The Reptiles Continue to Crawl Inside my Skull
 
Friends, Romans, Communists, it pains me greatly to come before you now in such an abject & unseemly fashion to lament, keen & wail, mutter & howl at the icy moon, which as far as I know yields no quarter e'er unto the most desperate of souls throughout the lonely crucible of the Long Dark Night of the aggrieved & aforementioned, when nocturnal horrors & chillborn sweats punctuate the nightmare parade of dearly deceased & departed creeping repeatedly under cover of darkness to even scores, settle accounts & exact whatever measure of justice or revenge might seem due or fit in the awful exigencies of their wake (after the fashion of a particularly brutal ayahuasca [aka yagé] experience).  Indeed there are times, fellow citizens, when I still find certain auspicious properties extant which threaten to renew my retroactive & frankly nostalgic, unrequited, pathological affinity for these United States of Amerikay, but without exception they all register well in excess of the last four decades, & I cannot help but be terminally haunted by their fleeting virtues, their perishable glories & above all their timeless intimations of certain & irrevocable doom, which hangs o'er all our heads with pendulous deliberation, possessing a taste for blood whose thirst cannot be slaked, as well as an almost congenital hunger for some semblance of righteous affirmation which is all but guaranteed to be denied by the merciless harpies of fate, whose lethal whims shall be surely realised & whose deadly intent shall be unsparingly visited & grossly inflicted upon us all, unequally & to varying degrees, of course.  O the Madness that Riseth with the Sun of a Saturday Morn!  There was once a time, dear friends, not only for myself but I know for a considerable number of us all, dating back to the relatively halcyon days of our distant & tragically misspent youth, when the onset of the weekend, as regularly occasioned by the dusky & incipient lively intimations of a Friday night, inevitably followed by the sunstreaked visitations of felicitous & largely recreational promise which seemed to arouse us upon the subsequent dawn, stood forth as a beacon to excite our hopes, entice our imaginations & inspire both form & content in the planning & execution of fun, all of which had rather more than less of something approximating a sacred trust.  It more than likely need not be explicitly averred that those long lost days, now redolent with the vivid autumnal hues of once grand designs, impossibly vain hopes & a staggering army of taunting, howling ghosts whose eternal charge it is to inflict unceasing torment upon the afflicted & doomed, singing, nay, caterwauling after the fashion of some grotesque variation of a tragic Greek chorus, have come back to seize upon us with a vengeance which knoweth no bounds, nor mercy, only the endless accusatory shrieks of failure, futility & incremental yet terminal damnation.  'Tis a fine thing indeed to emerge from the lunatic asylum for the fourth time in as many years, as the butcher knife has once again been brought to bear upon these poor, tired, scarred & ruined wrists, violated & disfigured by desperate unspeakable urges, dæmonic incantations & sharp objects.  Still, there is nothing quite like a protracted stretch at the downtown cellblock or madhouse ward to revive one's sense of individual integrity, renegade humour, playful subversion & keen appreciation of the ironically absurd, particularly when the cloyingly false religion of a "positive attitude" is perpetually shoved down your gullet like so much wan, sugar-coated gruel, even when cheerfully done so by impossibly young, pretty, earnest little occupational therapy lovelies who have yet to realise that life might very well decide to up & kick them hard in their sweet little arse until the blood commences to stream down their smooth shapely legs & one day they awaken to find themselves drowning in a pool of their own gore.  "Do I hear voices?" they continue to ask me several times a day, every day, & the answer is always pretty much the same, which must be a grave disappointment to them inasmuch as I sense they won't be satisfied until I change my response & reply in the affirmative.  No, I tell them, I keep listening but the only voices I hear are those of the people around me.  Check back later, I say, & I'll see what I can do.  Good old Ed Poe had the right idea, as ever: I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth; I heard many things in hell.  "Am I taking my meds?"  You betcha, just as often as I can, tho' I honestly prefer the drugs that make the walls breathe & sigh, shift & swirl, drip & melt into the flowing river of floor, tho' this last part I do not tell them, lest they think me... mad.  One does meet a more interesting class of customer at these sorts of establishments, however, not unlike those who make up what used to be called "saloon society", everything from gibbering idiots to disturbed overeducated miscreants & malcontents, experts in the field of UFO landings, alien abductions, crop circles, remote viewing, political assassinations, Freemasonry, the Federal Reserve, pornographic calligraphy & the entire history of the Austro-Hungarian empire.  Ah well, all good things must come to an end, including this cheap knock-off of an article &/or column.  For those of you who would like to explore the various multilingual implications & illuminations of the latter portion of the epigraph up topside, derived obviously from some of the most revered passages from Hindu holy scripture, I would humbly refer you to the companion piece to this meagre offering entitled: Top Ten Theophanic Tongues of Viṣhṇu.  Namaste.
Rasputin Rants
August 21, 2012
Rasputin © 2007-2012.  The views on this web site are opinions.  We reserve the right to exercise our First Amendment rights while we still have them.
or: On the Death of Hope, Triumph of Despair, Inexorability of Human Frailty & the Madness that Lieth Therein
Ahimsa... is the Seashell of Buddha... & the Rose & the Lamb   — Ed Sanders, the Fugs
 
O Mighty-armed One, all the planets are disturbed at seeing thy Universal Form, with its many faces, eyes, arms, thighs, legs, bellies & many terrible teeth, & as they are disturbed, so am I... I see all people dashing full speed into thy mouths as to destruction in a blazing fire... O Viṣṇu, I see Thee devouring all people from all sides with thy flaming mouths, covering all the universe with thine effulgence, Thou art manifest with terrible, scorching rays, & sayest... "I am become Time, Destroyer of Worlds, come to annihilate all peoples extant..."   — Bhagavad Gītā, 11:23, 29-30, 32 (Viśvarūpa Darśana Yoga)*