We are Ritual and Eminence

We Are Ritual

This getting close to Holy Holies, exiled from sanctuary, no recompense for slaughter; this poor interpretation of Accused; this blaming Everyday for any Other, is how we whistle past grave-yard sophistries of “common knowledge” and “all that goes without saying” and such. Such. Such Righteous exclamations.

Like: “You should have been more clear!”

We are Accused. Still, yet, again. We are ritual.

Happy catastrophes meant to entertain – witch-hunts, for instance – can easily get out of hand, burn far more kindling than planned, cause many deaths, on Sacred Days, beyond the Chosen, scape-goated few.

But if we burn with economy and stretch our budget not a wit – or witch (ha ha ho ho hee hee) – feasts of blood for all shall rendered be, and ample fire-wood stored Winter-long…


“It was better before, before they voted for” (Exene Cervenka and John Doe, X)

so much pain for so many except the ones already wiped out or bought out or sold out to the dummy-down, dummy-down, dummy-down-down, like, ya know?

don’t wanna be a smarty-pants or nuthin’ like that like whaddya think yer better’n everbody else?

Mabye. What if I do? My thoughts, my mind. I can imagine my self better than anyone I know.

That whole sixties crashing down upon Kent State the year Catch-22 the movie didn’t have to dummy-down-dummy down, not yet, not full-tilt dummy-ing till 1980 or so how did it all start, the end I mean, or was it that way in the beginning, or was it one of those Twilight-Zone paradox things and Rod Serling grins out smoke and sez of course that it had been this way all along, didn’t notice, didja…?

Anyway keep the change and don’t forget to love thy neighbor even if he is an ass but not if he’s a child-molester or a Republican or a Democrat or dead in which case he’s most likely registered Independent and his vote don’t count for shit relatively speaking and relative to Democrepubs or Republodips and of course way down on the totem-pole granola-crunch Greens and wacko-freak Libertarians, Nazis, Texas-Secessionists and so forth

so many lives to sacrifice so many to chew-thirty-times-before-swallowing, and all so far away (though not always…) to spark the Eminence that is Boobus Americanus (Summum Ignoramus cum Loud).

Adam Engel lived for your sins -- and he lived well! -- in Fear-and-Trembling, Brooklyn, one of the last gangrenous toes of NYC not yet severed and replaced with a prosthetic gentrification device. Engel has traveled the farthest regions of cyberspace, where Dark-matter meets Doesn't-matter; and Anti-matter, despite its negative connotation and dour point-of-view, excercises rights of expression protected by Richard Stallman's GNU/Free Software Foundation and CopyLeft agreement, if nobody and nothing else. Having spent many years studying Boobus Americanus (Summum Ignoramus), allegedly the most intelligent mammal on earth -- after its distant relative, Homo Sapiens -- in various natural habitats (couch, cubicle, bar-stool, ball-game -- televised or 'real-time') -- Engel has thus far related his observations of and experiences with this most dangerous of predators in three books -- Topiary, Cella Fantastik, and I Hope My Corpse Gives You the Plague (the combined international sales of which have reached literally dozens, perhaps as many as seventy, with projected revenue to top three digits by decade's end! Truly a publishing phenomenon). Engel is Associate Editor of Time Capsule Books, a division of Oliver Arts & Open Press, published in limited editions for a tiny, highly specified, though eclectic, target-audience: people who actually read books. He can be reached at adam@new.dissidentvoice.org Read other articles by Adam, or visit Adam's website.