Monday, September 10, 2018

Apocalypse That Long to Kiss You


Of course she does. That's her job.



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Not just Beyophomet's, either.

I guess the Transgenics program is just about ready to roll out since we have the usual Influencers hovering around Fashion Week with their faux grafts. Don't worry, they haven't hideously mutilated themselves; yet. It's just a fresh round of chimeric entrainment for the masses.

Speaking of chimeras...


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Yeah, I'll say. But that's what Sirens do best, isn't it? Kill.


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Oh, they meant on the charts. Yeah, that too. I guess. 



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Meanwhile, the Sirens have been calling quite a few people to come swim with them forever and ever this past summer and there's still two weeks left until Fall yet.
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The carnage is certainly not nearly on the scale that we might have seen in the past but let's not give them there fishladies any big ideas, OK?


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Dolores O'Riordan swam to the Sirens at the beginning of the year. As so is often in the case with these things, Dolores had been on a bit of an upswing after a run of shit-luck. I hate this world.
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Unfortunately, the Sirens seem to have had D's number from the jump, judging from the video for the Cranberries' breakthrough hit, "Dreams." It wouldn't be the last we saw of this kind of imagery with this lot either.
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Ironically, the vid we all saw for "Dreams" was their second go at it. The first one, which was apparently either directed by the bass player's gran or some random bloke they grabbed off the street, is quite a bit different. And by a bit different, I mean "fucking terrible."

But do note the pearly effect in D's conspicuously non-Betty Fraser Eyes. I absolutely guarantee you the boys never thought she was a spy.

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Note the Twinning effect here. Also note that with that Kristy McNichol haircut, poor Dolores literally looks like every single, solitary girl I went to high school with,  All she needs is a raglan baseball jersey with "Journey" or "REO Speedwagon" printed on it and a pair of Jordache jeans.

We'll see you on the other side, sweet sister. Leave the light on for us.
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Speaking of swimming, this Dolphin thing certainly seems to be a bit of a thing. We saw this display here right about the time the Sibyl was sweetly singing a fresh round of augurs and portents on the other side of the world.

Oh, you're new here? Welcome. Nice to have you drop by. Who is this Sibyl, you ask? It's a fair question.
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I'll give you a hint.
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And you may have heard about Zafar, the lovelorn dolphin, a week or two ago? This story here ran on the 55th anniversary of Our Lady's blessed nativity.
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Well, as fate would have it, poor Zafar is cruising the waters just a skip around the jetty from where Our Lady and her Unmercenary Musicians recorded her final auguries for posterity. They did so there because Le Bete's new wife happened to be from the area. Her name?
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Florence. I kid you not. 
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And of course, it was two Dolphins who first kicked off the NFL's kneeling season, instantly winning praise from Colin Kaepernick, formerly of the Cylon Francisco 4:9'ers. Colin being a Scottish name, of course.
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The Dolphins played the Tennessee Anakim Titans today BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY DID. And the game was delayed by lightning BECAUSE OF COURSE IT WAS. 
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It was the longest NFL game ever and the Dolphins scored 9+9+9 points to beat the Titans BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY WOULD.

After all, Tennessee took away the Sibyl's sweet Tammuz forever, so they had to be made to pay for their transgressions by the Miami Oracle of Delphins, who serve Our Lady whether they realize it or not.

How do I know this? Because the Sibyl prophesied before the good citizens of Florida mere hours before she and her Shepherd Boy bridged the gap of countless eons and embarked upon a union written in the very stars themselves.

What's that? You actually think it all ends? I'm sorry, I forgot you were new around here. It never ends.
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And then The Boston Globe ran this headline here. 

It's... I have no idea what that's all about.
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It looks like Miami wasn't the only city subjected to the wrath of Zeus.  Weird goings-on in the Upside Down as well. I think it's on account of some lippy Sheila serving the grumpy old fuck a Vegemite sandwich when he had actually ordered a Reuben.
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Worse, it was on whole wheat toast when he specifically asked for marble rye.


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Of course, you'll hear that Zeus's temper tantrums are all the result of anthropogenic climate change on account of humans bogarting an gluttonous 3% of the Earth's surface, not counting 71% of the planet that's covered by ocean.

But some scientists out there are suggesting that maybe cosmic rays-- you know, those unimaginably powerful blasts of radiation from the Sun and from cosmic events billions of times more powerful than old Sol ever dreamed of being -- may have just a little teensy something to do with changes in the weather.

I just hope these folks are either independently wealthy or have themselves some nice cardboard boxes to live in. Not sayin', just sayin'.
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Which brings us back to our old friend, SN1987A, the curiously unnatural-looking cosmic event that was in fact the closest supernova to earth in nearly four centuries.

The one you-know-who arguably prophesied with you-know-what-song three years before the supernova was observed by astronomers.
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The one that was seen in the constellation of Dorado, or as the Sibyl once chanted, the "Ruby Star Dorade."

Well, guess what?

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Dorado is better known as the Dolphinfish. Amazing, huh? 

"Dolphin-fish." Funny. .

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But as pure, dumb chance would have it, a record-setting Dorado was caught right here in the great Garden State the day before the Sibyl and her cetacean entourage blew back into this godforsaken Earthworld.

The name of the skiff was the Lisa Marie, coincidentally the name of the daughter of a famous rock star who might have a sychronnection or two to this little unfolding narrative.


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Then an eagle-eyed reader pointed out that Burt "Ben Frazer" Reynolds appeared on a couple episodes of Flipper back in the day. 

I hadn't seen Flipper since I was a wee wane. It was...interesting.

Hey, you know who I heard was a big fan of Flipper? Allen Ginsberg. So was David Asimov, Walter Breen and Samuel R Delany. Yeah, I heard they never missed a single adventure of that plucky porpoise and his intrepid little chums.
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So I learned something very interesting today.

And by 'interesting' I mean OHMYFRIGGIN'GOD YOU HAVE GOT TO BE MOTHER-EFFIN' KIDDING ME. 
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Wanna know what that is?

Well, it's that Emma "Sorceress" Watson, Miss Pearly Dewdrop Belle herself, spent the first five years of her young life in Maisons-Laffitte, France. So what you may ask?


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Well, that's where Jean Maurice Eugène Clément Cocteau hailed from as well.
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The same  effin' hometown as Emmaline Pearly-DewBelle Morgan Le Fay Non-Binary Incubator-Watson.


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You know, that Jean Cocteau.


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More accurately, this Jean Cocteau and this Beauty and the Beast. Wait; I mean these Cocteau Twins. Plus, the Buckley Supervoid.

Is it spongebath day in the coma ward? It's getting a bit close in here. Would you mind dabbing some salve on my bedsores as well? 

Thanks. You're a dear.



Weird, all my Sunday Schoolin' must've just leaked out of my drug-addled brains since I forgot King David was not only a tyro on the Lyra he was also a shepherd-Boötes too.

Because there's actually only one religion and it's called the stars. Asterism, if you prefer. Wait; I think that's already taken. .

Asterology? I think that one's taken too. Asterianity? Meh, I don't know. Leave your suggestions in the comments.



I bring it up on account of this whole red heifer business and this talk of building the Third Temple in the City of David.

Of course, the First Temple was built by Hiram Abiff and his Merry Murderin' Unworthy Craftsmen for Solomon, who was David's son.


Well, as Synchronicity --plus, the Ring of Fire-- would have it, a Sugar Hiccup shook the Solomon Islands Sunday. The Solomons being named to honor David's son.

No, seriously; "David's son." I know that from somewhere. Gah--It's on the tip of my tongue.

Finally...


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It was 25 years ago, Sgt. Mulder taught the band to play... 

Yes, it was 25 years ago today--back before everything began to suck-- that The X-Files' moved all its shit into my head, took over the spare room and has been mooching off me ever since.

Actually, that's a lie.

I was obsessed with The X-Files before it even aired. It parked the U-Haul in the mental driveway the minute the teaser there started running during commercial breaks on Sightings. 

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a stubby little gingers with pillowy lips. Sue me.

I already wrote my post-mortem so I don't have much more to add. Just that it's sad and fascinating how interest nose-dived in the series this past year.
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Must be why I'm thinking of Las Vegas...  

Part of the that is the fetid stench of the 2016 miniseries but I've been thinking about it  some and my new theory is that Tom Delonge killed The X-Files and UFOlogy with his "To The Stars" boondoggle.

You had this huge, interminable buildup and then you had this ridiculous rollout with a cabal of crusty old Deep State creepers, some shitty video footage that even Third Phase of the Moon wouldn't publish and DeLonge spritzing flopsweat all over Joe Rogan's console. Plus, it all felt very podestrian and faintly hillarious.

Well, maybe we can all delve back into the matter once the stink clears.

Now, excuse me. I have to put the finishing touches on "Apocalypse Like Sugar (Sugar Hiccup)."