Kashka in Babylon

Like in a dream, I look back now to the Ides of March and see how frightening the initial vision was to behold.

The day she had a stomach ache over the lifting of the veil.

Oh how mad she would be if they found out. To spy out who she was!

She may not make it to the land of milk and honey. Her Daddy's wrote it into law that she would.

She may not get to write her name in the sand with blood from Amelekites.

Her Daddy's said she would, she could, she must write every name in blood.

It was a day to stand naked on the edge of abyss and jump.

Soon enough, the wind pushing at her neck, would whisper...

"The moment you have been waiting for, all your life, is right in front of you. It is all you."





Kasha awoke to her last day, not quite ready, not quite awake.

They put her to sleep and cut off her head.

Poor Kashka. Surely someone would be outrage, would care. Surely?

Nobody did. Nobody noticed. They were all too busy in the Kingdom of Iron.

The promise of holding someone responsible assauged them and sleepily they forgot Kashka.

Cutting off heads and every other useless appendage was daily business, daily play. Daily.

It is New Mexico in Kansas afterall. Who knew?

Kashka did.

She had dreamed it one night, long ago...in Babylon.

Babylon. Home of all things dark. Surprise boxes. Surprise parts. Lolli-pop tails to hold Daddy's rules in place.

Surprise echoes in the ears of the her severed head. Surprise flashes in her black eyes.

"It's unique for us, We're treating it like a mass casualty fatality incident. The Office of the Medical Investigator has a mass fatality incident plan and we have activated our plan."

Long ago in the temple of Sappho she had first tasted it, licked it, drank it.

Now there was only the memory of thirst, nor trace of satiation.

Her head, swollen tongued, and parched, so parched, went out in many directions at once, a single minded hydra.

She was spreading. She would pay them back. Oh in so many ways, she would bring them all to the zoo. To the edge. All of them.



Long ago her two mothers in Babylon had drunk with her, of them, of her. Sharing blue waters.

Butch they were. Sonlight and the other cleavings by light her mothers did not enjoy.

Now she was only robed in longing spasms for their taste.

A stomach ache had come to remind her of the dark drink they shared with her.

Like a storm that blots out the sun's dance and drops rain from the branches of the Blackthorn tree.

She came naked and stood on her spot, her head throbbed, as if mortally wounded.

She would show them her New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh!



Hadit sent a theremin player to play for her near the bedroom window seat at Boleskine.

It was there she would let the heads of the beast take her, incessantly rape her. They whispered "quietly do it nice". Pure nirvana.




Cutter came over, they did it twice more then twice twice.

She bore three whelps, sired by many fathers. They were born aged one, five and twelve. This forms three score of six.



Three heads howled with glee!

The dark milk of her tits poured into their maws and they grew. She drew no drink to make such fruit, only her death wish.

A dark tide she filled them with. To make them all dance while the sun was gone. She would make them like her mothers, butch duex.




Evolution was the way out of Babylon.

She would not let them get out without knowing the riddle of six.

The theremin player ejaculated "It hasn't got six strings, but it's a lot of fun".

They would have to stay under the surface with her. She had them and she knew it.

She knew it when she played part two and they didn't understand it was World War V.

They missed III and IV and didn't even know it.

She had shown them her dark skin, under dark robes, with a no star light to shepherd their blind eyes.

Down, down down. This place of coolers, bedrooms, trash dumpsters. All to stay with her.

She would veil the names on her heads. Katla. Kashka. Erykha. Katrina. Kali. Shakti. Until they knew her. By heart.

Each one free as she was in her wisdom.

Gained by stretching her neck out to hear the her lover's admonition...

"Look, you have been told everything. Lift up your eyes and look at the cloud and the light within it and the stars surrounding it. The star that leads the way is your star."



In the dark depths of the Black Sea she keeps all thirsty, who do not have the ticket.

Who do not love her. With all their might. With all their strength. With all their love, devotion and yearning. Yearning to freely drink from her bush. And only from her bush.



MuNNY will not and cannot buy this ticket. All the mooney money lays on its back, across the temple floor.

No takers, no dice, not even a Roman spear. Only priests, pederasts and psycopaths are here, longing for the last drop of water.

She will not give it to these.

Her darkest dark always leads to a dance at dawn for those who see through her veil of names, her many faces, and drink her in, by all means in all ways.

Kashka from Baghdad
Lives in sin, they say,
With another man,
But no one knows who.

Old friends never call there.
Some wonder if life's
Inside at all--
If there's life inside at all.

But we know the lady who rents the room.
She catches them calling a la lune.

At night
They're seen
Laughing,
Loving.
They know
The way
To be
Happy.

They never go for walks.
Maybe it's because
The moon's not bright enough.
There's light in love, you see.

I watch their shadows,
Tall and slim,
In the window opposite.
I long to be with them.

'Cause when all the alley-cats come out,
You can hear music from Kashka's house.

At night
They're seen
Laughing,
Loving.
They know
The way
To be
Happy.

"Watching every night.*
Don't you know they're seen?
Won't you let me laugh?
Let me in your love.

"Watching every night.
Don't you know they're seen?
Won't you let me laugh?
Let me in your love.

"Watching every night.
Don't you know they're seen?
Won't you let me laugh?
Let me in your love.

"Watching every night.
Don't you know they're seen?
Won't you let me laugh?"

PS - 40 to 60 heads found on SW Plane. SW would map to Route 66 as it unfolds again the region of AL BOO QUEER KEY. Kashka ties here because of the heads and body parts sent from AL BOO to Kansas City Kansas, the OZ OZ city. Arkansas, the site of the this head incident, is also the region of the recent 40 dead from flash flood in ALBERT PIKE campground. AP being the head of the little cornerstone that has built this shit hole temple of OIKON. I synched a story line here many years ago (while the father of synchro-mysticism was in his intuitive diapers)about Myrlene Severe and a head in the box. 40 is the box.