Last Few Days

ordinary day, post horse-feeding I will pick up 'artisanal' black iron nails, which I will pound into painted wooden shards, so as to sell them to any like-minded who may like to watch hanging crimson wood and nails slowly revolving. (re-alised/re-membered part inspiration of the cultus/altars was texas chansaw massacre)

so: off across the fields (via cackleshaws) songs; aerosmith: dream on, prince: one of us: tears streaming... looking back up the valley, Penistone hill: other-wise, othering heights: a sorcerous evocation: a man wills himself to a state, not quite death, but beyond 'life' to unite w/ the eternal shade, the mind overcoming mind
(echoes of borges' 'a man wills himself to death, the way one wills oneself to sleep')

falling upwards, a funneling gyre, watching the brown leopard butterflies bustle in a confused circling of velvet flapping that suddenly gains traction on a burr in the air and they are swept up in a spiral gyre that plays on my spirit like alice c's fingers stroking the exquisite celestial  harp that all earthly harps are just cartoons of, just here to give us a taste (eternitys beautiful frontispiece: Thomas traherne)

four more charms: (one was rotten and disintegrated under the hammer...) 

initial five, pre stress-test

the piebald prince has had his mane brushed, he likes it...

and I've harvested mane/tail hair, realising it will make the real hanging threads for the fetiches

(actually, 'tis very brittle for knot tying, so you must tighten gently, and only so far...)

town! o the joys... here is keighleys modern temple of mammon mall...

draped with the nations flag, in exactly the shade of arterial blood that will spurt forth from my finger

as I pierce the wood to allow for the hanging, with a bradawl that I drive into my flesh, therefore accidentally earthing, by bleeding onto the redwood and adding far more of my 'self' than I may have intended