Post 8-9, we do it again, we do it again, and then , then we smoke

Hello everyone,
The molossus step rhythm journal lives again.
I'll go right into it. The A&C company wagon has been rolling across the hills of Colorado since the last weeks. The testing of our wheels was made from the back muddy water roads that fell from the foothill rolling in storms, they cast us about but we steered toward the path. Since Denver, we went to Columbine National Park way up in Blackhawk. Beautiful Rocky Mountains, The mushroom potions let us sing our sordid social worries into the ether  where the fear of SPEAKING was tossed on the edge of a cliff and let to fall as the quartz boulders tumble to, away from our shoulders. Snow capped peaks were in the distance, and farther beyond Cloud Mountain Formations took their stations on the peripheral of our vision. It was as if mountains could never end, for the world was forever preparing the second wave teenagers along the battle ridge, set up in marching banners of stark opium white; where the eyes stayed glued for a long time.
WE met a camp manager named Buddy and he was a good man who offered us good liquors. We have a good place to stay. Now the A&C is working to get their Cards in order (Papers, Please) with the state so we are authorized to handle substance #2329/47, THC, the holy producer of violet terrors, bringer forth of the me, sharer of unconscious doubts.
Of course, a substance like that needs medicine peoples authorized in its psycho-psychological disposition. This takes a long time as the state is a bus named _CLEARANCE_, the astronaut spaceship sitting at dock for long whiles as paper work is made into fuel> BUT OUR FUEL WILL ARRIVE> in the mean time we are now in Fort Collins hanging out with a great man named TAD and he lets us sleep on his property. Earlier we were working as sub-contracted contractors through a temporary licensing agency- the University here needed expertise in the acts of dismantling and heaving heavy objects. Taeroot and Mara were sent to lift 12,000 gallon water bladders onto trucks, being sent to Mexico, As Part of AN ENORMOUS WATER TELESCOPE THAT will be reading for GAMMA RAYS created in the big bang. Crazy shit, Right?

Poem-
Resurgence.
"I Kind of wish that would happen,
sometimes..."
       What do you mean?...! says the reconstructed throat box
of which is arisen from the tracheotomy.
      Pen cancer hands are writing it all down.
     "I mean, the collapse of modern society.
 Through the internal,
external,
   force manipulation,
pressurization,
   eventually then,
depressing as well"
Across a field of swaying corn heads,
     the slack jawed horror slides across 200,000 faces,
turning,
from fear to accusation- i.e hatred.
As water in the bottle,
     motions,
       and then turns,
              to a most
                      Red Wine.
And From this, the spilling falling confessionals are tilting from my heart, the cup of liquid,
fumming out from the copper pipes of a shower
the disentangling pieces of hair,
pulled
from my wet scalp
and
tumbling
in salvation water spillage,
   Blessing the ground
of re-industrially processed linoleum
                                               /singing a swan song/
and i stand there panting
   Hyperventilating
with the dilated pupils of revelation
white knuckled on the shower pole edifice
which must be destroyed
MUST BE DESTROYED
AND I DESTROY IT.
(...........................................)
             So by now,
no one wants to look at me
no one is looking at me,
But i dont give a FUCK.
Time becomes this
immeasurable space for pause.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
golden rows parellel
of this waving
       gentle
               earth
I walk,
up and down
   her long stalks,
       and spotting you
and you
                      and you
 and you
and you
through her
tressling locks.
            Those faces now, are beautiful beyond compare, and i know,
that your twisted hurt features, are spasm muscle creatures
of
   Black Pain
of
   Abyssal Fear.
HAH!
I cup my hands! holding chakra pieces
vestibules of honesty,
love
shouting!
"Namaste Brother!"
"Namaste Sister!"



Till next time folks, pics up soon. Anything you wanna see?
I mean...
besides that.

hallucinating cowboys-
Arstin

Entry one: Ducktown, the hazards of no plan, enlisting green aids.

Dear cyber-survivors,
As the world axis turns the daily weeks along, so too have the wheels of my heart spun the fast beat pace of RPM's. Since whence we last saw each other, I have made many miles of progress through the great heartland of our country's forgotten name. It started with an AME, the first syllabic pull down of the tongue depressor. But our shot went wide. My partner and I, the Ever Resilient Strong Minded Captain, or ERSMC, have landed in the midst of Cherokee National Forest near the town of Ducktown, the townliest of all post-human settlements. Yesterday, we celebrated our 4th day in the wilderness with a wide bucket of black beans and wild garlic. Foraging has produced mixed results.              
            So far, we've eaten from the fatty tissue's fallen from Ostrich Ferns; curled balls of hairy Carboniferous Creatures. When cooked over flaming spit, they produce a mildly crunchy texture along with the flavor of earthly green. My personal delight has been in the delicate harvesting of Purple Scarlet's. My beloved ERSMC has informed me that they are actually Violets, but the fantastical holds my mind and scarlet is a pronounced favorite. The Violets, while soft and salad-y, take a enormous effort of time and crouching patience to gather enough for viable meal alternatives. There were also the fresh leaflets of the Red-Bud tree, small citrus flavored bulbs.
               As to the wild life, there have been several encounters with serpents- they were passive creatures basking in cool to sunny standing grounds. One was a curled small creature with grey to brown designs, the other a long black shimmery beast held in forested dignity. Once, while chopping dead wood for fire, I spotted up the tall banks of the mountain a rustling movement on the cliff edge. Thinking it twas my cumulous captain, I went to call out. But something held my tongue, and as the time passed its clocking seconds, I spotted a furry backside of brown-black fur, highlighted in silver hairs, with a small triangular tail. The beast was only there for a second, then it shimmed its way into a cave farther ahead. I stood wary but stalwart, and continued my chopping with renewed vigor.
       Today we wandered into town, ordered breakfast at a one Highway 68 Diner. The locals are nice people, rich in language and tone. There are many salvage events happening across the land, where junkers and hoarders bring their surplus stores to the roadside to sell it in bootleg scandal to unwary passerby. The captain and I searched for several moldy texts on foraging and mushroom hunting, but to no avail. Now we are situated within the Ducktown library, uploading our situation into the Logs.
My dreams have been wide and extreme; I have made songs with friends, travelled to airports with spainairds, and dreamt of treacheries within my heart. These first few days have been a great unfolding of the outer issues in my conical psyche- I struggle with the things that haunt my shoulders and the weaknesses of my own character. This great escapade seems to be the only thing that could save my own self-character from civilized immolation. I hope to walk from the woods a stronger person.








The rocks store my seed,
beneath the watery feet,
where naked I stood,
the come covered constellations,
reveal my hesitations,
as sunlight struck,
I stood stuck
across the stone-bed,
naked and wading in the river,
yet too scared to swim.










             Till next time Space-Cowboy,
Austin the Lazar Wiggin