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Woke into Saturday in a determined bolt. Shit, showered, shaved and cooked me up some breakfast. Eggs and swine. Need the protein. Got me a shoot today, a bit role with two lines for an upcoming project some folks I know have gotten themselves into. Feral bohemians the lot of them, doing that Huncke hustle across Terminus with their cameras set to stun and scripts rolled tight into batons. Should be fun. Even now I'm waiting on the ride they finagled up for me... and then?

Showtime!

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There are these nights, and be sure they don't come often, when I am summoned to sit at a round table with souls brilliant, haunted, amorous. To sit amongst the mad and the dedicated while trying to tell which is which. To take council amongst weavers of absurd visions and veterans of hard passions alike. To drink not alone with laughter against the cold and dark which waits sometimes with too little patience to claim us.

And all I can wonder is how did I get here and what do I say that will not betray the wonder with which my company bestows upon me?

In a way it always reminds me of those boot camp blues another me long buried but still persistent of ghost struggled through. To find yourself inexplicably within the ranks of the do or die earnest, the doomed of genius, the breakers of stone hearts smiling bold with bedroom eyes bloodshot red.You are humbled. You are out of your league. Yet, no other You but you would do at an occasion such as this.With them you may sit but in their company you shall rise.

Jack Babalon of Sector 2814, you have the ability to distract others from their sorrows and make them see see things weirder than they seemed before. Take your power ring and soar, no matter how quietly you may have to do so to get to where it is you need to go.

10-4, over and out.

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From the Edwardian supernatural thriller - "The Naughty Faun in the Chimney or What the Parrot Saw at Lady Winterbottom's Manor."

faun
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Just two things to get off my chest real quick before I put a boot through the television screen:

So I'm watching right-wing pundits rant with hysterical fury about how Western Europe has capitulated to the radical left and allowed a proliferation of Islamic 'No Go Zones' to flourish across the pond. Areas where presumably Tommy English and Pepe the Frenchie can be stoned to death if they don't adhere to the exacting tenants of Sharia Law.

Oh, really?

Because I'm pretty fucking sure there are plenty of small towns and big counties alike here in the US of A, where it would be pretty dangerous for me to kiss a man or mock the teachings outlined in the bible publically. You know, despite that whole 'separation of church & state' we have to protect me from just that. So let's call your concerns for what they are. That you're afraid your brand of Nomadic Mountain God isn't selling as well as the one them foreigners seem to bow down to. That or there's a lot of power to be had over your fellow man in pretending the difference in these brands go beyond a few cosmetic touches but are actually worth murdering in mass for.

Second of all, if your God is capable of creating a time-space continuum filled with black holes and photons and everything in between, but somehow a primate on one planet orbiting one of countless stars who had the temerity to draw a picture of them or their prophet in turn draws divine fury, then your God is either a fucking pussy or is seriously trolling the human race for some sort of 4Chan level of LOLs.

Sorry, either you or your God needs to start seeing the bigger picture and realize that bigger picture ain't a cartoon on the cover of a magazine.

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Remember when coconut trees begin barraging you with meteorites, follow the man with the giant lollipop to safety.

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“Dead people belong to the live people who claim them most obsessively.”
― James Ellroy, My Dark Places

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jack_babalon

September 2016

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