CRYOGEN AGAIN

Readers, listeners, scammers. If you heard in the news or on the street or read in your electric tea leaves that I've been missing or have gone missing or have dispatched myself into a state of being missed... don't buy any of it. These, and mostly everything else at this point, are illusionary divergences planted by the deranged sub-mind of DG Burns. He has the crawling power of a succubus in a solar eclipse, so look away - but maintain vigilance! The man has no shame, after all. In fact he has nothing, that's how he likes it. He wants me - and everyone else for that matter - to be exactly the same. Never mind my civic duties, my cultural integrity, my incredible untapped potential for near-divine leadership. I sensed his fear from the get-go. This, I believe, is why he chose to revoke my publishing rights only a series of fortnights before the global pandemic erupted. Should I have been so surprised? The man is sick. Sick in the mind, sick in the body, but most of all, sick in the soul. Maybe that's why he's been so damned relatable to the few hundred people that traffic this corner of the internet. I feel embarrassed for each and every one of you.

With that being said I'm happy to announce my return to reins of Various. The Burns Blockade is over once again, and until he can muster up a sufficient counter-punch, I think we're in the clear for the time being. Let the content flow like the wine of Dionysus. 

But let's get the tawdry stuff out of the way first and foremost. DG and I have not been completely out of touch during these plague days. He's still issuing his "dispatches" in the form of telegrams, pigeon letters, semi-pornographic fax transmissions, and various other forms of antiquated information exchange. He mostly boasts of his "dark" journal entries, tailored specifically for the covid crisis, as if he's invented some new form of tracking the unconsciousness. He's getting cocky, I can assure you of that. Here's one he sent off early plague:

Glen, I've reached Cryogen again. For the nineteen thousandth time. It's eleven thirty AM and my back is weak from the previous night’s activities. Whips, scales, and brands. These are my minutia. Castigation and floundering wickedness. No penetration whatsoever. Like a child and an electrical socket, I let 120 volts root mean square zip right through my finger tips. Think of me as Prometheus in bondage. (Did you know that I’ve web searched my name so many times at this point that I’ve decided to change it, alter it slightly, to see what else I can find? Like you, I love to plow through the depths of the internet and scheme up my wickedness, watch it float to the surface. It’s not unlike mother and newborn, I would imagine. Crayons melted on a stove top. No fumes, non toxic, no high. Wooden spoon does the trick, just stir on repeat for an earth cycle and add your weapon of choice. Narcotic injunction 283 details the risk.) Pound for pound, you’re likely to last a decade at most, so do your best for body and Christ will take care of the rest. I spoke with Mohammad and Bacchus and they're ready for you. Cop Wilson said the dust will settle and we’ll be out of here in no time. He's the Law, after all. He calls the shots. Guaranteed piss in a jar. I’ve sold my monkey to a blind man for a vile of covid, in case you didn't know. Oh, and create a dune buggy battalion out of a dozen lawn mower engines for me, will you? I have a reason. -DG 

I have no problem admitting that I have no idea what most of this means, nor do I care. I'll leave him be, in fact, and I wholly suggest anyone reading this do the same. He's a sad, little man, some might say. But he can charm when he wants to and that's what makes him so damned lethal. 

Actually, all this DG talk has left a sour taste in my mouth. Makes me want to stick my head in a bucket of bleach. Let's reconvene in a few twists of the tide. In the mean time, carefully observe this artistic rendering of a microscopic mytho-creature I spotted crawling across my peyote plant just a fortnight past. I named it: pony cat, for obvious reasons. I'll be submitting this to the local cryptozooligical association before the week's out for possible inclusion in their upcoming "Critters of Nova Scotia" compendium. 

-Glen Davis