Mors Janua Vitae

REAL PEOPLE in ACTION!

DashwoodGardens — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 21:56:54 GMT

My friends, death, disaster and dismemberment lurk menacingly behind every corner of every street in every city in the world, waiting to strike, waiting for you to make one thoughtless move, and then it HAS YOU. Why, it was just last Tuesday that I was riding my bicycle thru Ladd's Addition, like so many other cyclists, enjoying a warm and brisk September day when.... DEATH REARED ITS UGLY HEAD. (I shit you not, this really happened.) DEATH... in the form of.... A cute little Kitten! Oh, it was SO adorable! ...With his little white boots and brown and black spots! He just dashed out into the road like a little scamp, and the lady who was riding in front of me (late 40s housewife type) for reasons unknown, cut her handlebars to the right and pulled her front brakes, sending her off the bike at about 10 MPH while falling to the right. (remember kids, rotation=acceleration!) Her face collided with the back wheel of a parked pickup truck and stuck there for a moment as her body kept rolling forward. Eventually, after neck contorted into a position I have NEVER seen a neck assume before, her head lobbed around the tire and caught back up with her body. The muffled "bwuh" sound she made alerted the cyclist in front of her to the situation. I stop and approach her as she lie on her back perpindicular to the bright red pickup truck. Her eyes seem lifeless, pointed two different directions, with dramatically different pupil radiuses. I process this for a second and decide that I need to check if she is breathing. As I approach, She suddenly springs to life, although not in the way I was hoping. She starts foaming at the mouth and making horrible gurgling sounds and convulsing quite a bit, and I know for sure now that she is very seriously injured. She also pisses thru her little spandex bike pants. I realize that things need to happen NOW if she is going to survive. Mr. Other guy on the scene, for some reason, \in in her face repeating: "Are you OK? ..Are you OK?... Are you Ok?..." and trying to get her to sit up, which as we all know, is the WRONG FUCKING THING TO DO. She is not all too concious and clearly has no idea what happened. I tell the guy not to move her, that she is badly hurt (which should be painfully obvious, what with the foaming and the piss and everything) and flag down a mailman who is delivering envelopes across the street. "Hey man, I need you to call 911. this lady is hurt really bad" I try to explain that she had fallen while avoiding a collision with a kitten when I notice that jerk face is trying to get her to sit up again, saying "Come on, just sit up. You will be OK! JUst try to sit up..." She is still in a relatively vegatative state but is trying to communicate with monosyaballic utterances. Thats an improvement. "HEY man. Dont move her! SHe is pretty seriously injured!" I tell him again, and once again, he nods and moves away from her. Now there are cars stopped to watch the whole ordeal and blocking the road so I have to flag them thru and get them moving. As I am doing this, I hear the mailman talking to the paramedics or operator saying "yea, I think she hit a cat..and shes all messed up about it or something...." As shocking as this is, I remain calm and say to him: "NO! TEll them that she has a serious neck injury and a concussion please!" Which he does in a very matter-of-fact way. At least the medics are on teh way now. I turn back to her and jackass fuckface (who, to his credit, at least got her talking, which is important) has her actively trying to sit up, which does not work at all. As she tries to sit up from a laying position, her head buckles and rolls to the right, indicating that yes, her neck really is broken and and surrounding muscle groups are torn to fuck. She can use words now, but clearly has no idea what is happening. I use the voice (a little something I can do in states of duress) and hold her attention thusly: "Please lie down. You have had an accident and injured your neck very badly, BUT YOU ARE GOING TO SURVIVE." I can tell she understands. "There are people on the way to help you now, but it is VERY IMPORTANT that you lie as still as you can until they arrive." She complies and relaxes, and I shoot jackass fuckface a stern glance. He backs off for good. The ambulance response time was excellent, about a minute and a half. I wish her luck and go on my way, knowing that her life will never be the same, ever. Some of the onlookers catch up with me at a light and tell me I did a good job, and I feel kind of good for a moment. BUT What really haunts me isnt the convolsuns, the foam, the slow-motion twisting of a neck, but the SHEER IDIOCY of humanity at large. How a fluffy kitten frolic can cause someone to do the WRONGEST possible thing, and she is immediately mobbed by people trying to do the WRONGEST POSSIBLE thing to her. (except for me, of course) It is chilling, indeed.

I Went To Hell (Again!)

DashwoodGardens — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 00:04:20 GMT

Wow. I dreamed that I went to hell with an angelic entity called a "Maker." They seem to be a synthesis of human and angel, and have supernatural dark blue robes that flow all about them in hypnotic ways that are difficult to describe. This part of hell was like a medieval dungeon, with many horrible devices being used under the supervision of a malefic entity that I have encountered before... although he appears sickly now. In the dungeons labyrinth there operated spiked iron wheels that would rend the flesh of the damned until they were but a skeleton walking about, confused and tortured, and every room had several tiles on the floor that had etched spirit faces on them, and to step upon them was to take an acid bath of the soul. As the feet were withdrawn from these portals, a foul black vapor rose from the bones, noxious to breathe, and the pain! I felt their pain with them! Impossible to describe, and worse than any I have felt while awake, ever. There were also bloated scathe shamblers roaming the halls, blind and mad, slashing with infectious claws anything that would come near them. Luckily, the Maker and I are powerful, and able to fly and cling to walls in order to evade them. We are looking for something that the maker needs to see, and I am not sure why, but there is no time for questions. Soon we reach the inner sanctum of the dungeon and we find there the object of our quest: It is a scale model of a divine city like heaven or Avalon. It has many tiers and varieties of architecture, although rendered in small wooden blocks. A water powered perpetual motion machine propels a large ring back and forth along a ramp in the cities center. The object of the makers quest lies on top of the highest tower. There is a block balancing on the peak that wobbles back and forth as though it will fall, although it does not. The Maker uses telekinesis to stableize it, and at that moment, the spirit enters the room. (I have not seen him in about 6 years.) He was once noble, a knight of sorts, a hybrid of many spiritual essences, and when he spoke(quite dramatically and erratically) his face wold change into many different animal forms and human ones as well. All very fierce. Now he seemed sickly, off color, and his morphing was saggy and droopy. He spoke in severely mocking and spiteful tones: "Oh, I wish IIIII was a MAAAAY-KER! Oh then I could make lEEtle DOILIES to drape over my GRANDmother's face while she rocks baaaack and fooorth on her rocking chair FOR---ever!!" He came for us, and I knew that if he touched us than my life would never be enjoyable again, to any degree. The Maker took me by the arm and we flew though the perpetual motion ring and through the waterfall- and I awoke., quite relieved. BUT this only lasted a moment. It pulled me BACK. I was alone with him in a dungeon room without doors. He slashed and flailed madly, trying to infect me with whatever horrors festered beneath his wretched fingernails. I am lucky he has fallen from grace, as he was quite formidable some years ago. I climb the walls like spiderman. I fly about to evade his onslaught. Trapped in a tiny room with this spasitc caustic fiend I was, for who knows how long. Action packed, those hours were, I tell you. I awoke (escaped) , quite early in the morning, and managed to have a nicer dream later that mostly involved playing impossible musical instruments. Quite relaxing. Now i am supposed to talk to people in the world about the weather, sports, and politics. hmmmm......

Water in the Desert!

DashwoodGardens — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 23:21:11 GMT

If you havent heard about this massive FREE all day open-air extravaganza of music, art, workshops and theater, check out this website! www.waterinthedesertfestival.org This year is going to be great. I am Puck in the production of A Midsummer Nights Dream! (I've been outed as a thespian!) You can even get involved if you fancy. If you are around on July 26th, its what is happening in Portland. Also, the night before at Dante's we are putting on my old Zombie Rock Opera, The Day of the Zombie, too, along with some Lady Zombie Cabaret I have not seen, but must be scrumptious. Hope to see you there, mofos!

Ritual Theater

DashwoodGardens — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 11:10:27 GMT

For those who may enjoy it: I am performing at the Fez on Monday night of the 16th, not alone, but alongside a myriad of mindless spiders, all toiling ceaselessly and weaving a psychedelic tapestry that promises and has proved in the past to be so rich in color and diversity of geometry that to even gaze upon it is be thrust into a dimension of pure abstraction, of primordial creation. ~ Nequaquam Vacuum~ A post-Asiatic Improv Symphonic Noise Ensemble (In which I play the flute, violin, violin feedback, recorders in 3 formations, jaw harp, and voice) is executing the musical backdrop for Death Posture~ A ritual theater Butoh troupe in which Mizu Desirto, a professor of modern dance, is also partaking, leading into Power Circus~ Another local symphonic noise improv troupe of entirely different mettle altogether, a conundrum of wires, digital mayhem, and classical abomination. ~ I believe it will cost you nearly 7 american dollars to attend, however, you will leave with 12 moments of elation and/or confusion, at the very least. This much is for certain. With absent minds and tentacular sub-consciousnesses, so go forth the sonic soldiers of the oldest discipline, masquerading as nothing in particular, tearing muscles and ripping minds, vying deftly for a position at the helm of a vehicle that goes nowhere, yet is everywhere.

Behold, my Children!

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 20:46:19 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqi5F5MqqTQ What kind of fruit do you like the best? ...................................................................

Angelic Waters/Taoist Alchemy

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 22:24:02 GMT

I run around all day, almost every day. In order to do this more efficiently, I take tea and honey. The caffiene and sugar create music in my blood. They create bliss in my mind. When I come home, I lay back upon my bed and sip aloe vera juice, unbuttoning my pants and rolling up my sleeves as I stare into the septagram between the horns of Isis. Pleasuring myself, I feel waves of warmth wash over my body, and my tailbone and lower vertabrae pop and seem to spread open as I attain a glorious climax, the name of Maria escaping my lips. Taking my seed under my tongue, I find myself to taste like nectar and candy. I fall backwards out of my body into the realm of hypnogogia, and am beholden to a miracle: In space there is a symphony. Each insturment plays in perfect harmony and the sounds created carve an electric circut in this space, glowing with the force of life and creation. As the music swirls around me, the circuts begin to take the shape of an ornate pitcher, with its orniments of leaves and cherubim gilided to its girth. The music reaches its creshendo as the pitcher's handle, puresst gold comes into being, its sound being a chours of 10 angels opening their chords in 4 octaves of pure and utter glory, in perfect unison with an entire symphony, wrapped around my mind in a rapturous bliss as the pitcher pours its divine waters into my solar plexus and my tears fall with the sacred waters as well. ~ I awaken and the room is spinning. I am laughing. Blood sugar is a funny thing. (I hope this does not ruin my reputation as an evil sorcerer)

Sweet Wonders of Nature, Part II

DashwoodGardens — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 06:28:49 GMT

What the footage does not get into is the fact that this man has advanced to this state because of the fact that he is a Jehovah's Witness, and therefore is not "allowed" to receive the blood transfusion necessary for the operation, the "blood thing" mentioned in the 2nd film. His religion has turned him into a monster! (not just figuratively, like most religious monsters) ......And it gives me special joy to watch him eat, as well as listen to him try to speak. Watch the drama unfold in these 2 short films! Tee hee hee! http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1137883380/bctid1329220780 http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1137883380/bctid1329235040 .......oh, the FUCKING HUMANITY!

Vivesection, Parrot Fish Parasite Pyramids, and the Masochists Who Love Them

DashwoodGardens — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 06:16:29 GMT

I have new "friends" in my dreams, and they have been coming around a bit too much lately for my tastes. While their origin is still yet unknown, they may be found in the intestinal tracts of the parrot fish that are imported from the east and are sold in asian grocery stores. If enough of the "chum" is accumulated into a pile and left in the rays of the rising sun, the parasitic bacteria transmogrifies the innards and viscera first into crude bodies resembling cyclopean amoebas, ("cyclopean" being used in the context of both being gigantic, as well as having one eye) and the remaining bits are fashioned into an opalescent pyramid. This pyramid emits an ultra high frequency vibration that allows them to maintain their forms as well as practice telekinesis in their surgical endeavors, as their pseudopod appendages cannot possibly attain the level of precision required to satisfy them. They identified themselves and their race as "Zog," and I fairly certain that they have nothing to do with the supposed "Zionist Occupational Government" conspiracies. At first, they would take anyone. They were especially fond of the eyes, fascinated it seemed. As the man was bound by leather straps a combination of scalpels and lasers carved out a cubical chunk head in the manner you may see in Gunther Von Heagan's "Body Worlds" exhibit. The incisions were cauterized immediately. Leaving the optic nerve in tact, the muscle groups are splayed and and the eyeball scrutinized at length, all within an artificial anti-gravity field, as to allow each component to be arranged neatly in space. There are some other machines hovering about, but their function is unknown to me. I am distracted by wretched humanoids, diseased and covered in sores, who seem to delight in their own wretchedness, delight in the discomfort they cause by flaunting it. In retrospect they may have thought they were being friendly. I am at a loss to remember anything after this, save waking up feeling ill and violated. They returned a few nights later, seemingly eager to show of their new friend (because they like me, you know), a masochist of the highest order. In a tunnel of pulsating muscular viscera, he is presented to me on a levitating surgical table with mechanical attachments and instruments laden all about. Half of his jaw had been removed, but he still managed to SMILE. This is difficult to describe, but if you try to imagining picasso painting a man with a knife, taking his limbs from him in the style of cubisim, bone fragments arranged like mobiles, hanging from the twitching, dangling tendons, and the SMILE that just WASNT THERE, somehow you might almost see it. The skin on the front of his torso had been replaced with a plastic screen (I hear men have done this to a cow in order to study anatomy) and his organs were carved with designs reminiscent of late 1800's iron work, everything throbbing and gushing against the screen, mixing with the darker bile like a psychedelic oil projection, the stumps remaining of his extremities undulating with apparent glee as every breath and minute movement generated a perfectly intense agony, a pain that could never be replicated by human invention. His dilated eyes gesture towards his genitals, and I see a hovering syringe inject some sort of iridescent substance into the underside of his penis, which begins to swell to rather unsightly proportions. A scalpel creates an incision into his scrotum, which is then splayed wide, and the testicle is removed and discarded. There is no blood. I fail to remember anything after this point, which is bizzare, because I can usually remember more details no matter how horrible a dream is. I awoke feeling genuinely horrified, as though dread were a turban that I could not unfurl. (WOW, I really just typed that) Thankfully my day afterwards was filled with music and beautiful ladies, saunas and chants, stretching and humor. I suppose in a way I am becoming more emotionally well-rounded, experiencing extremes in order to understand the equilibrium. ~At least I can tell myself that for now.

Sweet Wonders of Nature

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 08:36:08 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQkyXb8Of5A What's really great about this is the musical score. .....Well, that and gratuitous genitalia shot.

The Altar of Sublime and Powerful Incarnations

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 08:22:31 GMT

This dream begins nowhere. The horizon of an endless gray sea is met by a gray mist, which fades into a gray and cloudless sky. Although I am not there, I am fishing these waters, believing myself to be sitting upon the deck of a modest fishing vessel. It is not there either. When I do not feel a tug on my line, I do not begin to reel in the catch, which comes into view eventually. It is a bright orange torpedo-shaped buoy, upon the front of which is a wide-eyed smiling face, not dissimilar to the smiling sub-deities worshiped by the Hare Krsnas. As I do not pull it aboard, I am struck with the realization that there is no boat. I was never fishing. There is nothing but the buoy, and I cling to it as I find myself floating in these waters. The water has no temperature, no substance. As I let go of the buoy, I cannot tell if i am sinking into the sea or floating into the sky. These distinctions are arbitrary. ~ A gate opens, and oil lamps ignite to illuminate the splendor of a temple's shrine, a low ceiling but extravagantly ornate. The pillars of the altar are of gold and ebony, and a thick and heady incense fills the room with an indescribably intoxicating aroma. The flicker of the lamps cast shadows dancing across the richly textured surfaces of every object, and within moments I am deep within a lucid trance state, reeling with the subtle pleasure of a heightened awareness. The deity does not make itself known to me, not in its true form. My minds eye is filled with an arrangement of 17 cards, each depicting an incarnation of the deity in the traditional style of the culture that knew and worshiped it throughout the course of history. 11 of the cards are darkened, and the illuminated 6 remaining represent the most potent manifestations of the deity as chosen by the deity. I am to choose of them to become of them, as the deity has grown beyond them. ~ 2 of them are from India. 2 of them are from Tibet. 1 is from the Maya. 1 is from Japan. ~ The 2 from India depicted black and white entities,both androgynous males, both seated, both with 4 arms. The black one's face was contorted in a furious intensity, its body wreathed in flame, and human remains adorned its body, fresh blood drizzling from the freshly dismembered limbs, eyes crossed, and fangs gleaming over the tip of the exposed tongue. The white one's face was the picture of perfect serenity, seated upon a lotus and wreathed in clouds. Its body adorned in pearls, jewels and gold that did not shine brighter than its eyes, which were nestled in a flesh softer than down feathers, its subtle lips parted into the most delicate smile. ~ The 2 from Tibet were very much like the previous 2, save that they were in standing and dynamic postures of action, and with 12 or 16 arms each. ~ The one from the Maya was a profile view in the style of the old bas reliefs found in the ruins, and of a man in elaborate headdress sailing in the cloudy sky upon an enormous crystal skull, bearing a sword that was clearly intended for decapitating foes, feathers splayed all about him and polished stones of all kinds adorn his body. He was not dead, nor was he alive, but in a state in between that is achieved by holy slayers that allows passage into darker realms where all things feed upon life and light, and are subject to the twisted wills of what can only be called vampire lords, for lack of a better term. This state of unlife renders one nearly invincible in these realms, and this incarnation defended the Maya from these forces. ~ The one from Japan was a slayer as well, standing tall and quite handsome, violet skinned and with completely modest black cloth attire and a tall hat that was somewhere between a Vietnamese field worker hat and the classic witches hat , with waist length black hair that shone bluish-white streaks in the rays of a setting red sun. He carried a sword made of crystal and gave the impression that he would become invisible even in the lightest shadow. I chose to experiment with becoming him first. ~ The transformation was instantaneous and without sensation. I found myself still in the shrine and changed into the being, but as he was as a child. Small and round-cheeked, with a big round belly. The hat being taller looking, proportionately. Instead of a sword, I/He had a giant mollusk companion, a great purple slug streaked with bulging crimson veins and a bright red saddle. It moved quite quickly. I also immediately became aware of a vast array of intensely destructive psionic powers that were at my command. Mostly used to psychically damage an opponent, many could cause severe nervous damage, blindness, vertigo, terror, and internal bleeding. All of them manifest as huge spheres made of latticed strips of purple flesh, laced together with transmuted aether, and would become deadly psionic force upon contact with their target. I was somehow not impressed. ~ I decided that, while these things being glorious as they were, were not for me, without testing the others. They were the footsteps of another, and I am a bit adamant about creating my own myths and deities, about becoming them in a way that I devise, through my own life path experiences, as that surely is the way the greatest masters and original gods achieved their positions: By making their own way. Perhaps I am a fool. In any event, my real life unfolds outside of time, and I am pleased to be able to have the offer made, even if I refused it.

The Glory of Air Pirates and the Soul Crushing Horror of God

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 21:21:15 GMT

They were Satanists. Not that they believed in or worshipped Satan, They believed in themselves, and their ability to grow learn and attain power. The title was admittedly reactionary, but only because they knew what it truly was that called itself "God." They were Air Pirates. Travelling in an enormous red WWI biplane with 3 cockpits that seated 6 each, with numerous decks, lounges and cabins in the hull of their fantastic plane (not to mention the huge machine guns), they boarded and robbed the superfluous cruise zepplins of the wealthy classes, taking money, food and jewellery, as well as inviting those intrepid enough to join them in thir life of high adventure, impetuous tresspasses and forbidden romances. They only hurt people if they absoultely HAD to. ~ THEN ~ They were Women of True Faith. They had forsaken many aspects of life, save devotion to their husbands, in order to focus their latent psychic abilities to transcend the material plane and become one with God. They assemble on an enormous white disc in the sky and line up in uniform rows before the blinding white light, as per its commands and to its satisfaction. The light is an illusion. It blinds to hide what lies behind, and lies indeed inside the mind. "We have assembled O Lord!" The spokeswoman chimes. " Now time is for [this name should not EVER be written or spoken] to feed" The white light simultaniously hisses and growls. "But Lord! [X] seems so....Un-Holy!" "And He is-" "SILENCE!" Cammands the light, and all the women assume a submissive posture with lowered chin and furrowed brows as the spirit darts about them, enveloping them like a damp smoke, one by one as they shift uncomfortably from side to side untill it has made its selection from the group. It enters her and she immediately becomes decrepit and yellow with sores forming upon her face. Her skin begins to peel and putrefy. She awakens back on earth, alongside her husband, who has as well become infected. He gets up and realizes his brain is being cooked with fever and his renal system is failing. "Honey? I....I...uhhhhhh...." He is dying quickly. He shines a flashlight on his wife. I am thankful she is covering her face. She is dessicated beyond what is easliy described, her flesh like steaming jelly, her bones exposed, yet still alive, and ashamed, still convincing herself that this is necessary to attain the Glory of God. ~ Seeing this shit makes me feel fucking horrible. Many parts are more vivid and realistic that the reality I am experiencing right now. Now I have to talk to people about the weather and popular sports teams and other such nonsense. ~ Do they know what they are really worshipping? Does anyone examine the ramifactions of blind faith? Fuck fuck fuck I feel sick.

Suddenly-: VIOLENCE!!

DashwoodGardens — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 03:22:36 GMT

~Speaking of bull-riding cowboys, here is funny story for those inclined to enjoy such things: Last night was the first night of Esozone, and PDX "Occoulture" event of panels, art, music, workshops, etc., and everything was going smoothly, and I was in superb dance form after a few yummy rums. There is a large drunk boy outside who is being a bit boisterous and overbearing, but in no way too "out of line." ~ The back story I learned from the girl's friends was that this boy was her ex-boyfriend, who she was, as they called it, "leading him on." I did not like the way they said this, as they seemed to mean to imply that the impending calamity was somehow her fault. He had been engaging in some light stalking for about 7 months, shadowing her around town, then getting quite sauced and trying to interact with her, but it usually ending up bad. This must have been the worst time ever. ~ Well, let me tell you, Ive seen a LOT of stupid drunken shenanigans in my time, and engaged in a few of my own, to be sure, and normally they can be defused before anything becomes overly violent, but SOMETIMES....just sometimes people seem to crave the beatings they bring upon themselves. --It starts when Mr. Boy gets fed up with Ms. X failing to give him the attention he so desperately needs from her, his true love he just cant stop harassing, so, in the style of a 3rd grade crush, tries to steal something she likes so she will HAVE to come to him. This thing was her dog. Naturally, the dog was just not into being kidnapped, and wiggled out of his drunken hands while the girl screamed for help-screams which were answered by just about everybody out in front of the someday lounge, who in so many polite and respectful terms told the lout to go home and sober up, get over it and move on. Mr. Boy responded with a slurred rant about how all of us "just dont know about her, and what shes done, and how horrible she is and how she...." blah blah BLAH!!! When the girl spoke up for herself, things started to get hectic. ~ In a gesture that seemed to scream " how dare you speak wench!" Mr. Boy (who is fairly large, like, well built-not fat) picks up two fairly heavy metal chairs and starts swinging them all around, and tries to throw them at the girl he is supposed to love or hate or whatever the hell the thinks he feels, and, effectively hits a bystander in the nose, and a good friend of mine in the arm and ribs. Hard. Sensing that he has fucked up pretty bad, he runs. He could have left it at that. ~ Someone has called the cops already, and they are on their way to talk to the girl, when Mr. Boy makes his encore appearance, imploring us all to believe that Ms. X really, and truly is utterly HORRIBLE, truly vile and detestable in every respect of the term, and its is his job and mission to do something about it. I make sure to drum into his head multiple times that he had severely fucked up by hurting my friend, and others reminded him that the police were on the way, he did not have much time. It was at that moment that he knew what he had to do, and at that moment, friends, that reality started to get REAL interesting....... ~ "You fucking beatnicks just DONT KNOW!!" was the battle cry as he stormed into the club, hands outstretched in a maniacal gesture of impending strangulation, making a Bee-line for poor Mrs. X, and it became obvious to myself and 2 other boys (or men, or whatever) that someone HAD to stop him RIGHT NOW. We simultaneously descended upon him, they taking his arms, and me his neck and face from behind, forcing him out the front doors and face down onto the cold and unforgiving bricks of the sidewalk along the new transit mall. My elbow jams into his cervical coccyx as his face hits the ground, a gesture I was to later learn broke his nose, as my fingernails tear strips of his flesh away from his face like so much wet confetti on a sweating turkey carcass. The others are at either side controlling his upper body, and I ride his lower back, my knees in his kidneys, surfing his convulsive protests to counterbalance the movements of his lower parts, slamming shut an area referred to as "the gate of life." (lower back over the kidneys) It was a hulking writhing mass of sweat and muscles and spit and blood and cursing and hair that was hell bent on generating submission thru pain, the wrestler striving for the illusion of total control...It was just so....MASCULINE! He manages to emit pathetic gurgles of "I diddnt do anything..bluh guh fffuuh.." and seems to be a bit subdued. At this point, I realize the similarity to a famous painting I saw in grammar school: The men holding his arms were soldiers manning oars... His writhing bulk a colonial canoe.... I stand, place my foot on his tail bone, my hand on my hip, and salute an imaginary flag, For I have become George Washington crossing the Deleware! ~ You dont even believe any of this, do you? Thats OK. I dont care. If you think that was awkward, things got even more bizzare when the cops showed up. As so often is the case with drunks, he became compliant and docile after a few measured and practiced authoritarian intonations from the officer. They let him know he is going to jail for a bit, but then, actually take all his money and his cell phone out of his pockets, lay them on the ground and say: "Heres his stuff guys!" I immediately descend upon the cash while everyone seems to not look at ANYTHING at all while seeming to think "did he just say that?" and, out of 15 or so people standing right there, only 1 saw me do it, and told me that it was difficult to see at all, even though he was looking right at me. Ah, those golden moments. I live for them. Anyway, the drunken lout had 13 dollars on him, added to my 10 for 23! Life is funny eh?

Maw of the Slow Wyrm

DashwoodGardens — Sun, 05 Aug 2007 23:03:17 GMT

The hypnogogic state that one may reach before sleep but after waking is one of my very favourite things. Here, I often find myself singing and dancing with unnaturally beautiful ladies, playing perfect and emotional music, philosophisingwith bearded giants, or engaging in elemental combat with unknown hostiles. I knew somthing would be amiss last night when in this state, I was assaulted by petty insults designed to play on my insecurities. ~ This requires some back story. I recently had the pleasure of participating in a ritual performance on the shores of the Willammette with Mizu Distero (likey spelled wrong), Soriah, Arradia, AND old school Butoh troupe Harapin Ha. Travelling with Harapin Ha were two gifted young men with a talent for energy work, which they offered to me in exchange for one of my super fabulous victorian erotica patches, available ONLY thru me. I asked them to explore my solar plexus, where there is somthing non-physical and foul residing. ~ There used to be 5 of them. Its a long long story, but 2 of them were abominations that I destroyed {while being enormous as well as utterly horrifying, many abominations that I have encountered are dispatched rather easily, if one is of the demon-slaying inclination, as they are not really put together very well, or even very bright.}, 2 were corrupted monks that I rehabilitated and returned to their duties, but the one left over has been tricky. Its like a small tarantula with matted fur and a humanoid metal face. It hides in the shadows and attacks with a long sticky forked tongue. Tough as iron, and quick. ~Anyway, these boys (who are SO fucking hot, too!) immediately sense it, and begin to fiddle around with crystals and are successfully agitating it, even to the point of there being physical tremors in my belly as they chase it around with their warm, electric hands. They fail to extract it. One becomes afraid when it grabs his arm. Ultimately, I learn more about the art of dealing with it. ~ Because of these things, I believe my experience last night to be an act of revenge from my unwelcome companion. It happened thusly: My dream is nice. Extravagant parties, exploring underground tunnels, playing music. nice things. For some reason I open my eyes without waking up and realize that it is because there is an enormous worm coming out of my belly, about as big around as a telephone pole, and its bulk is writhing in the air around the room, and it is staring me in the face. Its head simultaneously resembles a camel, the head of a tapeworm {although its body was not segmented}, and 3 hideous hentai vaginas. I am paralyzed, not with fear, but with sleep poralasis, a condition often accompanying these phenomenon. The worm moves very slowly, but somehow everything else around it moves even slower, causing my perception of motion to induce a mild vertigo. Now, in situations like these, it can be all too easy to blot it out, think of baseball, or hum your favourite tune, or hang yourself, but thats not really my style. While I am at a loss to explain how, I managed to attach my dream body to the body of the worm and hang on for dear perception. In fact, my clinging to it was the only thing keeping me aware of what was going on. The worm writhes down the length of my physical body and with a cold vacuum sucks my left hand into one of its orifices, immediatly accompanied by the pins-and-needles sensation along with a freezing pressure that was wholly unpleasent, to say the very least. Feeling a bit like a bull-riding cowboy trying to catch a moth in a snowstorm at night after a bottle of whiskey, I use my dream left hand to create (of all things) rainbows, crystals and white light, which I felt at the time would be harmful to the thing. Transmitting it all to my physical left hand, the monster absorbed the aetheric hippy cliche poison, and, while it did not die, or even seem to be bothered at all, it took my offering and writhed back into my belly and, presumably, out of my body. Perhaps it was trying to devour my personal positive energy, but was unable to tell the difference from the positive energy I created out of thin aether for it. Either way, I feel a bit slow today, but in a good way. I feel more patient, readier to feel all the little movements of my muscles and breathing. ~ So im off to a barbeque with a bunch of hot dykes and then heading to a picturesque sauna full of naked hippies. Sweet Dreams!

The FLITH OF IT ALL

DashwoodGardens — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 21:17:00 GMT

So Im in court. After the judge tells me I should apologize to EVERYONE IN THE ROOM for being personally responsible for the high prices at whole foods (a command he could not legally enforce), He lays it on even thicker on the next victim, a teenage boy who was caught with (gasp) a dub sack of pot. The judge actually yells at him (I wish I could reproduce the nasal twang): "THE NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO BUY SOME MARIJUANA, YOU SHOULD BUY SOME PRESENTS FOR YOUR PARENTS INSTEAD!" I do not think he considered the possibility that the boy was doing just that. Soon I have to go a re-education seminar where the fact that grocery stores a insured for the retail price of merchandise that costs them 10 cents will not be discussed, but I will surely have to listen to robots try to sell me things. I am walking around in a daze, pondering the horrible state of things, when a bloated, warty pig of a woman is walking toward me sideways, hiding behind her hair. "hey, HEY HEY! Y...You gotta cigarette?" she somehow manages to say while continually sucking on a cigarette, puffing smoke and garbling her words like she has a mouthful of beef to boot. I dont know what to say. Everything is covered in filth. Everyone I see is deformed of retarded of is destroying themselves on purpose. The air is choked with toxic fumes. Somewhere near burnside and sandy I come across a conspicuous buliding with the large statement of purpose: GERMAN FORMULA There is something horrible emanating from it. It is much worse than the fumes from all the inefficient, obsolete vehicles that swirl around me. It is a thick chemical nausea of german formula that I cannot escape, it seems to be coming out of the ground. I am trying to get back by the highway, where at least I can handle the toxicity, but to no avail. Apoplgising to a tree, I begin to gag and spurt mouthfuls of acidic bile into the facade of soil that it takes root in, Another bloated deformed humanoid swine carrying a bag of trash walks by and tries to laugh, but gurgles a flemmy snort instead. The filth of it all.....

Ah'mon Thuh Tee Vee!

DashwoodGardens — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 21:56:09 GMT

Thats right! Last night I was arrested for shoplifting a quesodilla from whole foods (who employ completely unnecessary force when apprehending hungry people) and taken to the jail, where- Lo and behold: National Geographic is shooting a documentary, I think for a television show called "lock up" or "lock down" or some other such nonsense, and they LOVED ME! There is some great interview footage of me with winning quotes like: NG-"so whats happening with you right now?" me-"It would seem that I am being exposed to endless hours of network television as punishment for trying to eat a quesodilla." and - "That man would have fought me to the death to defend $2.50 worth of cheese." and so on. So start watching television, laugh at my schitzoid incarcerated ass, then stop. For real. TV is REALL Y bad for you, with all the cathode radiation and EMP's from the vacuum tube generated thru manipulating the sonic frequencies of commercials to zombify you into a passive, receptive state where suggestions can be implanted into your sub-conscious mind causing you to believe things that are not necessarily true and lower your awareness of the environmental forces around you, and, yea and verily, even the very impulses of your own nervous system. I shit you not.

Take My Band To The Olympia Experimental Music Fest!

DashwoodGardens — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 21:09:24 GMT

So heres all the stats on the 'Fest. Looks fun eh? TONS of bands from all over the WORLD....... Wouldn't you like to see it......FOR FREE? Wouldnt you LOVE to give Nequaquam Vacuum a ride there? (5 boys and some gear) You will have a place to stay and EVERYTHING!!~!! (Plus we will love you forever!) Let me know if you are interested! www.myspace.com/olystrangemusic Thursday June 21st through Sunday June 24th at the Eagles Hall with a Post-fest Party Sunday the 24th at Le Voyeur. To purchase tickets online, visit www.buyolympia.com Visit the Festival website at duckhugger.com/olyexpfest All shows start at 7 p.m, except for Sunday, which starts at 5 p.m. and the Post-fest Party at Le Voyeur which starts at 10 p.m. Thursday, June 21st Celesteville (Portland, OR) Mood Ring (Portland, OR) Marissa Magic (Olympia, WA) Derek M. Johnson (Olympia, WA) Shitty Vibe Smasher (Portland, OR) Acre (Portland, OR) Blue Sabbath Black Cheer (Seattle, WA) Friday, June 22nd Childhood Friends (Portland, OR) Argumentix (Portland, OR) Plants (Portland, OR) Cabinet of Natural Curiosities (Montana) White Rainbow (Portland, OR) Dead Air Fresheners (PDX, OLY, Seattle) Alps of New South Wales (Australia) Saturday, June 23rd Nequaquam Vacuum (Portland, OR) L.A Lungs (Tacoma, WA) METAL (Portland, OR) Long Legged Woman (Athens, GA) JPTR (New York, N.Y) Better People (Athens, GA) Oliver Squash (North Cambria, PA) Sunday, June 24th A Garden to Play with Ghost (Portland, OR) Wendy Atkinson (Vancouver, B.C) Wood Paneling (Mason County, WA) Midmight (San Francisco, CA) Eric Ostrowski (Seattle, WA) Noisettes/Walrus Machine/LAMP (Seattle, WA) Hans Grusels Krankenkabinet (San Francisco, CA) Post-fest Party also Sunday, June 24th - 10 p.m. at Le Voyeur, this event is free to all, pass-holders or not. Mattress (Portland, OR) Your Drugs My Money featuring La Maison (Paris, LA, Fiji) What is the Festival about? The Olympia Experimental Music Festival was founded in 1995 by L. Jim McAdams and was produced under the umbrella of the Olympia Strange Music Society, which Arrington de Dionyso had created earlier in the same year. While Mr. McAdams gladly served as a conduit for the very first event, the festival began through a series of e-mails by fringe music artists from around North America who actively wished to play in Olympia. Thus it could be argued that the first festival really founded itself. Since it's magical beginnings as a group vision on internet mailing lists, the Olympia Experimental Music Festival has been curated by L. Jim McAdams, Arrington de Dionyso, Aerick Duckhugger, Ashley Shomo, Eric Ostrowski, Michael Griffin, Harlan Mark Vale, and Dick Metcalfe (who was also responsible for starting the festival's first ever website). This years chief organizer is Domenica Clark. The festival continues to move forward every year on the fervent belief that while Olympia is certainly a fertile ground for independent rock music, there are other genres of very visceral music that were and continue to be underrepresented in the "scene".

Pyramid Advent

DashwoodGardens — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 05:47:23 GMT

Last night I felt horrible. My life was futile, my ambitions fruitless, my stability impossible. My legs ached so badly that I seriously considered screaming like a 9 year old. There was a resounding boom, and the electricity went out in my neighborhood, and I awoke 3 or 4 times in the early night drenched in sweat, enveloped in a mysterious heat. In retrospect, I believe these things acted as a purgative to allow the dream to enter me, related here as best I can, in 3 of the four chapters in which it occoured: I am in the sky, with only one foot in time, which passes very quickly. I am watching the Myanesque pyramid from a former dream (and my last blog entry), not on a digital map, but as it was, a point of pilgrimage for thousands every year. Bodies flood in and out as the trees rise around it and the sky is a swirling mass of stars. Eventually, and army of white people come along and destroy it with cannons. Underneath it, I detect a small L shaped trench, the area I was previously assigned to map. as more time passes, a thriving metropolis rises where the pyramid once stood, and stretches out as far as the eye can see. I am a squatter in this city, as I was a squatter for many years in the waking world. Also similarly, I become fed up with the boorish habits of my immediate peers, and set out to find my own abandoned homestead. In familiar territory toward the center of the city, I notice an abandoned building that I had never noticed before, that indeed no one seems to notice at all which is located over the base of the pyramid ruins, and a brief prying at the boards shows that they are in fact attached to some kind of revolving door mechanism which sweeps me inside quickly and quietly. Inside was different. I was many people all at once, possibly all the people who have ever visited this place, and it was full of machines, such WONDERFUL MACHINES! All facets of reality could be demonstrated by each of a seemingly endless array of different engines, some shaped like a steampunk tree of life, that would create atoms as big as your head to entertain hypnotic dances in the aether, another sent a telescoping veil over your head and and cast a special light that illuminated the all encompassing sinewy mechanisms that bind the material the spiritual, and they were INFINITELY ASTONISHING for about 60 or 70 years....... At which point I began to miss humanity. So I leave the small building and walk across town to a hotel, for a change of pace, but it seems someone is following me. This is where I realize the other side of my discovery: You can only leave for so long before any door you pass thru takes you back. Upon leaving again, I am accosted by an agency that is aware of the place and has some sinister corporate interest in its exploitation, and need ME to help them acquire it. Luckily, after having my senses dazzled for so many years, they can pretty much only get poetry and psychobabble out of me, then I dissappear when they take me thru a door. At this point it is made clear to me that this is not happenning, or even a dream, but a bizzare film that someone is showing me, and its all very well and good and all that, but it is quite important that I get all the actors for my show together! What show, you ask? Only the most important show of my career! I havent come up with a name yet, but it consists of a Lion fucking a rhinoceros thats acrobalancing with a giraffe and an ostrich, all of whom are undulating in a manner of interpretive dance to portray the 5 greatest and most loved stories of the bible, with narration by none other than yours, truly! I have to get this together quickly, now, quickly!!!! ~meanwhile, elsewhere, yes, far away in a distant ocean, we may observe a fascinating natural phenomenon: The ocean, being the mother of us all, naturally has an enormous purple vagina, surrounded by granite and alabaster boulders. On the vulva of this titanic twat, a supple green grass grows to about the height of a mans waist, but before it dries, Hundreds and hundreds of manatees swarm the island, munching away in all the grass until the ocean's birth canal is once again exposed anew, SO so soft and yeilding that a gentle breeze causes floppy ripples to spread out in all directions. ~No, wait, THAT was the film, SHIT Im being held hostage by this time-sucking corporation in some kind of futuristic containment hive arena with no doors! Even now the hexagonal transport coloumns are depositing more prisioners, some manacled, some heavily manacled , some in bullet-proof straight jackets, etc. AND 2 nice old black ladies from my old neighborhood, back in my squatter days before I learned too much about reality! It is somehow obvious that they committed some crime on purpose in order to get near enough to me to shout: "IM YOUR MUSE! DONT FORGET ABOUT ME!" in unison. ~"Thats all of the 3rd one.....Put in the fourth one!" ``Chapter four: THE ACTIVATION" .......and thats about where I wake up. This shit is NOT NORMAL, but I like it. I feel blessed to have such a rich secret life. As this seems to be a series, I wonder when the next installment will be. Am I a wing nut in training or what?

Where Pleadians Fear to Tread

DashwoodGardens — Mon, 07 May 2007 14:16:25 GMT

I dont understand why they come to me for help. They have all the techno-sorcery gadgets, enlightened perceptions and cosmic knowledge an ancient civilization could ask for, and yet they still feel compelled to hire freelancers and rouges to get their hands dirty.......maybe they're just lazy. Anyway, they find me at a performance of 5 men with small, battery operated dome-shaped air conditioners, who resonate their voices with the mechanical drone and incorporate throat-singing techniques in such a way that causes them to change from Japanese to White to Black and so on, with the vocal styles changing appropriately for the racial augmentations. Spectacular performance. It is a clear and friendly woman who approaches me and shows me the digital layout of an archeological excavation involving some sizable ruined pyramids of seemingly Myan styling. There is a small, triangular unmapped area under the base of the central pyramid that she wants me to investigate for the sake of some supposed interstellar cartographer's union or some other such nonsense. I do not recall answering this way or that, but the next thing I know we are on our way there. Despite appearing to be in a mountain top valley, I am assured that we are underground, and approaching the area. She encapsulates herself in a small mobile robot with arms and probes and little tactor treads for the final stretch; It is not dissimilar to small submarine probes. I have to ride on the outside of the cab, on the little robot shoulders, and attend to the small wick over the "heart" area of the robot pod, making sure it stays lit in the wind. We pass many awe-inspiring sites, all of which seemingly ancient and cyclopian: A cemetery with monstrosly titanic tombstones and mausoleums that were half swallowed by the hills and boulders, through a town filled with giant statues and bas-reliefs ans other similar wonders, which I am told are only 30 years old, despite their aged look. She says we are getting close as suddenly we seem to travel outside of reality's borders and we are driving down a long blue hallway with no floor or ceiling, and soon in infinite void with hundreds of floating bags of.......wood chips? Fertilizer? I dont know. We arrive at an enormous steel gate in the void which happily accomidates us by opening quickly and silently, admitting us into what appears to be a vast parking garage. Grey concrete tunnels....forever. Some hallways. A few doors. Grey, featureless concrete and flourecent lights. It is not openly scary or unusual, but something is REALLY wrong here. My companion deposits me there and I do not notice her leave, and leave quickly. I am having trouble focusing or even remembering why I am there. There are others now. We all congregate behind a gate, and they are waiting to leave. I get the impression that this is some sort of top-secret laborotory facility and there are security measures taken before anyone leaves, but it soon becomes appearent that these people are not human. They crowd close to me and leech my energy and I lose some awareness of my unremarkable surroundings. Trying to strike at them, I fail to make contact, so I run. A few give chase and I am slow. The place is is destroying my mind somehow, diminishing my ability to perceive and act strategicly. The "people" behind me are making high=pitched gibbering noises like demonic turkeys. They are obviously not human now, with long, serpentine limbs and necks, writhing and gibbering and lashing out at me from around corners and doors. The tunnels are changing. One approaches me and summons a sort of blue light from its ribcage, and at this point it is quite obvious to me that I am dreaming, although I cannot force myself to wake up there, which is normally quite easy for me. I feel that it is appropriate to defend myself with things vile and wicked here, and call with red light 2 wretched homunculi from much deeper than this tunnel complex can fathom. They drag the man-thing into a dark hallway before his blue light touches me. His incessant gibbering becomes chokes and gurgles. I dont have much time. My mind is going and I wont let myself be trapped here. Even with full knowledge of my dream state, I cannot fly or change the shape of the concrete (although summoning abominations seemed fairly easy. hmmmm), the horrible featureless and endless concrete. "Is this what man is to do with the great unknown?" I shout, and am replied to by echoes. Soon, I find the entrance. The doors, at least 2 feet thick and steel, wont open by my will or my word. So ....I just walk thru them. I close my eyes and feel myself passing thru them, and onto an elevator platform. It is difficult to imagine myself feel this, given the awareness-destroying properties of the area. I feel the lights passing over my body as the platform rises. Soon I am close enough to the "surface" to finally give that place the big "fuck it": and just open my eyes. There is something there. Its like a corpse wearing a baseball hat and its sitting on my lap. I shake myself and its still there. I shake my head vigourously and slap myself. Its gone. I want to go back to sleep, but I cant now. Perhaps later.

Legends Of Experimental Sounds!

DashwoodGardens — Sat, 28 Apr 2007 23:26:26 GMT

TONITE! (Satyrday) At Rotture -315 SE 3rd -9:00pm Muthafuckin' Z'EV (of Psychic TV and Throbbing Gristle) Moe! Stiano (of Sleepytime Gorrilla Museum) Daniel Menche (The very spirit of Evolution) Sikhara (Tribal/sampled drumming Meyhem from France) And ME!~ Nequaquam Vacuum (Post-Asiatic imporv virtuosos) Thats Right, Tonite, Rotture is the place to be if you are anyone who knows anyone that knows everyone knows that Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV had many hands and chisels in sculpting what we now know as experimental music today will be there. Even tho I dont know anyone who hasnt met someone who hasnt heard of these cats. If you dont show up tonite, I will personally deliver the eulogy at your funeral and testify about how you "never really lived, loved, or experienced the exuberant releases that are the birthright of the human species, and in fact did knowingly waste their time on the night of April 28th, 2007, which ultimately led to the downward spiral of abuse, drugs, depression and escapism that ended their road much, much too early.......god.......they had SO much potential.....*sniff*.....If only.......IF ONLY THEY HAD GONE TO ROTTURE FOR THE ZEV< MOE! STIANO<DANIEL MENCHE<SIKHARA<NEQUAQUAM VACUUM SHOW!!!! DAMN YOU GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" See you there!

Dr. J -VS- The Hypnotist

DashwoodGardens — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 03:04:07 GMT

My girlfriend diddnt come home the other night. About 11 am the next day she come home with an interesting story: she had been writing in her journal in a cafe for a few hours when she was approached by a little gothy man by the name of Dominic. Dominic is a hypnotist computer programmer who stands about 5' 2'' without his little booster shoes, and while quite young looking, is in his late 30's. He wants to know about her life, what she does, makes the usual old man sideways passes at her, (I cant blame him for that, my girlfiend is hotter than Satans barbed iron cock after nailing 50 nuns) but what happened after that gets pretty hairy. She had met him some number of years before, and he still had not done anything "unkosher" at this point, and convinced her to go to his apt "for a minute" to engage in a "therapeutic" hypnosis session. I would have gone too, this sort of thing being of great interest and potential value in a healing sense, although dangerous with strangers. During the session, Jasmine, while in a hypnogogic state, remained aware of what was going on to a large degree, and this guy tried to plant suggestions to the effect that doing "heavy sub work for him" would "help her problems." When she would mention me in the context of love, he tried to supplant his own image with mine, and he toyed around with her inherent mental troubles (we all have them) to the effect of letting them take full control of her body. When she awoke, there was a lock of hair missing from the top of her head. His apartment was littered with books about mind manipulation and the seduction of women. As he dropped her off (a few blocks from our apt) he repeatedly put his hand over her lap and tried to use "the voice" to tell her that it was OK to do it. Upon hearing of this, I asked her to take me to his apartment......... It was easy to get in, past the security guard, and bypass the buzzer/intercom entry system. It took him a while to answer the door, because he had to put on his little booster shoes first. I was amazed at how small he was. I introduced myself as Jasmines boyfriend, and told of how I had heard that they were such good new friends, and that I wanted to be his friend too, that Jasmine had said such good things about him. In the hand shake, as I suspected, he pressed his thumb into the pressure point in the webbing between my index finger and thumb, popular for the treatment of headaches, in order to establish a connection with my mind. "What kind of things did she say?" He asked, and as I began to answer, he cut me off with "lets talk over here" putting his arm around me and walking me down the hall. I allowed him to do so, as he then believed that he had me overshadowed from the very get go. As we came around the corner, he was suddenly startled by Jasmine's strategic positioning, visibly startling him. "I could not help but notice that Jasmine is missing a lock of hair....right here" I say, exibiting the bit of short hairs amidst the long at the back of her bangs. "It really all should be there." he says, which is true. It should. He then leaves my side and approaces her, whispering into her ear, "Go wait downstairs now," a command, mind you, squeezing her shoulder during "wait downstairs." The answer of "No" again visibly startles him. and, again, he tries the "Lets talk over here" to me putting his arm around me and trying to lead me once again. i do not budge. "So you think my girlfriend would benefit from being your S&M sub, do you?" I say with ferocious intensity. After a nervous scoff, he looks at me quite intently, and I see for the first time that the whites of his eyes are yellowish brown, that he is quite empty and perhaps dying, and there would have been pity for him given different circumstances, but he says in an obviously practiced salesman voice: "You know it really is TOTALLY OK" "Well if YOU say so, then I believe you!" was my response as Jasmine and I walk back towards the elevator. His smug demeanor crumbles at last, and he gestures to himself as if to say "My mental powers! You failed me!" Even now he is writing her emails trying to convince her that I am using hypnotic suggestion to make her believe that her hair was cut, as if she is too stupid to know the difference, and things that can be summed up as "I diddnt ask you to do sub work! I just wanted you to do sub work for ME!" NOW I understand the importance of NLP and hypnosis techniques in the world of business, and in making communication more effective, and even more so in defusing volitle situations, but all too often (like so many other things) it is brought down to the lowest common denominator: the sex slave. What bothers me the most is that there is NO shortage of willing subs in this town. Its as if he needs to sully someone with their own working mojo, to corrupt the soul, if you will. Having undergone this experience, I now understand these methods much better. the way he shook my hand, the juxtaposition of vowel inflections with personal proximity changes, and constantly changing the subject. I have experienced his techniques. When I see him again, he will experience mine. Sweet dreams kiddos.

Fear The Ganster Computer God

DashwoodGardens — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 04:32:16 GMT

~Transcription of rant by Francis E Dec Esquire, Schizophrenic, circa 1985~ Gangster Computer God Worldwide Secret Containment Policy made possible soley by Worldwide Computer God Frankenstein Controls. Especially lifelong constant threshold brainwash radio. Quiet and motionless, I can slightly hear it. Repeatedly this has saved my life on the streets. Four billion worldwide population, all living, have a computer god containment policy brain bank brain, a real brain in the brain bank cities on the far side of the moon we never see. Primarily, based on your lifelong frankenstein radio controls, especially your eyesight TV, sight and sound recorded by your brain, your moon brain of the computer god activates your frankenstein threshold radio lifelong, incalculatng conformist propaganda, even frightening you and mixing you up and the usual, "dont worry about it." For your setbacks, mistakes, even when you receive deadly injuries. This is the worldwide computer god secret containment policy. Worldwide, as a frankenstein slave, usually at night, you go to nearby hospital or camouflaged miniature hospital van trucks, you strip naked, lay on the operating table, which slides into the sealed computer god operating cabinet. Intravenous tubes are connected. The slimy vicious Jew doctor [apologies to vicious slimy Jews] simply pushes the starting button, based upon your computer god brain the moon which records progress of your systematic butchery. Your butchery is continued exactly, systematically. The computer god operating cabinet has many robotic arms with electrical and laser beam knife robot arms with fly eye TV cameras watching your whole body. Every part of you is monitered, even from your frankenstein controls. Synthetic blood, synthetic instant sealing flesh and skin, even synthetic electrical heartbeat to keep you alive are some of the unbelievable computer god instant plastic surgery secrets. You are the highest, most intelligent electrical machine in the universe. ~this is just a taste of Francis' madness. The rant goes on longer than I care to transcribe. Sweet dreams kiddos.

FEINDISH FINS TONITE!!

DashwoodGardens — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 18:42:44 GMT

DANTE"S (2nd and Burnside downtown!) 8:30 PM! You may witness: The Carousel Of Carnage! Finnish clown troup Circus Mundus Absurdus (many milk crates swinging from the perinnium with giant syringe stuck thru neck while sandwiched in 2 beds of nails and bigger clown jumping up and down on top while blowing fireballs with a ....etc.) performs within the framework of Societas Insomnia' s ritualistic nightmare With: Kazoom (acrobalance mofos) Circque Rojo (airealist lasses) Tanya Magda (bellydance queen) Power Circus (Noise goddesses and my hottest ex-girlfriends EVER) The Infamous Dangerous Sociopath (Me! i have a reputation to uphold, after all) AND MANY MORE I CANT EVEN REMEMBER RIGHT NOW!!!! 10 $$$ Or try to sneak in the side door in all the chaos! THEN stick around for Sinferno (if you are not already over that sort of thig, that is) PLUS Societas has been invited to perform at the Fez IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARDS for the anniversary party, so WHO KNOWS?