EXERCISE Different Perspectives #7 - The Cult Follower

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Cammybatty, Mar 2, 2014.

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    It's easy to vilify cult leaders, or dismiss their followers. But cult followers don't start out as mindless robots. What makes someone join a cult? What goes through their mind? What draws them to it? They could just be normal people, going to work, raising a family, paying a mortgage. Or they could be something else, someone else, ANYone else.
    They could be YOU.

    If you were a cult follower, how would it happen?
    What kind of cult would you join?
    Would you drink the Kool-Aid?
    Look at it through their eyes.
    Make them you.
  2. A little ditty on that cult business:

    Where am I?
    Wait, what? We're in... Kansas? Eire? Shikoku? What?
    Drink the Kool-Aid, Martyn, drink it...
    Blood pouring out of the wound...
    As the arthame (or arthane, I don't really remember what the knife's real name is exactly) drew across my tender flesh...
    The candle burned brightly...
    There was light!

    Something in the way she moved attracted me like no other woman could... That is how I felt, and when I discovered it I sung it too. I discovered it in the taxi I rode on my way home, a yellow taxi driven by a horse on a chicken-man's windowsill. And no, I wasn't taking pot when I rode that taxi: I was taking heroine, the female version of heroin.
    You could still see the needle-marks on my arm from that dreamy expedition. Mmm-humm-mm, that was good drugs. She gave them to me, too, the drugs, the habit(s). I don't know why she has this influence on me, though... No wait, I do: It's cuz' I love her. She is the Boleyn girl to my Henry, the pseudopenis to my penis, the Yoko to my Ono: My Soulbait.
    So baiting is she, in fact, that one time I ate her all up. Ate her all up real good, too: Master Wilkins said she'd complete me if I ate her. OH how I laugh everytime I think about that time... Oh, how she screamed and screamed for cookies, but didn't get any! I think we ate her buttocks first, I dunno; what I do know is that Hannibal Lecter has really bad taste in wines. Here's a suggestion for you all: If you're gonna eat someone's thymus, the best wine for that is Champagne, not Chianti.

    What? Don't believe me? Well, then good. Don't want the feds cracking up on my crack with their cracked views on this cracked world. But I trust you ain't really a narc, yeah? Anyway, here, some foot. And don't worry: we skinned her first, just like that time in the Biology class I never had, where we skinned that frog.
    Ahem, toad. Master Wilkins (oh, he's my chapter's handler, by the way) says that to
    Wait, I think I just ate my soulmate.


    Well, it was her fault anyway. She should never have gotten me or herself mixed up in all of that cult business. You know, my overbearing Catholic muncler warned us about this, yes he/she did. He/she told us that all those things about "Sciontology" "Frickas sfuxitas" would never work out, would only lead to pain, maybe even death. BUT NO, she just ha ha had...
    I just ate my soulmate.
    Ate. my. soul. mate.
    Another fucking human being!

    Well, at least I know one thing: that cult business beats the shit outta being a failure. Oh, and human definitely tastes more like deer than pig.
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