Elvis vs. Cthulu: 02/22/2014 film review

DREAM IMAGE:  King

Coffee sounds ready!  But I have half a cup of yesterday sitting in front of me.   Like Mahatma Ghandi followed by a horde of hotties, or the Feds on the trail of a Mr.John Gotti, I'm a sound wave tsunami, vocal origami, hijack the mic and its not like anyone can stop me.  Not monsterbate, not their fans, not the escaped mental patient I met after I was thrown out of the show, into a chicago winter.  

The king, Elvis, alas was not the Emperor.  The only American Emperor is Norton!  The king, Elvis, whose dominion was Rock, which best Rockabilly, which begat Horrorbilly, and Psychobilly, and the king said it was good.  Uuuh huh.  Rockabilly devils wherefore art thou?  

The king, wears a sequined gold pair of shades.  They provide sufficient disguise to the state of mind of the regent.  No one may accuse him of inebriation, though few may deny it either.  What goes on behind those cruel eyes?  What rules this moments regent?  Who pulls what strings?  

Voices in thrall way distract me from my inner distraction.  Women.  The desire for a suitable companion, who will neither overpower me or become overpowered by me.  A narrow path to tread, I carry with me a great psychic burden, and those with whom I might mutually annihilate, are still as yet attractive.  If only for their potential.  

I don't want to be a destroyer, a reshape e of worlds, an organizer, maybe, but the act of destruction is too sensual to me, too evocative, I'm afraid I might get out of hand with it.  My hate grows long.  Fantasy role play is taking me away, and its not even my game!  I want so badly to attract, to allure, that I cannot stop prescripting for encounters.  I have two or three planned for today, and I'm not even obsessing about the big one. 

 The family-what does that invoke in my Chicagoan soul?  Enough respect that I've already shaved once today.  Even with the clean cut goatee with its white stripes, and the rockabilly pompadour, tied to the goat with chin-strapping mutton chops cut close to the skin; I feel presentable, but not formal.  I'm wearing my good "DEVO" concert tee.  At the moment, I don't believe I have anything more holy I could put on.  Should I feign interest in the babe, or treat it with the same cool respect I provide to all my fellow life forms?  I AM trying to feel out if there is a place for me in the organization.  A documentarian could come in handy in a therapeutic environment, but I won't know until I hear their side of the story, and they are dealing with information that thinks it wants to be private, I believe.  

Okay, I rise for coffee, only to find at I am halfway through my allotted writing time.

Big Brother vs. the King.  

I bet you thought I was gonna post the Nixon meeting pic to go with that.  

But what is a monarch to an emperor?  What is an emperor to Cesar?  What is Cesar to the king of the gods?   What is the king of the gods to the king of the monsters?  In some sense, there is always a higher power, another level of fuckery.  Follow the conspiracy and find ten more beneath it.  In a holographic world, the whole is contained in each of its parts, with the right lens, the right Eye, anything can be found within anything else.  But Bob Dole in drag does not a Goddess make.  

Is not the inverse also true?  If everything can be found internally, can not every such thing be found externally?  Area effects of belief are experienced as personal reality.  That's why you need to exercise your human right to short duration personal saviours.  The more dobbs heads you meditate upon, the more your mind has to utilize in expression of the bobyon levels in your area.  Or jesii for Jesus rating.  Etc...

I had some pain removed on Wednesday, its Saturday morning at the moment.  I'm healing fast from the wisdom extraction, but I feel the warm glow of stupidity over my ...well happy birthday Crystal Tegen!  You're in my blog now.  Hope you have a good time at the bar or bars.   

Fantasy: Elvis vs. Cthulu 

"That thing is huuuuuuge!"

Home tremor attempt number one brought some weirdness.

Cut me gently,

cut me deep, 

but please don't let me die, 

until I see the look in your eyes,

 when you take me inside.

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Torn apart by wolves

As I lie

Staked to the ground

As I die

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I pretend that they are maidens

With their mouths upon my flesh

I try to just ignore them

But this hasn't happened yet

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Back to the mat!

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Yeah that ended up being grounding and breath work.  

Too tired to tremor, maybe in morning.  

I am guilty as sin.

My favorite drink:

Martini, gin, and dirty as sin.  

Well, fuck!

Where to begin?

I was already pretty evil when I realized I was enough of a part of gawd to access some higher functions.  In the sense that your big toe relieves the pain and pressure of encountering solid matter unexpectedly and reflexively through the use of raw signal expression.  

I was evil, in that I had been a telemarketer for over two years at the time.  

Yeah, I just said that I'm goids big toe, in some sense, so are you.

I also said I am a fully trained and field tested telemarketer.

I want to ask though...

When you paid your hard earned money for that phone, did you not realize it has an off switch?

There is so much available hate for telemarketers.  

But, ultimately, you the consumers are paying for a communications service.  You are aware of the customization settings.  Is it not on you the consumer to regulate your own personal firewall?  

The stereotype is that I call during dinner.  I absolutely do.  I'm making the educated guess that you've gotten home from work at that time, and hopefully you've had a chance to relax.  Maybe you can't relax, but you've had a few beers, and deluded yourself that THAT is what you needed.  Thank Big Brother that you got home from work and just collapsed there on the couch right next to your phone, tv, refrigerator, combination bed toilet and storage space.  Oh yeah, and game system entertaining wifi internet full reality simulator.  

Thank BB you're not going to actually go anywhere for a walk, or human contact.  Don't you fucking dare actually look at the outside world!

You fucking sit right there, mere humans, fucking sit right there and don't stop spending money online gambling with auction sites and deceptive packaging poisons.  I will have my people call you about anything you've forgotten what you need, and I've got something else.  

Maybe the Denver Broncos will bring you some weed as a part of their community service.  

The point I'm trying to make is:  how does calling you with an offer make me the bad guy?  Hold a healthy boundary and don't answer if you neither know who is calling nor want to talk to a random fellow life form.  

I'm wondering if all the experiences I have had as recipient of impotent rage are transference.

If I was merely the target of opportunity.

As a former telemarketer, don't look at me I can quit whenever I want, I've definitely been guilty of taking those random calls as opportunities to mess with someone as well.  Absolutely, and having been on both ends of that exchange...

Is there some pain you've been hiding?  

Because I've soaked up a lot, and it never seems to stop.  

A background of weapons grade puppy music

The demons have stopped dancing for a moment.  Their shadowy faces obscured by darkness.  

I am reflected by others as a series of dragons.  

Active  imagination, engaged.  In some sense.

I want to explain 

Friday, was a low for me.  

It culminated in an experience of myself as God, coupled with a supreme disappointment in myself as creator.  

A supreme sense of disappointment in my creation, in my incarnate vessel.  

If we are Gaud experiencing itself, I'm comforted that some aspect of the collective gaudy self is simultaneously aware of the 1800 Gaud more doom looming in the dark dank dark subconscious of the collective, and able to do something healthy with it.  

Which assumes that I'm JHVH-1's "Bob"-damned conscience.

I can only hope that I am one of many, a chorus of Jiminy Crickets.