Everything became reversed.  A green-purple glow hung in the air over the city, shimmering in the sky like the sail of a ship.  The broken remains of the Biodome flashed and bent the light in total chaos.  People sat mesmerized on the roofs of buildings, gazing up at it, afraid to look down at the chaos in the streets below.  The automated flight-paths of the skimmers were distorted and deranged.  Drones and cars on autopilot crashed into buildings, sending flaming wreckage into the crowds below.  Lights were out all over the city.  There was looting and screaming as a howling wind blew cold across the bay and swept them all into a kind of timeless fury.  People were shaking violently and falling down in the street, plunging deep into trance states they would never remember for the rest of their lives.  Others were pushed out of their bodies, their astral doubles flung into the air to look down at themselves far below.  Many of the most devout Coconstructives simply went insane.  Convinced that the Hero was about to return, they took to the streets with weapons and fury.  The war had begun.  The military sent drones to the outer city to gas the civilians, but they were overtaxed programmed for surveillance, not warfare – so easy to shoot down that it became a game to bait them, waiting to the last minute to blow them out of the sky with small arms.

It was the soldiers who presented the real problem.  And Novosh’s elite Black Guard were the worst of the lot.  Many of the rank and file abandoned their posts, not wanting to shoot their own friends and family, but Novosh’s minions, when they were not utter cowards, went to the utter extreme and plunged through the screaming crowds with abandon, spreading carnage wherever they went as Novosh sat in his lair, watching the spectacle on a bank of 128 monitors and brooding over his next step.

And through it all, all of those who remained conscious were fascinated by the eerie presence they could all feel but not explain.  A  power that seemed to come from within and without at the same time, a kind of invisible glow, or curved air that centered in their minds but which removed all sense of boundaries against the outer world.

Cassie found herself wandering, her clothes ragged and torn, through the city streets just outside the Citadel.  She was weeping, convinced that all was lost when suddenly she saw or somehow sensed with her mind’s eye a presence standing before her.

“Cassie!,” came the familiar voice.  “You should have told me, Cassie.”

Something moved ahead of her and she raised her sunken eyes to see 3Pac standing before her, just as he had appeared the last time she’d seen him alive, except that he had changed his clothes.  He was now wearing a cloak of blue velvet.

Cassie glared and lunged at him, trying to kill him, “You son of a bitch, we all thought you were dead!  I was worried to death about you.”  She struck him on the chest several times, which he allowed because he was so much bigger than her.

“I thought … I thought I could do it differently.” he said.

I just got done with a dreaming circle and I had some ambiguities to resolve (I think).  I feel good that the presence of the spirit world is so powerful, but I am still going into a confused state where, even though I am struggling to shift my point of attraction into better-feeling, I am still having horrible anger at the stupidity of my life’s journey, the tediousness of occultism, and the emptiness of cocreation.  On the lighter side, Carrie Fisher was making her presence felt very powerfully.  She is really getting results for me and providing some kind of hard boundary for me to push against.  She’s a friend, and perhaps I knew her in former lives.

So now I’m feeling the blackness becoming something I can work with.  I doing sex magick on Fetlife this morning and I could feel the merging of money and sex energy within me.  I feel more free in this world than ever before and I can more readily identify the broken spot within me where individuality bleeds into these watery visions of the Nazi conspiracy and the world of art, and also the strange memories of the past.  There are lots of impressions of Natalie Portman, too, like a new model of a possible wife.

The spirit world is coming down clearly but there’s still a block, like it’s not my place to serve justice or stick up for justice.  Lots of dystopian fantasies about Paul Foster Case and dead bureaucracies.  Fisher is urging me to write, to address these things logically as they happen.  The question is, how do you aim for the best target, the highest good, when the waters are muddied by cocreation and the failures of the Western School?

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.

I imagine there will be some sort of revelation soon.  I feel pretty good but my contempt for Saint Germain is also raging.  I still wonder why it was important to experience such sordid, disgusting people (P.C., etc.).  However I feel like some change is taking place and that makes me happy.  I want to balance my day and run my rig smoothly.

I was in Gamestop, trying to pick out a video game.  I thought of Diablo III.  I was trying to decide who I am.  There’s some relatedness between the idea of getting lost in a story, and a sense of belonging.  The geek impulse.

Some belonging seems on the approach.

My need for the walking iPod trance seems to be lessening.

A strange mind game between a psychologist and the prisoner he is sent to analyze.  A trail of cards whirling around clockwise toward a center, with bifurcating paths.  The prisoner has the powers.  Reminds me of the guy from Guardians of the Galaxy and The Walking Dead.

There’s a moment where there are a whole lot of naked bodies, like an orgy, and I or someone is urinating on all of them.