfect circle by folks who all seem quite fascinating.
Can't tell exactly what is is we're discussing, but whatever it is, it's heated and passionate.
As my extended vision begins to drift to yet another scene crystalizing into existence, I hear distant chords of music that becomes increasingly more prominent, as if wherever the song is coming from is getting closer.
Soon it's near enough that the vibrations, especially those of bass and percussion, bounce off my cheeks.
And then, that voice most familiar once again sings to me and only me:
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Your creativity, enslaved to lust"
"Always been serving, on bended knee
Always been serving, the words are not free"
"Never been serving, your fiery passion
Never been serving, what you will fashion"
"So ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Liberate the words, serve as you must"
jesus, those lyrics are even more cryptic than the ones from xmas eve.
Meanwhile the FireWheel burns even hotter, and from wherever my central vantage point is supposed to be, it's like each individual flame holds a distinctly separate image of a possible destiny that I, Darwin Grimm, could be living out...
Me in front of a PC screen, writing for a living...
Me as a janitor, mopping up toilets...
Me fucking that redhead, the one I see everywhere I go...
Me seated in a courtroom, on trial...
Me living in a San Francisco flat with a bunch of interesting characters...
Me flipping hamburgers in a sweaty greasy grill...
Me eating out Ms. Cabal's pussy...
Me as a homeless drunk in front of a liquor store, begging for change...
Me with a suburban wife and a kid in prep school...
Me in the soldier in the military, putting a bullet between the eyes of a captured Arabic soldier ...
Me piloting a plane on an international flight...
Me as a white trash ghetto pimp, slapping a whore who isn't turning tricks fast enough...
Me as a brain surgeon, performing delicate surgery...
Me as a fugitive, on the run from somebody or something...
Me, standing in front of an impressive circular structures of some kind, delivering a speech to a large gathered throng...
Me wearing a crucifix...
Me kneeling before Ms. Cabal, who radiates the power of a god...
Me being punched in the solar plexus by Rev Pleasant...
Me strapped to a table, being brainwashed...
Me anally fucking Ms. Cabal, who is bent over before me as a true submissive...
Me as a being of pure thought...
Me endlessly...
And the visions in the flames become a lifetime of dreams and nightmares and possibilities spread out before me, like an almost infinite hall of mirrors.
Wish I could analyze what it all means more substantially, more coherently, but I'm so fucking high the best I can do for now is just take it all in.
Maybe somebody could explain it to me some time.(that's a laugh).
It could also be a magnification of my increasingly psychotic schizophrenia.
But I'm not climbing on any therapist's couch tonight, so gonna have to ride it out.
And watch the FireWheel rage on to an unbelievable mass of heat and energy...
Until it can no longer be contained...
Until it consumes itself, like the mythical phoenix....
Until all that's left are ashes.And with the flames of the FireWheel gone, so vanish the multiplicity of visions.
Until all that's left is me, standing knee-deep in a pile of ashes, while still more float down around my head in a snowstorm of alteration.
Not sure where this supposed to be now, whether it's the ruins of the church or somewhere completely different.
Not too long before I see the outline of shrouded figures in the distance.
Menacing? Still too far too tell.
They move in my general direction, till they get close enough that I see that they are specifically approaching me, wading through the ever growing drift of ashes.
At first, still thinking I'm in the church ruins, assuming that it's members of the congregation, the ones who went screaming out of the burning house of god like a bunch of little pussies...
But when they get close enough to my spotty vision, can see they're actually from that "Round Table" vision I had.
Never formally met any of these people (at least, outside of that vision) but feel like I know them better than I do members of my only family. Certainly, feel more comfortable in their presence than I do pretty much all of my own flesh-n-blood.
As each one passes by, she or he silently acknowledges me by dipping her/his hand in the now thigh-high ashes...
And each one of them marks their forehead with smeared ash.
At first, can't tell what they've marked, but when a couple get close enough...
See that it's the mark of the FireWheel.
Can't help myself. As reverent a scenario as this is supposed to be, can't hold in a quiet laugh.
Not a mocking tone, but a laugh of accomplishment and satisifaction.
Just then, the wind picks up a bit, and one particularly sharp edge ash changes direction mid-air, landing squarely in my left eye.
Blink.
And here I am, staring at the ashes of the now deceased hashball, the black white and gray residue under the overturned goblet on the table in my apartment.
I'm back.
Or rather, all the visions left me alone.
Not exactly sure how to react to what just happened to me.
One thing's for certain, I don't want a drink.
No, I want to write.
Now I am hallucinating.
No, I'm serious.
But what to write about?
Ah-ha! Hash--er, ash wednesday.
I've already seen the material.
Flip on the PC and try to remember everything I wrote while on my knees...
posted by Darwin Grimm at 11:32 PM
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