I'm sorry to have brought up The Death Soldiers, but there is so much more to be said. I ran with them, several decades back, in a past life. That was quite a long time ago, now. It's funny, because, I ran with them, and fought with them, and died with them, but I was not one of them. And they knew that. But they did not care. They did not care at all. I saved them, and they saved me, and it all happened repeatedly, as we burned up that corduroy trunk road East, into infinity.
WOULD YOU HAVE PLAYED THE PIANO AND TOLD JOKES IN THE BACK OF THAT TROOP CARRIER ON RUSSIA'S WESTERN STEPPES IN DECEMBER 1943 WHILE STARVING TO DEATH IN THE ZERO-DEGREE BLOWING SNOW AND THE ENDLESS MISSILE BARRAGES? NO! YOU WOULD HAVE FOUGHT FOR YOUR LIFE LIKE YOU WERE A CRAZED KILLER WITH A KNIFE IN EACH HAND AND ONE IN YOUR BACK! SO FUCK YOU, SHUT UP AND LISTEN!
Perhaps this blog is not about The Hippie Survivalist at all.
I fought with The Death Soldiers, and we were fearsome to behold. I did not wear a white skeleton mask, nor did I fire Deadly Electrified Death Darts. And I wore gray, not black. A commando, I was. I was never able to manifest myself out of thin air, nor could I stretch and distort my physical form. But as for the Cold Breath exercises.... I did not skin civilians alive, and eat their eyes, and leave their bones to freeze and die. But there were only two options: Fight, or die. So, I killed many, many men, and blew half a city into smoke and gravel. And would you believe? I was a hero to the soldiers around me.
These days, I am called the Hippie Survivalist. My soul is filled stars. Most of them are gold, but there is one Death Star inside me. The Death Dealers put it there, all those years ago. It's like a passport to their world, a peephole. We see each other, always. Watching, watching. But they still don't want to kill me, and I still don't know why. Maybe I'm the guy who's supposed to tell this story?
WOULD YOU HAVE PLAYED THE PIANO AND TOLD JOKES IN THE BACK OF THAT TROOP CARRIER ON RUSSIA'S WESTERN STEPPES IN DECEMBER 1943 WHILE STARVING TO DEATH IN THE ZERO-DEGREE BLOWING SNOW AND THE ENDLESS MISSILE BARRAGES? NO! YOU WOULD HAVE FOUGHT FOR YOUR LIFE LIKE YOU WERE A CRAZED KILLER WITH A KNIFE IN EACH HAND AND ONE IN YOUR BACK! SO FUCK YOU, SHUT UP AND LISTEN!
Perhaps this blog is not about The Hippie Survivalist at all.
I fought with The Death Soldiers, and we were fearsome to behold. I did not wear a white skeleton mask, nor did I fire Deadly Electrified Death Darts. And I wore gray, not black. A commando, I was. I was never able to manifest myself out of thin air, nor could I stretch and distort my physical form. But as for the Cold Breath exercises.... I did not skin civilians alive, and eat their eyes, and leave their bones to freeze and die. But there were only two options: Fight, or die. So, I killed many, many men, and blew half a city into smoke and gravel. And would you believe? I was a hero to the soldiers around me.
These days, I am called the Hippie Survivalist. My soul is filled stars. Most of them are gold, but there is one Death Star inside me. The Death Dealers put it there, all those years ago. It's like a passport to their world, a peephole. We see each other, always. Watching, watching. But they still don't want to kill me, and I still don't know why. Maybe I'm the guy who's supposed to tell this story?
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