by
Jaye B.
(editor’s note: The results of me isolated, utterly disgusted with people, staring out my window over the desert with notebook in hand, can be found below. Death is the only thing on my mind these days.)
I stare off in the direction of my Excarnation Destination, more confident than ever that I’ll reach it soon. The only inhibition being the void gauntlet I’m passing through, a plenum vacuum that requires both finesse and stealth to navigate. Then after surmounting such an obstacle, I find myself doing Lung-gom-pa, taking 12 to 15 foot long strides, thinking of the Black Hat Lama in Tibet who taught me how to short cut glide over the miles in such a way, as well as showing me how to dry wet towels on my back using tummo. But no more tantric shenanigans for me, having met up with a Christian deliverance minister in the back of a funeral home in Fergus Falls, Mn. in 2011, where Holy Spirit pulled the evil kundalini serpent wrapped around my spine, out of me for good.
With my long and thoughtful strides, I soon put a damper on desert distance and for real this time reach my mountain goal, while there is still light out. I lay down and witness my flesh dissolve into a mercurial pool that calligraphs an eloquently arcane epitaph in the brick red rock that now serves as my final bed.
After reading the grave poetry in the pristine emptiness here, I then muse upon the drunk from out of nowhere who once told me, "No one will come to your funeral Jaye.” Standing next to my car with nearly bald tires in the afternoon glare and slurring when he did so. The in vino veritas uttered right in my face during a job interview of all things.
Now with my lonely skeleton antenna exposed, talc ghosts caramelize the bones. One offers to be the officiating priest for this about to be dittoed-in-the-rock death at hand and I accept the offer and it reads from Ezekiel 37:
The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones,
2 And caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry.
3 And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.
4 Again he said unto me, Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
5 Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live.
6 And I will lay sinews upon you, and will bring up flesh upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and ye shall live; and ye shall know that I am the Lord.
As Pastor Talc pontificates, I take some cheap binoculars out of my backpack and look at my car a good 6 miles away to the southeast with all the doors opened, then another half mile, at a campsite of a guy I needed to bury the hatchet with, but felt it was he that had a pride and stubbornness issue, not me and that he should have driven over and broken the ice. Not me driving over to his campsite and doing so.
The only option now is to Meta visit his campsite, give him a VR hug and reconcile which I now do and feel better because it is more than real...the Meta reconciliation.
“No one at your funeral “ The consensual, non Meta drunk obnoxious says, thus spoiling my binocular revery.
The unsolicited drunk then disappeared from the scene, but what he said echoed true. No one at my funeral except the ravens and coyotes.
While looking to see where the echo came from, Fallen angels led by Samyaza, gather around the burial banquet, lowering their heads. My skeleton turns blue laser on them and they are captive audience, paralyzed in the raking light, while my marrow burns a tunnel through to yet another obsidian bubble auditorium, this one immense beyond measure.
We all fall in. The fallen ones fall into the audience seats and my skeleton, now 100% human re-fleshed, on the obsidian stage. Drunk with power, I say the following:
”You’ve had me in the crosshairs my entire life and have failed to bring me down.“ My light show antenna flesh and bones say to them. I experience déjà vécu, i.e., thinking I had already lived the funeral before, i.e. my confrontation with the fallen ones destined for Tartarus.
As I expired for non Meta real, I tuned into my blood and the nanobots, graphene oxide, quantum dots and Hydro gel and use them as a medium for the articulation of transient luminous events that will ensure free energy is used and universally distributed. Just like in the pre mud flood Tartarian days.
TBC
©2024-Jaye B.
Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-Fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
***
Jaye B. is a writer, musician and artist. His art criticism has appeared in Art Paper, New North Artscape, Art Muscle, Northfield Magazine and elsewhere. His articles have also appeared in City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, Mysteries Magazine, Fahrenheit San Diego, High Plains Reader, New Dawn and Rain Taxi. He has appeared on BBC Radio, WGN Chicago, WLW Cincinnati and elsewhere in the mediasphere to discuss his work. Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
Jaye, I sent 2 emails to you yesterday. They both came back saying they were undeliverable. I got concerned. Reading this at least assured me you are alive. Thank God. I would go to your funeral. If I knew where the fuck you are! Lol. But if writing keeps you breathing and you don’t have email anymore I will be satisfied with that. I am a true one. Faithful friend.
Abraham Makul.
You know who I am. You also know I AM - AHYH ASHER AHYH in Hebrew.
Makes 2 of us, no one will come to my funeral as well
🙏