the elixir (a story)

**NB – this is a story, for enjoyment only. It is not meant to be a health advisory.**

I stumbled across the shop by accident, when I was out window shopping in a new area of town for me. There were used book stores, a feed mill, a music store, a pub, a small diner and a couple craft shops. Places mom and pop would start up and run. There were a few old houses too and a small apt bldg there as well. Places you know have been around for a few decades.
I had read of a sale in one of the book stores and had spent a glorious afternoon perving my fave authors and spent a couple hundred dollars. Now I was tired and hungry.
The store had a fruit stand out front. And it being the right season, there were strawberries. I had to have some! Nothing like fresh berries.
So I grabbed a pint and went into the store to pay for them. Inside the store, there were more things to eat. At least in the front room. Things I had never seen before were on the shelves. Like chips made of tapioca, apple, kale and kelp, would you believe? And carob cookies and brownies.
I grabbed the kale chips. I thought they might taste good with the berries.
On the way to the cash register, I saw a small hallway. There was a tiny sign over the entrance to it that said, “apothecary”. I thought I’d step in to see what they had to offer. I often found I was tired by the end of the week. So I wanted an energy booster. My doctors were getting tired of me complaining. Their tests were saying that I’m fine. I don’t like feeling tired a lot.
I made my way thru the bead curtain, with a smile on my face. It felt like I was in hippie space. I was half expecting to hear Hendrix or Joplin. Instead, I heard Egyptian folk music… Ok.
There was a sign that asked me to take my shoes off. Umm huh. I was glad I was wearing socks. I slipped out of my sneakers. I never tied them tight. So easy on, easy off.
I put the berries and chips onto a cupboard beside the door. And looked around the shop. There were all kinds of dark bottles. The small kind with the rubber “nipple” top. Or at least that’s what they look like. There were bundles of herbs as well. So cool! I was intrigued.
A man came out of a curtained area and smiled at me. He sat at a table and waved me over to him… Okie dokie. Why not? I could sit for a few.
We exchanged pleasantries. He asked if he could examine my hands. I agreed. He looked at the nails and made some comments about their fragility and the white lines in the pink part. He pushed a finger into my skin and noted that I could drink more water. Not a bad idea. I would try that. He mentioned that dehydration has serious side effects, and if I wanted to lose weight, it helps with that. My ears perked up. Yep, I was drinking more water from now on.
He asked if he could look in my eyes. I agreed. He said that they were a little darker than they should be. And irritated, Well yeah, I had just been reading. But I nicely mentioned that I was often tired.
I also mentioned my doctor hadn’t found anything as yet.
He asked about my diet. I told him I ate a lot of veg and fruit and whole grains. But I was still a carnivore. Mostly poultry and fish though. He mentioned that there were benefits to a vegan diet. Probably true. It seemed to be a hot topic in alternative health fields. And even in environmental groups. I nodded and smiled. Non-commitally.
He said he could work around the meat, but when I started to feel better, I might decide that improving would be worth the vegan diet change. That would be a feat. I promised to cut back some.
He also mentioned grains. And I gulped. I mean my pasta and rice and I are BFFs. I pouted. He smiled and winked. Then suggested maybe they could be treats instead of daily visitors. Perhaps they could at that!
He pulled a tray to him with a bunsen burner on it. He lit it and poured some water and apple cider vinegar into a dish, which he hung over the burner. Then he added some oils and herbs. And muddled them. Then strained them. And poured it in a glass nippled bottle when it was cool. All while we had a lovely chat about local issues. I think there was a fair the following week.
When done, he handed me the bottle and told me it was a reasonable price of $20 plus tax. I looked at the label he had put on it. It said. “the elixir”.
I gulped. I asked if I would live forever. He laughed and said, “not without some serious changes!”
I grabbed my stuff, my shoes and went off to pay for my purchases. And left. Well, western medicine wasn’t solving my issues, so why not? Worth a shot.
I ran my tongue over my incisors to see if they were more pointed than usual, and giggled at the thought.


## . . . . resources
elixir – water and alcohol base. tincture of herbs, water and alcohol or apple cider vinegar




[vitamin Bs][]

[blood sugar][]


[blood pressure][]

[blood cholesterol][]


[colloidal gold – autoimmune boost][]

[super herbs/spices][]

best diet – components
low sugar, low starch veg and fruit
dark green leafy veg

the alchemist’s mirror (a story)

A friend saw I was having some troubles in my life and was worried about me. So he had a long chat with me about how my life was going. Told me he had been in a similar place at one point, till a good friend sat him down for a similar confrontation. My friend gave me an address, saying I should go and see what the alchemist could do for me. He said it had saved his life.
I thought that might be a bit OTT, but went to make my friend happy.
I went to an old shop, in the back of some alley that this friend had told me about. Opened the door and saw a lot of tea bunches, tinctures, crystals and maybe coins(?) of different metals. And what looked to be a mirror, with a blanket over it. The old fashioned kind of mirror, with legs under it. It looked like a piece of furniture, more than anything. I really didn’t think it was worth more than a curiousity and maybe a couple hundred bucks if it was an antique.
I met the very old man who ran the shop and told him my friend’s name who had sent me to this place. He nodded and looked me over, like I was a prize stallion. I considered leaving… I wasn’t about to be a creepy old dude’s new play thing!
As that thought went thru my head, he laughed and pulled the blanket off the mirror. He said something like the work was all between me and the mirror. Me and my self image. He wouldn’t be touching me. Ok, what a relief! Wait, had he just read my mind??
I looked at him in consternation and he laughed again. Then said, “You’e not the first young person who has come to me”
He told me to look in the mirror. So I stepped over to it and looked in.
At first, there was some flash in the back of the glass. Then a smokey effect spread over the glass. I could hardly see myself when it was complete.
Then a violet light swirled around me, as if assessing me and taking my merit. It split into many colours, until I was surrounded by a frame of colour that looked like I had a shadow of colours over me.
The old man said it was my aura. And asked what had made me so angry, that my colour was a red he rarely had ever seen. He told me to reflect on what that amount of energy might do to me. I felt a stone in the bottom of my stomach and a pain in my chest. He recommended I breathe till I could release it from inside of me.
As each colour was focused on, I was asked to feel it and experience, think about what had made me so, and release it. Untill my aura just showed a smooth, clean energy. I was calm. And I was intune with my body.
The old man taught me some meditative exercises so I could clear these emotional ghosts and then sent me home for a week. **(Lesson #1)**
The following week, I went back to the shop and the old man smiled when he saw that my aura was clear of the red. And I was a lot more serene.
So he had me stand in front of the mirror again.
I looked and saw the smoke gather and swirl around me.This time though, i didn’t see my aura. I saw a spirit of sorts rise above me. The old man asked when my birthday was and those of my parents as well. I gave them to him. He showed me where the spirit was reflectiong my destiny and asked me to consider what talents and interests I had that might lead me in that direction. And asked me if it was love or career that was more important to me. He shared stories about how emotions could hamper people’s lives, esp anger and guilt. I got what he was trying to say. He sent me home to think. To shape who I was. Then come back when I was ready for the next part of this journey. **(Lesson #2)**
After a few weeks of reflection, I was forming a sense of how these wrong directions, habits and excessive moods were affecting me. So I went back to the shop.
He was ready for me.
The old man asked me if I was ready to accept my part in how my adult relationships were shaped by me. That it took two, basically. Some would of course be weighted by my family dynamics, but I might be taking more direction from the other, rather than going my own way. People pleasing, or giving in.
He put me in front of the mirror. And told me about the consciousness and the subconscious. And what I might do without thought because of family patterns, like addiction.
The colours started to swirl around my heart, my liver, my spinal base, my groin and my head. He told me that love is often about duty and immediacy. Someone is in your life because you feel they have to be, or because they are close by. Convenient. Not always about emotional attachments. Or what is best for either of us. Other than needing people around you to survive. I was to go home and think about who was near me, just because I wanted them there. I enjoyed them there. Because they served my goals for my life. But most esp, those who supported me. I knew this was going to be a hard task. **(Lesson #3)**
I had so many reflections about this. I ended up making lists of people who I saw in my daily or weekly life. Those who were unrelated. And divided them into associations. Work, family and neighbourhood associations probably couldn’t be pared much, but they might not have to be active. You can’t remove blood. but you didn’t have to visit them. Not when you’re an adult.
With that, I went back to the shop.
The old man smiled when he saw me. He said I seemed more centered. I checked me inside and I did figure I was calmer. So I smiled back.
He directed me to the mirror. The astral imaging began again. This time it acted almost like a scan line. It went up and down me.
The old man gave me a task of listing the things I liked about myself, the things I could tolerate, but maybe needed work and the things I hated but needed, and the things I wanted to change, but may not be able to. He said it had taken me all my life to be this person. And it wasn’t going to change over night. It had taken lessons of the soul and errors. It had taken time. So the idea of just dropping who I was was now impossible. But I could shape it. If I would.
But more important, I needed to figure out what parts of me fit my life and the relationships I wanted now. And the goals I now had. I needed people who at least wouldn’t sabotage those things. I was stunned.
He reminded me that my core self had at minimum served me well. I was alive and well. Which actually takes a **lot** of work. My soul tribe had been praying for me obviously.
With that thought, he sent me home. For as long a think as I needed. **(Lesson #4)**
I had a horrible time over the next few weeks. And no matter how often or when I went to the shop, the door was locked. I called on friends. I called on family that I thought might actually support me. I gathered my inner circle. I prayed. I fell into a pit and screamed. I felt like I had wasted so much of my life on being some warped version of me. And I cried.
My kind friend who had brought me on this trek in the first place came by and held my hand. He told me:

> “When you know better, you do better” Maya Angelou.

I slumped and stopped fighting myself. I gathered all the information about me I had been working on. And I rebuilt myself. I was a bit wobbly at first, but I was walking again.
And it was then that the shop door opened, the next time I went by.
The old man looked me over, much as he had the first time we had met. He smiled with pride. I beamed back.
I went before the mirror again. The smoke gathered and built a new aura. I was pleased to see it was so calm a colour. Probably because I was so exausted.
The old man said that since I had chosen my new self and my new family, I should live among them for awhile. I wuld get used to these new emotions, only by trying them out. By living for today, but keeping an eye on what my vision was of tomorrow. Heading alays toward it.
I also needed to remember that people don’t like it when others near them change. Esp for the better. So expect to do battle for my soul. For my new self. To look to my new inner circle to support me if I got tired. He had every faith in me that I could do it. **(Lesson #5)**
I hunkered down and prepared for the fight he had forewarned me of and it did come. Mostly by people who had never seemed to care before for some odd reason. NOW they decided that I needed to be a warped version of me that I had never been before. So they could tolerate me being near them. I wasn’t really interested. But sometimes succumbing, till I could get away from them, was the fastest way to deal with them I had never been much of a fighter. So I avoided them from then on. I now knew them as my enemy. For a little while though, it was like I was doing a dance of two steps forward and one back. At least with part of my life, part of my soul.
And the rest of the time, I worked on me. I lived my life. And I became happier and happier. Well, more content. More positive. Even my health improved. People started to ask me where I had gone for a holiday, or if I was in love. I just smiled and said I was taking better care of myself. There was a lot of backslapping.
So it was awhile before I went back to the shop.
When I did, the old man grinned and waved me toward the mirror.
He waited for the mirror to confirm what he had seen. I was carrying myself better, seemed more relaxed and in touch with my body. And living true to my vision. My aura came immediately and clearly intune. No confusion.
So he said, this lesson was about letting my true self become instinctual. Which just meant practicing, till I no longer had to think about which me I should be leading with. The old me would feel wrong. The new. real me would feel better. He gave me some exercises about sensual confirmation and told me to practice. He also said I should work more on meditating. Trying to be one with the universe. He thought I would connect with the divine now. If I sought them, they would come.
**(Lesson #6)
I was now a beacon for what I wanted. I was living authentically. And authentic souls came to me. I meditated and drew the divine. I started seeing fun and excitement in having my vision fulfilled. My friend was so pleased with my progress and we grew closer. Actually I grew.
I could breathe clearly.
I went back to the shop’s address. But there was nothing there! Was it all just a dream?
That night, the old man came to me in my dreams. He said I was strong enough to live well on my own. He would return if I was actually ever again in need. But meanwhile, the mirror was within me now.
I woke up crying, like an old friend had died. But feeling like I would see them again in eternity.
I called my new best friend. Crying. He asked what was wrong. Of course. I told him of the dream and the shop being gone. He hesitated, then confirmed that he had experienced that too. He had just been glad I had found it when I was in need.
**(Lesson #7)**


## . . . . the lessons
1. **calcination** – breaking down parts of ourselves that are in the way of our own happiness.
2. **dissolution** – seeing our real self past the old patterns that didn’t serve us.
3. **separation** – being honest in our feelings about ourselves and other ppl
4. **conjunction** – accepting our authentic self
5. **fermentation** –
a) **Putrefaction** – where the old is allowed to rot in a dark night of the soul b) **Spiritization** – where we let this old go so we can build anew
6. **distillation** – a process of integrating the new in our life, living in the moment and seeking enlightenment
7. **coagulation** – letting go of the mental and living within the soul so we can connect with the material prima or life force.

[7 stages of spiritual alchemy- source][]

Birth of a Golem (a story)

Birth of a Golem (a story)

I spent days getting the brownish clay to work properly as I sculpted it for my project. Just the right amount of soil, water and mixing brought it to a state that was malleable for shaping it..
I smoothed it, oiled it head to toe, then put the name of God in his mouth. I breathed breath into him and said the spells that would bring him to life. That would make him follow my will. Then I danced around his body until I heard it take in breath. And I realized I had created life. Well, fake life anyway.
I sent him before me to be sure my path was safe. So long as people meant no harm to me, they were safe. And only one man was shoved aside in my early journey. I knew then the man wasn’t a good man, and didn’t have good intentions toward me.
As my journey grew longer, and I was further away from home, the golem found more souls against me. Pushed more people. And I was left to wonder if I had made it wrong, or if the people thought because I was a stranger away from home alone, they could cause me harm. There was no surety in my thoughts, so I kept walking, with him in front of me.
It seemed the golem was getting more violent in the altercations, but I still wasn’t sure. We were on back roads where ignorance and fear abounded. So I thought, at first, that their anger might be confusing the golem.
But it just kept getting worse.
So I cast another spell to control the golem, just in case. I wish it had worked.
The next village we went thru, the golem came outside a public house and punched a guy. The guy fell down and struck his head. I tried to revive him. Someone standing nearby said the guy wan’t a good man. But that didn’t excuse the golem. In his aim to protect me, I had given no directions about taking a life to save mine. I never would have.
I took the golem to a fellow mage and asked for help. The mage was impressed by my craft. And had some books from early practitioners. So we scoured them to see if we could find a cure for his aggression. Though some might say that the golem was within reason for his behaviour, I didn’t feel comfortable with it using such a degree of violence.
In the reading, we soon found that golems were often out of control in their aggression. They were often shut down due to this aggression.
I had to consider what my limit would be with him. I was already considering shutting him down. Was one life, even if of a bad man, too much?
I made a point of tying the golem to me, when we were in villages. There were times it pulled away from me and jerked my arm almost out of it’s socket to get to a man it thought was a threat to me. I was getting really concerned.
But the day came when the golem turned toward me and hissed at me, because I wouldn’t let it attack a man near me. A man who by all accounts wsn’t decent. But I still didn’t want his death on my conscience.
That was enough for me. I danced in reverse around the golem and took the paper out of it’s mouth. I said spells that shut the golem down. I kicked the clay apart and took pieces to other parts of the village and buried them. Where no one saw me. Or what I had.
I couldn’t bear the thought that something I had considered a protective tool was now out of my control. Might injure someone again, whether by my will or not. It was too awesome a responsibility.
Could I live with this responsibility if I used it again? I now had blood on my hands.

the magus and the whore (a story)

The Magus and the Whore (a story)

In a land far away, there was once a magus who went around practicing his art of bringing light and miracles to the world. He was a lonely man, though terrifyingly powerful and smart. Nobody wanted to be near him. He was short-tempered and annoyed with anyone who came near him. As smart as he was, he didn’t make the connection between his behaviour and his loneliness. He figured they should want to be close to him to learn his power and wisdom. Funnily enough, their fear of his bad attitude out-weighed his worth as a magus to them.
So he wandered alone.
Till one day, he was walking near a small temple to some goddess and saw a gorgeous girl come from the temple. He walked up to her and asked if there was anything he could give her that would make her smile at him. She said just the question was enough, and she smiled. He produced a flower for her, even though they were in the middle of the desert. She smiled again. Told him it was a sweet gesture.
He thought she was a beauty and continued to do everything he could to make her happy. He wrote poems about seeing stars in her eyes, and wanting to travel thru the universe, chasing her. Like the sun and the moon across the sky. He offered her gold and silver, sulphur and mercury. But she said all she wanted from him was his thoughtful words.
So he gathered his poems to her into a book and gave them to her. She was so touched.
He praised her devotion to the temple, her beauty and kindness. She just blushed, till he got from her the reason why. She was serving the temple at the time. She waited to see the charm fall from his face and the way he treated her. He stunned her with the biggest smile. Some men saw her as a servant. He saw her as a teacher, or a priestess. So he touched her cheek. He praised her devotion again. And asked her to teach him the rites. He had been looking for a teacher who could show him the way to sex magick and had almost given up the quest.
They became consorts and his magick grew everyday. He was no longer lonely or angry, and people enjoyed spending time with him. They gathered a small crowd around them. They joked about them being the stars to their sun and moon. The base metals to their sulphur and mercury.
The group wandered the land, performing miracles, practicing sex magick and growing his power. I believe they are still wandering, whether in the desert or the sky.
And all it took for this to be, was the greatest magick of all… love.

Evil is…

Evil is…

I was brought up in a very very! conservative, Christian sect. It was insular and damn near incestuous. (I won’t go into the who could marry thing, cuzz it gets weird.)
The reason I mention this is the philosophical question of who or what evil is, was very clear then. Everything is. Society, people, even children are evil.
This always struck me as odd…How do people who claim God created us all, and we are His children, created in His image, then go on to say we are all evil? Wouldn’t that mean that ipso facto God is evil then? But then wouldn’t our God be the devil?
So having read a decent amount of philosophy and religion, for someone who is not lettered in them, I came to my own conclusions. (I’d be happy to discuss here or in PM). I am not lettered in religion or philo, but I “read” in cults as part of my psych and sociology courses. There is a distinction.

They are innocent of time on earth and all they want is basic needs met and someone to hold them (also a basic need when you are an infant or small child. Unlike my older sisters and step mom, I don’t believe you can spoil a baby by holding it too much. For which my daughter says thanks mom!) They are creatures of need and fear that those needs won’t be met. They need stimulation as well. Without these things, they are unable to learn well and can die. Depends how severe the neglect is.
These things aren’t evil when a baby or small child does them. If you’re still in this mindset when you’re an adult? Let’s revisit that evil discussion. Or at least look at mental status.
The problem with saying that children are born evil is it allows for abuse and neglect. IMO

Adult humans are creatures of passion (which most of the venal sins are, if not all IMO). Our needs don’t really change much, but we gain a sense of propriety and self regulation a baby will never have. (You can train the parent, but not the baby.) Adults often develop a sense of stoicism. At least they control their emotions by serving the interests of the group, rather than their emotional state.
Adults also get more refined tastes. And have aversions that most babies don’t experience. And most of all, an adult can be guided by the group. A baby will cry in church. Funeral, wedding, high holiday solemn service. They want their need met now!! Most adults recognize that this might be a bad moment to ask for a glass of water or food, and will wait till services are over. They wll NOT poop in the sacristy!
Impulsivity and obsessiveness or malignant narcissism aside, adults are oriented by the situation and what is being asked by the group. Because people want/need to belong.
Having feelings is not a crime or a sin; telling someone you have feelings is not a crime or sin. The crime or sin comes when you act against the group’s moral or legal code, If you look at the definition of sanity, it’s that. In a nut shell. Today we consider these people to have a mental defect or disease.

The religions that most people know of were all introduced at a time when there were far fewer people and the hierarchy wanted people to make babies. (Therefore, the sex must be hetero and genital, when the woman was fertile) They wanted the babies to be traceable to the temple, so they wanted monogamy. Or at least a one-penis poly arrangement. OR they traced thru mom. So sexual expression was all about procreation. In those confines. Which is why things were said about homosexuality, loose fornication, adultery… They wanted a chaste bride. And they’d punish her is she wasn’t seen that way.
(Except for the priestesses and temple prostitutes back when sex rites were religious practice. They were not the rule in sexual responsibility)

The groups were mostly ruled by religious practice. Esp back in the day when they came into being. The laws were the same as the religion. So the person who followed the religion was a moral person. The person who did not, was evil. And faced consequences. Usually excommunication from the group.
In most cases, the group was just trying to do the right thing by their people. And gain members. So they warred with their local tribes and built empires to gain members. Conversion by force. They thought they were “the blessed people of their gods”, “the chosen”. And they wanted to “save” the “heathen” around them.
Time and events, science and knowledge, have changed and yet the conservatives of these religions still try to adhere to the literal teachings of their holy books and priests. Which only works well if they are insulated from other groups. That’s getting harder to do.

the gods
There are gods of many things, including death and chaos, but the only god that might be “evil” is the trixster god. The only one who makes trouble for the “people”. Who doesn’t follow the rules. And tries to separate the “people” from the other gods. You might call that evil? You might not? Other gods fall from grace and err, and battle at times, but the trixster god is a trouble maker.

Until we get to Christianity (where most of western philo comes from)
there is no systemic “evil” hierarchy. Enter Satan or Lucifer. And the fallen angels. The ones who challenged God and lost the battle (when the victor tells the story, and they always do, the other side lost because they were against God) And were exiled to “hell”, along with any who worshipped them. By practicing those venal sins and not conforming to the group (in this case Christians). So in that frame, trope or paradigm, evil is those who follow Satan. The rest are “heathen” or ignorant.

Or everyone and everything is evil? Back to the ultra conservative Bible thumpers I was raised among. 😛 Yeah I shook their dust off me years ago.
I’m curious what you think, and as I said at the top of this, would love to discuss it. 🙂

Odd Letters

“Love” from a friend(?)

Dear buddy,

We’ve known each other all our lives and been in school together most of those years. Our parents have lived next door for a good chunk of that and been friends as well. So you know what I’m putting on the line here. We’ve seen each other at worst and best, naked and on our wedding days. So I thought if there was anyone I could ask, it would be you…

Buddy, I wanna fuck your wife. Just once, unless she likes it. You can watch if you want. Why you might ask would I dare ask this of you? My wife is a frigid piece, and I need to get laid.  And I thought I could trust my BFF to keep my secret. Let me know ASAP, pls!

Desperate friend,


A Love Letter that Gets You High

Dear Sammy,

miss you so much my love! It’s been so many days since I held you. Too much time has passed and I just need you so much. Looking forward to our next visit, But till then, let my love keep you warm. Wish I was allowed to visit you at prison more often.


A “love letter” that scares you
Dear neighbour,
I’ve moved into my current apt, just to be closer to you. I used to have to take two buses to check in on you everyday and they closed one of the routes. They said there wasn’t sufficient need. The supervisor I killed wouldn’t change his mind.Luckily there was an open let nearer to you.Now I know where you shop, where you work and even where you and your friends like to hang out. I can crawl onto your balconey and watch you sleep too.I knew you were perfect for me the first time I saw you. I can’t wait till you and I can be together forever. One more death and we will be together forever.Then I can be your girl friend. : )
“Love Letter” from a Thief

Dear home owner.

I came here for some money and things I could take to the pawn shop to sell for drugs. Thanks for that. I found your piggy banks and the household “emergency funds” jar. I found some really cool paste jewelry that might be worth a dollar or two.  There were the electronics and some higher end suits and your watch. I’m glad you left the watch home.

But the fun part for me was finding your adult toy bag. I think my GF and I are going to try out a few of those before I sell them. So thx in advance for our fun weekend coming! Your videos of your friends and you playing will be fun to watch for ideas. And they should hit some stars in my FB group on amateur porn. You might become famous! I’ll let you know.  Thx again!

Your cordial thief!

Dear MsP,

I saw your page on that kink site you’re a member on. The pix of you getting your kink on were so hot! I think we’d get along so well. If I was your sub though, instead of your thing, I’d want you to try some flogging and wax play, maybe some knife and breath play.  I think you’d like them as well. Esp of I did them to you, not getting you to do them to me. Can we get together this weekend and play?

Dear Teacher,

Here is some reading on femdom you should review.  (attached file)

cc school principle and board chair

“love letter” from a fan

 Dear serial killer,

I’ve been watching your case for a while.  Even before you were a thing in the eyes of the law and the news, I saw you coming. I know what you were doing. Because it’s my fantasy too!
I want to see them sweat and cry.  I want them begging for their freedom and their life.  I want them to be helpless and horrified, not only by my actions, but also their body’s betrayal.  It’s the best laugh ever.
They think I’m impotent cuzz I don’t have sex with that mess of humanity. That’s the best part, laughing over their idiocy. They think they’re so smart!
I know you enjoy all of what I do.  So I wanted you to hear from someone who gets you.  Just before they kill you, you will know, I’m out here carrying the mission on.
Your fellow killer

labyrinth (a halloween story)

Labyrinth (a halloween story)

Despite the warnings that something wicked was there, I had to enter the gap between the shrubbery. I know… too curious for my own good. Or maybe a dark spirit chaser. Both?
There were many unproven stories about this place. It had been around for centuries, so not really surprising. Human nature being what it is. But all you had, that they might have occurred, was neighbourhood gossip. Nobody had gone checking the records. But they weren’t making claims of minotaurs or Pan come to wander their greenery. Just restless spirits. Once human. So, maybe they were true? I wonder though, if you were dead, why would you stay where your pain was caused? Wouldn’t you check on family? Or go tease a lover? Maybe that’s just me?
The stories usually began with a cheating wife, who was, along with her lover, shot and buried in the grounds… somewhere. It might be true. Things were often settled that way, when a man came home early.
Or the story where a business partner found out the lord of the manor had embezzled funds from the business and had come to collect them or their partner’s head. And had taken the head, because the money was gone. Spent on a new wife, a new car (or horse carriage, depending on the era), home decorations, a hell of a party… whatever. Just used. Not for the business, obviously. Well yeah, you can see why he’d be upset. But chopping heads off might be OTT. Dontcha think? Dead people can’t repay you. Ever! A sad fact many bill collectors for drug dealers, pimps, speak easys and gambling halls have found thru time. It’s not like they can sue the estate, or take insurance out on the amount they had to cover.
But it’s the head chopping that has me stuck. Who does that??
There was a story about a group of drunk youth who came, marauding, and didn’t know the wife was home. But since she was there… she ended up gangraped and took her own life. Husband came home and went on a rampage. Having found out where and who these youth were. Their bodies ended up in a plot that had never been sanctified by the church. And they howled their displeasure on anniversaries of the rape and their deaths.
There was a maid of olden days who was used by the lord and found herself to be pregnant and jumped off the roof. She wandered the grounds. So it’s said.
And the OG landowner had to wander about and see the locks were set at night. And the lights were all out. The place was HIS after all.
Though the indigenous people might query his claim…
Ok so the house might have bad juju. It had been there thru generations. Shit happens, ya know?
But why would it collect together in the labyrinth? Just when people were about? A portal maybe? IDK, but I was going to look for myself!
I wasn’t the first either. Ghost hunters and clergy had been thru.
I often wonder though. If a ghost isn’t a good church goer, or even a Christian. Why would they toddle off to the Christian afterlife, cuzz a guy in a collar came by one day and said some words? Nope! Not working for me.
So this is why I’m standing at the opening of the labyrinth. I have to know!…
Till I was in the center of the maze.
I called out. Something stupid. Like, “I’m here. Is anyone else? Anything else?” Did I get a howl or a hoot from some dark being, the second it came out of my mouth? Nope. I stayed a few days. With snacks and a camper’s staples: sleeping bag. pillow, foam, drop sheet. I was glad the weather wasn’t too hor or cold. I was glad I’d brought wet wipes and a change of clothes, or I wouldn’t have been able to stand myself.
Finally, I heard a noise and whipped around! There! OMG it was there! The portal had opened and evil reached out and took me to the eternal damned’s hidden palace. ..
NOOOO!! I’m still alive!!

Magnum Opus (a story)

Magnum Opus (a story)

Nikolai was sitting at his desk, waiting for the voices to settle down a bit till he could get back to writing. He knew this would be the book he would most be proud of. If only they let him write.
The book was about what it was like to live during a revolution. He knew it was wordy and he wasn’t sure how he could cut some of it. He also knew he couldn’t start over again. He would never begin this book again. It was too hard.
So many people had criticized his writing in the past and he was trying to incorporate their notes into this work. Writing was getting harder and harder for him to do. He kept erasing things that he knew they wouldn’t like. It was so frustrating.
Some of the voices were sticklers about grammar and spelling. And he did try his best when in the narrator’s voice, but some of his characters were back wood types. With little to no education. So how could he throw in big or correctly spelled words in their speech? How could he delete the idiom of the people and call it their story?
Some of the voices were historical critics and he kept having to remind them that this was a novel, not a treatise. And just the first draft. To set the tone. Fact checking could come later.
Some of the voices liked a certain type of person and they wanted the characters to be that. Rather than what would work best with the story. Or what came from his mind. He did try to add that in, but how would a tea drinking princess survive in rural Russia, where she had no servants to do the work? She’d literally die! if she was responsible for herself. The people did have to be plausible to the scene and the story.
And the hardest group to please, were the ones saying he should write something else. Because “the people”, “the audience” wanted to read something light and fun. Or something passionate. These people tried to keep him busy with consignments, so he couldn’t work at his opus. He did need the money and the practice…
People around him wanted him to quit writing altogether. And “get a job”. They said things like writing is no career choice “for a real man”. He should do something “manly” like farming or carpentry. It was somehow, in their opinion, more honourable work. More honourable work than writing the philosophical truth of a people? How??
And last, but not least, the priest of his village was crying over his immortal soul. And that worried his mother so. She was a very religious woman. So the priest thinking her son was evil, was breaking her heart. She asked him if she had not raised him right? She was worried about being excommunicated from her church. The one she had gone to all her life. Had been baptised in, married in, buried her husband in, and raised her boys in.
Nikolai was wasting away with his worries. The voices were so wrapped up in their dialogue, they ignored his biological needs. He skipped more and more meals. He drank less water or milk and more vodka. He was throwing up more and more. His skin was getting sallow.
After months of this inner struggle and self neglect, he threw a blood clot and died at his desk. He was there for a few weeks, before his mother and brother came looking for him. Mother brought him his favourite cookies. Brother was luckily the one who found him, and blocked hiis mother from seeing him. Poor brother was a mess though. For many nights after, he had nightmares of his brother standing up and chasing him thru the house.
His mother threw out the contentious writing. But the world is grateful that he had given a friend a copy to proof read.
His friend snuck the work out of the village and took it to the city to a publisher. Even unfinished, they published the story and it became a zeitgeist of Nikolai’s time.
They fixed the grammar and spelling, but only for the narrator;s voice. They did not add any characters or scenes. They did not add sex or flourish or make it more pop. They saw it was a story that needed to be told.
And at the front of the book, they told Nikolai’s story.
His mother blushed whenever she heard the title. But she knew they were her son’s last thoughts. And she missed him so much! His brother read a copy and burned it at Nikolai’s grave. Then drank a bottle of vodka and passed out there, crying. He stumbled home to his mother’s house a few hours later. She fed him soup and bread and put him to bed.
He felt terrible for burning his brother’s book. And bought another copy.
But it was too late. Nikolai was gone.
The voices in his head had stolen his breath. But his voice lives on.

Under the House (a story)

Under the House (a story)

No noise or sensory experience could completely cover the sound of the horrendous chewing below Sandringham House. Though believe me, they tried really hard. Their efforts to make noise seemed to make it worse actually. As if excess was it’s trigger.
The ragtime piano player stomped and pounded, but that didn’t work, even with 40-50 dancers hopping around to some animal dance and practically making the floor shake. Not even when they danced to some Brazillian jig did it make the sound go away. The ladies found it a challenge to listen to the wet chewing, and were often nauseous. Some to the point of needing to loosen their stays. The meals were a work in progress, when they were trying to ignore the unwelcome chewing, as if a horse or cow were chewing, chewing, chewing… Never quite able to complete their meal. Patiently working at the chew and regurgitate dichotomy of a meal. I mean, could you eat thru that?
The house parties were not only loud to have fun, with the dancing, gambling and hunting parties. But mostly meant to drown out that incessant chewing.
And worst of all, even the steam engine going by never seemd to drown out the chewing. Not completely.
As a last straw, the Prince asked a medium to come by and see what she could divine. See if they could eliminate this horrible noise once and for all.
She meditated and listened for almost a week. And finally came to tell him what she had discovered.
“Your mother was focused on the sins and the plight of women, as she should be. The spirits were pleased. This is what they are used to. But you have chosen in your own grief to focus on children and have lightened the world. The spirits are adjusting to this new tone. In their fear of the new, they have decided to warn you about excess.
Under the house is a large… um gelatinous… creature? It sits and chews. It’s made of ectoplasm.”
The prince stared at the medium. “Is there anything we can do to stop this horror? All we have done is live life and have some fun. We mean no harm”
“And that is why the creature simply chews. It’s warning of excess, not threatening any of you.”
The prince commissioned a second house to be built away from this house. He hoped changing the location of their festivities would take them away from the spirits’ notice, so they no longer had to listen to that nauseous noise.
It didn’t work…
So the Prince decided to only invite guests when it was summer and they could eat under a tent, outside. At least the chewing wouldn’t sound trapped and loud, with walls holding it in check.

The Blooded Child (a story)

The Blooded Child (a story)

Deep in the dark of one night’s sleep, a group of soldiers came to our village and stole many lives. Most were lucky enough to make it into a grave that night. But some of us were taken from one life of desperation to another.
Most of the boys were made into soldiers. They were given a gun and told they would get three meals a day and a roof over their head if they joined the army. I don’t know if those promises were made good on, but the boys chosen for that life tucked their heads in and went with the soldiers. They didn’t even think about running away. Or so it seemed. Cuzz not one of them looked back at the village as they walked away.
I heard some came back with limbs missing cuzz they stepped on a landmine. Some were left as carrion at roadside.
Some of the prettier and younger boys and girls were separated out and told they would be going off to rich lands to live with new moms or dads in big houses. Never again to worry about food to eat.
There were rumours of back lane sales of these kids to fund the war efforts. They gave their bodies till they weren’t so pretty any more. That’s what I heard anyway. Some as breeders for the next generation of soldiers, some as toys for men who could pay well for their aberrations.
Some hefty lads were sold to farmers who needed brute labour. There were rumours of whipping in fields if they didn’t move fast enough, or jump when given an order.
A few of us girls were culled out to become the wives of the generals. Barely old enough to read, yet we became a bride. We sat on their knees as they ruled the soldiers, or paid the price. We were considered the lucky ones. But our manic husbands often took their war terrors out on us. They weren’t the first generation, and probably not the last either.
In to the war coffers the money went. But they kept strictly to the rules and not one child with a gun was under 15. They laughed everytime the ranks were audited.
My husband had been abducted from the village well as he went to get water for his family. His little brother was sick and mother had asked him to go get the water. He was told his mother had sold him to get the younger child medicine. He believed them. He was 10 at the time.
He had a chance once to go to the village where he had heard his mom now lived. But he couldn’t tell her of what he had been forced to do at first, then gotten used to doing as habit. Till he got good at it.
He felt too ashamed to tell his own mother. But he now made others do it. And could package that away in his soul, as a war need somehow.
He saw me as his comfort, his prize, for doing what needed to be done.
He seemed like a grown and evil man, till he was alone with me. Then we played as if he were my own age. It was weird and sad, even though I was truly frightened of him.
When I was made to bear his child, I lost the battle and so did his child. My body too young to go safely thru this labour.
He went to the next village and picked another bride, as if I had never existed. He needed a wife on his arm to look like a man to his soldiers. My death and my child’s was my flaw. He just tried again.
The war would rage as long as there was a faith to fight against, and people desperate enough to fight for the cause. And kids who could fight or be sold for the bounty.
I wonder how long that will be?


## . . . .

UN says that use of children under 15 as soldiers is a war crime.

Factors are poverty, lack of opps in education and health care. In other words, desperation. If that doesn’t **recruit** them, then they’re abducted.

[unicef report][]

[unicef – child protection report][]
[UN’s #childrennotsoldiers campaign][]

(watch the videos)
[cub of Baghdad?][]
[boy soldiers][]
In 1977, the Geneva Convention was amended to include a new rule of war, that “children who have not attained the age of 15 years do not take a direct part in hostilities”, and in 1998, the International Criminal Court was established under a statute that “enlisting children under the age of 15 is a war crime”.

[teen thought is linear, idealistic, emo and peer driven][]


child soldierBeFunky Collage