Yes, "The Shadow Court", from the future dystopian world of the Psyche Corporation is now real and has come into this plane of reality from the dream world of Psyche Chimere, the first Shadow Queen of Psyche Corporation. In her own immortal words:

"You’re correct in choosing this place

To petition for divine grace

You've always wanted too much

I can give you what you seek

But I’m no kindly sort of Queen, and

I demand to know what you would sacrifice to me?

Sacrifice to me!"

OK. Soooo what does that mean exactly? Well don't expect to be asked for a credit card number here. Instead, to become a member of the Shadow Court of Psyche Corporation you have give us something a bit more personal. Now don't run off so fast. It won't cost any fingers or toes, not generally anyway. A poem, a bit of fan fiction, a sketch of angelbots, a photo of yourself cosplaying a creature from the Psyche Corporation World. What is even more important is that you spread the word about Psyche Corporation' s wonderful music, fascinatingly bizarre lyrics, helping advertise "Scheduled Indoctrinations" (aka concerts and performance) and directly contribute to spreading the Empire of the Shadow Queen throughout this time-space continuum through internet traffic, awakening of the populace through physical medium such as flyers and sidewalk chalk messages, and especially through direct word of mouth communications!

For more information on joining this International Fan Club and levels of membership (which really do increase your access to staff, dancers, and band members) check out the static page post in the right margin labeled Shadow Court Nobles, Knights, and Gentry

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Even stranger quotes from the Shadow Queen

It is Tuesday, and I am behind on preparations for the apocalypse. The thing is, having been a creature of darkness for centuries without having gone to any of the apocalypse drills, I'm just not feeling up to it. You people have never appreciated the work that goes into creating an apocalypse. We have to go out there in the freezing cold and jump up and down for hours, smoking two packs of cigarettes in each mouth at the same time, every Saturday, so that your final days can be that much more polluted. Frankly, it's disheartening to be expected to rain fire and brimstone down on Friday when no one has written a single "Hey I noticed you were really hurting the environment the other day when you were dragging that gangrenous section of road kill into the water supply. I want you to know I saw that, and it will be remembered with trepidation and horror." No. You expect apocalypses to just fly out of my butt with absolutely no effort. And now you want the world destroyed by Friday. I have a day job you know. I have a life. I don't just sit around for millennia planning the fine details of your apocalypse as if I have nothing else to do. Generation Me, indeed. Everything has to be big bad and THIS week. And if even one of you is left alive on Saturday, I'm going to get an earful from my supervisor. Freaking impossible demands, you humans have.

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