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Cult of the Dead Cow 073
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[ x x ] cDc communications [ x x ]
\ / presents... \ /
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(U) (U)
Visions From The Last Crusade
by Psychedelic Warlord
>>> A CULT Publication......1988 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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The catacombs of my head produce the most wonderful dreams and visions.
I feel that I am one with my intellect and my soul. It was during these
dreams and visions that I concocted a notion. It started as something
small at first, but after every dream it grew stronger, until the urge
had become too great. No longer could this strong desire in my mind be
suppressed. Recognizing this fact, my one and only goal in life became
the termination of everything that was free and loving. Only I could
realize the true value of loving and expression. Only in my dreams.
This feeling pervaded everything in my life, yet the first few months
after realizing my goal, I had done nothing. Then one day, as I was
driving home from work, I noticed two children crossing the street. They
were happy, happy to be free from their troubles. I knew, however, that
this happiness and sense of freedom were much too overwhelming for them.
This happiness was mine by right. I had earned it in my dreams. As I
neared the young ones, I put all my weight on my right foot, keeping
the accelerator pedal on the floor until I heard the crashing of the
two children on the hood, and then the sharp cry of pain from one of
the two. I was so fascinated for a moment, that when after I had stopped
my vehicle, I just sat in a daze, sweet visions filling my head. My
dream was abruptly ended when I heard a loud banging on the front
window. It was an old man, who was using his cane to awaken me. He might
have been a witness to my act of love. I was not sure, nor did I care.
It was simply ecstasy. As I drove home, I envisioned myself committing
more of these "acts of love", and after a while, I had no trouble carrying
them out.
The more people I killed, the longer my dreams were. I soon quit my job,
and stayed at my house in an almost comatose state. My dreams grew longer
and more vivid. They kept me alive and proved to be the only thing
to live for. I had killed nearly 38 people by the time of my twenty-third
birthday, and each one was more fulfilling than the last.
I was never really surprised at how I evaded the police. My dreams
had taken over my life, and they guided me through the right path, and
I never had need for fear of police. Or anything, for that matter.
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(c)opy-write 1988 cDc communications by Psychedelic Warlord 8/28/88-73
All Rights, Of Course, Are Shit In Their Worth
