The U.B.F.C. vs. The Illuminati: Take Two

           Last year one of my many doomed occult endeavors was an event called "The Underground Batman Fan Club vs. The Illuminati." It began with a detailed report describing the tragedy riddled history of April 20th combined with a call for intrepid investigators to locate and gather together in the shadowiest corners of our city, ostensibly to help us search for any signs of the Illuminatti's next impending human sacrifice, but really just to give us all an excuse to engage in a little urban exploring, much like our most recent occupations of Pittsburgh's Underdark.

           The final stroke of genius, however, was to come from my recruitment of a largely inactive local magical organization, setting them to the crucial task of performing one simple mock human sacrifice, to be held upon the fated date, and wrought upon no less than the dead beat leader of their nearly defunct secret society.

           Although prepped for this ritual many weeks in advance, my obviously insufficiently villainous co-conspirators pulled out just before the final hour, providing an easy "win" for every last one of our heroic investigators, of whom, unfortunately, there were exactly none.

           Now, one full year later, my mind returns to these dreams of long shadows in lonely places, masked magickal workings executed towards obscure or alien ends, with perhaps a few superhero scavenger-hunters thrown feverishly into the mix, but this year, though I may share some small mention of my plans here, I now know far better than to ever again try and share the dream itself.

           I am not one of you; we are not kin, nor does it appear that our increasingly dissimilar spirits spring from any sort of shared psychic source. I am one of the last remaining flickers of a pre-adamite consciousness, a displaced descendant of a race of god-kings who ruled here before there even were such things. Try as I might to carry on in absentia of our now fallen kingdoms of faery wonder, you have previously and will most likely continue to mortally wound me with your intractable lamenesses, proving time and time again that, most of you anyway, have little more to offer save for your supposedly constructive criticisms and countless puerile rationalizations for your own insipid inertia.

           Time, and the painfully languid experience of you, has transformed me into a very different creature then I had once hoped to become, with a very different manner of engaging you and your irredeemably craven worldviews. Although I have found painfully few mortals to be above contempt, it is worth noting that those select few individuals who possess any enduring capacity to please me are obviously to be shown a certain degree of deference and, on rare occasions, may even be showered with a uniquely generous degree of love, yet everyone else must necessarily serve as nothing more than waking canvases, lab rats, or sport.

          This vow I now most sullenly declare: Those of you who pledge yourselves, mind and body, to the Djinn cause (as well as to my various Neo-Luciferian pseudo-authoritarian lunacies) can rest assured that you too will have me to hold your hands when the bland demons of mediocrity set upon you once again, just as, even now, those same cruel cardinals of conformity swarm all over me, attempting in vain to bring me down. You have your orders. Take hold of this hallowed current (if you can) and MARCH!

           There is no greater escape from banality than the one that actually takes it hostage on the way out and forces it to watch, it's once snide eyes now wide with confusion and disgust, as we dance naked and engorged around it's funeral pyre. Perhaps there will be other clues and warnings; perhaps this is your only one. Good luck and Namaste.

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1 Response
  1. I find myself wondering which category I fall into...excellent writing! Miss you here in Iowa!

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