Suitmation VII: Be Invoked
by William D. Tucker
I called upon the vengeful deity
rival shrines creating too much static
I raised my voice, focused all my blood flow
-if I had to shoot the blood out of my face-
pirate prayers cut into my invocation, steal my bandwidth
I spoke the handmade defense syllables
a pirate brain burns
My prayers rose up to the god of vengeance
A shop burned in the heart of the city
I saw the blaze go crazy
Eat the whole block
Men, women, children
I vomit all over the shrine I spent so many days and nights drafting, constructing, consecrating
I feel a hot wind on my face
I cry out-slapping at my beard, fearful of ignition
Knocked on my ass
The arsonist deity cackling at me
I cowered before the great heat
My private shrine ablaze,
I ran into the house,
I ran into the night
Some days pass in wandering
I visit priests and shrines and psychologists and seers and motivational Wealthmaster speakers
I lock myself in porta-toilets on construction sites
I sleep nights and days in parks and downtime shrines to naive gods of peace and mercy
All my nightmares stage my beard lit afire, the god of vengeance eating through my face
Pain’s on a loop
And there’s a fucked-up chorus of churning goblin guts
I think that's what that's supposed to be, sounds like it.
My house, my shrine, all my pro parts
Do I dare go back to behold the ruin?
What if the god of vengeance still dwells there,
Waiting for a new prayer signal off of a seething rubblemind like mine?
Could be, could be …
I drift from prayer house to shooting gallery to hate rally
All the nation seems caught up in the rubblemind
My throat’s raw as fuck from vomiting too many times a day
I cut that fucking beard out of my face
Nightmares of the burning beard less frequent
A religious hate rally climaxes with a well appointed clusterfuck with exotic imported smartcars designed and iterated for maximum erotic impact
But I walk out of all that
Haven’t had a sexual feeling in weeks
I sign up for dungeon duty with a degenerate priest, assisting with the floggings and electrocutions
Volunteer for experimental blessings in the R&D section of a start-up megachurch
My beard still burns.
The deity of vengeance’s still on my all-too-chapped ass
I almost forgot about all that
That time of fires
I stand, now, in the amplifier zone of my worship arena of 75,000 seats
I think that fire on my ass drove me howling up the ladder of godhood
So many defense syallables, words, auto-mouths, drain fields, and security idols thread through my domain at multiple levels of reality.
I had to cut all sorts of deals with all sorts of obscene deities to extend my life, save my state, so that I could work out all the pataphysical dilemmas of crafting the perfect security state.
Gods from all over got strange appendages, stranger influence into my hypercollateralized soul
So long as I set aside a good portion of my believer base for my creditors
Steer them into brave new hells and paradises
I’ll service the debt for an aeon or three, no problem.
Radical re-authorship of myself down to my soul to stave off that burning maw
Required that I cut myself out of self
Many times over
To the point where my spiritual security culture mandates thrice daily meta-molting
To noise up all the signal lines
Throw off my persecutor
Insists I give REDACTED all my cast-off body and soul shells for REDACTED’s collection
To be used within REDACTED’s own private pocket universe of B-movie monster cinema
REDACTED told me that the cast-off shells are sometimes used for monsters and character bits, but mostly REDACTED just needs extras for the body count to be filled with souls from realities too delicate to name in my language.
Sure-that’s creepy as fuck.
But all the deals I’ve cut have been worth it to set up my own little dominion of worship.
‘Cause now I get to be the fire on some asses.
Good work if you can get it.
Copyright 2017 by William D. Tucker. All rights reserved. Used with permission.