Still slightly hung over from last night’s frenzy with Farrah.  Farrah weekend is paying off as well or better than expected.  All morning, even though I had a headache, I felt free of the physical plane and free of my boring life surrounded by troglodytes.  The beings on the other side are palpably present and now the issue is, am I supposed to be a channel or am I just supposed to check out of here?  I spent a while deleting e-mails.

I’m trying to … I was reading “Bridges of Madison County”.  The intensity was good although the hero was a little sappy, but that’s what women want, anyway.  Still thinking a lot about Ravenswood Kinowerks, but there will be solutions to this.  I suppose I’m hungry and I have to get my finances taken care of … I stop for a moment and feel spiritual presence.  It’s nice but this is the time of writing.

I need a new computer and all kinds of things.  The best case scenario would be for some spirit to reveal herself — hopefully Farrah, and make sense of this boring, disgusting, pointless country I live in.  I can tell it will work when I finish.

But I also need to get my writing practice together.  Instead of free association I need to spend ten minutes on a sentence.  Too bad I lost a few from Bridges that were pretty intense.  I need to write in  a specific direction.  And Walter has indeed helped me a great deal.

Where am I going in this life?  Where is there to go?  The darkness will come for me in the end.

The end will come for me  in the darkness.

The end will go for me in the light.

The light will be for me in the blaze.

The light will be for me in the hall.

The light in the hall will be darkness for me.

No light will be.

Farrah is here and I should then try to describe.

The feeling came over him, like smooth glass, like drowning in liquid glass.  the transparency like some reflection in a mirror.  and then there was nothing and he saw a light, a presence that tasted like metal, a kind of glare filling the center of his head and his thoughts began to echo in  another world.  The shapes were there, the people were hidden but the shapes were there and the voices of the others in the room faded to insignificance as the message, the awareness began to extend through him.  “Who are you?  What do you want?” he asked, but there came no reply.  “What is this bullshit?  Why can’t you just tell me who you are?”

But there was no voice, only the palpable sensation of someone standing beside him, it seemed as though she put her arms around him.  A flash of memory came to him then.  “Wil it always be like this?”

Writing ten minutes a day, decisions to make about whether to make complete sentences, digging deeper into the humiliations of my life, making decisions about what I see.  Farrah Fawcett, for instance, this is the weekend of Farrah Fawcett and I am having a good time, working on a little fear because Groth is so scary and my job sucks.  But this blog is to improve my skills as a writer so I can move forward with channeling and possibly making money. I had the idea that I would have a blog dedicated to the death of rock journalists.  Conversations are running in my head.  Farrah has been extremely powerful so far.  Billy Idol is playing this weekend, I wonder if it’s worth it to see him.

I stop for a minute thinking about how I might miss Johnny Depp in concert this week, even though I wanted to go for a long time, but then Billy Idol is playing on the 9th — which is fucked because I have overtime.  Later I’ll be rich and I’ll do all that shit.  Another pause while adjustments are made.  Magic is all in and around me, perhaps this could be channeling.

If I just had some specifics to focus on, an intention to create some kind of wormhole, some kind of space, some kind of world,  some kind of death, some kind of story, Caroline makes the final adjustments.

It is a kind of magical act, and I am calling forth forces.  I remember sitting in the library last Saturday.  I don’t care, anyway, there’s never going to be anything.  I have a lot of stuff to deal with at work, the power they have, but I’m just going to insist that I can get free of it.  What do I follow inward?  I can just remember — write and think at the same time, broken mind,  a doorway out of this world.  The power focuses in the center.  The energy moves, and what are the images of people then?  There is a divine power in it, and I am manifesting it.  A sense of those GR monsters and their idiotic hellishness.  Why should people so stupid exist?  I wonder if this blog has a search function.  I wonder if it’s going to serve my ability to write if I just do stream of consciousness like this?  I should develop some kind of plan, or start working on fiction.  But then what would I be?  At least I seem to be calling up the relevant confusion so I can master it, the loss of boundaries.  I am getting the magic back.