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~ Back in Doraville and shovel ready: Princess threw me a bone and had me do some yard work for her back at the old Hac. Five hour$ yanking roots, raking leaves, wielding machete and burning off internal grudges into the steam of labor. My wrists are all slashed up from thorns and jagged snapped branches. It looks like I tried to kill myself by slicing my wrists open with a severly pissed off house cat. Deep ache in the body. Feels good, feels honest, some working class spirit within satiated by the pungent soil clinging to my boots and the ghost weight of the blade still heavy in the hand. Later when I sank into the depths of her couch and had a minute to soak it all in, I began to realize how much I missed the old place... it all seems so long ago and at the same time there is this nagging suspicion that it really shouldn't be the case. Christ how the 21st century is flying by.

~ Speaking of which it's my last week at 36. In my head I would love to do this elaborate club night with everyone dressing up as some comic book bad guy version of themselves - 'The Super Villain Ball' or something like that. Of course, a good chunk of my friends on here already do just that and I love them all the more for it. Of course, while I would enjoy nothing more than to dusk-to-dawn an evening of decadent chicanery - ("Jack... there's an astral orgy in the library, there's a police car on fire in the driveway and the roof has been converted into what appears to be an open air opium den... and what I need to know is if there's something special you'd like to hear?") - I will however settle for the company of nearest, dearest and anyone in between. Still, I'm left with this odd sense of urgency about me... sort of as if I was a kid again waiting to start my science project hours before it's due. What to do? What to do?

~ Blame the Princess. I now have this song stuck in my head and must share:

The sign of a good pop song is that on some level it compels you to jump and down and destroy all the furniture around you. Check annnnd... Check!

~ Vee ETA in one hour and counting. Then much silly dancing will ensue! Until then I believe this weary shell of mine needs to bask in some much needed comic book time. Signing off until tomorrow...

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~ What I enjoy doing occasionally with the above gif is coding it for 'marquee', swiveling in my chair to the right and looking over my left shoulder at it. Then I can pretend I'm riding real fast on an old sky blue Vespa as I race, chase and overtake the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. Depending on where the eye falls I'll be like - "Ah-ah-ah-ya-better-run Bitches, here I come!" or if in passing giving my best Eddie Izzardesque "Ciao, Death!"

It helps some too if you hum outloud the sound of a revving engine.

~ Some folks suffer from what hipster-satanist's have labeled as 'Psychic Vampires'. Not me though. I've got nothing left to leech - psychic or otherwise. My E-Meter audits in the red. Monochrome chakras spinning lethargic as old ceiling fans dying down. I'm running on fumes here lately and not the good kind at that. No Sir (or Ma'am or whoever you are), I don't suffer from Psychic Vampires. I got me a bigger problem - Brain-Wolves!

The Brain-Wolves are indeed on the prowl tonight. They don't so much smell fear as they smell of it. Each beast reeking with the stink of jangled nerves before a fist fight about to go bad, sour black coffee warmed over between shaking hands and beds pissed fresh from the depths of recurring nightmares. Though never seen directly they often manifest just before sleep, appearing as the shadows moving under the crack of your door and the shifting black figure perched on the corner of your eye. In bounding packs the Brain Wolves hunt the gentle Bear of Pride and the delicate Song Bird of Imagination. Ambushing before either can fight or flight, ravenous jaws crippling wing or claw in a spray of blood, before dragging their still struggling prey back through the streets of empty memories to the feeding grounds.

It's some bad shit, let me tell you!

~ Exterminator arrived today here at the Witch House. First one in over two years. Now my humble abode is playing back drop to palmetto bug ground zero. Big, fat, black roaches have periodically come racing out of the corners trying to escape or make one last attack. No doubt the champion of its people, one came at me in the bathroom trying to strike at me with its dying breath. Then there's the last stragglers of some mass exodus that didn't escape in time spread throughout the hallway stairs outside - lying on their backs, kicking weakly to regain mobility, each cursing the God of Roaches for allowing a world where so many innocent had suffered. The spiders too have been more active this evening - dangling from the claustrophobic ceiling waiting to dive into an unwatched cup or careless yawn. At night their ghosts will crawl in legion invisibly over my sleeping body... if the Brain Wolves don't get me first.

It hasn't exactly been what one might call a relaxing atmosphere here at the 'Casa de la Bruja'.

~ For the twitter/facebook inclined: Finished Turn of the Screw today. Food shopped and carried way too many groceries through the rain (losing a quarter of my eggs and a yogurt along the way). Waited on line at the bank for forty minutes. Worked on the book for a few hours. Confession - only one of these designated hours was actually spent work working the other three were me pounding my fists into the side of my head. Caught Neil Gaiman on the Colbert Report earlier. Tuna salad and blueberries for dinner. Sorry, but I'm just not good at making the minutia sparkle. God may be in the details but it doesn't make Hir any more interesting for doing so.

Ciao *blows kiss*


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September 2016

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