2016 Pre-dictions, as first appeared on Facebook, with one personalized addendum.

1. Clever people everywhere will finally fashion new terminology to describe their old, threadbare emotions and also their mildewed, inadequate political notions: their many staid dictums, misapprehensions, unifying theories, scabby formulations that smell of Professor Father’s logic, opinions on the predictability of Pearl Harbor, generalized schools of thought and such. Our current, devil-worshiping form of Capitalism is listening in, however, and so this new terminology is discovered and, the public is told, sent to an island prison. In reality, the terms are tortured and dismembered, but for use in snuff films that fetch an obese price in Panama, Tel Aviv, and the UAE.

2. Interested and mentally active types in certain isolated pockets will begin to research world and human cultural history as if they could bravely think for themselves. A narrow stratum of credentialed, so-called historians will discard their asinine training and vain pedagogical models, and discover the phenomenon of Most major historical transformations having come as a result of connivance and conspiracy, often undertaken in places called “groves,” and “lodges” or “backrooms,” not to speak of “state-run child brothels.” They will also miraculously locate information on World International Freemasonry and the ancient mystery schools and religions from which it depends. Freemasonry will be admitted to be one and the same, virtually, with Hebrew Kabbalah, (which, in essence, predates Judaism, as such) as the Masons themselves know and write about openly.

3. We will somehow squeeze in a return of a Mahdi or Messiah or an Anti-Christ or two. Sequels and puerile cinema will proliferate, of the animated and super hero variety. Count on 95 per cent of filthiness, rubbish, and occult flim-flam-fakery in all these developments.

4. All the monumental stone phalluses everywhere will come alive at once and a great mystical shower of Osiris-powered life support fluid will fill the skies of every land. It will be blamed on global warming, instead of the obvious and logical sorceries that surround us at every turn in this modern age which fatuously claims to have banished God, demons, magic, and the Devil, in favor of nuclear deterrents, analgesic opioid pills, and easily collapsible Manhattan skyscrapers.

5. Some number of sinister books will be published, codifying cynical and jingoist philosophies that will lead to newer, ever more flavorful forms of imperialist bloodshed in the service of much darker Izms, on which exactly no books will be published. The sinister books will appear and be lauded in all the right journals and universities.

6. Lots of mind-numbing propaganda supporting obstinate and morally unsupportable belief systems. Crucial mysteries go unsolved, every day. Occult Hollywood will continue to impishly foretell of weird and generally deadly public Scenarios such as mass shootings, the snuffing out of somehow symbolic celebrity personalities, and, of course, mass casualty events to be blamed in every erroneous case on some other people or religion than those which authored them.

7. There will be an uncertain tottering in the confidence and arrogance of this dreadful cryptocracy that runs the world, if erratically and seemingly under the duress of factionalism and the contrary efforts of slight but measurable forces of Human or Godly Goodness and Virtue. These will be perhaps minor blows to the sure-footing of the evils currently enshrined in the human order of things. But we will be able to identify them and we will all swell with pride if not participation. Little, quiet, private battles will be waged in millions of chest cavities and minds and dreams, against wickedness and villainy and the debilitating effect on the human soul of professional year-round sports leagues that sublimate warfare and train us for easily provoked limbic fevers against The Other. Etc.

8. Kristaps Prozingis will win ROTY and cease growing except in areas of general human excellence. Etc.

9. Children will become more like materialist mad dogs devoted to sensualism, self-seeking, and the love of technologies that do and encourage almost everything universally wrong. Adults continue to become more like children. Adults will get even more disgraceful forms of plastic surgery than have yet been devised by our sick, infantilizing, soulless armies of priestly doctors. Adults will increase their consumption of the briny piss of the pan-sexual demimonde of Madison Avenue and Hollywood, and will finally certify and announce that the piss is ambrosial quality. The fluid will be marked up beyond the reach of the huge lower classes, which event will naturally create a cultic need among those classes, for the expensive piss. Knock-off brands and lines of fashion referencing the Olympic piss will then be spawned. Perversely related to all this scheduled, piss-drinking infantilism, The Predominant ethical issue of our time will keep being ignored so that its implied, institutionalized criminality may continue without any fussing or trouble. Which is to say, the use of children for the pleasure and compromising of powerful human beings all throughout world governments and high society, everywhere, will continue to be permitted and sanctioned by the state, and slowly, larger society will be conditioned to accept this through various insidious modes of pedophile and gender-confusing cultural programming. The Dennis Hastert, Tom Delay, Caitlyn Jenner and Jeff Gannon brand of moral relativism. None of the above is good, unless one is into that sort of thing.

10. Cthulhu and The Kraken and all their kind will return from the depths and other shadowy regions to give us a full upbraiding. 

11. I will personally fail at something in a conspicuous, flailing manner, and it will be widely observed. I will succeed at my Great Work, and it will be as well-and widely-regarded as a silent fart in a communal old person's home, or facility, or holding pen, or whatever you prefer to call it.

Love songs, potentially... a progressive melodic stance on the ritual of woke-modern mating.

Side A

1. Baby, come back to me (because the batteries in your collar are running low.)
2. You and I (were made for each other )( but is your friend interested in going home with us tonight?)
3. How Can You Stand Not to Love Me, Baby?
4. What is a Little Wart compared to My Love for Thee?
5. You're Just like Your Father, Baby.
6. You're Exactly Like Your Mother, Baby.
7. How Dare You Block Me, I'm the Best and Kindest Person You will Ever Know.
8. When Assholes Cry.

Side B

(currently awaiting inspiration)

Brothers and Sisters.

we are a mess,
we are foully worse than a mess.
a mess can be cleaned.
we are a stain of leftover pain from
a secret blood ritual practiced in the dark
on an ancient sabbath.

we are a cyclone of orderly doubt and small-mindedness,
of dependence on drugs and onanism.
ephemeral pleasure is our God.

we have little time
but that's never been an obstacle
to our lust for wasting it,
along with the timid dignity of our souls.

we all wear the hair shirt and the crucifix
and the necktie and
the jagged-toothed chastity belt.
none of us really knows why.

we all have our favorite dirty things
and we all secretly dislike our own stink,
and love it, too.

Let's go out for a drink by myself

in the humid, confounded
confines of my mind, i am often heard saying
"fuck this," or "fuck that,"
or "this motherfucking moron and that shit-brained scoundrel-beast. What happened to all
the good abortion doctors?"
i peer at unknown men across bars,
too comfortably scanning their faults and vanities,
with the kind of consuming but off-handed
contempt that even their depressed
and ashamed mothers
might have trouble feeling.
The thoughtless, self-adoring follies
of youth
are to me a very big intolerable deal,
because these days,
you must admit
the youth is like terminal cancer,
like daily nuclear war and fallout.
They are far too big for any britches ever made,
and there are no legitimate medical organizations
founded to stamp them out,
or stem their tide,
or limit their travel to within the boundaries
of the plantation.

....(Fearfully) ..Also, there are just more of them now,
in simple math terms:
because they never grow up...
the instinct to adulthood is excised, purged
away into the toilet of youth-worship
and Currency and Orgasm:
things that Aging is Not.
Yes what you are seeing is a
concretion of hot, idle, human droppings,
a plague of
many generations of giant infants,
a mass backing and piling up of
big ol babies
pumped full of a mad priapic sex drive,
with the evil motor of
ascendant,
war-mongering capitalism
powering their well-muscled
and tightly packaged,
glorious legs and arms,
justifying everything for them,
every casual, disdainful
act of shittiness, every answer delivered with a snarkle,
every posture of uncaring,
each dull impulse towards combativeness
and the cruel humor of
the shallow and insecure, 
yes justifying
all this with Josey Wales-style gritty determination
and the will to shoot any Nicaraguan who
does not smile agreeably or join the US Marines
on a dodgy citizenship basis,
justifying the imagined responsibility to publicly revile
any sensible person
who might not care about carbon emissions
or the fucking trans-gendered,
any more than any other pointless soft-shoe
shuffling of a manufactured political issue.
O sweet blood-drinking neo-liberal capitalism that
gives all this shucking a very hale and immortal
and fashionable
soundtrack of death denied,
but ever-present.
Fucking milquetoast petit bourgeois poseurs,
your soft hands stink of blood.

Admit it. 

...The youth is expert at sneering, and derision,
and sniffing at things and pronouncing
that they have definitely
seen and sniffed better things before,
and did so first.
Here is the link, they opine,
Full of vile second-hand opinions as they all are.


And they like better bands and
have seen more better movies than you,
and for them, those two trifling
cultural forms actually pass
as "art," providing
the raw flavorless material
for major aspects
of their shabby personalities.
Conversation seems to be cannibal,
a mode of combat among them,
marked by insecure waving around
of the wooden swords
of their intellects,
and some pissing
about alternately with slang and
pseudo-informed phrases, sucked from the
fat mother's teats they can no longer survive
without:
their beloved internet,
and black american culture.

Honestly i suspect that many
of them could not put on their tight leggings
without first consulting directions on Reddit,
or find white privilege distasteful,
unless
some very knowledgeable rapper
had explained the process to them.
They are the most dismal
and therefore the most perfect americans ever.

Above all, they are happy to love mostly themselves...no, no..
they are positively Ecstatic at this prospect
of a life spent
loving mostly their
own tired, opinion-holding, dingy asses.
If they could tongue and make love to their own bungholes,
we would never have to deal with them, for
they would be chronic shut-ins,
eating every meal
repeatedly,
and posting awful pictures
of each repast.
These average icons whose shit not only
doesn't stink, but which
has excellent flavor.
I am not really joking.
Narcissism is the new
default state.
Facebook is deathless proof
that we are all celebrities,
celebrity rats trained
to stab the hell out of various buttons,
fiendishly hungry for the
cocaine rewards of acknowledgment
and a carefully designed,
favorably impressive
image of the Self..
The Lie of YOLO is
now official, sanctioned State Policy.

i try to avoid conflict and dreadful fits of
embarrassment at belonging to this shit-ass species of
gussied-up monkey,
this
infantilized and perfumed primate,
that is, i try
to avoid going needlessly into public
without the fortification of alcohol or some other drug,
but sometimes it can't be helped.

sometimes i must go to
a bar and drink in public
so that i can
scrabble about
in the great trashy pre-school of my particular city,
hunting
for some feelings of
bonhomie with a familiar face
or a brand-new face, one of those
that has
the rare
promise of wit or humanity,
or that prima materia, Humility.
Or maybe
i go out to remind myself of the happiness
and wisdom there is in staying home.

It can't be said
that i am a complete cynic
or a hopeless acid-bellied sourpuss,
for i never go out drinking without my lantern,
my magic lantern
of Diogenes,
for looking in the gloomy cave
of my particular society for that honest man who
doesn't babble
and confuse his ass-fed opinion with
truth or reason,
and who doesn't say dull, infuriating, inert things
as a rule,
Just like it says in the script,
and in the meme,
and on the bathroom wall

Of goats and mice-men.

There's a lot that is rather troubling going on with the worship, or at least the garish transcendence of, the goat-form Godhead figure called "Baphomet" these days in America. As with most others who are familiar with basic occult practices and occult religious preoccupations, it is now altogether obvious to me that we're living in some spiritually souped-up and funky times. So the frequent appearance of the goat imagery is revealing to us, and interesting, and unsurprising, but no less discomfiting.

I'm just more interested than most people and even the small community mentioned, in cataloging events, ritual undertakings, individual but seemingly connected deaths, and the oddities within the vast world entertainment system, which go to prove this first observation about goat-worship, goat-fetish. I tend to file them away mentally without much effort, as with knowing the scouting reports and potential, etc, of many NBA players, which i should not, but do. There isn't any doubt about the fact that this Open Baphomet Fetish is happening on a broad and highly placed scale, but the Why and Why Now is certainly open for questioning. So i've helpfully selected four instances in which Baphomet has appeared in a high-flown and obvious way in the national American consciousness. I invite the reader to consider these four separate instances and maybe reflect on what it all means, in these very dodgy, these very scientifically and spiritually wondrous times. Indeed, while considering, you might keep fixed in your mind the notion which is increasingly admitted and repeated within Accepted Science and various forms of Physics (which is the vanguard trailblazer of All sciences, it seems to me, and in some ways simply the new and all-encompassing science that was once called "alchemy"). This is the notion that Reality can now only honestly be described, and its definitions pursued, in terms of what have long been called "supernatural." God particles and dark matter and parallel universes and human consciousness being the result of a possible "computer simulated reality" a la "The Matrix," are but a few of the new paradigms of speculative scientific language which are trying to keep up with the deepening metaphysics and sorcery of the CERN-and-wormhole-era of Academic Wisdom. Throw in this unaccountable sort of forced diet of  "ancient alien" TV programming and slow-drip UFO Full Disclosure business, (not to mention the burgeoning of a revisionary history and "conspiracy theory" consciousness among the public) and you may agree that nothing is very certain anymore. The scope of human reason is at once greatly expanded and humbled.

And now, as predicted above, The Four Goat-men of the Apocalyptic Age, so to speak:

1. George W Bush is believed by some to have been conducting, or at least dimly and nervously presiding over, an inaugural rite at the BOOKer Elementary School in FL on the 2001 September morning of the Day of the Three Collapsing Skyscrapers (or "Pillar-mids" as they've been dubbed by some, the totemic Twin Pillars along with their third sidekick of Building 7, with its numerologically sound 47 floors (4+7= not ten!). The twins = a symbolic 11, and AA Flight 11 struck the twins first, and AA is in gematria terms also an "11"). But enough with silly numbers that cannot and never will lie....

The reason these people feel there was ritual purpose and significance in that morning's very weird read-along with the basically all-black schoolchildren at the Booker school, has to do with the fact that Bush and the gang read from a Book called "My Pet Goat." My understanding of the book is that the titled goat is out of control and eats literally everything. But the moral lesson is that hey, this is what goats do. Anyway, added to this symbolic, child's text-based inference is that Bush and his ilk were already considered in some circles as being practical devil-worshipers, owing to their allegiance to certain Yale fraternities, as well as the CIA, and their involvement in some precisely odious issues of skullduggery pertaining to both said outfits, which are indeed long connected, one to the other. The Booker school's early morning events (which were all the more conspicuous bc the POTUS was extremely leisurely by his staying at that well-advertised location Long After he should have been whisked away to safety) have been seen as occult in flavor specifically, though, because of a set of themes and winking metaphors collected under the Freemasonic concept known as "Riding the Goat." Research that silly shit yourself. Whether or not the Second-Graders (not quite third degree) are chanting words that have ritual meaning is surely to be debated. Still, it is a now indisputable fact and chain of causative reasoning, and easily conceded by the logic-and-open-minded-person who values real evidence, that once Non-11 has been sufficiently studied, it will be understood as being more than just an act of geopolitical terrorism, but also a Massive Public Ritual to usher in the new age of Horus/Aquarius, the new Millennium, the new alchemical age, all of which are well-accepted and studied concepts and astrological transitions. That kind of thing naturally requires a sizable blood sacrifice, it would always seem. Since this is a provable if not so comfortable or easily learned-of fact, one must then view the events at the Booker School with some added curiosity, and an extra bend at the knees to look under the bed of this unsettling scheduled press event. I challenge anyone who is alive and has a creditable brain to come up with a more memorable and heart-sinking, physical display of paralysis in the face of crisis, than what Andrew Card and his little friend the President showed on that morning from the Second grade classroom, as the cameras rolled and the world watched. Bush sat there with what may be called a look of terrifying, existential helplessness and worry, a kind of class clown look of not quite knowing-it-all but being deeply troubled by it all, and not exactly "surprised." That's my interpretation of the cretin's facial expression that morning. A simple man can't hide extremely complex emotions.

2. The "I-Pet Goat" animated movie that blew up on the internet a few years back, and has been ceaselessly analyzed, pored over and explicated, never with a very positive or uplifting tone or conclusion. I'm not sure what to think of the short film or its makers, but it is chock full of alchemical allegory and "New World Order" type of ominous augury and symbolic reference, including, of course, a whole theme about Bush in the Booker classroom. Needless to say, the movie's name references the Goat from the read-along-kids-right-here-this-is-what-it-says morning of non-11. Consider that from that morning on, millions if not billions of people have been reciting from rote memory all the explanations of the Tragic Events, events which were delivered from On High, and whose explanation was, too, and with the added savory support and solemn regurgitation of the entire invertebrate corps of wormy, working journalists, everywhere. The reader should perhaps take the time to watch this "I Pet Goat" movie, produced by "Heliophant."

3. On some precise and no doubt numerologically sound day in this past month of May, the Hoover Dam experienced a major graffiti event that few sensible people can understand, and even fewer know about. Some PR company affiliated with some development in the area of massive, extremely bright lighting technology, was allowed to project onto the huge face of the Hoover Dam an image of the logo for a certain mediocre soccer team from Koln, Germany, where this PR company is from. Sarcasm is here a totally unfit tool. Even when the logo is a Picture of a Giant Goat Standing Atop the team's Logo, which features behind it the iconic Two Towers of the medieval cathedral of Koln, which is known for these two spires. Sarcasm would here be inappropriate, i hope you agree. The oddly influential German PR company which loves its futbol team so, is reported to have done this mega-projection on our Hoover Dam in order to get publicity and break some world records regarding the longest or largest projection ever. I'd urge you to check the Youtube channel "Police State Radio," for its "Secrets of the Hoover Dam" video, a very well-done, pithy investigation into this surely meaningless event. By the goat-god what did i just say about sarcasm?!

4. Detroit got a big-ass devil statue, and Oklahoma got a bigger "Church of Satan" Adolphus Levi-style Baphomet statue, which was intended to sit at the Oklahoma statehouse. I'm not really sure if it made it onto the lawn or if public outcry prevented that, and I don't really care, just as i didn't care to look up the exact date of the Hoover Dam projection, because why must i always repeat their unholy numerals? The medium is the message, the story has already made its way into the nation's bloodstream, and many people have seen the amusing statue, like a re-imagining of the infamous "Greek God George Washington" statue making the Hermetic Maxim salute. Only the OK baphomet is flanked by a boy and a girl. My guess is that to live in the united states of america in this time is to be engaged in a constant sex-majikal ritual orgy. It's just a matter of whether or not you are consenting, or being simply used. It's very probably better to be used, in this foul scheme.

...so, in any cold case, just watch out for the Goat-god and take a minute to think outside your secular and secure box of god-forsaking reasoning. You don't have all the fucking answers, Kid, and i wouldn't suggest looking in the New York Times for them, either. 

terms in the lexicon that reveal our shadiness:

1. "Hit it." This is a reference to coitus, or lovemaking.
2. "Smash it." This is a reference to coitus, or lovemaking.
3. One is "killing it" when they are succeeding very well. Apparently we're all stand-up comedians.
4. to "nut," a definitively male term for orgasm now used by women.
5. "bitch" and "ho" used among well-fed and -reared white women, and used with some camaraderie.
6. "what's up, Dawg." Any mention of "sup" applies here. This is a juvenile and affectedly casual    thing to say.We are not on the level of dogs, in fact.
7. Referring to someone light-heartedly as "Killa."
8. "White trash." A patently racist and white supremacist term that few white folks understand.
9. "Sucks." This term has now passed into a state of complete unreflection and acceptance. And so it reveals our depth of depravity and our devotion to crude patriarchy.
10. "Savage" as a general descriptor for an idea or subject thought to be Worthy, Radically Good, or otherwise deserving of approval.
11. "Slay"...just more vicious and dehumanizing Verb vernacular from our living Purgatory of social engineering managed by kabbalists. It means "to do well." To review, killing and murdering is good and desirable. It will get you ahead, inevitably securing you fame, respect and power.

"there was nothing there!"

it's reasonable to assume
that a reptilian
Fear of the State
welling up from the timid
reptile region of me
is what caused
the tears to spill over my
wine and salt-fattened cheeks
that day some years ago,
when the nice policeman circled back
and accosted me for
walking in the open air
with an open bottle,
and not, as he said, the decency
to disguise it.

But when he was done administering
his version
of Justice-by-tedious, drawling, solipsistic lecture,
and i was then obliged to offer
my minute's minuet of being
cowed and eager to explain myself, officer,
what should happen
but a big greasy plump tear
of sick-souled heart-burn
spilled greedily down my right face.
he got the unstately raw version.
I clutched that bottle
like an I.V.
and told him why i looked
like i did,
and then he was the one
who felt cowed,
and sorry for his crimes, and drove off with his
officer's mind all heavy
with some permanently open 
and weeping love wound
from his past,
it's reasonable to assume.