Nothing of substance to report today, as if that's ever stopped me.
I saw what I thought was the full Hunter's Moon on the drive in to work this morning, but it was not. That will be tomorrow, with a lunar eclipse to sauce it up a bit.
I will wake up all the local savages and explain to them that they will suffer my woefully fearsome wrath if they do not do exactly as I say, that I will make the moon disappear into the cold night's starry bunghole never to return unless they toil selflessly for my gain and pleasure.
We'll see. I might be sleeping, instead. Being a tyrannical cult leader must be exhausting at times. All that virginal sex, then the tossing into the volcanoes of the many used, the ceaseless drums, the still beating hearts, the drinking of the blood, the feather outfits, etc.
It's all fine and well, at first, but one must tire of things eventually, even something as great and timeless as virgin volcano sacrifice.
It is the way of things, I suppose.
I have more often wished to be the comptroller in a setting like that. Let somebody else do the heavy leadering. I'll just cook the books, hope for the best, prepare my various dossiers, dream up new monthly escape routes.
Spend the days conjuring various reveries; that all rivers lead to the jungle, and that all jungles might invite us.