"The 24 Hr Freak-Out (Forward)"

    Dawn’s early rays: withdrawing from the clubs and after-parties
    tired and wired, I made my lost ways to a distant corner cafe,
    to heal on tobacco and coffee, longing to find what can bind a
    broken soul and secretly lament what it means to be brave and
    free: sinking sinking sinking sinking sin king Sin King ...

    Born to be made-up of better things, to ride wild horses and slow
    down time by gunning toward a glorious death, is to depict
    something heart-rendering, something never to be forgotten,
    something to raise the spirits of mankind - that is the buzz.

    But again - the madness it sneaks up slow and surreal, and one
    day you think you’ve survived it, only to find it has barely begun.

    I am divided when I cannot close what I have opened up: this
    time stolen from God and put into the Devil’s hands, time offered
    as a burnt offering to the gates of hell ...

    At the dear age of 17 I was culled and my mind broken for their
    purpose: my whole being made to rig-out their Shadow Plan:
    a walking-breathing-poetic-bomb that exploded and killed the
    voice of God.

    Now I am the irreverent poet, the shot dead gunslinger, the kid
    who outgrew the town of his upbringing, who limped away from
    heart, mind and soul in search of the tool forged in the fires of
    the dragons den, to express what truly happened back then:

    “In my soul peddling-act I took the tabernacle pill. In my rite of
    passage I cheeked the kiss of the Devil and in my affirmation I
    saw it, the most magnificent concept of a hallucination wielded
    by my warlock-eye ...

    I saw it, my eyes feasting on its brilliance and the unbelievable
    tangible appearance, for there before me in all its satanic glory,
    glowed the magic circle; the sign; the seal; the dream symbol
    and window to the Self ...

    In my new enhanced dimension I felt reborn by my accursed
    anointment, disturbed and overwhelmed by the wizardry and
    craft that the pill had drove me to witness ...
   
    The drug had rounded up all my inspired powers, offering a kind
    of demonic survival-pack, the ideal asset for the typical artist-
    beast-man, soon to be hurled into a long and hideous poetry
    campaign: a bottled backwater no other man should have to
    stomach ...
   
    And so this was the selling point ...
   
    The Devil took my soul and I used his words. The poems: an
    infernal madness and secret ally: the real muster behind my
    leading protagonist tough-guy-poet alter ego, a full-on reason to
    be held back by this ball-buster, this sin.”