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The Duke of D.C.: The American Dream

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James Allen Moseley

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“Suddenly, a spiral of lightning snaked across the frowning sky and struck Ray and Ilsa. In a spectacular flash, they vanished. An earth-shattering bang of thunder knocked over all the FBI agents. Ilsa’s file of genealogical records flew into the air. The thoroughly singed pages flew down the street, twisting in the frantic breeze. The bullhorn fell from the limp fingers of Agent Schweppes’ hand. The rain began to fall like bullets.”

LoveHumourRevolutionAgentsComicTime TravelFbiParodyPerishWrongly Accused
Book:The Duke of D.C.: The American Dream
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“There are two choices post forty-five: letting ourselves go or making ourselves sit like good, well-groomed, obliging pets, coats smooth and wrinkle-free, stomachs flat, muscles taut, teeth clean, hair dyed, nails manicured—everything just so. The thing is, though, not only is this completely unnatural, requiring warehouses full of self-control and perseverance, but it demands a level of discomfort you have to be willing to live with ’til death by lap band or liposuction.”

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“The driver nods and yanks the steering wheel like an old quack pulling out a molar, bumping us up onto the kerb. We stop beside a stall selling juice. Lesley and I approach the proprietor, who’s got a generous supply of teeth. Most of them seem to be vying for a seat up the front where the view’s better. He’s stuffing ripe oranges down the throat of a large trembling juicer. It’s whirring, grinding, and gushing a copious flood of juice into a bucket. Unfortunately, the bucket’s got a halo of flies. Lesley, not wanting to offend the man, leans closer to me and whispers, ‘It looks a bit unhygienic.’ ‘Unhygienic? Lesley, I can actually see a blue bottle washing shit off his feet with the juice.”

SpiritualityHumourSelf AwarenessPilgrimageSpiritual DevelopmentHealing The PastNon Duality
Book:Swami Premananda & The Temple of Whom
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“My back curves over my soft belly. My shoulders are shaking. I’m broken and folded over and sobbing. My dignity dissolves into snot and dribble. I feel wretched. I'm so sick of being scared. I could howl at the moon in my misery. Looking up through my veil of tears, I see it behind a cloud shaped like a wolf's head with its muzzle raised. Silently it howls above me. Oh great — a cloud is mocking me. Life is actually taking the piss out of me while I’m having a breakdown. It’s not even doing it behind my back. It’s up there in the fucking sky. I must be a mess if even God is mocking me.”

HumourSelf RealizationSpiritual PathTrue StoryNon DualityPsychological TraumaSwami Premananda
Book:Swami Premananda & The Temple of Whom
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