[Cathedral]

Kill No. 72. I find the douchebag writing a book about me. Tuesday, February 9, 2021

[Cathedral]

15:46: I get out of class at UW early. I'm skipping the scheduled collaboration with Caltech. I've got better things to do today than play nerd with spotted Kolkata rabble. I'll show them how to wire their asinine prototype Martian helicopter tomorrow. My participation in this shit better lead to a superior fucking job, which doesn't necessarily mean Jet Propulsion Lab. I'd kind of like to work for the Chinese; blow virus West to pieces. Yeah, all of these mothefuckers. Who has the superior culture, bastard? After I have a career procured, I'm going to power spray the green mud clogging those Idian fucker's little throats so they don't sound like they're sucking in a breath while half-giggling when they talk. I'm going to figure shit out and do all of the work while they speculate in Hindi. Then I'm never going to have anything more to do with those speckled, asylum seeking butt-fuckers except to fire Chinese ICBMs at them: one to Indian administered Kashmir and one to California. I hope they die.

[Cathedral]

15:48: I'm in the parking lot outside Denny Hall. Memories flood my mind. I go to my hand-built '77 H-D Shovelhead; ride of hardcore fury. I put headphones on to drown out the stupid chatter of the other people here. Why do these goofy, artificially sweetened, sycophantic clowns mumble through triple-ply polyester masks? No one can understand a damn word off their scribbled, cock-hungry lips.

15:49: I pause to put my sun glasses on and look around. It's sunny, 38 degrees Fahrenheit. The roads are dry. I switch my music from Haydn's 'L' infedelta delusa' to Deiphago's '(6x6x6)/3'. I survey the sky. Yeah, it's a pretty day.

15:51: I'm screaming out of here on the wings of demons, into the Aeons. Don't fuck with me!

[Cathedral]

16:10: It's in the door and shut out the light streaming in from outside. I love my apartment. Walls and ceiling painted black. Black drapes. I inflame a thirteen stem candelabra to see my way to the refrigerator for a bottle of Guinness. Off with the dumb mask. I can finally fucking breathe. I'm home. I can be the person I want to be, away from those busy-body, corny, know-it-all, self-important, pompous, gas-bag, soft, academic, bleeding-heart evangelists of the Church of the District of Columbia, yes, away from those weak, sheltered scrubs. Are they startled by their ignorance when how smart they supposedly are is all they have to commend themselves to the wider world, the vast majority of which don't give a shit about them; and that's to the credit of the vulgar peons. There aren't any bugs in here; I check. I'm free to say and think whatever I please within these black walls; in the embrace of these shadows.

[Cathedral]

16:30: I piss and get another beer. I'm writing a program for some of the sensors on that Mars helicopter's dust wipers. Thirty-two thousand lines on code stringed, looped, and functional as nuts to butts. This morning, before school, I got sloppy and fucked it up. Now it won't work. It's a real kick in the balls. I watch my Tree Boa in her vivarium.

18:00: This is my last beer. I stretch, put on my leather jacket, wallet chain brushing the side of my black jeans. The night sky is beginning to streak with wispy clouds, but it's still mostly clear.

18:17: One of the ugliest bastards I've ever seen sells a six-pack of Budweiser to me. What kind of unholy fucking monster wrought this guy?

18:24: My mind wanders in front of the fuel pump. Man, I like the smell of gasoline. I take the douchey mask off. Fuck you, Fauci! I practice precise breath control; inhale, count, exhale. Phosphenes arrange marvelously over a backdrop of deep blue, eternal firmament. Saturn and Jupiter stand on the dark moon. Venus, Mercury, the gods are in Aquarius. How much difference is there between watching sheep and staring at goats? I'm a killer. I have twenty-three bodies dumped out around Port Angeles, Black Diamond Road, and Black Creek. Fuck yeah! It takes me about three hours to get there and I feel like taking a ride. While I'm out of town maybe somebody will spray this fake place with poison gas and kill these loopy rats.

[Cathedral]

18:29: I get on I-5 South to Tacoma. I'm glad I brought my Sig Sauer 320 along. It's seriously fun to play with. Maybe while I'm shooting I can get an insight into what I'm fucking up on my coding project.

19:21: I'm getting on State Highway 3. There are plenty of places to pull off of the road to drink beer in the woods. I'm in no rush.

20:06: No more fucking Wal-Marts or Starbucks after this. I'm on the two-way Olympic Highway through some of the most beautiful black-emeraldine night forest on earth.

20:24: Port Angeles is 35 miles away. I roll my Harley under a woeful Incense Cedar (calocedrus decurrens (libocedrus decurrens)). Her ascendant canopy brushes the licentious ground but I'm warm in my leather jacket because there isn't any wind. I read a recent translation of the 'Hermeticum' on my Kindle Paperwhite, listen to music, and imbibe beer.

21:20: Back on the road for the last stretch. Listening to Emperor's 'Nightside Eclipse' puts me in a pensive mood as I close in on waterscapes that make me want to fuck pussy indelicately. That's a sign that I'm not going to turn into Thunderbird in a flash of rage, and like a wildfire incinerate stupid totem poles people who admire indigenous clown-fuckers plant in front of their bankrupt businesses to be lawn ornaments. Drudkh Douglas Fir burns hot, too! I laugh aloud by myself as I speed on a very powerful motorcycle navigating roads winding through cold, dark wilderness, at the thought of dork-ass Makahs screaming hysterically; frying in a vat of whale fat.

[Cathedral]

21:57: I usually loose track of time when I drink a lot, especially on the road. Tonight's no different. My combat boots step in the door of Lower Elwha Food and Fuel three minutes before the fat Indian clerk closes the store. The undutiful punk already has the lights off. Not so fast, motherfucker! Before he can claim he's totally closed I look him directly in the eyes lest the chunky clot of red menstrual flow says something foolish to me. Fuck you, loser, I'm going to get my beer; and indeed I do. I'm sure he's had a long day. I'm fine with the louse. He never tries to act friendly or chit-chat with me; I'm grateful because I deplore crassness. Also, I know the Feds have been asking him about people passing by since authorities have found fourteen of my victims within the immediate vicinity. It's disappointing that folks aren't freaking out about the serial killer in their midst more. They would be in ***-tropolis Seattle.

21:59: The Interfor lumber yard across the street is chock full of wood, and fuck, it smells good. This place has enough fresh-cut Douglas Fir for Hirakaku to build a house for every bum in the world. Clueless, fuck-ass so called "socially conscious", facile, Ted-Talk turds are responsible for every errant judgement call crucifying the last vibrant embers in an otherwise dead hunk of a grossly fucked-over Empire. I don't get the Conservative types that feel sad or threatened by the imbeciles. The nastiness of the cut-n-paste globalist elite makes me feel rare and dangerous. My absolute disregard for them makes me feel god-like and alive.

22:27: There's still some traffic out. I want to be careful to avoid catching the attention of a nerdy ne'er-do-well on the look out for strange people on choppers throttling along semi-truck crushed, weather wasted old roads.

22:40: I'm rolling slow, sipping beer along the way by Little River and WF-3030 trail. This territory is hot, but I don't have a judge impaled mouth to bunghole with a 3/4 inch steel pipe secured to my pillion like I did last year in November.

[Cathedral]

22:48: I stop abruptly. Son of a bitch! Interspersed within the evergreen forests are watersheds and meadows. They'll be a dense tangle of yellow and purple wildflowers come Beltane. Now it's frost beleaguered tan reed down on its side replete with rabbit paths. Unfortunately, in this particular winter wizened field there's a $100,000 RV parked at one edge next to a wall of impenetrable tall trees. It's improbable that it doesn't have something to do with the high-profile mortal remains getting found in this area lately. The public commotion has been relatively muted so far, but I know law enforcement is incredibly dreading the potential backlash, thus present and active on each missing person and homicide for which I'm proudly responsible. What does it matter? To Hell with my self-doubt. I came out here to drink and star-gaze. Dorkdom can suffocate in their blow-up sex doll. Afterwards, I'll take a shit on his windshield. Receive it as evidence of my distrust for mild liberals perennially preoccupied with fabled persecution from the po-po and other nonsense of a historical nature of which none of them grasps a damned thing, factually. Get a grip, cocksuckers. Let this dumbass have a problem with me being out here. I shut out my headlight.

23:10: I am at the vertex, Theta, pleased to be inconspicuous as zero degrees. The problem is, cunt-cream can't help but burst out of his nifty green, orange, and white Jayco Melbourne 24L to bother me. Well, it's up to me to humor this bewildered bitch.

[Cathedral]

23:11. Living in a crumbling Empire, as I do, the bar is necessarily set low already when judging the caliber of anyone I'm likely to encounter. The value of Democracy is erased if the majority of voters are grasping, sub-human cowards. One look at this guy in a huge Armani overcoat with a yappy little yellow dog in his arms is all that's required for me to sum this undeveloped bundle of perfumed funk as a glitch.

I'm sitting on my motorcycle, considering building another one; enveloped in obsidian night. There's no visible moon. The stars are stunning to such an extent that the fir needles look like like a crimson lofts levitating in parallel with the axis of the wooden spike of a trunk, with root ephemerally lodged like a tooth beneath Earth's skin, sucking sustenance. The dirt beneath my feet is already dry, yesterday's showers evaporated in the space of one sunny day.