Manson Lecture 11: CREAGLE! (Jan 26th, 1998)

MP3: https://dfgtc.org/mp3/20210228_Manson_Lectures_0011_CREAGLE.mp3

It was foretold …

We played dominoes in the caves near Rome. There, an old priest said “go see Milner Yurk … he has the powder”. We took that priest and his wine and his nuns and tossed all them into the back of our woody and went on to the beach … we couldn’t grasp it, what was ahead. We drank the merry trumpets of lost wandering goat herders … we had blankets made of light.

At Cherry Beach, the priest drowned and the nuns were left to cook on the sand … all naked and choice. We took the peyote that old Mexican gave to me, and we went OUT THERE MAN … we saw lightning bolt sentinels and razor kings and old beings that live deep below the outer crust of this mungie old world made of cabbage rot.

Trev … he said “look at the sky, there’s an eagle and a raven … and they’re making love …”

And I saw light gleaming from a sight not fully understood by our meat heads … we couldn’t grasp it man. The whole thing … that damn raven or crow … that mother fucking eagle … making love at 2,000 feet and then dropping, oh so gently, to complete their act before striking the ground?

Back then? – I hung with Nick, and Rascal, and Old Flombo, and that clown from sector-90 of our forgotten failed lives and dreary pesticide discos … and I hung with Phil … Phil the MERC … crazy phil.

Phil had the weapons and the know-how …

Phil had grudges … lots of grudges.

Phil was someone who’d seen into the face of the DEVIL and come out swinging.

My wood alcohol vision …

“All the mingus freaks of sector 3 will achieve total consciousness …”, Crazy Phil mumbled this after seeing the therapist. He saw Dr. Tess every third Tuesday. She’d ask you about your thoughts and your nuts and your anus and your sleep and your childhood. She’d give you pills and say “don’t do drugs” … She’d laugh at you, as she mocked your sins. She had simple answers, for life’s catastrophes … She was made of old sweat shorts.

Phil would talk about the NAM and all the gooks he’s killed and all the wet work he did in El Salvador and all the nuns he buried there. He was my cell mate for a year, maybe two. He told me mad things, things that would keep you up at night … sleepless nights of mad crazy thoughts.

“Once they connect? – then COMES CREAGLE …”

Phil muttered “creagle” constantly … telling me about crows and ravens and parrots and bald eagles. He was convinced that a super raven was about to arise to clean up the mess of the world and punish mankind for its totalistic bullshit.

I told Phil of my strange vision … that thing happening in the sky above Cherry Beach … so wickedly delightful and impossible and powerful. It was all going to happen no matter what …

Phil was amused and deeply focused on what I was saying.

“IMAGINE THE CREAGLE!”, screaming at the top of my lungs at Phil.

The intelligence of the crow, the raven …

The strength and size of the eagle …

These new birds fit a new age: an age of oil arbitrage, blood for gold schemes, rivers that catch fire, filet-o-fish that have visible, yet cooked, tumors inside them … and you eat that thing like it’s a joke … a taunt … like you’re saying “so WHAT UNIVERSE … I’ll eat the tumor fish and the cancer crabs and the weird birds that have strange twitches … I’ll eat monkey pie and ape souffle and I will dine on panda at midnight …. FUCK YOU UNIVERSE”.

No doubt the CREAGLES are coming gents …

An age, in the not too distant future, when giant raven-hawks will rule the inner cities, and children will tell scare stories of “creagles taking them in the night” …

A time of running screaming mobs of filthy humans, being ravaged by creagle … their bodies torn apart in the acid raid.

Going to GOSHEN …

The hang glider lie is put forward by Kissinger’s banter men, and Nixon slides his membership ring into the eternal wad market. Scortals and ringlet mercs carry bronze swords and keel over. Re-gendered self-harm is the coal for this fire, and goat barons will build a fortress to KING Uurt!

THIS WAS BAD …

We needed to hunt the CREAGLE …

I could stand in the wild and smell the weird angel flowers. I’d make myself small before the throggen-klass and bear the burden of my children’s sins. That’s where the CREAGLE came from … our many sins.

The CREAGLE was born of fire and wind and rain and blood. The creagle came from the grimacing darkness of that wench whore realm known as LIFE – the ooze from which all things arise.

So we went to the woods and the hills and the mountains … we hired boatmen and churchmen … we built a trebuchet called disappointment, and we launched vomit missiles at our foe …

About a days journey in, the vibrations of the CREAGLE could be felt …

I sense it, Phil did too …

Phil brought his M-60 machine gun …

I brought a machete named Larry …

After finding its scat, its poop, we followed a trail of poop and discarded cats and dogs … and the smell of garbage … we knew we were nearing the home of the CREAGLE.

“IS THAT THE CREAGLES?!?”, Phil cried out … he had been double dosing cocaine and mescaline and whiskey and cigarettes …

“FUCK … fuck … I dunno Phil …”

“IS THAT THE CREAGLES …”, and at that moment 25 creagle came down and grabbed Phil and tore at his nut sack and bit into him repeatedly …

I swung my machete at those dread beasts and Phil stabbed blindly as the creagle fed on him …

Luckily: I had a smoke grenade Phil had given me, and I tossed that fucker at Phil and the creagle scattered …

I grabbed Phil, and we made it back to town.

Phil and I were welcomed as heroes, the “Creagle Fighters” …

Phil got better, he fell in love. They made Phil the mayor of the town. Phil became obsessed with Campbell Soup … Phil began hunting humans, he buried them under the shed …

Habitat of the CREAGLE …

CREAGLE live to be 50 years old … sometimes older, if they stop drinking beer and exercise a little.

CREAGLE can weigh up to 60 pounds, and they will often hunt small dogs and cats and they are VERY FOND of french bulldogs and the children of Danish people …

CREAGLE drinks gasoline and diesel and cocaine-whiskey and dreams. CREAGLE lives on love that has vanished and a world filled with crimson rage. CREAGLE WANTS your gold and your life and your spirit juices and your POWER-CRYSTAL … and all your memories of things welcome but long past and meant to be displayed as you die in a car wreck … next year.

CREAGLE will have your soul, and your elbows …