Syndicate 23 (Part 2)I step out of the mirror and into my Octarium. You read that right. Agents of The Syndicate have very secure living quarters that can only be accessed through tall, full length, magick mirrors that have a dark oak frame with protective wards and sigils carved into them, an Octarium is a specially designed room for practicing magick. The mirrors are set into the east side of the wall, and, as you probably have guessed Octariums are octagonal in shape, there is a kind of eight rayed star painted on the floor, a circle in the middle with eight “rays” emanating outward, ending in triangles. As I leave the Octarium and step into the apartment proper I am greeted by my familiar, a small white cat I call Darby. Every agent has a familiar, some, like mine, are cats, but they can be anything, goats, ravens, snakes, dogs, wolves…. They are both guardians and companions. I crouch and give Darby some pets, he playfully bats at my hand, I continue towards the bathroom.After a very long, very relaxing shower I head towards my balcony to take a look at the view. Night has fallen and the city is a neon maze, spires and skyscrapers reaching impossible heights, in the distance I can see The Obsidian Pyramid, streaks of blue and red and hot pink streaking and swerving, reflecting over the surface. Air Buses dock like bumblebees at the top floors of various buildings. See, our living quarters are secure, real secure. In fact, they exist outside of Earth, in a whole ‘nother realm, Greenhill, also known as Cnoc Uaine. I take a seat, pipe in hand, packed with some nice, sticky, green herb and inhale deep, the pungent, piney smoke filling my lungs. My mind and body instantly unwinds, the breezes of cool night sweep across my balcony, I can smell the lake in the distance, I lean back and look up at the strange constellations in the sky, the twin moons rising over the cityscape, tomorrow I’ll hit up Lakeside, have some fun at Club Babalon, maybe get some trips in the hip districts, get out of my head for a day and a half, then I’ll step into my Octarium for some practice and meditation, have a little conversation with Balfour, my Daemon. But for now, I’ll just sit here on my porch, watching the city do its thing.The next day I’m ready to go, I mumble my intentions and step into the mirror… and out into the busy daytime streets of Lakeside. I’m going to get a nice big breakfast and spend the day in the markets, maybe meet up with some fellow agents later, but, right now, I need some Me Time. Navigating through the crowd, past the crooning androgynes heading towards their temple, losing myself among the dealers and vendors hawking fetishes and charms, by the parlors and diners and arcane bookstores, incense and smoked meats waft in the air around me, I’m going straight for my favorite little place, for coffee, sweet and thick, with eggs and sausage and hot biscuits… I chow down, getting ready for a day of wandering, sit by the water for awhile, watching the boats and people coming and going…. A walk in the park, making sure to visit the shrines, leaving a gift for the Goddess Sh’vana. Then, I’ll make my way to The Wyrmwood Tavern, here’s where I meet up with Gibson, fellow agent and close friend, for a good toke, a cold beer and some dinner. The place is fairly crowded, the dim, hazy interior reeks of weed and spices, Gibson, tall and gawky, catches my eye, waving me over. “Where’s Jael, dude?” He asks, as we greet with a tight hug.“They went off to spend time with their tribe.” I answer as he hands me a drink.“Heard about you two taking down the twins, good job!” He congratulates.“Ah.. thanks man… I’m just glad we got Hoffman’s Teapot back.”He motions towards the other’s sitting at the table. “This is Jaidyn and Azariah” Jaidyn is shirtless, thick curls of hair spread out over tan brown chest, bald, with glyphs and sigils tattooed over his head and neck, spreading down his arms, Azariah has shocks of deep red hair, she’s languid in fishnets and a sheen of light-blue skin. I greet both of them enthusiastically, as I sit down. “Let’s get some food in us!” Gibson announces. We feast, salted fish and exotic greens washed down with crisp beers and rich cakes for dessert cuz we all puffed and huffed them smokey treats, and had to have our munchies. Jaidyn and Azariah were entering The Obsidian Pyramid soon, Jaidyn was going into The Order of the Jaguar… “Sh’v’Hala!!” I yelled, “That’s the order I graduated from!” “Sh’v’Hala!!” Jaidyn toasted back. “It will be an honor to work with you after I complete my training!” “And you?” I turned to Azariah. “Me? I’m going into The Order of the Panther.” “Woah.” Gibson and I say. “Seriously?” I’m impressed. “That’s bad ass!” She tips her mug to me. “Believe me, I was at a loss for words when I got the news.” “The best of the best.” I wink, knowingly. “Sh’v’Hala!” I clink glasses with her. “Sh’v’Hala!” She smiles. It’s time to get out and hit up Club Babalon. Out on the streets, sweat-heaps in alleyways, gruntin’, flappin’, any-ways, highball lanterns greasin’ down the sidewalk, legging on by the neon stained walls…. Oily pavements lick backwards on thar boulevard. High knives glint, click like heels. Traffic lights drippin’, liquor signs smeared like cotton candy. Club Babalon. Juiced up and delighted in the serrated lights slunked out to slewing breakbeats on the sound system. Synths brilliant interlocks with the swift spherical bass humping in the ethereal ruckus as the room ignites in aum revelry by flooded nerves up to pineal grace. Gusts of arousal fades into song after song wired with psionic daydream trances plugged into their Astral Form, lenticular treble echoing, we do time on the dance floor. We wish upon a tablet or two, tons of stuff to get the night Right-On. Primary tube-tops gelled with Partners in Grime, dirty 808’s sound crinkled and dubby walloping on BOOMboXes….Squalling sheets licking whispers on plate glass, shards of light blinking off the steam and concrete. Lips tickle for cash, strapped in hotel rooms. Sighs creaking on beds. Blankets crumpled on the floor. Breaths, quick and humid, grunt in time with the headboard, muscles slide slick. The sharp, static cling of sweat stains the mattress, while paint peeled walls collect memories. The rip of threads, redolent and sticky, insatiable phantoms enticed with an opulent, carnal, stink. Heaving and snapping like ragdolls soaked in pheromones. Squishing springs pushing on cheekbones, the shreds of tape, bind and shove, rumbling, welted by the tagging snaps, bled from whips, clotted fingernails pull, we breathe desperate promises, pulverizing with uncouth hearts. Stargazers sticking their glitz, wrists rubbed raw by twine, coupling, we burn distinctly…….Sunrise. Pink clouds scraped across the horizon. Buildings, fat and squat. Clotheslines criss cross through yards, pavement littered with glass like jagged stars. Empty crosswalk blinks, lazy breeze hushes through the streetlights…. After a night like that nobody can go home until we get a quick, light, breakfast. Juice and pastries will do, thank you very much, I’ll crash when I get home, sleep it off, then spend part of the day resting up. After that. I gotta get into my practices and disciplines for the next day and a half. Have my usual chat with Balfour tonight… but now, I say my goodbyes to my companions, and, focusing, I point with three fingers, drawing a door, I take a step…. Right into my Octarium… stoop to scratch Darby behind his ears, and head towards my room, where I collapse on the bed....
Fatest TeacherA poison chest from the est
monster rat 200 kilos fat
His face like a broadhit jambolaya
talking bout habits and happenings so frat
He´s a straight out strangler
of 100ds of innocent pupils
Making their lifes worthless
even more he´s killing them each day
An ulcer as big as a football
to take away
Good appetite for the weekends
this is called homework
Pupils brains are debasing into bloodmud
giving a mind away for monsterworship
No questions why
the fishy eye
Knows the wrong answer so well
curly mouths, white slime drippin off
Wrong was the girls answer
getting burned for that once again
And put into the ikea desc for yoga
be fit you nasty orange - skinned bitch
You never be a model one or the other way
blackest coat will be put over you and over
No way out, get married and live on planet moon
the golden cage, the golden age
Swedish trunk, swedish drink
poison is good for you, in doses
Btw. did your house and farm burn down last night?
Syndicate 23 (Part 1)I have to wait in the car. It sucks. Why am I waiting in the car? Because we finally got a lead on Hoffman’s Teapot, an item the organization I work for has been after since the early 80s when it was stolen from our facility by a former agent, I have to wait in the car because I would not fit in with the group of kids hanging out in the third floor apartment. They’re a group of college kids, hippie types, and I’m… a bit older than that and they would probably think I was a narc, which, in a way, I am, I mean, my partner and I aren’t here to bust them for drugs, we’re here to retrieve the above mentioned item, and since my partner is really good at playing roles like this, I get to wait in the car, in case we have to make a quick get away. What is Hoffman’s Teapot you say? Well, Hoffman’s Teapot pretty much looks like a normal tin teapot, if you saw it in someone’s home it would look completely unremarkable, but, obviously, looks are
Own FaultsDon´t know which drug is right, own fault
Don´t know what to do about it, own fault
People can´t talk, because they´re rat racing, own fault
The course of the day is scheduled, own fault
Own fault, own fault, own fault
Look who´s talking!
Accept the responsibility.
You brought it all on yourself.
What else, what else, what else
To be a cog in the wheel
Mistakes, or no mistakes
Can you accept mistakes
Are you allowed to make mistakes
What is a mistake
Barbarella loved to live in her Barbapappa
Barbapappa exploded one day
Barbarella was alfresco then
Barbarella wasn´t looking for a new one
Barbarella, Barbahoops, Barbaloops, Barbalalaaaa
Drawn lines to ride on
As the thread of life
A thread of life ...own fault
The society drew a scenery for you
The society tested you out to the bone
The society prepared you a place
The society pushed you to the limit
that´s your own faults
everything is your own fault
make your own faults every day
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WELCOME TO EMPTYHEADS!
It is the philosophy of this club that emptyness made by the numb and negative part of our art (sometimes left on purpose) is meant to be filled with ideas. Which flow upon the paper like the mediums we choose.
Empty heads is about collaboration. Getting to know your fellow surrealists and observe their style and nature of their art.
We hope that by collaborating we can build a tightly knit community of surrealists who will continue to collaborate with each other inspire each other and support one another artistically.
WAYS OF THE GAME
The original recipe:
One artist creates a head...Or possibly a foreground, which then passed (digitally or mail) to another deviant to create a body for the being or surreal object or background.
The original said something about humorous but since the nature of the artwork created resulted in mixed results of mood. I will not require it.
Three musketeer’s version:
One person does a head (foreground) one person does a background and one person provides details/manipulation/colors.
Not so sure on this one.
Or. You can dived a single "canvas" into three sections evenly and create a multi-person exquisite corpse or work freely over the sections to create a montage of style.
One person chooses a corner and works on it. Another person chooses an opposing corner and works on it ECT. So the piece blends but is made up of four evenly distributed sections.
All four work on a variety of details on the piece.
Or four people do minimal drawing as not to crowd the drawing each person does an automatic drawing based on paranoid-critical theory. Where they draw what they see with little intervention, working with and into the pieces that the others drew.
With each person the canvas is rotated. So instead of working off of sections they work on the whole canvas but a different perspective. Much like how my own four ways are created.
This would cause the most skill in making sure everyone used the same medium but also provide some serious collaboration eyes.
So what do you say!
Let's get collaborating folks!
The moderators of this club(The HeadHunters) posseses the power to accept or reject applicants prior to application according to the works found in their gallery. Submissions are subjected to questioning by the administrators(the moderators currently) if the quality of the works are deemed questionable!!...This is a collaborative group so we expect your full cooperation inorder for us to function!!!...respect each other and we'll respect you!!!
How to become a member?
Step 1.) you must be a constant and active creator of surrealist(or in some cases occassional) works. Fantasy and macabre works will not be accepted unless they fit the eyes of the moderators.
Step2.)Note the club with the subject line "Join" requesting admission... a reply note will be sent to you should we find you and your works ideal for the club collaboration.
Step3.) watch us and if you are accepted, we will watch you...Be nice or else!!...Dont forget to put a link or icon of the group in your journazl or signature so that we may know who our members are!!!
Step4.) Note the club with the subject line "Collaboration" IF YOU WANT TO SUBMIT A COLLABORATIVE WORK... or "SUBMISSION" for works dedicated or in line with the philosophy of the EmptyHeads Community...