To hell and back. That might be a great little fuckn motto. Pimp slapped the beast himself and climbed up from the underworld to tell the tale. Or simply put me in a straight jacket and lock me the fuck away.

The rules of this world aint like no black and white movie. There are grey areas. Shadows. And those that look close enough and stick their mitts far enough in get to play backup trombone to a different tune. And if you also stick your ugly mug right the fuck in you won't need me to tell you things really do go bump in the night.

It's the inbetween state. The plane where both good and evil dwell. But not like you were told in your little church groups. The real fuckn deal, impressing upon the physical. And if you aint believe it, just ask yourself where those thoughts come from. Or that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, when you just know something aint right. Or something is.

Some brush it off as chance, or coincidence. Or don't even notice it through their habitual blinders. But those with enough experience and enough enquiry know better. Not because they are better, mind you. We're all the same. Built with the same potential. It's just some develop that potential a little more. Some look to other methods than your regular Joe's wisdom, or newspaper article or radio fix.

Yet the majority look to those around them for answers to life's little road bumps. And what they find are others doing exactly the same seeking. A bunch of sheep, looking for a shephard masquerading as a new wise face. Yet it's simply their own projections of illusiory power.

They seek, and they find. Yet they only find another seeker yet to taste the tantalizing truth on the tips of their own tongue. Just another lip synching philosopher yet to write the alchemical formula with the wisdom between their own fingers. They find fear, ignorance and limitation.

Then there are those that look beyond what's simply in front of them. The bold and the restless. The few that stick an aggressive gesture to the status quo and look for their saviour at the end of their own sleeves. The ones that question everything, and accept nothing. The incessantly critical assholes that wont let a shit storm cover their eyes to the truth.

And what truth, and what others? Well, if I told you that, then we'd both be part and parcel of said shit storm. The blind leading the deaf. Cause if you get anything from my return from the hell fires, it's simply not to judge life by what others tell you. Scratch at the surface and see what responds from beyond.

Cause if you want the truth about this freak show, you gotta seek it in the depths directly. As it's only through experience that you can know, balls to bones. And when you know, you just fuckn know.

No one can tell you what is, or what isn't. And even if you can't answer the why, it doesn't change the what. It just is. So pimp slap the fuckn devil and tell him Constantine sent ya. Then, come see me, and we can talk about this little thing called magick.

But until then, call my return what you will. A freakish occurance. The hand of fate, or God, or whatever higher power you suckle up to. Or simply see it as it is. Constantine back in this shit of a world to do what he does best.

And whatever the hell that is, I guess we'll both find out soon enough. Truth doesn't stay hidden for too long, and I'm not just itching to know; I'm already spades fuckn deep.