The TAO of Trump
Nine hooded beings sat in a circle and no words were spoken. A person passing in the desert moonilight would see shadows of the nine cast on the ground and they would shiver and pass on quickly, but no person passed here any more. It was hidden, it was waterless and desolate, a place of Demons.
she was texting her boyfriend and her knees under the blankets made a pyramid and she was a babe in blue light sending her love. but every click of the fingernail, every long white sail every breath and every sigh you make. falls and is gone. i was counting the clicks 3-5-3-4-4 mentally depositing them in my memory spaces for later, sitting looking out of the window at London glowing on the horizon. a lock of hair fell over her eye. she blew it out of the way from the side of her mouth, it fell back she blew and clicked 3-3-3-4. blow. she tucked it away concentrating on her phone, what she was saying to him.
This Black Parliament sat and nourished themselves in the desert sand. Hooded and robed they plotted downfalls and events of fantastic sight that may bring a feeling to a kind soul, a smile or an intake of breath, and that breath that feeling would be stolen by them. For that is their want. Occasionally one of them would raise a hand or finger and swirl the air in front of it in complicated design, as a dance it was or a mime. They had these bodies that knew no desecration or ill, they were as young as the dawn without line or care. With effect some were female but knew no creation or birth, and some were men who would know no craft.
‘it wont send’ i said. The phone networks are on high alert, saved space for vital communications. the words the killers use to ask things, give orders and devour the intelligence from the deep sea sub and the loaded up electronic planes. the lunatics. but it was inevitable this war. hadn’t I seen the signs clicking on the internet, the synchronicity building up. the subtle changes in the atmosphere?
she didn’t listen and that was cool.
but they knew we were here and they had infested the room where both of us lay. between us from the phone a fog drifting between us. the swarm of things. Reality and fantasy had meshed together like rutting cockroaches. Fucking hell Baby. What are we doing?
The Nine sacred servants of the Demiurge cast a World and made it for themselves and sat in the darkness for an age or a second none of them knew. But they felt the solid ground and the madness of their infected minds made mountains and rivers that knew no light to illuminate. For what does a beast know of Mountains, hills and streams. What would they know of gentle scenes and tragedies? What would they know of fakery when all was false?
The machinations of our sordid affair had felt out the boundaries of this ‘Invention’. Our intricate lies had formed a back drop to our relationship and now these fantastic lies had become concrete and real. We had delivered ourselves a source of sexual release. A failed reality had become a successful fantasy albeit one ruled by the random variable. The truth [being a relative subject] was clay to be molded.
It’s all just bad theater. But one where you could manipulate the words. Control the words of the fantasy and you control the people you involve in them.
My phone vibrated and I ignored it. It was US election night. Trump was winning. I knew the US military backed him. It was obvious that the CIA and Clinton meant war with Russia. The US military couldn’t see any end to that one apart from THE BIG END. It was stupidity from the CIA war machine. She had to be stopped.
She had to be stopped of course. She smoked Marijuana most of the day and looked like a punk rock Audrey Hepburn. A classical beauty. She smelled good I guessed.
Trump was the Great Beast. On to his broad and muscular back we will heap our disdain upon him constantly as we sip our Brand Coffee and wear our networked Anti Fascist bandannas. Pile our own weaknesses on him. His great wide mouth opens and out comes the very lies and fantasies we wish him to speak. So our own sores may be drained. Trump is the mouthpiece. Trump is the Straw man. Meanwhile the State of the Demiurge becomes our ally and we love this ally as it mirrors every single opinion our fantasies require. It was as sharp as an ISIS head chop. The Liberal Left will embrace any monstrous project that comes from the broadly defined ‘Left’. No matter how bad it is the bogeyman must be stopped.
I wanted to ask her about it but I knew it would be a waste of time. Her words were also wrapped up in lies and earlier when i had ejaculated on her face and she was breathing like she had run a long race….that she was or was to be a NaziPuncher. Because her appetite for fantasy had been wrought when she was created. That beautiful body was cast in a foundry of lies and fantasies that even now she craved it. Like the cocaine she loved and the late night madness, the loss of a whole weekend. How many had we done now? eight or nine.
But here when I was inside her the real truths came out in every twist of the hips and unconscious muscular movements as she climaxed. The way her eyes would half close and she would tilt her head up and gasp a last sweet breath before the fantasy occluded and was gone. But on her body, the sacred Kabbalah. Here between her requisite breasts DARPA and the myriad of National Laboratories that served Energy. At her navel the Defence departments and the suits of war. At her sex the Alphabet agencies like CIA/MI6/GRU Intelligence and the promulgation of the grand plan. The place for secrets. In the center of her forehead the University systems, Silicon valley and the Elon Musks. All interconnected and alive, all communicating the vibes.
I know what she had messaged him. A simple thing.
‘I Love You’