October 31, 2026
Halloween comes with stories of both truth and fiction
And, so –
I offer you my truth without fiction:
I suppose that in the spirit of this day, I can expose some of the spirits to which I assume divide the line between good and evil.
Therefore, if I am to define both good and evil, then I need to expose myself and all that was evil.
Halloween is only one day.
At the time, a day in the life saw more spirits of the damned than a night in costumes to play make-believe.
I swear.
I was never a so-called man of God. My faith matched my behavior and so, as wild as I was is equal to the hate that I had; and of course, as hateful as I lived was equal to the hollowness and the emptiness of a soul that was donated before being possessed.
I was underground somewhere.
I was elsewhere. I was at a place where the older prophets told us about the breadcrumbs we should leave behind. Leave a path, we were told, so that we could find our way home if we get lost
.
All the profits I knew lost their memberships and their ticket to angel wings were revoked. All was lost after they played their hand, and though they lived, they died like the rest of the zombies I saw in the streets.
I remember my time,
The gods I knew had already changed from right-side up to upside down. And above all; the switch was incredible to say the least.
The high was as beautiful if not more so and the euphoria was more than high. This was a euthanized form of salvation.
Or, so I swore.
The infection took hold of me in a way that was beyond compare.
I was in too deep now. at the same time, I was just a kid
I was a guppy in a pool of shares and bottom-feeders.
The nod was far too desperate looking from the outside in, —but from the inside out, the high was way too weightless and painless and in the meantime; the euthanized approach was surging and softly removing me from the ground-floor of your daily disputes.
The feeling was too overwhelming for me to forget. And of course, the inertia or the change of speed was a ride to say the least.
Not to mention, of course, there was a way of feeling without feeling anything or how the pain or the fears or the worries disappeared.
All of my thinking lost their objections and though I died for a while; all was beautiful and haunting to say the least.
All hope was lost and if I am being honest, anything hopeful came to me in little envelopes containing powder (you know?).
powder, like bags which held the remnants of what killed Tommy or the powders that were highly infectious long before anyone ever heard the common word known as Fentanyl.
The possession was more than I can explain. I lost myself.
Only the willingness to subside and submit was lifeless and perfectly drifting.
I admit it.
I loved this
My spirit was weightless in the wind and twirling in the air without direction or the need to have one.
I remember my very first nod.
I remember the feeling of nothingness, which was red and bubbling, just like the lava-lamp that was bubbling in the corner of Mikey’s bedroom down in the basement
We were good kids once.
We wore boy scout uniforms once too. . .
Sure.
I used to like to get high.
I used to like the rituals and the routines which took place before the onset or the change in speed.
But this?
Man. . .
This was different.
The nod:
I remember dying Angels falling backwards and fading to a brand-new death.
All the hope is lost at this point,
The churches were different now—the steeples, the cathedrals and the ministers and the altar boys were under the same possession.
I was in a shooting gallery once.
Only the shots her come from different bullets.
This places was ungodly.
So were the smells
So were the dying eyes of a dying man and so was the prying thief who stole a few packages from a dead man’s pocket.
This was not too far from 134th Street.
This church was held in abandoned buildings and at the decrepit places in the dying sections of new York City.
These churches had their own routines too—and all the death and all the dying and all the donations were celebrated by crooked priets
The smells –
The incense tossed by fallen altar boys; and the words from priests who speak in Latin take on a desperate affair.
Buy the way . . .
The devil does not speak Latin, nor does the Devil like this because this represents the church.
in comes the pin prik
and out goes the last breath
“Per intercessiónem beáti Míchaelis Archángeli . . .
. . . stantis a dextris altáris incénsi,
et ómnium electórum suórum . . .
incénsum istud dignétur.”
The needle moves in.
The venom leaves the aperture of the needle.
The rapture comes when the plunger pushes forward.
And ah, the demons take their seats.
“Dóminus benedícere . . .
. . . et in odórem suavitátis accípere
Per Christum Dóminum nostrum. . .
Amen.”
The incense burns and caried a familiar smell to me. I recall this like the smell of burning matchsticks and to me, this matched and resembled the aromas of cooking little batches in filthy spoons. I remember.
I saw.
Using water to cook up with.
I watched people shooting with water from puddles to make ends meet.
The demons are indescribable here.
So are the priests. So are the madmen of worship.
So are the women of burden.
So is the altar and the podium. So are the scrolls and of course so was the altered sermons, preached to me with slow moving powders that surged through my bloodstream.
God, this desperation was unthinkable.
I followed
And so, the lost acres of emotional land and my forfeiting country was donated in the basket.
I gave from my house, just like the good give at mass on Sunday.
This was my way of giving my daily bread.
I adjusted myself to feed the tiny mouths which accept the pins.
Shove it in
and go
“In nomine Patris . . .
Et filii . . .
Et Spiritus”
Translation:
“In the name of the Father
and of The Son
and . . .
The Holy Spirit.”
Sunshine broke through the vein and synthetic light ran its course to fuel the final possession.
I swear—
It is a sinking paradise of wild confusion.
All of me swivelled downward in a soft and gentle chaos
Body folds to half mass
The eyelids close over like lifeless shades to a window where no one is home and ah –
the nod.
All who worship obey the submerging orders to give way; to nod before the demons and accept the crooked gods.
No one opposes.
All celebrate their synthetic demons; to die alive and lose hope and to become abandoned like a lost child and damned like a son of those godless demons.
My first bag of dope had the word KING on it
And all hailed the king for sure.
The profits warn you
but no one listens
no one believes them
It is irreversible now to be banned from Eden and damned to the highlights of hell.
“I warned you,” said the serpent.
I know, I say
But no one told me the rhythm would feel so beautiful.
No on explained how the powder was warm to the touch.
No one told me how immeasurable it is to be without weight.
“All things come with a price,” said the serpent.
Yes but to be without pain and to without the cares of whether I perish between the boundaries of Heaven and Hell. . .
You never warned me it would be like this
“Oh?” asked the beast.
“I have been coming at you and your kind since before your people created their versions of God.”
The beastcontinued . . .
“I have been here before time and I will be here after your time leaves.”
The beast reassured me.
“I am always working and I am always learning new ways to traverse your soul, back and forth, to keep you informed and confused at the same time”
The beast leaned back with a few serpents in his eyes and just then; a light burned through me the same as the poison burned through my veins.
this is how the venom entered my system. This is so the poison can do its thing –
and keep me damned.
Bless me Father.
I have sinned.
I am no worse or better than the prodigal son after squandering his wealth or losing everything to return home.
“It’s too late,” said the beast.
“I have taken all you have.”
I woke up from the nightmare, or . . .
I survived and then . . , I informed the beast of my response.
if that were true
Would I still be alive?
“point noted,” said the beast.
“But don’t worry.
There’s always tomorrow
and if not you
there is always someone else
eager to make a trade and donate their life
to me.”
I know, dear beast.
I see that you’ve anted up and placed your bet in the pot this morning
Only, I don’t play these games anymore
I had to learn to let go
. . . because to me
that life was unmerciful ~
