“First-Class Ticket Straight to Hell:” The Meaning of Trump’s Victory and its Resistance

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New piece over at Gods & Radicals, and it’s chock full of GONZO GOODNESS! Lord knows it’s already causing quite the ruckus! Check it out!

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THE DEATH THROES of the Republic, however cathartic, were now over. Donald Trump was set to take the highest office in the land and by all reports it was to be a horror show of epic proportions. Infowars and Brietbart were practically pissing themselves in the lead up to the inauguration, fears of violent Anarchists overwhelming the police and establishing a People’s Autonomous Zone so real that hundreds of “Bikers For Trump” rode out to do battle.

“Connors said Bikers for Trump riders will not seek confrontations, but he is “absolutely” prepared for physical conflicts.

“We have made the decision that when those people come, we are going to stand face-to-face with them, eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe, shoulder-to-shoulder with my brothers,” Connors said….

Even so, riders have promised to create “a wall of meat”, between protest groups and Inaugural events….

“They’re not getting past us,” promised Connors.

It was my kind of politics and I had loaded up on ammunition to help in the ensuing violence. Falling back on my knowledge of the usual Floridian behavior I was pretty sure we could expect open combat for at least three days, a general uprising starting in the trailer parks as Il Duce took office mixed with large amounts of low level skirmishes in the following weeks. I had taken to walking everywhere with a 9mm and was practically itching to use my new Rock Island Armory revolver in the lead up to the inauguration.

“You just say the word,” I had told my friends and neighbors of color, “and I will be over here faster than a coke dealer hearing the port of Miami is cop-free. I will put down a Klansman faster than Rick Scott fires teachers, harder than the coquina rock over in Saint Augustine; I will kill, maim, or literally evaporate anybody that tries to harm you, and if you know any rich people we can fuck them up too.”

That was the hope at least, that the facade of decency could be dropped, even for a moment, and open combat finish what could only be hinted at in the halls of power. Lord knows everybody wanted it.

One could easily imagine the scene: a smoke-filled corridor is burst through by young Anarchists decked out in black, swinging trench knives into the kidneys of Bikers as police desperately attempt to regain order. Screams and guts pour onto the streets as homemade bombs send limbs flying everywhere. Grenades rock the Lincoln memorial, pieces flying off widly in a haze of shrapnel. Mortar shells fired from inner city neighborhoods fall on DC police, now coated in blood yet still waiting for the “Hot and Ready” sign at Krispy Kreme to turn on.

Suddenly sniper fire rings out from the rooftops. Trump, sweat pouring from his brow, calls in nuclear strikes as Russian and Chinese planes air-drop crates of assault rifles into liberated territory. The UN calls an emergency meeting but the security council vetoes it, nothing stopping the seizure of lands by those with the determination to take them. Rolling blackouts shut down security cameras, everything not nailed down up for grabs. Landlords thrown into the street, private schools razed to the ground; stock brokers hang from lampposts as the John Brown Militia issues a proclamation that Bank of America has closed forever. Death has come to the American Aristocracy, and it rides a pale horse, entire cities burning for days…

Jesus Christ, did I write that?

I must still be under the influence. Only an absolute madman would desire such a thing…

“I Have Not Yet Begun to Defile Myself…”

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9:30 am. I’ve downed a glass of water infused with LSA and already killed two beers. I’m grinding up Star Anise, Anise seed, and Frankincense and heating up some charcoal. Cornmeal is poured from my already shaking hand into a glyph shown to me deep in trance several days earlier, the signature of my guiding spirit and aide for this terrible yet uncanny day. As I pour the incense over the red-hot coal smoke engulfs me, its spiritual properties causing my eyes to widen and go without blinking for the remainder of the ritual. My head feels like a door has been opened up and I begin to rattle around the ritual space.

I would need augmented eyes to fully take in the significance of this strange and terrible day, to watch the lewd public fuckery we called an Inauguration take place. The plan was pretty simple, or at least it seemed so in hindsight: load up on LSA and magic, sit down and scan the news and see what weird shit might pop up. There was no doubt in my mind that this final orgy of pomp and circumstance carried within it spiritual significance.

Of course maybe it was a some masochistic urge to see this thing through to the end, to watch what I couldn’t believe unfold so out of my mind it might take days to put the pieces back together. I still have no idea where the blood came from…

(Read the rest here)

About Dr. Bones

Dr. Bones is a conjurer, card-reader and egoist-communist who believes “true individuality can only flourish when the means of existence are shared by all.” A Florida native and Hoodoo practitioner, he summons pure vitriol, straight narrative, and sorcerous wisdom into a potent blend of poltergasmic politics and gonzo journalism. He lives with his loving wife, a herd of cats, and a house full of spirits. He can be reached at Facebook.com/theconjurehouse and drbonesconjure@gmail.com
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