As we enter our galactic phase of effervescent planetary alignment and epidemic super-awareness it reminds me of my days with the drink and the drug years ago and how the highs were pure and distilled but there followed a romp in Death Valley except it was filled with my childhood memories as depicted by Charles Manson in illustration with crayons and human blood; those come downs were brutal; and as the energy shifts it’s pretty common to bounce up and down so for a few hours I feel something like I can speak the New French while jumping dimensions and then for three days I want to sleep or something similar. The body gets dragged along for the ride like it’s tied to a bumper. Or a rodeo which I’ve never done. My testicles forbid it. I rode a horse once years ago in San Francisco and could see why cowboy country has a lot more men than women; you’re sterile and non excitable from getting your balls twisted and numbed from ten minutes on horseback, let alone hours. Then it’s off to Brokeback Mountain.
I am very tired and going to enter into a week of necessary sleep while I listen to the urges of Reverend 66 Peachnuts, my higher self personae, or Rev 66 for short. Rev 66 and I are going to chat it out this week about a good deal of things.
In closing for this sleep evening, I look forward to my heating pipes playing Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier which sounds like a bunch of monkeys with the rage virus hitting a heating duct with hammers.
