By James Curcio
Religions. Philosophies. ads campaigns. authorities. Prozac. All of those medications are offered as solutions to our private questions: Why are we the following? What actually has that means?
For a gaggle of teenagers desperately trying to find that means within the bleak McMansion sprawls of Suburban the US, those questions are of the essence. whilst not one of the permitted avenues of concept or habit make experience to any extent further, they wander into an unknown territory of magick, drug use, and shamanic exploration.
Through satire and drama, subscribe to My Cult takes you on an inward initiatory trip and a deeply hypnotic experience.
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Religions. Philosophies. ads campaigns. experts. Prozac. All of those medicinal drugs are bought as solutions to our inner most questions: Why are we the following? What really has that means? For a gaggle of teens desperately trying to find that means within the bleak McMansion sprawls of Suburban the US, those questions are of the essence.
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A vaguely human form was trying to force its way through this barrier, and although he couldn’t see any eyes, he could feel it regarding him intently. Tenaciously. It had a horrible facsimile of a human face, with long, hollow eye sockets and a stretched jaw. 62 Join My Cult! 63 Alexi fell back in terror, but forced himself to regain his wits. He was having a vision of hundreds of them, all ascending and descending a giant, glowing double helix, phosphorescent DNA staircase. Near the top, he could see seven beings, unusually bright, shimmering in every color of the visible spectrum.
He continued to stare, unblinking, for many long, uncomfortable moments. J was forced to look away and chew on his thumbnail. Finally, they whipped through Times Square. ” Their rusted yellow steed neighed, puffed smoke, and pulled into a side alley. 357 pistols from under his seat. They were spray-painted neon pink. Around the muzzle the deep cobalt of the metal showed through. “These,” Mohammed said, puffing up his chest like a peacock, “are my peestables. ’” Although his voice was calm and even, there was a dangerous look in his eyes.
Let me slip slowly away until I’m someone else… Someone who outwardly matches who I am—female. Take me, strap me down, and cut away the bad with manic precision until only the good is left. ) Wondering where all the joy in life went. ) It makes me wonder why every new level apprehended is paradoxically another cage to escape for the sake of the next; each “advance” is met with higher demands, lower rewards, and stronger cage bars. Bizarre, bright blue alloys and snake-like dancing Join My Cult!
Join My Cult! by James Curcio