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Uh, we had talks here about someone seeing Guru Dev
at a rock concert and everyone around him throwing up or something. Weird stuff
happens. I liked readin that this guy was really into GD and Crowley as was I. I
had a couple friends when I was fifteen and used to give them lectures on
Crowley, the pompous little twerp that I was. Then we might fit in a watchtower
or a Lesser pentagram, or maybe throw out all stops and pick up Laveys Satanic
Rituals. Some interesting satanic rituals like L'air Du Stifle, Ritual of
the Stiffling Air, where the room has red light and Van De Graf generators
humming and a low subsonic hum. Lavey was imaginative, one must give him
that. So is your friend.
His name is Something Graywolf. A self
professed iniate something or other of the 79th sphere from Exelon or
something. Shit, I gave all that crap up. Or it gave me up.
Cooking has become my religion. Somewhere after the
million plate served. I take my dagger and make strange hand passes. I multiply
my devotions adding the kum kum of my product after each name on
the recipe. I strike up the homam (on the range). I become Brahman as I
take an empty pot and fill it with diverse offerings, I send it's blessing up in
the form of scent, only to empty it again and then the remains of the yagya goes
to the potwasher. Each year new clothes in the form of aprons are given to the
stuck up Bramin caste called the front of the house, while this tantrika slaves
away at his duni. When I don't feel like serving, I am still forced to serve
thus increasing my devotions. And then comes pick up when I take the body
and bread of my suffering and, and sometimes my blood and burns, and make a
mandala offering to my guests, who treat me like a priest, that is, they praise
me to high heaven, but are really glad that the stinky creature with all the
creative energy stays behind the line so as not to disturb their admiration
of the product. Wowow. WTF am I doing still rambling. Gotta go to
werk. Next week will be a complete joy as the chef goes out of town
leaving me to do everything. Hurrah!
Homam on the Range. A
Buddhist Chef's Story. (if I could only chill without using). At least I offer
up all my sins and pleasures to the Three Roots. It's all I can do. The Buddha's
be gettin some strange offerings from me. Sometimes I'm thinking they keep me
around just to see what's next. Cause God knows I ain't no good Buddhist! Sounds
very country. Shit shit shit, gotta go to werk. Arrggghh. Have a good day
y'all.
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