Erobos Abzu Lamashtu

Erobos Abzu Lamashtu, OKA, "E"

is an extraterrestrial, extra-dimensional being imprisoned in human form for reasons that remain unclear. "Middle aged" according to the lifespan of earthlings, formerly imprisoned in several penal colonies throughout The State of New York: "Excelsior!" For the majority of His existence, He was referred to as an "illegal alien." The consensus has currently settled on "undocumented immigrant." An unwanted stranger by any other name is still....

He resides at the behest and upon the auspices of The Fortune Society

“The Child” 10/19/17

From my child’s hour} Years of believing that my life, because it was new, was special. It was filled with beauty, love, and Nature. I was fascinated by anything, everything, and everyone! I believed wholeheartedly that people are good! Trusting, as a child does, on the adults to be there for stability, consistency, love, responsibility, support, and all the words and attributes that children do not know but can feel. Adults can be the worst thing that happens to children. Many adults do not possess the mental and emotional equipment to support children as a care and responsibility. Adults, who are hurt, confused, and frustrated, broken pieces of put-together people have become accustomed to taking their pain upon the outlet of least resistance. The torrent of abuse is generational. We create our demons by ignoring and distracting ourselves from our pain which swaddles us in sorrow, anger, and hatred. We are left standing on the precipice of red cliffs, becoming the thing we hate; hating the thing that we’ve become. All that we have loved is in The Green Veld, in the autumn tint of memory as children. We are told to “enjoy the moment,” and “appreciate the life we have.” Now, I can see everything, tinged with thunder, billowing clouds of darkness, regret, and angst; as I comfort myself with the reassuring Black, my pain has become my trench coat made from the fabric of a stormy life, as I stare into the Sun; my demon whispers to me in the words of old: “Hell is empty, All the devils are here!”

“THINGS THAT KEEP YOU UP AT NIGHT” 8 ∙ 16 ∙ 18
(*An Ode To Da Duce*)

Sign at the entrance blares: “If you got the money, we got the honey come inside and indulge your deepest desires! Feed the beast! The mind is willing but the flesh is weak! Go where your lust guides you! Enter the labyrinth of darkness and embrace your pound of flesh! Credit can’t get it! Ca$h only! Further inside Holes of Glory surround thee; stick your dick in any or back that ass up to any and close your eyes; you will find that it all feels better than you thought it would! Come in and inject yourself with a glass of cold magic and bend and fold to the winds of ecstasy like a slinky; Smoke till you choke; sniff a tornado and let your brain turn to hurricane! Get on your knees and beg me please! I got bunk, funk, skunk, dunk, and junk! You will break yourself down. In here, we build you up so you can leave broke! We ain’t your momma, we ain’t your daddy, but we own you from ballz to bone! If you make it out, you’re the devil in the alley. Our soul is an empty theater that we populate with your flesh; you donate your life to our pleasures because you are only pain. The pus of your emptiness flows the midnight ink. That’s the thing that keeps you up at night.

“THE RUNNER” 7/15/18

The Sun slowly retreats giving birth to the overreaching shadows that outpaces its exit. I stand almost behind a wide park tree immobile, solitary like stone watching her approach. As she jogs upon the path, puffs of condensed breath exhale mechanically out of her perfect mouth, beads of sweat prominent on her healthy, unblemished, pink skin, strapped down tight in a tight sport bra, all of her genetics bounce in unison, her long horse tail tied up in her workout scrunchie, toned thighs marked with definition, she is proportionate and blessed. She is unaware of her surroundings, not realizing that she is being focused upon with great intensity and desire. Like a lioness in the shady grass stalking its prey, she is oblivious to being food. As she approaches I make my move and merge on the path with her suddenly. She was not prepared for the instant encounter. It is dark now and chilly but we are still visible one to another. Her deer in the headlights look betrays that she is firm in a web of fear. Mere feet away from each other I gesture to my ear for her to remove her earbuds. After a few seconds her limbs thaw sufficiently to remove her right earplug: “What time is it?” I asked her standing directly in her path. Incredulous, she deep frowns at me, as the color returns to her face, gathers herself and says: “7:27!” Instantly furious, at herself for being scared, and at me for having the unmitigated gall to stop her run; she pushed past me in pointed New Yorker fashion all the while her furious eyes saying to me: “How dare you stop me for this shit you asshole!” I smile back at her musing at her rebound of courage. As she repurposes herself back to her routine I quickly glance at her running away. I now focus on him. Grey sweat suit, bloodshot eyes, not that far behind her, not exactly running behind her, more like hunting, darting in and out of the bushes, surreptitious, trying his best to avoid her eyes. I had noticed his funnystyle a while back and decided that this guy’s actions and motives seem to be less than egalitarian. I had cut through the park as the Sun slowly retreated to head both of them off. I stand now in the middle of the path glaring at him. We fixate upon each other. He knows now that I was watching him stalking her waiting for an opportunity to attack. It’s only us two out here in this moment and it’s almost completely dark. I relax my breathing totally committed to this fight. Five minutes ago he did not have this in mind. He drops his gaze and his intentions giving up his clash of wills and scurries away. There will be no prey tonight.

“ANGEL FISH” 3-15-18

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” So why is it your fault that I lose my senses whenever my eyes are blessed by your visage and heavenly form? In my weakness I blame you for hurting my feelings and spurning my affections! You have consumed my thoughts and emotions to no end; an invited torture. I gave you power that you do not possess over me. The temptation that I carry in my chest like an extra set of lungs are the bagpipes of lust and ego. I do not stop myself when I turn my thinking cap off and follow my selfish intentions. I blame you! As I hold myself prisoner in my uncompromising obsession, I dare myself to follow you in the alleyways of desperate men ripe with danger, I follow you to your family’s house, you notice me and your smirk spoke for you: “another sucker, another hapless fool strung along by his foolish heart and balls!” I follow you like the puppy, hopeless. I long to touch your soft, encouraging flesh like beautifully toned gift wrap. I fantasize tracing my fingers along your colorful, poisonous spines. Your touch is pleasure mixed with pain, deliberately inflicting suffering upon my stupidity. My emotional destruction is a mushroom cloud on the horizon. My self-esteem is festering in a toilet. I follow your sirens call. I know I will shipwrecked upon the rocks of my expectations. I follow you to hell.

“A Soul Clad In Flesh” 1/18/18

The building of myself is the greatest undertaking of my life. In the process, I’ve been forced to ask myself, “am I worth it?” “Am I worth the effort, time, and energy that this is going to take?” “Am I worth the work?” Wandering around aimlessly in pits of my Stygian darkness and ebon nights, I caught flashing glimmers of light, glancing blows of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can make sense of the weak Soul I was dealt. Maybe, just maybe, if I grasp at the fringes of reality, I can clutch something different, some Force that patiently resides on The Outside, something in the spheres of mystery, a life that is fantastic! Ordinary, generic, episodes of life bring contentment and satisfaction to the basic, to the plain, to the ordinary. I reach out into The Universal Void, in relentless desperation, in great pain, I am willing to exchange my weak Soul for The Demonic, for the unknown, for the Extra-ordinary! I feed on the fear that has consumed me in my mother’s slave womb, born into a foreboding, hostile, alien, environment, the afterbirth of the Christ child is nourishment to the languishing in my barren desert! In the building of myself, I am grabbing all materials in reach. My flesh is a patchwork of all races; my Soul is made up of angel dust and sulfur and the sparks of Ra’s distant chariots and the cinders of the ether from the wars of men who have set fire to Heaven and are in position to take by force. The lights of dying stars focus the last of their energy into my midnight Soul. I am building myself on the hot coals and ashes of The Gods.