Monday, January 18, 2010

The Man Comes Around

Two days ago I watched the sun come up for the first time in a month, on the roof with Augustine and Erica.  Its been midnight for oh so very long.  I thanked Legba inwardly with a black and heavy heart.  I had lived to see another sunrise, I had lived to see LA burst into flames.  The crossroads man came to collect.  Some great hoodoo is finished, some great sacrifice made.  Port-au Prince made into dust.  In the revelations they say this is the tribulations, Old Mystery piss drunk on the blood of the saints again, with her panties down around her ankles.

Hard times for the kings of perdition.  Run ragged like they are, on account of those heretic names.  The ranks of the Gede just keep growing and growing, many will leave Haiti and they will take their dead with them.  The tribulations and the great judgement, the dead get up out of their graves to walk the face of the earth.  The estimates lie, an untold number are leaving the island and its the Gede that go with them.  So says Mama Zombi, that skull-face smiling its terrible smile, that raven hair caught as it is in some violent wind.  The Gede with their remembrance of the dead and the tragedies of the living.  The old Yoruban prejudices will fall away now, the world will recognize the grave-diggers shovel and the coffin nail as symbols of an enlightened mind.  Thats what the bone-men teach you.

Port-au-Prince and New Orleans.  Old Mystery's cup is overflowing and she is stumbling around looking for some corpse to fuck but we have given all our corpses to Zombi and the Gede.

That night on the roof before the sun came back to burn LA I reached into the nganga, Legba's cereal bowl and stirred the fires.  I watched the hell money oozing sugar and ash and rum get taken slowly by the dead.  That stone bowl too hot to touch, the hell-money meeting Gamori's veves like lovers hands in bags of theater popcorn.  Be the beast little children, go brave like into death.  Thats the moral here.  Old Mystery is the adversary little children, the thought of death sends her crawling into that cup.  The devil plays guitar at the cross-roads sabbat and the Gede sing the chorus.

Just don't fuck the groupies.  Everyone has had a turn at those drunk bitches. 

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