Yog-Sothoth In A Clown Mask

Disfunction Junction - Evil Twin Clowns From Calcutta Circus


Shaking through the core of my body, near my diaphram, like the irregular fluttering of my father's heart before his pacemaker, out to all the reaches of my bio-empire.

My hands vibrate like too much coffee, adrenoline overload and drug problems. Which is what it is. The sweats and sensory distortion, well, it makes for a bad day. Yog-Sothoth in a clown mask.

I'm afraid to go out, pick up the phone, or open email. Cthulhu works through compression.

Inside, my tidal forces are turbulently trying to align with the new moon of more drugs. I am at the high tide of dosage on a bloody beach of human bones.

Outside my life is waiting for me. Outside my life is going on. Outside my life is going by. Which is the dream?

The Old Ones my father told me about press in warping them like the sweating plaster walls of a badly sealed grow-op.

Is it better than the vertigo, falling into doorframes, knocking pictures off the wall, panic, anxiety and the hospital?

A change is as good as a rest.

I am forcing myself to eat and drink.

I am keeping busy with porno, house cleaning, and scalping old music from the internet.

The shakes should pass soon, I know in my head, and I will go back to real worries. The Outer Gods will retreat again, sleep again.

There is so much I have to do. It is hard to keep a grip on myself and everything else.

I can't think of a metaphor beyond my own trembling body and the eerie whine of half heard incantations.

Evil Clown

Magic, you want magic? I can change any thought that hurts into a reality that hurts even more.

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