Mad hatter moshes... channeling of fallen angels

Ch. 30 The warfare starts in the jungle. The Mad Hatter Moshing This Out

            Hazardous roads ahead, my friends. We may be fiery but we will hurt everyone if we go on like this. I can handle my own but all this other dissonance and melancholy has no place here in between weeping and an itch. My god, we are maniacs to let flawless fancy get in between blood that seems to be just about the thickness of a tear that drops down my head every night, scoffing at the jabberwocky. When the smoke clears, and you are not around, I myself will not say that I am that surprised. Heads will roll for this one.

            Hear me out, marriage and Figaro- I gave up on innocence a long time ago, we all do the hunting and shoveling alone sometimes. Ignition raised in me like a fortune teller on her cigarette break, she sees the forest running from the machine lioness, furrow down inside the marsh lands and I will give you a story to tell later. Mosh it out on the table of the mad hatter, I don’t know- I could give us better scary visions and entertainment than this circle ring of foul shadows. I resurrect the traditional rules followed by the hierophant and his means to which enlightenment was not far away.

            Alice can slay the jabberwocky as he has done before. He will come back to wonderland as he is always meant to, the mad hatter thinks so and that this time will be no different. There are more players than were expected. We all were there, watching this torrent affair, this twisted energy formed tides of violence and anarchy. 

I shall rush to thump in the rain, make the noise for the fallen angels and the death of the innocent. I will reek mind riots and raves of any kind, vampires awake to the sound of my voice in the dark and we shall all dance together, ride this Theos apocalypse rain wave together. One and all must be invited and singled out for bravery or dimension of any kind, so many enemies and haunted dreams to fight.

            I was sloppy and lousy with ideas, costumes and profanities made and assigned, personalities switched and catered, swapped and performed in days when nothing was certain and everyone came with passions to speak and yell out. Cursing the night sky and running wild may help some and may not help others, that is up to you. 

Hot heat thunders down on an unexpecting audience, soothsayers and the nightingale call out for the reckoning that is to come, wrath and thieves are to hitchhike to their separate castles and vanities must be forgotten. It is time to get messy and speak out the truth in lords of reign and rains after. 

I can create the de-program, the think tank switch is turned on and the eyes open, even in your sleep. Experience the otherness out in the decibel clapping of hands. Take a sip and pass it on in the presence of our new traitors, the disguise good but still noticeable in dark lighting.

            I ask you to sweat out the summer with me, measuring my lengths and further-ness from the meltdown and my close proximity to the universe suffering: depths of incense and breath of the archetype-angels, I dive in as always into the whirlwind and catch my breath, soothe a touching monster, bite a favor and a lover. 

Straighten my wings, if you are able, I have beaten the recipes of salvation avalanche during midterms, in between meals, and late nights of astral travel. I channel my meaning, kind sir, and the blood spilt is only mine. I don’t know where all this comes from, meat hook or not, I spill with effects and afters. 

My challenge is to write it out regardless of needs and wants of others: have and have nots, forget-me-not flowers my mom plants in the summer. I tempted my last feature film a long time ago; I can’t hear you now. Your voice grows softer and faints in my ear.

            I was awakened early, I feel, and this time I am angry at all the confusion and denial. I appeal to the highest serial number, please leave me be for a moment’s notice and I will explain to you the lack I feel, the muses are heavy in closer circles.

 I give up the length of my death again to stay and fornicate you free. Perform even, to the best of my degree and the few experiences I share with you my art, my others and Adam’s ribs, Princes of far off isles in the north, Persian rugs left behind and forgotten in the attic. I keep your mirrors sacred in my body, unique persons brightly shine- as you do.

- Megan

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