Losing My Way

In the book 'Druids' by Morgan Llewellyn (an excellent book by the way), there are a couple of scenes of sex magic. Can one perform sex magic without a partner? Is it only done with a man and a woman, or would there be a rite involving one man sucking a cock while he is getting fucked up the ass? Somehow I think that would be strong magic indeed. 'Come, my hearty fellows, and we'll perform the sacrament that will bring peace to the Earth. First we must shave my body and my face, and dress me in sheer fabrics adorned with the colors of spring. Very good...very good. Now I want to let one of you in the temple of my mouth, meant for the worship of penis. First I will lick it until it gets hard...o so nice, nice and hard. As I put it in my mouth, I will open the temple of my ass, so that the other can enter...it wants to worship too, with long strokes made for adoration. Let the ceremony begin!' And yea, I suck that cock, and I feel the other cock going up my ass.

The deadworld burns the sacred grove and erects temples for the worship of false idols.

Thomas Pynchon's novel Vineland was one of my best reading experiences. I think it's brilliant. Somehow it resonates within me, and it's final image could hardly be more beautiful.

According to an email I got from an alleged psychic, my outer aura is in fine shape, but closer to my body there are disturbing signs: blacks and grays where color should be; a sickness in my soul. What could be the reason for it? My outer aura is protecting me, so obviously the answer lies within.

I know it is wrong to ask God for a sign, but it is just and proper to demand one from His signature creation, the Human Race. What would that imply? Is there any punishment for the inevitable failure? As of now, only my laughter. Hear me now, people, I have been sent to mock you, and God is in on the joke.

It is an ironclad law of the universe that all disaster movies suck. While other genres have their share of stinkers, still some classic films are produced. But in the disaster film genre, all productions are invariably terrible.

I loved this book, not just because of its style. Jim was a flawed man, one not really understood or even understandable. His was a noble spirit and it was that nobility that led to his end.

If I was any smarter I'd be dead/ If I had half a brain I'd blow it out my head/ but like a fool I keep living instead/ if only I was smarter I'd be dead// Like some dumb beast I still endure/ life is a disease and there is no cure/ what is wrong with me I can't be sure/ I'm a wretched beast...I still endure//