cyrano de bergerac & eric enthelmeme came to ohio with black surgeons bags brimming with carefully modified firearms, blazing a trail for their ilk in spiritual ink. their rose trellis of intentions included an eventual storming of the midwest, if a successful beach-head could be established here. eric was along with his dossier of wonderful tricks, all about him set with powders & potions. in nineteen seventy-nine (1979), when i finally got here, i found the minicus of the living world still slick on my fingers like crude oil, disconnecting me from everything & its sad parts. i felt the turtle shell arithmatic in the air, keeping us all apart like smoke in a bottle. "all this old news!" i smoldered. "its time for new iron! abhorant hocus-pocus & all that hooliganry. come come now, pilgrims of the black knife! lets raise these slug throwers to the air & rain down our malice on all the world!"