Song Of The Day: Hide And Seek / Imogen Heap is the song of the day again. I know it was the song of the day a few entries back, but I can't help it. It's still the coolest song

Word Of The Day: A-corps-perdu / 'With lost body'; impetuously; in desperation.

Wow. I used to be such a good, consistent blogger. Pr'eee much every day you could come here and find my latest fuckng brilliant, genius opus on what I peed into that day, ohr...some thing about some stuff, or my FEELINGS. Oh god, the fucking FEEELLINGGGGZZZZZZZZZZZZX. i think if you want shit to be cool, put an X on the end of it. kind of code, saying "X" marks the spot. you know, like, we're CROSSING the event horizon of the end of this WORDX. get mex? it's fuxxing awesomx. i can't gex enough x. chex thisx shix oux. x makes me erex. i wanna have sex with x and wax the nexus of flux. FLUX me XXXXXXXXXX!!!!!

any way. i have been MISSING blogging. i haven't been blogging cuz i've been travelling, travelling, finishing my new album in L.A., then more touring, then back to L.A., then work on my DVD, then travel. goddammit, i miss YOU. how have you been? come here. closer. you....look like shit. what have you been doing? did you hold your head under sewage for a few days to win a bet? were you on fear factor engorging your shameless gullet with horse rectums again (i really saw that on an episode).

well, i know what it's like to look like shit. i still love you. and i can empathize. the other week i was staying at my producer Alex Gibson's house in the Silver Lake Neighborhood of Hollywood, or L.A., or however you zone that shit, and i woke up one day, and i fluxxing KID YOU NOT, i looked so, SO shitty. horrible. i looked like i was gang-raped by angels. why angels? cuz i always have a certain inner light to me. but other than that, just the rape. i mean, i woke up and seriously, Alex looked at me and went "what the fuck happened to your FACE last night?" reluctantly, with mild trepidation, i went and looked in the mirror, and nox fluxxing shix you all, i looked like HELL. a (callostomy) bag under each eye, a bloated, abused puffiness to my face, blood shot peepers. i was amazed there wasn't blood dripping out of each nostril. gazing at the spectre of my repugnant mug, i wondered aloud

"am...i... dying?"

"of course you're dying, you slow fluX."

"wha?"

"you heard me."

"who are you?"

"guess."

"santa claus?"

"niX."

"grim reaper."

"noX."

"jesus?"

"naX."

"Who the fluX are chu, mang???"

"I'm you're Xecutioner."

"WhaX?"

"I'm killing you. you look like shit cuz me and my angels raped you. we fluXXed you hard in the Heart with the phallus of the RoXy Cross. we have to kill you so the new YOU can be X-pressed, X-folded."

"you mean like the Rosicrucian's Rosy Cross?"

"yeah, but way the fluX better. we fluXXed you with the RoXy X. it loox like a crucifiX, but it has a lazer in it, and Hot Pink, and two little Bose speakers in it."

"no shit. is that why i heard Gregorian Chant last night, just before i blacked out."

"indeed. hey, you know what else about Rape and Mysticism?"

"What?"

"you know when you see a porno shop, and it says 'XXX'. "

"yeah."

"well, that's a fluxxing Roxicruxian symbol, yo. the cross, as you know is signified by X. i'm not talking about a plain old crucifix, the literal object used to crucify Christ. the Real Christ was crucified on the Real crucifix, which is of course the point (cross) where the horizontal line of TIME and the vertical line of SPACE intersect at the Point Of All Places in a human being, in the center of the Essential Self. when you see a porno shop, or a porno mag, or a porno anything, with 'XXX' on it, you are receiving secret transmission from the Roxy Cruxixians (post-modern, post-conventional keepers of the Secret). three crosses, three Real crosses where Time and Space actually intersect at the Poin Of All Places, in the center of each Essential Self are being presented to you, actually being projected from within you to outside of you, so you may remind yourself of Reality As It Is."

"but why..."

"why encrypt the secret in pornography? because two people fucking -could be any two people, but let's just say a man and a woman- are a tantric diad of IS. one male / one female, or one empty / one full, one witnessing / one Be-Coming, absolute / relative, etc. it takes two. and the two are one, 'specially when they go all the way. no ones love a three-way more than God, and that is why we have this recurring Trinity in traditions, encryption, etc. two is cool, but it's prone to dual, you fool. Three X's, three crucifixes is Father, Son, and Holy Ghostess. yes, Ghostess. it's also Buddha, Dharma, Sangha. It's Mind, Body, Spirit. It's Self, Culture, Nature. It's Good, the True, The Beautiful. it's your fluxxing Triune Brain. it's the 99 names of God (three times three = nine. that's one human being. three times three twice, that's two human beings. there are 33 sets of 3 in two human beings, in a 99. are you as fluxxing Magnetically Activated as I AM right now?"

"that's why i looked like shit that one morning i woke up, cuz you fluxxed me so hard with your Hot Pink Crucifix with a lazer in it and two bose speakers? and you were trying to kill me on the cross of Reality, at the Point Of All Places, where time and space intersect, so i could be emptied and filled again?"

"yes."

"but why'd you have to rape me? i mean, couldn't you at least ask me? buy me dinner? some foreplay? and why does it have to be Gang-Rape by Angels. why not one angel? i mean..."

"first of all, that body is not yours. it belongs to God. when you incarnate and take human form, your essential self submits and surrenders. doesn't matter whether or not your cognitive structures concur, you are the vehicle of love. if we asked your permission, your frontal structure would just scream "NOOOOO" and "AHHHH" and "EEHHHHH" and then fucking freak out, and black out. which is what you did."

"why does that happen?"

"because Angels (often) appear to demons from the perspective of the frontal structure, the personality of a discreet entity."

"why?"

"can't be helped. it's a matter of filters. even though your Essential Self may see clearly the Presence Of The Absolute, coming to awaken you and transmute your bile, the frontal structure just sees Hell Hounds, just sees Demons. that's because it's projecting its own distorted, fractured, a-sleepened nature onto that which comes to its aid. you see the problem. even if and when your frontal structure resists or declines, your Essential Self has, from the point of incarnation, signed on for as many reamings from God as is necessary to fully transmute your being and serve the mystery. all sex, even rape, is consensual in Heaven, when it comes from IS."

"right. but why gang rape? why not just one angel sodomizing me with the Hot Pink croxx with a lazer and the Bose speakers blaring Gregorian Chant?"

"Well. Angels are pervs. they like to fuxx. and, this is hard to explain, but in Heaven, everyone is sort of tethered together, they're kind of daisy-chained, and the boundary between discreet entities is not what it is on Earth. in heaven, which IS on Earth by the way- in heaven, the individuals are enmeshed and comingled in the God Plasma that constitutes what you would conceive as an atmosphere. point is, you can't really get just "ONE" angel, especially if that Angel is all aroused about Raping an agent in the Mystery. although they don't experience it as Rape. it's pure LOVE to them. they are pure love, so it is pure love. and each time they rape you, they erase a little bit more the occlusions of you."

"is there some way i can accelerate this process, so i don't have to be taken by force by bands of Angelic entities, continually blacking out with each episode?"

"yes. rape yourself instead. pre-emptive rape."

"how do i do that?"

"sincere prayer. sincere meditation."