Mr. Crowley says life is boring as he starts a crack habit the night flexes it's muscles and Mr. Crowley sees into the future he making plans to do something erotic with a lady possibly jane is he can fins her she has been hiding from everyone for days the need to vent to release to undo the knots tied around his heart with sex magick hard to beat the addictive pull on his life he has learned to abusive to himself and to others to need to see the blood he has learned to twist everything that is civilized looking for others to follow him to twist this whole thing up twisted fuckers he doesn't care anymore all of the pain and abuse has made Mr. Crowley hard no one can get in he has hardened his heart against the world it is about the deception of top predators how they strangle the weak from from their mother's tits the loss hurts in places he has never know before on a dark road in the country smoking his last smoke thinking of the stars that have died living in the moment feeling the blisters on his toes he picks up a rock and throws it into the darkness and he hears nothing in return he thinks about the death of a woman from a long time ago when death seemed so young and vital now death seems old and cliche like a Rockefeller or a Nixon the true fear of change Mr Crowley has seen his share of change Mr. Crowley is holding up the world