The Karma Police are a series of intangible ideas made real by you the viewer. Similar to the Dream Police who go to work on your subconscious wants. The ones you share out of fear or deep rooted respect for the listener. Depending on who is listening the idea can be somewhat deconstructed but never really destroyed. Those who do not create can never honestly destroy anything at all. They are only capable of giving something a bad name. The element of destruction though often coupled with the creative element, does not live in the same sphere. Those who destroy are often lost or neglected. Mainly by themselves, but dig deep enough and you will find a small child abandoned by a cruel or thoughtless parent. I want to destroy everything often means. Mommy and Daddy were not there and now I am still lonely. I sometimes direct these types to my guru. Father is quite gentle and he does oh so often make house calls. Yet as you may not know he does not accept applications and the self destructive must meet him half way up the road to Dreamersville. Also madness is not recommended as a cure for itself so maybe stay clear of certain Shamans who wash their blood over the likes of me.
Have you ever wondered what people really want? The ones who come in search of me or who I have casually allowed under the big top. I wonder about these strangers who would seek out strangers. What the fuck do you all want? To join the show and chose a character. I see you playing them out. Los Angeles is a very small city when your soul was created here. I see you all claimer to return to the same places and pretend you are having new experiences. Oh my God that shit is too funny. Let me take a moment to read that sentence again. How can I judge you at a distance? I can't really but if the boredom that is does not affect you then you know what? It is you. Thoughtless drifting floating by high on stupid things pretending you are someone else to anyone who will listen. And those with the memory bored watching the parade of souls night after night ascend again and again.
I am the most gentle Black Witch one could ever dream of. I gave away my past because dear readers, that part of me is dead. Only alive in the memories of those who experienced and witnessed the debacle that is my life in ruins. I am now only a writer climbing the staircase with my lover. We are going to some secret place we created long ago. We see the destroyers, but remember your first instance of destruction? When you were a little child maybe you built a sand castle. I won't assume you had Legos or Lincoln Logs...those are for the cared for. But maybe you did. You made your little building and tore it down. Now remember...even then dear child no one gave two shits. But you must have learned the lesson. Destruction can only come from creation. And one can only kill oneself. Now you are thinking of ax welding murderers. Or the haunted. You dear child are not one of those. You are the weak and the frightened. You probably have not even fucked the living this month, have you? Poor thing are you even alive? Or are you that fucked up witch that lives in your head?
As for me the damp with pity. I shed not another tear. I dance not to another song I did not create myself. I see too much with my eyes closed and I do, oh my dears I do often wonder way too much. I contemplate the nothing like it is a thing of substance. What I really want to do, well it is being done now is it not? So why do I search? For people I have lost so long ago. No not the ones like them. I mean the dead. I search and speak for the dead. It's kind of like my job. Given to me so long ago I like to pretend I was not there. But I remember and I do it well. The sad part is if one can call it that. I feel a separation peeking behind the curtain. I feel a stillness that helps me see you the living wicked. The part I hate the most. How can one being be purple light and silk and the other be voice and empty still? Why does it anger me? My own gift upsets me. Because it will not let me forget what I have seen and heard. But most importantly it will not let me forget my interpretation. The thing that is in my head. Calling out the empty, searching for the the dead. Laughing as children dressed as men kick over sand castles. This is a another morning in the metropolis. And I dear souls feel sorrow and joy at the same time. Such as life. I have seen the Karma Police and sometimes they work so swift their victims don't even know they have been paid a visit.
Turn another card and you are dead. Looking for a speaker like me. Turn another card and you are forgiven but not by the likes of me. I do not forgive and you do not forget the dirty things you create. Everything you see is real and shall be played out in your own life. All that you think you stole was a gift from your most wicked relative. Tell me about it soon. I shall listen then consort the souls for interpretation. But can one really care when her living soul has been given to another? Only for a moment do we trade hearts with our Masters. Most will never see the stronger people in this world because they want to be them. The secrets of this day are not the same as the past ones. This vortex vibrates on it's on. Ask the Angel wearing your dead Aunt's clothes. I know things you are too greedy and afraid to ask. I'll tell you one. Look to the future not the past. It is all happening right now. And it can not be destroyed.
I am Josalisa and this is a cypher for the Cyber Punks.
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