benblog

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UPDATE: 3-6-007

So now I say unto you, "Holy Priestess! Created with the heavens (ENLIL) and the earth (ENKI), INANNA, First daughter of the Moon (King NANNA and Queen NINGAL), Lady of the Evening (ZIB)! I sing your praises."

Muladhara Blood-Moon, the kala of Kali, the calends, the blood-milk of the Jainist chao, ADITI of MUMMU, that great bovine in whose four stomachs our universe is digested, Nuit, in whose universal womb is contained the fertilised Hadit, the dreaming space-foetus Krishna whose manvantara, the stuff of dreams, is our reality. Blood in the streets and it's up to my ankles, blood in the streets and it's up to my thighs. Gushing in torrents down the gutters along the steps up of the temples of Tenochtitlan, Monte Alban and Chichen Itza. It sticks to my hands and makes my fingers feel sweaty, but their dew is not clear, it is thick, and it is not sweet, it is bitter and metallic. What is this that is consuming me in this darkness? I am sunk under the depths. The shadowy cavernous chambres of my bloodlet heart contain the last remnants of the coals of the Great Burner, for now even He has burnt out. Inside of this desolate cage, a deserted dungeon below an abandoned prison beneath a castle's ruins that had already been forgotten long before "once upon a time," I offer up my blood upon an altar of fire until the smoke from the flame chokes me, until there is no more blood left in me to let. This is my heart, the interior-most region of my psyche. This is the antennae that channels my emotional metaforms, my archetypal counterparts. For now I am possessed by a blood-demon. My entire bloodstream is contaminated by the curse of a terrible monstrous evil. Love.

Arising like a geni in the smoke before me from the sacrifice of my heart's remains - having consumed the ashes once more in flame until the metallic alloys in the blood achieve superconductivity - arising in the form of a reflection of me is one like another me, a sister, a phantom shadow, a ghost, but cogent and coherent, corporeal nonetheless. In her convoluted, slant and twisting visage, I see reflected knowledge of my sins. For now I understand the many fates under the one destiny. Only too late to avoid making some terrible mistakes. I exploded a psychic bomb. It has decimated my world. I am constantly at ground zero. Of the invisible, whose life I feared, now nothing near me remains. I am alone in a wasteland, a desolate flood plane of silt from the horizon of dawn to the horizon of dusk, and at midday and midnight I cannot tell one direction from another. All things spin, and I grow dizzy. The bloody, dizzying moon pivots overhead like a drunkard, her swollen cheeks flush with earth's umbra. Am I not now dwelling in the land of the dead? For a moment all the light around us changes. You enter through this gateway, through this portal, into the underworld, where you have come to seek me, your husband, whom you have been told is awaiting you there. You are stripped bare, and naked enter the chambre of your sister, ERESHKIGAL, whose servant is LILITH, your own shadow. She has betrayed you to the wicked Ka, your shadow-self, your electromagnetic aura. Your Kundalini Chi has become bent and twisted. You have become now she of many fates, and therefore she of many faces.

Jah Rastafari, let I and I dub you up now. Was it not I who was that Great King of Terror of X72 in 1999? For tonight's red moon is the little sister of the blood moon of August eleventh, 1999, when I opened up the sky and fell from heaven into the depths of the Hell where I remain now, awaiting you, my love. For Just as last night's moon was like a flooding swamp of the heat of estrus, so too was that other eclipse, one occuring in broad daylight, like a ring, bejewled with the Ichtyos Christos signet like the coronal mass ejection from the son on 5/5/2000. For what man keeps true in his heart God will hold true in the heart of heaven. For have I not shown you my bloody heart, covered over shyly by the clouds of its own fuming inferno? Have I not held it up into the sky aloft enough for even your starry eyes to look upon, and have I not cursed at it, have I not named it MARDUK, the Conqueror? For I am howling in the wilderness even in now, for you, like a lion roaring at the thuderstorm sweeping across the wild planes of tall grass blades. I tell you, I love you. I am here, and you are there, and I love you. I offer you this rose of mysterious union:

Were we not three sixes, the three of us, inverted in our turn, and all beside the One Truth, Jah? Was there not understanding? Yet this omen of true love triumphant, this was turned into the flight of Icarus, and my own fate condemned by the heart of evil within me, projecting a terrifying field of karma in my aura. I had become the black hole at galactic core. I was stealth. But then, what was the reward? Where was the dowry that should have been provided by my father? Where were the bubbling champagne tears of my mother? Where was the warmth in the heart of she whom I adored more than anything and everything? And what followed me from that? Did I not return only to lose all my friends? Did my mother not have a nervous breakdown that ended with me voluntarily admitting myself into a mental health facility from which I then could not voluntarily leave? Did these things not happen to me, because no one else carries these memories for me. No one shares with me the burden of this terrible turmoil. But if you want me, you know where I'll be.

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