The Gathering of the Tranny-Archies and the Wonderful Healing of Chicken Skin Neck.

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Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Transmitting……. transmitting……. ding… bling… bling bling……. werp-werp……. ra-ching! Ra- ching! (sound of hand hitting monitor)- blik! Blik! “Ah, there ,we go.” Maybe the equipment is getting to its ‘use by’ date. Maybe it’s climatic; a low pressure zone, a no pressure zone, a zoned out something to the tune of “strangers in the night”

The invisible plane meets the visible plane, here in my office space, like the jagged edges of a child’s plastic toy, crushed beneath the hobnailed indifference of a nomadic, psychopathic troglodytes boot, here in the soon to be, post apocalyptic world of meandering madmen, abused women and children, pounded into submission by the chittering night music; the parasite invasion of ambulatory cell-phones, marching up the arms of their sleeping owners, slipping into the ear canals and wrecking havoc on the brain patterns. They are assisted in their destructive efforts by loud televisions, radios and MP3 players that cannot be turned off. The mute buttons have been stolen. The migrant workers have disappeared. Everything is starting to look faded and filthy. Consuela used to take care of those things but she was exported to China on the same boat that took the manufacturing infrastructure.

Transvestite archaeologists pull the skirts of their pink tutus up over the hip deep wreckage of torn mattresses and particle board furniture. They are wearing skin tight neoprene, thigh high, rainbow colored boots that used to belong to respected members of the Crass Media who were all gathered up and shipped off to fast food recycling centers in the Midwest. You’ve probably gotten a taste of them if you’ve been by a KFC outlet in recent times, but I digress… the tranny-archies are picking through the aftermath, searching for signs… ♫searchin, I been searchin, I been searchin everywhe-e- er- e♫ signs of survivors, signs of what happened. Give me a sign! Give me a horse! Give me some time, of course…their Botoxed brows attempt to wrinkle in consternation but remain as smooth as a baby baboon’s ass from which scientists have extracted the formula to solve that long standing cosmetic crisis of Chicken Skin Neck, which has troubled the minds (and necks) of the rich and wretched for many years. The tranny-archeos mutter to one another. Pale, limpid hands reflexively raise to brush away strands of renegade hair, seeking… always seeking to do that David Bowie, one eye thing, over one side of the face or the other. They can never make up their mind which version best serves that “Hail Satan!” effect they are after.

Where did all the people go? There are no answers but the presence of tranny-archeos picking through the detritus tells you all you need to know. Obviously, whatever it was that happened, they did it to themselves. The signs of social collapse and cultural disorder were everywhere to be seen. Back in the early 70′s the author went to the original establishment mentioned in this article, accompanied by an old friend who was gay and now is dead. I was working on a piece about what was going on in the dark corners of the sexual revolution. It took me awhile to orient myself after I walked in. Everyone present looked like a extra from that vintage Pacino crime thriller, “Crusin”. They were also near exact replicas of Freddie Mercury, dressed up in hundreds of variations of leather; skin tight outfits and all manner of restraint devices. I was surrounded by Freddie Mercury clones on all sides. This must have been just prior to the arrival of dress codes because I was let in.

It was a big and cavernous place, somewhere in the meatpacking district of New York City and at various points there were doorways into darkness. As I drew near to the inky aperture, I could hear a ragged chorus of groans and cries in search of some hellish epiphany. I’d never been exposed to anything like this before. I had no idea it even existed. I knew if a man walked into that room, he wasn’t going to come out the same. We didn’t stay long. As we walked away, off to something else that I now no longer remember, my friend, Kenny, told me about a conversation he had overheard in a place similar to the one we had been in where one fellow was telling another about a place he had been the night before. In the bathroom was a rail that you could grab and men could (if they wished) come up behind you and sodomize you and in the process of the conversation, one of the men mentioned how he had gotten done 50 times before he lost count. You probably would prefer not to hear about this but it needs be said what the culture is up against and the kinds of minds that are the force behind all the bizarre law making that has been going on.

Without a doubt they are seeking to usher in hell on Earth. One might be better educated about it all by reading about the Cabaret period in Germany, where the same group of people were up to the same kinds of behavior. You can better understand the environment that was present at the time of Hitler rising to power and the mindset of the German people. The same licentiousness excess and demonic imperatives are at work and… it’s the SAME PEOPLE. If you move into the polluted waters of contemporary mainstream media, you see the presence of this depraved period being described in a waythat… ah, words fail me. They keep referring to German scientists who “concluded that ‘same sex love was a natural, inborn characteristic and not merely the perversion of a ‘normal’ sexual tendency’, author and scholar Robert Beachy writes in his compelling book, Gay Berlin: Birthplace of a Modern Identity by Knopf Publishers.” No German scientists are mentioned by name but we can be certain of who they were, just as we can be certain who the publishers of this book are and who is behind the incremental press of laws against normal behavior and the normalization of the abnormal. In the article we are led to believe that widespread depravity is a good thing. You bet.

I don’t make the laws of Nature. I don’t enforce the institution of parameters to contain runaway perversity. That is the province of the divine hierarchy who permits the balance of life to be disturbed, distorted and run off course FOR THE PURPOSE OF DEMONSTRATION. It is startling to watch the relentless march of human life into a state of mass perdition. I sit and wonder at the mind-state of those reporting on it and the slants that they give. I am in awe at the abject stupidity that washes over the landscape like a tsunami. Millions upon millions of bobble-heads bounce up and down on the dashboard as the massive chariot of civilization crosses over the tortured and twisted highway into the threshing teeth of inevitability. Corporations pour millions of dollars into the fabrication of the engines of their own destruction. Governments run by feckless, compromised cowards build the gibbets on which they will be hung en masse. It is the redux of the French Revolution on steroids and there will be no mercy from those who believe in nothing but the visitation of horror after horror upon all and sundry. Fat cats drive by scenes extracted out of Boschian nightmare, never grasping that they will be pulled from their conveyances at any time and who are so driven mad by their own rubbernecking fascinations that they actually stop their cars and get out to take a look. “Those whom the god’s would destroy, they first drive mad.”

Let us not end this walk on the wild side with a negative impression of life and the uncertain course of destiny that twists and turns and finally disappears beyond the sightline. The presence of the lord is often referred to as a refuge, a stronghold, a sanctuary and a fortress against the darkness which now seems to gather on all sides. Remember that the dark has no power except where the light is not present. One single candle will back the dark away into the corners and the light of the avatar will drive it away and around the curve of the Earth and at some point into a bottomless chasm that awaits it.

All of this sound and fury and the looming specter of a gathering darkness is of no meaning except for those compromised by it; enthralled by it, or who go in fear of it, “Yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” My dear friends, nothing is quite so terrifying as to watch history repeat itself. What is even more terrifying is the understanding of all those previous times of which no evidence remains; gone and forgotten. We were not meant to endure here. This is not our home. This is not our home. This is the home ground of trial and testing, where following destinations are set and courses plotted. Set your course and destination while time remains to do so. Yes of course the world is wide and intimating in size and the ubiquity of threats but the world within is another matter and is always the master of the world without, if you are the master of the world within and the master within is already present and awaits your surrender to his unshakable hand on the tiller and his unflinching and eternal eye upon the horizon.

Be of good cheer!

End Transmission…….