Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2005 04:35:01 EST
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Robin Goodfellow
Subject: Yog-Sothoth Grants Permission to Write about Him
(Robin spoke:)
Well...last heard from he was occupying the stygian depths organizing the chthonic Ancienter "Old Ones" who have grown tired of being relegated to the Nether Regions and are forming a union.
(And I replied:)
As if he can really get anything accomplished, since he dumped me! It was our usual morning coffee peeve: Yoggie had all His tentacle-panties up in a bunch, 'cause there was no more white sugar. I don't touch the stuff, you see, and I leave this matter up to Him. So, for the umpteenth time (literally), Yog glared at me over the New Yog Times while the coffee was perking, and ranted:
"No white sugar again!" To which I responded in rote: "If Og don't buy sugar Himself, Og won't have sugar when Og gets home, now will Og?" Of course, that was the perfect excuse to ask me to leave pronto, and never sully His seaweed-covered doorstep again, with my un-unholy shadow.
They want to relocate to Rhode Island, from where their tentacles will engulf the psyche of humankind.
Makes sense. My earthly father was born and raised on Rhode Island.
I believe their former leader, Derleth, did die,
First they can't die, then they can, then they can't die again, then they die again, ad infinitum. These Most Ancient Ones have gone senile from advanced aging.
(Who am I to criticise, being among their very first interconjugational experiments? Being raised by such monsters has turned me into an absolute cynic. It was bound to happen.)
One of 'em begged to give me a BJ, and I obliged (strictly out of scientific curiosity, mind you.) He said he hasn't sucked hominid cock since Yog gave him an all-expenses-paid weekend retreat to the Olduvai Gorge...more than two million years ago! (Now we know the REAL origin of that phrase: "I Love Lucy". It started out as "I love the loose ones.")
leaving a vacancy, an emptiness, a void that could make strong men mad
No surprise here. REAL men don't put up with such dick-teasing as the Ancient Ones are wont to do. And they think their karma will never get back to them. I guess when you rule a universe after a number of eons, it tends to go to one's head...or where we think the head might be. (Well, I've always said Yog's penis is where His brain should be! But that was before I realized that among my many spiritual treasures was the gift to make whatever I say come true.)
and lesser ones to slay themselves.
Robin, you know very well this translation is only a guess. "Slay" could be easily (and more correctly) replaced with "relieve" or "arouse". The debate is far from over!
In other words, Yoggie is up to the same old, old, old, hoary with antiquity tricks!
This is not good: we simply cannot share the same pet name for our Master. It will only wind up exterminating countless galaxies before the interstellar dust settles. Maybe you could drop the "Y"?
"That is not dead, which can eternal lie; But with strange æons, even Death may die!"
Exactly how I feel in the morning before my first cuppa java.
Rev. Robin Goodfellow -- who agrees:
"Cthulhu for President! Why settle for the lesser evil?"
How about I run for Prez (as usual), w/Cthulhu the VICE Prez? Though I'd prefer Nyarlethotep, as He's a much better lay (and without those nasty eyeballs on the tip of each cock, like Cthulhu. If I need a sygmoidoscopy I'll march right on down to UC Med Center, thank you very much).
You once said to me years ago, Robin (in your previous incarnation as "Steve"), that some believe we humans are gods and goddesses who made ourselves forget who we really are. Well, I think that makes more sense than any other pop ideology I've heard; or for that matter, any mom ideology. So the ascent into higher consciousness is merely waking up to our divine origins. And perhaps we do this, to make our eternal lives a little less boring? Let's just get there SOON, before my remaining teeth all rot and drop out, okay? :)
Now, I accept my divine right as a god...but never imagined I'd turn out to be one of the Dark Ones from Lovecraft's Cthulhuian Mythos!
Though I can't say in all fairness, that New England is such a bad place to inhabit. So many inbred servants, Yog's harem is hardly missed!
Jon Sugar walked up to me in a recent open-mic, and said: "I've seen your skits several times. You're very funny, and I'd like to invite you to my own open-mic put on by GAWK January 29". Ahhhh, why are such good things happening to me these days? Methinks Yog wants to make things up to me, and is showering me in His dark rays of suboceanic gloom.
Then again, maybe He's pissing. Or worse.
Sinqueerly,
Zeke-Azothoth
P.S.: I'm gay, if anyone wants to know. All the Ancient Ones are gay. Many humans are soon due for a rude un-awakening!
Date: Tue, 25 Jan 2005
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Robin Goodfellow
Subject: Thanks for the inspriation.
BTW, Robin, your bringing up Cthulhu brought up those dear memories when I first learned about HP Lovecraft...and I've been in love with his darling little New England abysmal horror tales, ever since! So then, this inspired me to compose a witty little essay of a retort in a piece that also celebrates Lovecraftian creation.
So thanks much for the inspiration...know that this is the first piece I ever wrote where you explicitly inspired an artistic revelation in my soul. That is indeed the mark of a shaman, to kindle such intense spiritual fire. And it will probably trigger numerous additional ideas that merely wait patiently in my subconscious till each, in its time, wakes in me a new revelation.
While I did use a pseudonym instead of "Dexter", you may now find the essay you inspired on my weblog: "Yog-Sothoth Grants Permission to Write about Him". [Note: Since posting this letter, "Dexter" has given permission to use his real name, "Robin".]
Embellished with Lovecraft images (click on each to go to a relevant site) and magickal links, I think you'll find it a most enjoyable read. If you prefer to have your real name and/or e-mail address on my weblog, just say the word. But you, if anyone, should know of your inspirational influence on me. In fact, some things you've said to me remain fresh in my memory...and which memories I occassionaly dust off to admire again. Here they are:
- Once when I had a head cold and we were sitting together in The Castro Cafe (was that it's name?), I mentioned I'm not really that ill, as my mucous is crystal clear. You responded quite sweetly, at my purity of innocence (for want of a better phrase; IOW you complimented me).
- Another time I was wearing some sort of nice ring on my finger, and you remarked "Married to God". I now know it was a premonition of my social isolation for many years, as part of my spritual path. IOW, I would never have chosen the hermit's (or "loner's") way, but Gaia knows best what each of us needs to go through. I am also a victim of torture, and thus suffer PTSD in its extemer forms, just like a Nam Vet who saw serious and prolonged combat. But this gave me the understanding and strength to reach out to my Randolph, who served three tours of duty over there! (Indeed, it was this experience of torture that was my undoing for a time: the nervous breakdowns started by age 20. None of my other burdens in life come even close to the horror of that torture.)
At the age of sixteen, I broke out with a major cyst behind my left ear that had to be lanced, to be relieved. (It had grown big as a golf ball.) Then it spread in channels onto my face, and caused major swellings of bloody lymphatic pus that had to be lanced out, or sucked out via syringe, or nudged out on my own. Thus I spent many painful months, then years, having to treat myself in front of a mirror, gazing directly at my messed-up face in order to do it properly: pulling gunky gauze out from my cheek (or sometimes, cheeks), sliding a sterile cotton swab deep into the pocket to cleanse; and then packing new gauze into my face, to keep the scalpel-created wounds open and draining.
Often I'd cover most of my face with more than twice the bandages needed...I was quite hideous for a coupla years, what with one side of my face caved in (from so many operations), that my cheekbone poked way out, like a skull. You know, what is every teenager's worst nightmare? Acne gone out of control. And sadly, it is something to fear...I know first hand; it's a real heartbreaker, when you get the most outrageous, disfiguring form of acne: reoccurring sebaceous cysts. Especially when it goes on for years: in my case from 1966 to 1972, with my face many times painfully cut up, or syringes with needles deep under my epidermis, pulling out so much gunk! And then replacing the gunk with steroid solutions...so that by the time I stepped out from one of these nightmarish sessions, my cheeks were swollen up big time (worse than when the pus was in them), and bright, bright red from the chemical intrusion.
I also did not have a close family. No one in our home (that's Mom, Dad, and brother Sandy) seemed to ever pay any mind to what I was going through, this horrible lymphatic demon destroying what had just started growing into the face of a very handsome young man. In fact, at 16 I was scheduled to do my first studio shoot as a clothes model in Manhattan...but one week before this appointment, that disgusting cyst broke out in my ear.
No one in my family ever offered any compassion or shoulder to lean on in any way. No therapy. I had no real friends in that dysfunctional neighborhood of Long Island. I repressed my suffering from this ugly real-life nightmare, but the price came out years later, in the form of PTSD. Oh, and one doctor I saw for almost a year, did not first inject my cyst with pain-killer...which all my doctors before than and after, did. He claim it would cause my infection to spread! So I also suffered my face being cut up, without even local anesthetic!
I am a victim of torture, whether intended or not. I surely know the Great Spirit intended this! The scars are a badge of great pride for me now...since I understand it was my particular cross to bear. I would compare it equal to the difficult challenge of your lifelong diabetes.
Of course, it's not all bad...in fact, these tragic experiences are saving graces in the long run. They kept us from straying too far from our shamanic calling. And these burdens are not forever; and I mean this with no intent of trivializing diabetes. Nor do I necessarily mean "death", however metaphorical or obtuse. I am speaking of miracles; and need say no more, as you are a Master in this field.
Yet right in the middle of this curse (that surely came from a jealous god)--from 1968-1971--a wonderfully handsome and loving man came into my life: my first boyfriend! He was drop-dead gorgeous. And very kind and romantic and bisexual. Robert Matthew Childers. Right there, in the depth of what could have been intense grief, was an angel. For I now realize (and have concluded such for over five years now), that he is one among my various guardian angels that Gaia has brought to me in the flesh for a time, scattered throughout my life. And they are all tragic outcomes, at least those first times around.
I now realize that as my angels, they were helping me grow and stay in the right direction...and played out some dramatic scenarious with me...and with me not realizing their beauty was too perfect to be mere humans. I have been close to some incredibly lovely men...you couldn't find a single flaw on them though totally naked under the noonday sun, and standing on their heads! And indeed, they spoiled me rotten. Even if some were just 1-knighters...like Gary, that cowboy from Montana. He was sooo sweet, and good-natured. And remarkably, his face was obviously badly scarred in the same fashion as mine! I said to him, "Reoccurring sebaceous cysts, eh?" He nodded, said, "Yup." In his case, the scars healed out so well, that he was once more, the handsome man he started out before the first cyst. Yes, he is one of my guardian angels, though we've only met once so far in this life of mine. I know he came to me as a genuine act of compassion. Yep, sometimes God assigns angels as "pity dates" for losers such as myself. :D But that is indeed the mark of an angel: to be a living metaphor with such elegance! Absolutely brilliant! Angels are God's great actors, indeed! Even drama queens. Well, seeing as their leader is really just a super-sized Cecille B. DeMille, what should we have expected? A fairy, maybe?
Now, they have been here with me in spirit for several years...but Randolph being with me since 1993 on a conscious level (for being my main guardian, he's been with me all along, anywayz). They tell me they'll be with me very soon. Perhaps it means new friends they've selected for me. Perhaps, literally, they'll show up in the flesh. All my true loves, none of which knows the others...yet perhaps I'm the one who's been duped, for if they are my circle of guardians, then they've all been playing a very funny game with me since I was born into this sucky life! I don't get any "death" meaning out of this, as if I'll be with them soon, 'cause I'll cross over any day now! Randolph's ghost (I call him ghost sometimes, just a joke) tells me he faked his death, to go underground (not as in 6-feet under, he mean for political reasons...and those reasons being to create the network we queers will need to win our battles, and ultimately the war). In fact, Randolph says he faked his own shooting, in order to wake me up and embark on my Great Eternal Odyssey. So I've been pretty much more conscious in the spirt world, than in this earth. I'm a visionary. I'm not mentally ill; I'm spiritually gifted. And now I have begun imparting the wisdom that has honored me for many brave victories. I'm like a soldier dragged off the battlefield, in desperate need for triage.
I do not believe in death; I do not believe anyone has actually died, or will ever actually die. I think that when one is ready to take that next step, it is far more gentle and natural than most expect! It may simply be that our life gets a little bit better each day...and after some days or months or even years pass...more and more things start piling up, that indicate you "died" and haven't yet noticed. Or when someone seems to suffer in a prolonged and painful death: I believe their souls were already taken to heaven, and the agonies are played out by angelic actors who enter these emptied human shells. That way, we may learn about compassion, through witnessing what we believe for a time to be unbearable suffering...without God having any human actually experience suffering on such an extreme level.
This implies that those sent to concentration camps, really never suffered those extremes...since their souls were taken to heaven before they were even rounded up. What about survivors, you might wonder, they claim to really have suffered or witnessed such suffering! Well, they went to heaven (I'm pondering), and made a pact with their beloved guardians, to never reveal the truth. Instead, they were given a false accounting of extreme torture and degradation, that the world may be convinced of something other than the truth, and that these survivors really did suffer so intensely.
Buddha says "You have no enemies, only teachers."
"Izzat so?" I reply. Then meditated on the logical implications that come out of that glorious statement. And if I really believe in a loving God, how could I accept that he really does allow babies to be tortured and killed in war? (Which quandary you may regard as the classic--though faulty beyond redemption--atheist excuse for not believing in God.)
The babies' soul have already been swept up into angelic arms before they even knew any sort of suffering. Jeesh! How can anyone who claims to believe in a loving God, simply accept that He allows for such violence in our history, anyway?
How does one redeem those hapless souls who fought in Vietnam, and after coming home, could never find a way to forgive themselves for their murderous actions? If somehow God could show them beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no Vietnamese families or children were ever hurt: their souls were swept into heaven well before the horrors began.
I had no name for this ideology, so I asked my angels what I should call this new idea? They said they'll tell me soon, but not today. So, a few days later I'm walking down the street, when suddenly this singular word reverberated in my mind:
"NeoChristianity"
Oh, that's a good one; hilarious (I thought). Why, everything else is "neo" these days, why not Christianity? Well, it's time to change its name, as the word "neochristian" has begun popping up in left-wing media as a new term for these insane fundamentalists. Anywayz, it's not a Christian idea at all, but an alchemical reaction in distilling noble ideas from mostly pre- and non-Christian cultures...especially the shamanic traditions of Australia and the various arctic cultures.
It is an indefatigably optimistic idea that one can append to one's own present worldview (unless your view is intentionally nihilistic). I say "worldview" as my concept works just as well with non-religious ideologies such as atheism, animism and humanism.
Maybe I should hold a contest to rename my ideology (a gift from Odin, actually). But what on earth should be the winner's prize? Certainly nothing that I, a humble human, could offer.
Walk brightly!
--
Lavender-Velvet Revolution
gay-bible.org
P.S.: I just realized that this message is my SECOND essay you inspired. Good show!
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