If Cats Could Speak ~ They Wouldn't

Sorcerers are people who would like to be cats....

In a dog-eat-dog world....

There's been at least three telling synchronicities in the last three daze since I began posting on behalf of the Feline Brotherhood

(You think I am joking ~ Enjoy it while it lasts)


One who shall remain nameless ~ if not Shame-less ~ admitted that when he masturbated the other night, he heard a cat dying outside his window.

A second begun to dream of cats.

A third is currently seeking employment caring for Needy Felines (bless him; may the force be with him on his heroic quest for purpose and meaning in this dog-eating world)




a dog embodies the unruly libido

a cat, the sensual grace of tenderness and cruelty combined

(and what is love but tenderness and cruelty combined?)

Do you wish to see the evidence of the imminent Feline Invasion into this puny, fragile world??

I did not have to look far for it.







(You are correct: This is Not a Cat. This is the Face of Personal Sovereignty, without Make-Up.)

Mars is becoming playful; saturn alas, still wants to get laid; mercury is in danger of being poisoned by his own darkness; Uranus is wrestling with freedom vs. responsibility, and the inevitability of evolution's design; Jupiter is AWOL, awol, a wandering orpheus loner, Neptune is wrestling with the waves, trying to co-opt surrender, Helios is seeking release from bondage through dreaming, sol has car troubles, luna is dreaming blue butterflies into being, Venus is on holiday, Pluto is keeping silence, while his roots get into Everything.

The Lemons are almost to Lemnos; the system is replicating, the Magus standing on his head to get attention: look what has become of the fourfold gate to eternity, see how the camel trader got stuck in the eye of a needle, see how Jesus' sandal strap got wrapped around Peter's neck, and the stone sank softly, slowly to the surface, and a mysterious being emerged, from inside the darkness of knowing; and what we thought we were, all this time, sank sweetly, gratefully into unconsciousness, where it most sorely needed to go.

And the kittens howled atavistically in the moonlight.




and a song passed over your heads

and a dust cloud covered the stars.

and the moon sighed for pity

and another felid-based blog-post from nowhere appeared

and the followers shook their heads sadly

and said, He used to be such a clever fellow

where did his paranoid go to?

and floyd anderson warned wanly of infiltrations and misinformations

while the kittens stirred under his bed

and here i have said enough

that parents should kindle such residual bastards as refine the option of occult-sounding barbarism as a means to render blood as fully conscious systems of control through the whirlwind of - but you know how it ends

Don't say you were not warned...