Often the search referrals which bring people to my blog, via Google and Yahoo most commonly, prove nothing quite so much as the complete inadequacy of most search engines.

uncanny gambler poem poetry

monstrous japanese girls nude (ed. note !?)

I am a nightclub owner what are my employees legal rights?

Poetry? Sure, you might find some of that stuff around here. But uncanny gambler poetry? I might have written some of that once, in a fugue state, but I never blogged it.

monstrous Japanese girls nude. What can I say except that I have, no doubt, used the words monstrous, Japanese, girls and nude at various and individual points over the last two years (almost) of posts in this space.

And I've not once discoursed on the rights, legal or otherwise, of nightclub owners.

I have blogged about bigfoot here and there, but the person who typed the following search was no doubt left disappointed by his visit to this blog.

the ghost of bigfoot is touching the gun

Then there are those lucky few who find just what they were looking for:

essays on George W. Bush's incompetence

bench deetjen's

dopamine + paranormal

tourette syndrome and buddhism

published poems outcasts losers

I have spent more than one day of late crawling through the black sh*t at the bottom of my heart, or possibly my soul.

While down there, I turned a few revelations re. me over in the muck. I am bringing these treasures of repressed memory to light here for the first time.

I now know that the anxiety and depression that have trailed me through life since my teen years, at least, are the product of a pyschotoxin, a subtle poison introduced into my mind via a complex set of post-hypnotic suggestions. These suggestions were planted in my young mind as the main component of some form of ritual child abuse, the perpetrators of which remain a mystery to me.

Parents, or the clever simulacrums which replaced them years ago, are of course suspect. Possibly the suggestions were implanted via television - a program, laid over my natural psychocerebral wiring, beamed through my eyes as light waves while I watched cartoons. The forces behind this atrocity remain a mystery.

As does the function, and ultimate purpose, of the hypnotic suggestions themselves, which seem to be cued by certain sounds, words and/or emotional states. Identifying the trigger has been difficult because the actual result of the switch brought on by the suggestion is difficult to identify. There seems to be a definite and negative alteration, a general darkening of perception, that is present in what I refer to as the post hypnotic state, or "switch state". Certain physical actions, such as moving from room to room, touching the walls as if in search of some secret panel, also seem to be cued.

To what end I don't know. But identifying the trigger, explaining finally these black moods and bizarre acts, was itself significant. Now I know.

I think the poison program has been itself infected, thank goodness, by my own natural spirit light - augmented, I am blessed to say, by a tiny Buddha mind growing golden within my own.

There are others, though, who have not light and light not. The Demon Regent Asmodeus, for instance. Was it he who appeared in a pre-sleep vision? Or was that immense arachnid blackness only my imagining of Asmodai. Is there a difference?

Could the poison program in my mind be of demonic origin? Or was Asmodai trying to warn me?

Of what?

There is a tapping sound skittering my skull as I type. Is it only my fingers on the keyboard? No. It's in my head. Sounds like Morse code. Damn it! I don't know Morse code. Gotta do a Google search. . .

Recent gleamings from The Jewel in the Moment, random observations in haikuish:

11/20/03

For Skip James

Thought I'd heard The Blues
before I heard you play -
now I've heard The Blues.


11/23/03

flu

8:30 pm:
this headache turns 12 hours old.
Why am I still awake?


12/4/03

Morning made of fog,
white and still - nearby, a crow
addresses the day.