The Great Burn – It has begun.

From the journals of Pistaugh – Houngan Les Poings:

Yesterday, as I left work, I saw that the ground was wet. All over it was wet. It had not rained. 
The earth is sweating. The moisture is slowly being cooked out of the world. 

I saw a woman burst into flames. Then, a dog. It's been happening more and more. These poor 
bastards don't even fight the fire as it consumes them. They are grateful that the release has 
come.

They are the lucky ones.

The less fortunate are the ones who are being slowly roasted. Our brains are cooking. As our 
gray matter slowly liquefies, we are unable to think rationally. We lose control of our bodily 
functions. 

I saw a man shoot a little girl and steal her popsicle. He then shot himself when he realized that
the popsicle did not help.

I saw a schoolteacher with a necklace of human ears.

I saw a mailman playing in a puddle of his own urine, chanting the word "obviously". Over and over.

I saw all this and more.

Slowly, Philadelphia is burning. The air is boiling. There is no oxygen. Soon, all this will be a cinder. 
Nothing will remain but ash. We try to fool ourselves with these little toys we are using to "condition the
air". These contrivances fail. They shudder and break. The circuitry melts.

Soon. 

Soon the oceans will turn to steam, and the ground will melt. Then dust.

May God have mercy on our souls.



From the Journals of the Mad Dan, Holy Warrior of The Wateland:

It is we who fight the unwinnable battle. That there is no victory in sight does not deter us, it 
only spurs us on. We are the Six Hundred, and the Valley Of Death is approaching.

But we are taking the Scions of Hell with us.

We ask them, "How do you like this weather?"

They answer: "Oh, I don't mind the heat", Their necks are broken, and they are fed to the 
machine that conditions the air.

They answer: "It's great! I love the summer!", they are fed into the machine still living.

They answer: "I fucking hate this weather.", they are asked to join us.

We breathe air made cold by the subjugation of those who worship the heat.

We may perish, but not before we take the worshipers of the sun with us.

And we ride.

Today is a good day to die.



An account from the Midwest, from Mighty Joe of the Six Pack, from Wyoming: 

Lost love burns in the west, or so she says. Colorado is truly colored red, as well as yellow 
and orange. Arizona grows even more arid as the green is flushed from the countryside. 

The haze obscures the majestic mountain peaks, shrouding everything in a filthy film while 
terrified townspeople pray for their possessions and flee like ants from a gasoline torched 
anthill. 

Western wildfires wage war while we merely melt.

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