saint-natas-blog

galabram's world

Mon, 12 Jul 2010 03:14:23 +0100

I finished reading the People from the Other World. Not as good as I was expecting. The cover art, the title, and the theosophy is what turned me on to it. The book ended up being about spiritualists who were really illusionists. The author seemed to be hoodwinked because he wanted to believe so bad.

Now I'm reading the Knight by Gene Wolfe. I'm only three chapters into it, but so far so good. He's a good writer. I like it. It's got my attention.

I went to see Preditors at the theatre the other day and was impressed. Good old-fashion fun movie. Way better than the last two movies from the franchise. Took a few minutes to get used to Adrien Brody as a tough guy, but he pulled it off.

I'm planning on making a habit of blogging now like I used to in Galabram's World, the Order of Chaos, and the kult ov kaos. Does anyone even remember Galabram's World? (o;

Okay. I'm tired and going to bed. Later.

there is more than one way to do everything

Fri, 09 Jul 2010 02:41:16 +0100

I finished reading Illium by Dan Simmons the other day. Good book. If you like soft science fiction and Greek mythology, you'll love it. Achilles is an arrogant bad ass in it, but I've always prefered Hector. Hector seems more like a good guy to me, Achilles like the indestructable brat.

I'm now reading People from the Other World by Henry S. Olcott (an enthusiastic theosophist). First published in 1875, my copy was published in 1972. I love old books. The smell is such a comfort.

I am not saying that I believe in the spiritualist movement of the 19th century. I think a large portion of it was the work of illusionists trying to turn a buck. I do think every holy man is a con man to a certain degree. Simply a necessity in dealing with the uninitiated.

Never the less, the book did get me thinking about spirituality in the United States and similar governments. The book details some of the treatment and torture of mediums and psychic of the 1800s. I was raised with a pretty traditional Ihanktawan belief system. My grandmother and her siblings, my whole family (there was no differentiating between immediate and extended family), in our way of life it was normal to see and speak with spirits on a daily basis. We weren't afraid of most spirits. We gave them their space and respected them like any part of nature.

Like in the book, the spiritual ways of the Native American (I prefer the term American Indian) were beat and tortured out of them. People today have been conditioned to no longer experience the spiritual nature of life. Science is a jealous god. People seem encouraged to riducule those who believe in psychic, and spirits, and the supernatural. Are minds have been conditioned to be blind to the spirits. The root of this being the materialism of culture. Materialistic culture spread like an illness. A spiritual illness.

Any ways, I went to a Pastors For Peace gathering this evening. They caravan to Cuba every year as an act of civil disobedience in an attempt to end the United States trade blockade against Cuba. Check it out, it's a worthy cause.

www.pastorforpeace.org

Fraternally,
St. N.

rusty...

Wed, 23 Jun 2010 02:39:20 +0100

ra ra ah ah ah...

just dance...damn...writing writing writing...getting a headache writing about creation...i'm working on a text concerning the kabbalah...have no idea how long it will take to complete...

an old friend stopped by today...bought me a burrito...listened to norwegian death metal...his thing, not so much mine..

next step, my man pythagoras...the python, baby...a historical yeshua ben yosef, eh?...

documenting man-gods...

okay...enough writing for this evening...going for a walk in the moon light...

fraternally,
saint natas

a stolen sigh...

Mon, 19 Apr 2010 00:48:23 +0100

woke up in a strange place three months later...not strange in a negative manner...in an unexpected way...at times feeling like caramon...and times feeling like raistlin...

my head is starting to hurt...with invisible wisdom from static dried and flaking off the flesh...what i have...

a hidden god...no words...just wind, rain, and night...just hymns, pain, and light...

everything and nothing matter...can you shroud a soul around this?...

i'll be back...

hold on...

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 16:31:57 +0100

hold on...gotta pee...be right back...

oh, she come over me like warm water...control me like breathing and hearts beating...i want her and nothing else...always waiting for her call...she don't know but she know, dancing innocent, watching me when i’m not looking...pretending her eyes are closed...drama swaying...

uh, i saw her the first time i saw her...sitting back in my folding chair...acting like i don’t...but she light up the room like tesla won...she walk in like a mushroom cloud painting the sky...more beautiful than god...

‘course she had a husband...but some times the earth just rumbles at our feet...the engines burn inside...the eagles shriek and dive...we drop back into the ocean...

lost my rag tag renegades in the heat of thieving...alone, i took a look around...slipping the moon in my pocket...oh, she's so good i just don't know...mother panic at my static...

run with her dreaming in my palm...a bolt of lighting in my hand...she feel me...deep... inside... pressing through her fields...showing no mercy...i come for you...

her eyes look into me lying...feeling my bones and leaving me stranded...too good for my own...

she love me and rape me and leave me bleeding dry in the street...

she look down at me, frail and tangled in the gutter...no strength in my starving reach...her perfect hands cover her mouth and tears cover her eyes...

my queen always drunk and angry...raging and ranting...blind nature...

omgwhathaveidoneims osorryiloveyouso muchpleaseforgiv emeillneverdoita gainneverleaveyo uiloveyoucantliv ewithoutyoupleas epleasegodcomeba ckforeveriloveyo uiloveyouiloveyo uiloveyoupleased onteverleavemeag ainpromise!

i stand up and brush the dust from my shoulder...look at her unsure without choice...arms wide open...she falls home...and we're forever hooked...

"i can't stand the rain...against my window"...

Tue, 16 Feb 2010 22:18:51 +0100

inhale the breath of the dragon...lungs thick, stout, and healthy...kneeling...head bowed...eyes blood shot...filled with tears...grinning up at heaven...pray to the dark lords...the lords of chaos...death...sex...time...

buck rogers cool...tugging on a fag...pencil thin mustache...the devil can be handsome and slick as shit...or cute and innocent as hell...

archangel obsession...possession...with lacking strength...zeitgeist...spiritus...arms spread...wingspan...the great eagle...the praetorian...lash out...

dead angels scattered...limb upon the earth...seduction of light and holy fire...masters of the abyss...the moves, grooves, and funk of shaitan...anubis stacking with a glock at his side...dog faced with black shades...

sensations of presence...masonic ghosts...haunting moths...gray invaders...shadows...creeping...lurking...peeping...gnostic warriors...

over the hills and through the rain...honor in suffering...anguish...shamanic dementia...vaginal ectoplasm...howling to the moon...luna...our love...wolves panting in the night...the tribes of the coyote...murders of crows...prides of lions...mero clans...druids and witches...come thunder...come kingdom...eagles and regal music...

bards and jesters strumming and drumming...dancing with folk songs...around camp fires...hitchhiking...riding long, smooth snakes and spider's webs...infrared...scarlet...air waves...north and south auroric bonfires blazing like invisible fountains of vril...

she whisper in my ear so sweet...

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 05:44:25 +0100

My brother made parole this week…

Kinda slipping off track here a bit myself…got stuck on a bird…distracting…gotta cut her loose...even though it's fucking painful to do so...

I remember being in third grade, watching television with my uncle…an anti-drug commercial came on…starring the cast of the TV show, Fame…they said you can’t fly when you’re high…my uncle shouted that’s bull shit…he flies when he’s high…I was completely intrigued…I wanted to fly too…there may be a correlation here to the attainment of my first sack of grass in the fourth grade…

Si vis pacem, para bellum

"If you wish for peace, prepare for war"

It’s surprising how well and quick this beer goes down…

Ah, this night drags on…I’m a prick to some chick on the phone…idk why…

I wish I could see reality for what it is, rather than filtered through my brain…

touched...

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 03:30:38 +0100

Some times I just need a break…to break away…

This bird is a petite powerhouse…a righteous, riotous force of nature…a trick shot gunning for me…tugging at my zest and breast…she ain’t nothing but something…she got style…she got grace and she got face…she move and dream in washing waves, drowning me…

Always searching…searching for…the way out…exit…that little sacred, secret something…that pull me and push me…move me…the heartache that lift me…the words that keep me…the finger that shush me…touch me…tease me…lick me and kiss me…

All lubed up with no place to go…

I bring down the night with all my might…and she’s scraping resin from the pipe…like a whispering wind keeping me safe in the shallow nightmares…

Walking up the street…hoodie pulled over my head…the sun, moon, and stars in my pocket…universe a moebius looped around my pinky… the laziness of a writer…the grace of a felon…a swagger of timid arrogance… the soul of a soldier…scars like pretty, delicate lace embrace my still beating heart…a tired lion and Atlantean priest…imaginary friends like silk strokes of laughing gas and untamed chemical gnosis dancing in the corner of my eye…overdose and withdrawal…prison breaks and narrow escapes…hard won, invisible triumphs…an akashic record…spiritus in the nostrils and draining down the back of my throat…the after taste of sex…vigorous panting…ancient snakes, dead by the lake…a finger tapping out the rhythm of break down…internal screaming and hurricanes of sorrow and narcissism…wailing all fraught for naught…laying naked over a grave…a forlorn epic born to be alone…bring me the heads of Pancho and Geronimo…tonight we feast on ecstasy…just let me alone…let me alone…can’t be hurt again…means can’t be felt again…utter freedom…no compromise…dig…

A full pack of cigarettes…I’m on top of the world…

Casanova and Cagliostro cry with me…or I follow in their tear drops…

Rimbaud and Jim hard for me…or I’m limp as Oedipus…

I want to write these words in my blood…and die bleeding in a warm bath tub…an immortal still shot…selfish and grandiose…

The ripple of my passing destroys everything around me…with a frolic and shy, sinister, flirting bat of the eyes…

Don’t say it…don’t say it…

The secret name of god and all souls spoken like wet thunder sweeping everything away in the perfect mushroom of nuclear holocaust…

A false sense of innocence…sun kissed, blue eyed boy…catch me and cup me before I get away…like a fire fly…blinking in silly, summer delight…

the lords of secret things...

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:57:44 +0100

Fingertips should just slide over the keyboard…strokes of genius and strokes of love and lust…technological affairs…plugging in…tuning in…I promise to never tell the truth…to give no mercy…fading off…divining…scrying…reading bones and entrails…tea leaves and street signs…always giving up…running scared…unshaken…pausing…to look in your eyes…like a wild animal…curious…wanting…your colors vibrate alive…halfway between here and there…smooth plastic keys beneath finger tips…

Cross my fingers…cross your mind…I don’t need love you see…the grace of circumstance…slow dance with me…hold me in the dark for a moment…omerta…

Candle wax climbing up the walls…orange flickering in the night…shadows like thieves…thieves in the twilight…always in the back of my mind…a symphony bleeding…a sea shell held over the ear…forgotten whisper…released in the beginning…stretching until the end…

Feeling uppers please…the soul of a lion…the king of vacuum…drowning in the tub…drowning in my blood…I’ve got to be so fine…floating downers…a living canvas…

Numb…cold fingers…breathing clear…the depth of me…fading into me…falling into me…unknown friend…my hidden god…a long walk alone down an empty hallway…crowded dreams…silent signaling…obscure peace…haunted by secret chiefs…

Like Kubla Khan…I’m taken away…

But I’ll be back to finish…

stop agreeing with what they say...

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 18:05:17 +0100

There is a bottle of pumpkin wine in the refrigerator. It has been there for some time. Everyone’s afraid to drink it. I don’t know when, or how, or who, but some day someone will drink that wine and that will be a tale to tell.

I sit at the bar and this black haired beauty comes up and sits next to me, rubbing my leg and chatting me up. She has dark eyes and thick make up. Looking good. Rubbing my leg, leaning over me, grinning, and batting long lashes. I know she’s no good for me.

A sudden quizzical expression covers her face, she looks deep into me, all serious, sincere, and somber, “How come all writers are alcoholics?”

“Pf,” I shake my head and finish off my beer, “I don’t know.”

Well, I’ll always be shadow dancing.

She calls me tonight. This thing that cut out my heart. With a razor and a devilish grin. Calls me and calls me weird. Says there is something wrong with me, why can’t I be normal.

Lucifer loves me. I sit on the edge of my seat like a wide eyed little boy catching all her words as they fall from her soft lips. She tell me how she love me. I pick the words up and clutch them to my heart.

Please, play far, far away from my heart by the Bodeans at my funeral. I’ll never forget you. Will you forget me? Like the king’s glory crumbled to dust.

The secret glory of saint natas. I must get my things in order. Voice is changing and I can’t escape it.

I die when she doesn’t give me attention.

Tonight I was ridiculed for believing in anarchy and loving hip hop.

Just love me and I’m okay.

A saint (from the Latin sanctus) is a human being who is believed to have been ‘called’ to holiness or has, consciously or unconsciously, fulfilled the criteria set for sainthood by a religious institution.

Satan (Hebrew: השָׂטָן ha-Satan ('the accuser'); Arabic: الشيطان al-Shaitan ('the adversary') - both from the Semetic roots: S-T-N) is an embodiment of antagonism that originates from the Abrahamic religions, being traditionally considered an angel in Judeo-Christian belief, and a Jinn in Islamic belief. Originally, the term was used as a title for various entities that challenged the religious faith of humans in the Hebrew Bible. Since then, the Abrahamic religions have used the name 'Satan' as a name for the Devil.

Now you now saint natas.

How could you just leave me standing, alone in a world so cold.

Praise God for William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin.

The cut ups and dream machines are such powerful tools. Pick them up and use them yourself and you’ll understand. I’ve developed my own method with the cut ups which is more aesthetically subjective and less random. Some day I’ll share it with you. But not tonight.

With wet eyes I whisper to Lucifer, please do not let me go. She swallows me whole.

I can’t escape. I wiggle my way out. Then find myself casing casinos and ATMs, fallen astray to my friend’s tales of financial woe and lay off. But good will conquer evil.

Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to be alone.

You’re so dear to me.

Leave a note and tell me why.

I’m so dear to you.

I’m so dead to you.

I’m so dada, yeah.

Tear drops like fire and smiles like rain clouds.

Maybe this is your suicide. Maybe this is your love. Your life. Your tug. Your brush. Your must. Your cuss. Your fuss. Your just.

White horse. Pale horse. The little things. You must have wanted to know.

Way down.

In the trailer court.

In the trailer court wolves circled.

Some times when you’ve been abused like that, you’ve touched the stars.

Romantics struggles more than physicists to put the universe together.

You say you hear the call. Don’t be shy. Lift your head.

You are a storm and you are a god. You are elite and you are complete.

Please howl with me, die with me, fuck with me.

He has no tact or social grace. No reason or filter.

We were born to die.

The deity said take wine and strange drugs. I said, hey bitch, don’t tell me what to do. But did it anyways.

Most of the time they lived in poverty and abused drink and drugs. To be sure. I came to you with best intentions.

Let’s celebrate. Dance, fuck, love, drink. Invoke Pan. Dionysus. Bacchus. Sky clad with witches and wiccans. Druids and Picts. All blue and regretless.

Her taste like blood from the grail, like birth, life, and death. She opened her legs like a black hole, ripping me at event horizon.

And I spoke and thought without words.

The secret truth is that I love you and heaven opens like a river crying into the ocean.

I felt the rush like Roman, Nazi, British, and American thunder.

I love gnosis like God, however it comes, in sex and death, drunk and fucked, running like blood or sweat, panting or still. A moment like a photograph, a haunted memory, faded and jaded, nostalgic and golden.

Lucifer taunts and teases and my head spins, stars abound. Head drips down. Melting. To this immaculate nothing. The silent, extended orgasm. This nothing. This perfect nothing.

Feeling God on my tongue. The prayer and salvation of the poet and seer. Like so few slick semen. A babe crying when awakened. Drowning in sunlight. Racing for breath toward the surface of water.

A magical paint brush brings it to life, like Prometheus, stealing light and fire. It was real, waiting for me or something else.

Why am I still awake?

Oh, God, like a warm, silk cunt gripping my soul.

We were born to go.