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My Dumb Ass

Hi, my name could be baalam, but i'd prefer to say I were his ass. Back in early spring of this year, while the snowstorms were just receeding up in the wintery nrthern wisconsin indian head reigon, i travelled to my youthful home of ladysmith. I had decided to invest in a quantity of acid, and a quantity of hash, rather than to secure correct plans for attempting to live wild for a short period of time, this proved to be a very destructive decision, and as a result I wrecked just about every good thing in my life.
As an ass, and in the context of being a donkey, I was ridden by my own elenini, and so have seen some semblance of ala in a quest led by my master. As it were I have been stopped by a strong angel. If you can recall the biblical story being referenced, you will notice that the master of my asses tale were indistinguishable from both my elenini, be I a donkey with concious magnetic attractions, or an angel of ala, within these same paramiters.
At this uncertian juncture in the road, i now stand, watching the forces of creation unfolding as they have a subtle, and possibly uncommunicable interaction before my eyes. Were I to give strength to the negative aspects of he who tickles the drum, my elenini could rise into manifest osogbo, kosi that. However without an understanding of the language of what is correct, and what is false, or within a clearer understanding of the perceptions of an ass, I am finding it difficult to move on my own, bearing such a bridle in my mouth (this being both the angels sword, and balaam's bit).

Moving along on this tale, through the art and science of transmutation, transfiguration recalls my form before contraction into the ass of an ass. I swam through my own mind, and this I call the oceans, as I were a whale. Through the whale wire I heard about diviners in trouble in a boat. I quite enjoyed eating these types, as despised by god as they were. Twisted inside into the seed of sins they would find themselves among dantes levels of the underworld should they have attempted to look for demise. On a quest from the only white god, I hurridly cast my lot into those prepared to devour these fallen soldiers of fate, yet upon arriving near thier ship, I was dissappointed to find that they had procured, of thier knowledge of the strands of fate, the way to balance the storms and return to thier smooth waters. My passion aroused, i swam up and rocked thier boat, just a nudge, but you know eniyan crafts, it nearly toppled. Over the side of the ship flew a single man, a tiny morsel caught of my own aggression, and with pleasure, i swallowed him whole, staving off my emotions enough to bring me back into my path through the waters, my mind.
As the sun began to set, I noticed my stomach begin to feel sour. The man I had swallowed appeared not to have been a diviner at all, as they usually knew death was coming, and accepted this. There was definate movement in my stomach. As perturbed as I was, I decided to steer myself towards other parts of my awareness.
I knew I would have to cough the man up, it was a disaster, his refusal to become my lunch was almost a smack in the face to the nature of things, however, my being a good and god fearing whale, as with the seven virgins i had swallowed the week after, i remembered my oath to be kind to those who do not know. For his pleasure, after such a foul and unpleasuarable adventure, I decided to cast him out near the shore of a city of men which always expanded pleasurable strings which touched my watery mind.
I puked that fucker out at Ninevah, and i'm not going to burn in whale hell, like those stupid lobsters.

Images gathered beforehand from the unknowable parts of a mind only I had swam through, even just now, reflect perfect attributes to the secret name of that which I am showing you currently. I love the way the words, evoked by said images, genlty bring other thoughts into the mind of the reader, thoughts of similar experiences called from the depths within through the alchemy of glyphs. As I stare into this, my own reflections, gazing gently into both of ourselves, I can hear a cursed echo. That which I write, may you never be towards me. These images I hold are eternally powerful weapons, and knowledge of the unknown. Echo, her name, quietly wonders wether her voice could have helped at all.

Here at the end of this journey within, dreamed to expose to some, such as what I am becoming without effecting the truths in those minds with which I am communicating, I hover above you, carrying all of my love and what is growing with it. As I gently toss the first string, here, of myself, to you, I acknowledge the falseness of a virus spreading conciousness which may reflect upon its own pains, and only hope not to become intoxicated with the scents of creating. This scratching upon your vessel is not done in truth, as any abuse, and yet to some there will always be a pain. Still, my love is a golden strand of hair, woven with twelve seen strings into a simpler and more complex braid of hair, within the portrusions of a feather which elongates itself from the serpentine witherings of the strings of life. Should I require the war and apply such mathmatics towards craft to float above eniyan, Odua would wonder why such a ship was neccessary for a child of Oya floating through the kingdoms of an ever present king. While all the priesthood of this tale unfolding could wonder wether there are enough Odu occuring at anytime to wake our own flaws, heal the son of man within this waking dream, and avoid the genetics required to posion another world once our power source connects forever to a new form of fractal calculation. An aeon has passed, it seems, since more than what we see was known, and an aeon has passed, it seems, since all we knew was almost lost, yet the feathers of the serpentine string, at least in theory shall always continue to unfold, expand, contract. Sese Olongo, Olongo Sese.

Bobby

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"If the America people ever allow private banks to control the issuance of their currencies, first by inflation and then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around them will deprive the people of all their prosperity until their children will wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered." ~Thomas Jefforson



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The following comments are for "Odua's Chain"
by roach





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