Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Last Meeting at Tartarus

(The Devils Rotunda Table)

Within my dream-vision, I came within, the all night banquet: thus, this account starts from that point on:
The last and final meeting held at the Tartarus Rotunda Club, for the year of 2014, in the deepest part of Hell, at the north-end pier, overlooking, the River, Hades, that wide gulf between Abraham’s old paradise and the dry lands with the gulfs of brimstone and sulfur—
At the meeting I saw many familiar faces, heard many familiar names Such as: Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Agaliarept the Henchmen of Hell, Mubarak, and many, many more, even Obama’s name came up, as an Honorable guest, and Putin, Pole Pot came up to be used as analogies  and bin Laden name was used as a scarecrow, and Russell Crow, the new Noah of the 21st Century, he was hailed as the new protocol son… along with some groups, such as the Mormons and Jehovah Witnesses, and the Poet Poe and Clark A. Smith, and H.P. Lovecraft as honorary backstage guests, most all from yesteryears legends, and bygone eras, even the perverted poet, Allen Ginsberg, looking in an empty mirror was there, and behind him hiding was: Elvis, two of the Beatles, Michael Jackson grabbing his crotch, as usual, all whispering among themselves, wondering when Robert  Deniro and his kind would join them, such as Clint Eastwood, John Cusack; Marlin Monroe was there too talking about Niagara Falls with Capote—
A few Devil’s advocates were there, that once walked the earth; a few drunks, perverted homosexuals; Nostradamus was predicting a date for Armageddon:
All cold slimy as fish, heroes of former days, mostly: egotists, psychos, maniacs, short witted folk—even Carl Sagan was present, saying “My theories never too this into consideration, I wonder why?”
And some present Jihad war heroes, who gave their lives up for a quick and forgotten suicide attack: thinking they were going to paradise, only to end up, in a pigeon cage. 
All jamming as if refueling, all wanting to devour humanity, erase man from the earth, it really was not their idea, rather, Lucifer’s, but the dead follow, imitate, just like humans do on earth…
All planning at a rotunda table, crutched in as if it was their last Supper!  

All were of the same madness with jerky twisting nerves, heads bobbing like sparrows—as if they had a neurological breakdown, bobbing every-which-way, with cadaverous eyes, obsessions rolling in their cerebellums, their skull skin tight: all lying spirits of the netherworld, lying to one another like they were caught in a spell…
But that’s what demons do best, lie to one another, and curse at best—
Some in deep depressions, others of a more compulsive passing, perhaps thinking of how worse can it get?   
All brands of psychological categories to choose from, neurosis, psychoses, bipolar, and so on, no atheists down in hell… that went out with the wash when they came from the River to the docks… 

Among the many were: monotheists, henotheists, evolutionists, power hungry people of the world—
All pointing figures, blaming one another, all yelping and yelling—
Some even pulling at their hair in frustration, all knowing their end time their fate, was fixed, no interventions here! 

I know it is all sounds too hideous to contemplate, this Tartarus Rotunda Club, and its insomnias meeting—
All from a dream-vision perspective, but let me explain more if you will: that when the nightmare began, when Lucifer ordered  Agaliarept, the Henchman, to command the counsel to release the Manta cores like beasts, to roam the earth in due time, to prep them…
to kill at will, all those who would not take the Satanic Pledge, the Mark of the Beast
In consequence, to meet their fate by these milky-yellow-eyed beasts
That are being prepped to stung to death, humanity in their sleep, or their bellies when wide away, to slice open their insides like a lion’s feast, for vultures of the hinterlands hell’s far-off infernos…
He knew something: perhaps time was short!

Then those at the table, in counsel: talked of days to come: said Botis the Gate Keeper,  “Let’s work up a new crisis in Crimea, or the oil in the Black Sea, or perhaps Europe’s currency,” and Arch devil Belphegor suggested too: “In the twenty-seven year war, we need to use the media and economics creating more problems, and the big movie studios can be to our advantage too, like they’ve most recently have: publishers too, and China everyone left out, they’ve been the pioneers of infamy in the past, bring them up to par with the United States, in Asia, modernize China’s military. For our days are scarce.”
Then everybody moaned and grieved.

And thus, there was a sense of urgency, and death was strong among
their sniffing’s; every crevice in the rotunda table reeked with maggot worms: as they cursed, and wailed and stretched out their bellybuttons, like a sling, and listened to them ring…
All was merriment, —laughing holding their bellies, like pregnant whales and then I woke up, thank God!

#3479/3480 a two part poem (12-1-2012 thru 12-4 -2012; reedited 5-2014)