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THE BOY
Egan hated nurses. They were working class sociopaths, little barmaid sadists. Nurses had made the last days of people he had loved miserable, full of shame. His father had been afraid to call someone for his bedpan. He thought about it all as he sat looking at the white pantyhose draped over the back of the sofa. Was this one different or were the memories fading enough for him to betray them? With that not answered he got to thinking the next thing: if she left the pantyhose there, he would want to take them up and press them to his face. I am a sick and twisted little man, he thought.
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NINE SOUTHBROOK...
TRUST
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THE ZOMBIE'S CUCUMBER
Without its blooms, delicate white funnels, the Angel's Trumpet or Jimson Weed (datura stramonium) is as drab a plant as it is potent and potentially lethal. It lacks the cosmetic flair of its popular, ubiquitous mind altering fellows, Cannabis and the poppy whose leaves and/or fruit seem to scream their weirdness. A staple in shaman's preparations, particularly wysoccon, (used in Algonquin rituals), it goes by other names as well, ones that reveal it's raw chemical power, devil weed, mad apple, zombie's cucumber.
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POP FRONTING...
AMERICAN SOAPS...
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