Alchemy reigns the nightfall.

Sequestering werewolves by classic conditioning, the government gives us pause to reconsider if monsters are not all around us. Keep quiet for a moment, and watch the teething process begin, steps taken to tranquilize the beasts of the dawn and damned. 

The spiral descended on the western plains of America and the Tea Party was co-opted by big hats and large checks to the NRA and Big Brother, same difference if you keep your eyes stapled shut and listen harder than your predecessors. Our villages burn and you seem to worry mostly about the taglines in the cosmopolitan black box that’s left on the lower shelf of the only bookcase in the pentagon. 

Fashion, if done well, declares war on the elite. Where the hell are our differences that make us beautiful? Feathers fly without owners in the night with my dress sliding off my shoulders and no one even seemed to notice the birds dying with oil in between their fingers. The air frisky with its own divergence from the mediums that sat and spat out hypo-necessary intelligence for the apes in the corners of a particular special performance with its VIP encore by someone famous (all other information is classified at this dying hour).

A lounge to the left and down the stairs, I sit and feel as if I am in the wrong time, the naked body bearing witness to the future, the corporate entertainment bleeds the lamb dry again, the scarred sacrifices of teenagers all over the globe in their track suits and stockings. We write to be heard and reckoned with.

Throats deep in the marshes of “Babalon”, Crowley and his witches seem to resound in the thoughts of men of magic and circumstance, plaster and fortune tellers sitting under the earth, waiting for these previous moments to pass and for the risen serpents to take their heads to the throne, splitting bodies (as they do) to sound the alarm of a new wakening. Give in to the sound of light.

Commune with flesh, bones growing and tumultuous changes to come in the generations of poison, drink and be changed. Take the channel and live through it, surround the women around you with light breath and own your own memories, if you can know them in the sense of bible therapy and red herrings.

I beg you to silence. Just sit for a moment with the vampires of old ages, sages of a dark sort to be sure but with power and presence of being above the callings of car parts and vehicular homicide. In your mind, I lie awake.

Blaze to feel sincere about comments on love and some kind of peace in the world, shots of whiskey to save your personality and all this froth ascends you to turn into entities floating above your actual bed frame. Astral traveling, leaving your veins to fend for themselves, you score heights and forensics and cells of bastard renaissance men. The best in the business, I can assure you. 

Dollar signs can be heard from miles in the distance regardless of a strong sense of smell and an appetite for fear and endangerment. Even still, drag me to the king and I will not look him in the eye, tears to fall as he explains the fate of women and our contested embodiment.

Empower these stone angels, anarchist dictionaries to read alone, steam to cover up your debts, foggy weather to desert storm, as we surrender to a mass collective- No more. We shall stagger to the ground and lift up our spirits to an unknown and monolith source, back to the feeding trough to start again from ashes and acid rainfall. In the jungle, no one has a name.

Today however, the place is of your calling power into a being of nature, a radical pathway from base to mountain, a train leaves the station at half past five without its conductor or any destination. Spark out loud and feel the need to move, to stir around with other pentagrams and postulates. We dine together in the seeds of hell, and tonight we drink the blood of earth, liquor for the gods and animals that transform us. Alchemy reigns the nightfall. 
- Megan