Demonic Carousel Presents,

There’s Something In My Vein, And It’s Not Blood:

“J’ever feel like browsing through a camping section in a department store?”

“Well, that’s what Angel Piss felt like when she started haggling with spice merchants in the center of Damascus.”

“You see, a lot of people don’t realize how much Mars, now I mean the PLANET Mars,
Can cause ocean waves and even harbor waves or inland sea waves to CHARGE the beach.”

Now, check this:

“What if God was a feminine presence which enters you tingling, leaving you satisfied to be never satisfied? Your relationship with her is non-dual and constructed from meaning administered directly, bypassing language? Her presence in your body marks peak moments and awakens you to the fact that all you perceive is full of conscienceness constructed of dense mysteries? Like all good lovers she reveals her shape as a slow simmering in an open pot, never to scald your flesh, which is her canvas, as the world is her canvas, and you are the gaze as the world is the crystal? You know as you stretch to think of ‘one true thing’ that there is only one true thing? An obvious thing impossible to convey or condense into banal sense? There beyond the barrier of the paradox she hovers above the throne, she places the crown above your head so that you might feel its energy as mass like two repellant magnets in your left and right hands? The teacher calls it, “KETHER,” you don’t call it anything? And so the absence shimmies down a pillar of spinal cord to enliven aspects of her divine grace, which amounts to your embodiment and no more and no less? Beauty: now the twin arms of love and power; now the twin legs of splendour and glory; and lest we forget the foundation, which is her sustenance, and which is called the kingdom? It may seem that she didn’t try, and that you didn’t try, but there was indeed a trial of ordeal on the lip of a hyper-spheroid canyon. We live, all of us, in an explosion of soap bubbles blown by giant’s children – and so, since we are all wearing masks, all we have left to ask is, ‘Where’s the ball?'”