#so their hands are just sort of metaphysically overlapping
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--EVERSION IMPULSE--
So I finished the Celestial Mechanics ending the other day and... yeah I'm not okay, brain chemistry altered forever
#heaven will be mine spoilers#I don't think it really came through but the idea was#that they're holding hands but not really holding hands because they can't#this is post-cm ending so they're everted#so their hands are just sort of metaphysically overlapping#also the trans flag colors in the bg were not accidental lol#heaven will be mine#hwbm#hwbm spoilers#my stuff
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Would you say that cataclysms or crises, like market crashes, wars, elections, pandemics, have their own spirits? Or put it another way, these things are not just chains of events, but separate energetic entities that initiate or guide the proceedings on the ground? If yes, would, erm, plinking spells at them with intention to get rid of them just make these constructs pay more of their... let's say transformative attention to a particularly daring spellcaster?
This is really interesting!
I hesitate to say that casting a spell at a market crash would make the spirit of the market crash rise up to harm you.
And I am 100% just basing this off of the fact that it sounds silly to me. Very much overlapping on conspiratorial, even.
Also I've never heard of it happening. And it doesn't line up with the way I think the world works.
For this to work, I think we have to believe 3 separate things:
All major national or global crises either are spirits in and of themselves, or are all guided and guarded by spirits (hereafter called Crisis Spirit).
A Crises Spirit (whether that be singular or a cohort has little relevance I think) would (A) notice energy directed against it, and (B) be capable of retaliation.
If it takes enough notice against any single person or working group, the Crises Spirit would choose to carry out targeted retaliation.
I do not believe that all catastrophes are, or are guided by, spirits. Not even the very big catastrophes. It's tempting to think that there is an organized malevolent force behind everything bad happening, but at this point we're basically talking about the New World Order except we're switching out key words for woowoo talk. So it's a big ask for me to buy into this line of thinking.
As a practitioner, I believe that if you look for a spirit, you'll find it. It's very easy to interpret a big lump of energy as a spirit, and depending on what your definition of "spirit" is, you're never going to not find a spirit.
Crises having their own energy: Yes
That energy automatically being a sentient being capable of awareness and retaliation: No
Even if we say that perhaps these events themselves are not spirits, but are guided by external Crises Spirits, I'm again stymied by the fact that we do not live in a good-vs-evil universe that specifically targets and harms people who try to stop bad things from happening.
Because the problem with this line of thinking is that anyone who wants to help the world then puts themselves in a position of a targeted martyr with access to hidden knowledge that gives them the ability to fight against organized, secret evil at the highest levels of control, and at that point just hang a Q on it.
So my main problem with this is the worldview. As in, damn, imagine the kinds of people you'd be aligning your worldview to in order to have to believe that this happens.
When a person begins their magical practice, I think they probably do rely a lot on what they're told by others. This is baggage. As in, a starting suitcase you need to begin your travels.
After a while, a practitioner begins to get a feel for how things really are beyond what they've been told. They have encounters. They get into situations. They go places. This is experience.
And beyond black pepper and Spells Georg, when a person really starts to make their path their own, I think that a big aspect to this is sorting through what baggage you no longer need, cleaning out the suitcase, and packing new luggage. This shift, I believe, should be inspired by and conform to personal experience.
On the one hand, I keep an active eye out for this type of thinking and do my best to not let it sneak into my suitcase. This is because worldview is a choice; you can choose how you align and orient yourself in this world, the results of which dictate your view. Yes?
On the other hand, I've never seen or experienced what you're describing in the real world and I simply don't believe it exists. My experience of the metaphysical, the spirit world, and magic, precludes there being universally present Crises Spirits that govern all world cataclysms.
This isn't to say that I don't believe spirits can make bad things happen or be involved in bad things. This isn't to say I don't believe there are gods of strife or chaos.
I just don't think there's a cabal of spirits who cause global catastrophe and that might retaliate against you if you try to stop bad things from happening.
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Starfaller
Agender tiefling X gn reader. 7,005 words.
You’ve fallen into a strange world. Things are unfamiliar and strange, but at least you’ve got a cute doctor to look out for you.
“Come now, sugar. Open your eyes.” Someone was shaking your shoulder gently, but insistently. You didn’t want to wake up. Pain radiated along your back, growing sharper the closer to wakefulness you got. “Up you get. There you go.”
Your eyelids flickered open. Bright sunlight fille d the room with a blinding yellow-white glow. You were lying on some kind of cushy couch, across the room from a set of large, glass doors. The room looked like some sort of old-fashioned apothecary, with pale wooden walls and a floor. Dried and partially-dried herbs hung from the lofted ceiling. Cabinets with glass doors lined the room, full of plants and vials of liquid and metal devices made for measuring. The smell was sharp and made your nose itch faintly.
“Here. Drink this.” Someone cupped your head in their hand. A cup pressed against your lips. It was cool, and the water that flowed into your desiccated mouth tasted pure and crystalline. You gulped it furiously. Oh, god, it was so good, like someone was pouring a sparkling stream of energy down your throat.
“That’s it. Good.” The cup moved away from your lips. You made a quiet noise of protest. “I know, but you have to go slowly. You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t.”
You turned your head, wincing as the motion pulled your muscles. Every breath hurt, like you’d pulled every muscle in your chest and back. The person who had been allowing you to drink was sitting next to you, hand still resting on the back of your head. “There you are. You’re looking a bit better now, aren’t you?”
They smiled, revealing needle-sharp fangs. You felt something in your stomach drop and twist. This person wasn’t a human. They were pale, with nearly pure white skin and white-blonde hair. Their eyes were pale as well, with pink markings along their cheekbones and forehead. Their hair was tied back into a short braid, carefully woven around their enormous, curving horns. They wore a long, pale robe, a long, thin tail with a thick tuft of white-blond hair at the tip. Their feet ended in short, white fur and white, cloven hooves. Their eyes gleamed oddly in the sunlight, their pupils several shades too pale.
“Oh, dear. Lie back down, you look awfully wan. Might have sat up a bit too quick.” Their voice was soft and accented in a way you couldn’t quite identify. Maybe vaguely southern? “Here. Drink.”
Another cup was pressed to your lips. This one was warm and tasted savory. It made your stomach growl. You were starving, lightheaded with hunger. Your fingers fumbled to cling to the bowl, trying to gulp it faster. “Easy there. Slowly.” The bowl was tugged from your mouth once more. “Though it’s good you have an appetite.”
Your caretaker allowed you to drink slowly, pressing the cup to your lips and taking it back away in intervals. Eventually, you managed to drink all of it, your tongue flicking out to get the last few drops from the bottom. “There you are.” Your caretaker ran a hand over your forehead. “All right. It’s good that you got some food in you.”
You sagged back onto the couch. The longer you remained awake, the worse the pain in your torso was getting. Every breath was a struggle. “You must be in a lot of pain,” your caretaker murmured. “Hold on. I’ll get you something for that.” They moved away to one of their cabinets and returned with a spoon and a tiny vial of a green liquid. “This should help with the pain. It’s quite potent, though, and it won’t taste nice.” They tipped a few drops onto the spoon. “Here.”
A flicker of concern moved through you, but it seemed silly not to trust them. They seemed to be taking care of you, at least. The spoon touched your lips and you sipped the droplets from it.
The effect was immediate. For a moment, your mouth tasted sharp and nasty, then a wave of numbness spread outward from everywhere the drops had touched. You sagged back onto the couch. Your eyelids drooped. “Get some sleep. It’ll help you recover,” your caretaker said. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” The world fuzzed and faded as they stood and started to walk away.
You woke again some time later, this time under your own volition. The sun had set, making the room mercifully dim. You were still in pain, but it seemed distant, less urgent.
Grimacing, you rolled onto your side. The caretaker was nowhere you could see. Across the room, you could see the beautiful night sky through the window.
It was more breathtaking than any night sky you had ever seen before. There were thousands of stars, more than you could ever remember seeing. There were even variations of color across the sky, from dark blue to purple to even a few splashes of green. Sitting high at the apex of the sky were two gently glowing moons.
Your breath caught in your throat. The caretaker had obviously not been human, which had been strange, but this. This confirmed it. You weren’t just in some strange place with nonhuman creatures. You were in some entirely different world.
From behind your head, a door creaked. You twisted around, ignoring the sharp pain in your chest. “Ah, you’re awake again. Good.” Your caretaker placed a basket on the table and swept off their coat. “How are you feeling?”
Your voice cracked as you tried to speak. “Wh- Where…”
“Here. Wet your throat. You’ve been out for a while.” They swept over to you, holding a cup. “There you are. Can you hold it yourself? Good.”
Again, the water was cool and clear and you drank it desperately. “Where,” you sputtered as soon as your mouth was no longer achingly dry, “Where am I?”
“Ah.” The caretaker took the bowl back form your hands. “I take it you realized you’re not home anymore.”
“There’s two moons,” you said. “And… and you’re not… human.”
“Mn. No. I’m not. Your Fall must have been particularly bad if you’ve never even met a tiefling before.” They gave you a sympathetic look. “You’re fortunate you weren’t more injured, really. Only a few cracked ribs and some bad bruising.”
“Then where am I?” you insisted. The caretaker gave you a soft, soothing smile.
“In specific, you’re in my house, the healer’s residence of Torthall. It’s a small town in the kingdom of Ristoranth- though I suppose we haven’t been a proper kingdom in a couple of decades.” They paused. “But that’s not terribly helpful to you, is it? Hm. Well, have you ever heard of the theory of multiple worlds?”
You mulled that over. “Like multiple universes?”
“Mm, yes. Roughly. There are many different worlds, and a lot of them overlap. Some of them overlap rarely, and some of them have many overlaps. We call the ones with many overlaps hub worlds.” They made a vague gesture at the world around you. “This world is a hub world. When two worlds overlap, things have a tendency to slip through the gaps. Sometimes they’re small, but sometimes, people slip through.”
You took a deep, slow breath. “I slipped through the gap between your world and my world?”
“Yes. That’s pretty much the summation of it. There’s some more metaphysical aspects to it, some complicated things that I won’t even pretend to understand, but the basic gist of it all is that people often slip through the cracks between the universes and land here. Usually there are a few dozen Starfallers every year. We call them Starfallers,” they clarified. “Usually they fall from the sky, out of a flash of light. The scars last for a few days, like large stars.” They tilted their head back toward the windows. “We could probably still see it, if we went outside.”
You curled your fingers around the blankets. “How do I get home?”
The caretaker’s face went still. “Ah.” The noise was soft and hesitant and confirmed all of your worst fears. “It’s… I don’t want to say that it’s impossible. There have been a few Starfallers who have gotten back. But… Hm. It’s a bit like we’re at the bottom of a funnel. It’s quite easy to get down here, but it’s difficult to get back up. And yours… well, if your world has no active magic component, then it’s likely quite far away from ours. It’s not impossible, but it’s not likely for you to get back either.”
You swallowed hard. The back of your eyes stung. “So, I’m stuck here.”
They folded their hands in their lap. “I’m afraid it’s the most likely scenario.”
You were trying to keep your face still, but your lips were twitching insistently downward. Your breath kept catching and stuttering in your chest. “Oh, dear. Here, it’s all right.” The caretaker fished something out of their pocket and passed it to you. You buried your face in the handkerchief as the tears started falling. “There, there. I know.”
You snuffled, mopping at your eyes. “I’m s-sorry, I hate crying in front of other people.”
“Oh, hush. Don’t apologize.” They smiled softly. “I could turn my back, if you’d like.” You snorted. “But seriously, I’m a healer. I’ve seen many people cry. It won’t make me think any less of you.”
They stroked along your back as you cried until, finally, you had exhausted your water supply. You slumped back onto your pillows. “Feeling any better?” the caretaker asked. They brushed a hand along the top of your head, then swiped away a few of your tears with a thumb.
“I don’t know.” There was still a knot of emotion in your chest, but it had loosened ever so slightly. “I think so.”
“You should probably get some more sleep,” the caretaker said. They stood up. “We can keep talking in the morning.” They yawned. “Both of us need some sleep, really. I’ll see you in the morning.” They gave you an affectionate pat on the head before striding out of the room.
You had expected to have trouble falling asleep, but crying had apparently taken it out of you. Before you knew it, you were blinking your eyes open in bright sunlight. The room was full of the sound and smell of cooking eggs. The caretaker was wearing a purple and gold robe, bent over a fire. “Good morning,” they said, smiling over their shoulder at you.
“Morning,” you croaked. You pushed yourself upright. Your muscles were still sore, but you felt better than you had the night before. “Do I get breakfast?”
The caretaker laughed. “I’m certainly not going to starve you. Though you should eat slowly. Starfalling can do some strange things to your insides.”
You gratefully accepted your plate of eggs. They looked and tasted pretty much exactly like chicken eggs, which was a relief. The caretaker sat down next to you, chewing idly on their own breakfast.
“I don’t know your name,” you said hesitantly after a few moments of eating in silence.
“Silaris. You can just call me Sil.” They smiled. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Better. I think.”
“Mm. That’s good. You’ll probably be able to get out of bed today, though you should take it easy. I don’t want you to do anything that will exacerbate your injuries.”
You took a careful bite of eggs off your fork and chewed it slowly. “What, uh. What happens now? I mean… what happens now that I’m here?”
Sil lowered their fork. “I’ll get you in contact with the Starfaller agency. They’ve got a small fund they set aside for Starfaller relief, so you’ll get an allowance for a few months until you’re adjusted. They’ll probably also interview you about what you did in your world, to see what relevant skills you have.” They patted your hand. “Don’t look so worried, sugar. We’re going to make sure you’re safe here.”
“I don’t know if I have any relevant skills I can use here,” you said. “I worked in tech support back in my world. Unless you need someone who’s good with computers here…” Your breaths were starting to come more shallowly. The edges of panic were creeping into your voice.
“Hey. Hey.” Sil took hold of your hands. “Breathe. You’re all right.” They smiled soothingly at you. “If you don’t have any skills that will work for this world, we can get you apprenticed to someone. I’m sure there’s someone who can take you on.”
You took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“It’s certainly no trouble. Right now, you shouldn’t worry too much. Just try to focus on getting better.” Sil stood. “Your appetite seems healthy, at least.” Your fork scraped against your plate and you looked down. It was empty. You’d been absently shoveling food into your mouth the entire time they’d been speaking. “Ah, don’t look embarrassed. It’s good. If you weren’t hungry, I’d be worried.” They stood, taking your plate. “Give me a moment.”
They left the room. You took their absence as an opportunity to fully assess yourself. Aside from being painfully stiff and needing to breathe shallowly, you felt all right. Your chest was bound in bandages. Bracing yourself against the couch, you pushed yourself to your feet.
Your legs were shaky, but willing to support your weight. You took a few cautious steps. Your side blazed in protest. Every breath made your damaged ribs throb. Grinding your teeth, you took a few cautious steps across the room.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to be walking around so quickly.” You looked over. Sil was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “You must be in better shape than I thought. How do you feel?”
“It hurts,” you admitted. “And-” The wooziness you’d been holding at bay by sheer force of will finally pushed its way into your head. You wobbled on your feet.
“Oh, dear. All right.” Sil half caught you, half propped you back up. “Sit back down.” They pushed you back over to the couch, easing you down. “It’s good that you can be up and about. Any nausea, intensifying pain?”
You shook your head. “I’m okay.”
“Good. Here, take some of this.” Sil held out a tiny, thimble-sized glass with a pale, cloudy liquid in it. “It’s an infusion of a few herbs, often referred to as ‘bone-knit’. It’ll help with the pain.”
You tossed the liquid back and grimaced. It was bitter beyond belief. “Ugh!”
“Not pleasant, I know.” Sil took the bottle back from you. “I’m going to need to go out for a little bit, just to get some more supplies. Just rest while I’m gone, all right? I’ll be back soon.”
“Sure,” you said, leaning back onto the couch. Sil smiled, gave you an affectionate pat on the head, then turned and walked out of the room.
You heard the door open and shut. Your ribs prickled, not just aching, but also itching. It was constant, insistent, and it made it impossible to sleep. After several minutes of trying, you gave up.
Walking was still a little shaky, but you managed to complete a circuit of the room. Most items were fairly uninteresting, or at least not anything you found helpful. One of the cabinets had a series of medical instruments that looked only vaguely familiar, not that you had much experience with medical devices. Another cabinet contained strange herbs and stones, each of them labeled. A leather-bound journal sat on the bottom of the shelf. You picked it up, flicking through the pages. Drawings of leaves and stones and even a few pressed flowers sat on the pages.
On first inspection, you couldn’t read most of the writing and assumed it was in some strange language. After looking a little longer, though, you realized that the handwriting was simply so messy it looked like another language. With some squinting and puzzling, you could decode most of it. It was a handwritten journal, listing the locations, growing seasons, and medical properties of each plant.
When Sil returned home, you were still flipping through their notebook. “Sorry I’m late,” they said. “I got caught up in town. There was a toddler with a bit of a cold and his father was terribly worried. What are you reading?”
You closed the journal, a little embarrassed. “I was just looking through your journal. It’s interesting.”
“It’s not anything truly spectacular. Just my own notes on what sort of plants and stones have what sort of uses. I’m sure you could find a basic medical book that has the exact same information,” Sil said, but they looked faintly pleased. “Speaking of reading, I got you a few things.” They swung their bag off their shoulder and rummaged inside it. “Some books. Basic history, basic science, basic culture.”
You took the books from Sil and flipped through them. They had thick pages and were mostly illustrations. “These are books for children.”
“Well, yes,” Sil said, scratching at the back of their neck. “I’m afraid so. I’ve got a couple more advanced books for you, but I though you should start with those first. You’ll need to learn about our world, and children’s books do give the most basic knowledge.” You grimaced.
“I suppose.” You picked up the book titled The History of Ristoranth. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get these for me.”
“As I keep telling you, it’s really no trouble. Start reading. I’ll get us some lunch.” Sil swept out of the room and you picked up the book and started flipping through it.
It was amazing how quickly you settled into a routine. You spent much of your time trying to understand the world you were suddenly in. Despite some strange similarities, like the languages being identical, there were some massive differences in the basic laws of nature.
“I’m sorry, you can grow new rocks?” you asked. Over the past couple of weeks, you’d taken to confirming your most surprising discoveries with Sil. There had been an embarrassing few days where you’d assumed the kingdom had actually been named after the first Queen’s three pet birds, until Sil had explained that was a metaphor.
“They were her advisors. Or consorts. No one’s sure. But they always were referred to as her birds in fable, because they were each nicknamed after a sort of bird. Anyway, they may have had shape changing abilities, but they weren’t really her pet birds. Didn’t you think it was odd that she went to them for advice?”
Given some of the other things you read about, the idea of the Queen using real birds as her advisors didn’t seem that unusual. “There were mentions of her going to animals for advice before.”
“Those weren’t real animals. Those were spirits.” Sil made it sound like this should be patently obvious. You sighed.
“Anyway. You have… Farm quarries?”
“Specialists grow new gemstones all the time. I mean, you need a seed gemstone, and some quarries just produce metals or certain forms of clay and such, but yes. They do.” Sil looked at you questioningly. “How does your world get new materials?”
“We find them,” you said. “I mean, we can dig them up. And things change form. Eventually you can make coal or graphite or something into diamonds. But you can’t just take a gemstone and make it get bigger.”
“From what I know, it’s a little more complicated than that. It’s about agitating the crystalline structures using the harmonic resonance of magic and transitioning new materials into the same structure as-” Sil trailed off. “Er. This isn’t making any sense to you, is it?”
You shook your head. “And this references weather control?”
“Oh. High level mages manage the weather.” You rubbed your forehead. “How do you ensure that the weather is appropriate in your world?”
“We don’t! We just try to predict it and deal with it as best we can.”
Sil’s brows furrowed. “But crops rely on certain weather patterns. How do you ensure best yield if you don’t have weather management?”
“I just said, we don’t. If something like that happens… food prices go up, I guess, or we do without.”
Sil looked disturbed at the very concept. That was one of the other things you’d noticed. Their world seemed… gentler, in some ways. More forgiving. The weather could be managed, and rare materials could be obtained with little effort. There wasn’t as much scarcity.
“It’s extropic,” you said. Sil gave you a bewildered look. “Er, instead of entropic. It’s extropic.”
“You’ve lost me.” Sil closed their book. “What are we talking about?”
“Your world. My world is entropic, which means it moves away from order and toward chaos. This world’s the opposite, extropic. It moves toward order. Through magic, I would assume. But it means that you aren’t as concerned with… I don’t know, losing resources.” You flipped your book closed. “It’s a lot less cutthroat than my world. I guess because you can always be reassured there will be enough to go around.”
Sil didn’t seem to entirely understand what you were musing about, but they understood that you were melancholy. “Do you miss your home?”
“Yeah. I do.” You pushed yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain in your side. Sil had been giving you some kind of potion that stitched your ribs back together rapidly, but they still ached after a couple of weeks. “Even if it was a hard place to live, it had some advantages. Like the internet.”
“The what?”
“Ah. Never mind.” You stretched and groaned. “Ow.”
“I did tell you that you should rest,” Sil said. They had been growing more insistent on you staying in bed the longer you stayed with them, as you had grown more insistent on getting up and walking around. It felt wrong to be lying around in bed while Sil worked.
“I can’t just lie around forever. I want to help out,” you said. “I can’t keep being a drain on you.”
Sil’s face scrunched up. “People aren’t a drain. I became a healer to help people get better. I’m helping you do that right now.”
“Yeah, but you’re not getting paid to take care of me. I can at least pay you back another way.” Sil stared at you, head tilted slightly to one side. That seemed to be a difference in the worlds. There was some system that at least resembled capitalism, with shops and craftspeople and the like, but Sil never seemed concerned about money, even though they didn’t really charge most of the people who came to see them.
“You don’t need to pay me back,” Sil said, but you glared and they gave up on protesting. “All right, all right, if you’re going to insist on helping me, I suppose I wouldn’t want to turn down the extra help. Come. I’m making salves and antiseptics. It’s fairly easy. Shouldn’t strain you at all.”
Sil took you across the room to a small worktable covered in bundles of herbs. “All right. Take these three herbs and roll them in the binding sap, then mash it all together. It’ll create an antiseptic paste that also has some numbing agents in it. Very useful for bad cuts.”
You sat down across from Sil and started separating herbs and mixing them in the way Sil had instructed. It was slow, soothing work. “And you sell these?”
“Mn. Mostly. I’ve given some away, if the customer can’t pay.” Sil gathered a bundle of herbs together and examined them for a moment before tying them together. “You’re very concerned about money.”
“Oh. I don’t mean to be shallow or anything. It’s just… I was very concerned about money in my own world. I was pretty poor.” You carefully scooped every last bit of the paste you’d made into a jar and set it aside. “I was actually about to lose my apartment because I couldn’t pay rent. It was something I thought about a lot back then. I guess I can’t get rid of the worry even now.”
Sil seemed vaguely disturbed by the concept, but didn’t say anything. You got the idea they were refraining from critiquing your home out of sheer politeness.
“We’ll need to go to market a little later today,” they said, gently changing the subject. “Would you like to come?”
You perked up at that. “You’ll let me?” Sil had been cautious about letting you leave the house, probably out of an overabundance of caution.
“I can tell you’re getting cagey,” Sil said. They gave a small, fond smile. “I know I’ve been trying to keep you from doing very much, and I know that’s frustrating. I assure you, I won’t keep it up forever. I just don’t want you to be injured.” Their smile widened. “It would be a shame if anything happened to a cute thing like you.”
You started, face burning. Sil had a habit of dropping little compliments into conversation. Either they were unaware of how much it flustered you, or they found it amusing. Sil turned back to their bundle of herbs, leaving you to think on that.
Were they flirting with you? It was… well, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. They were cute, certainly. Their little fangs were almost painfully adorable, as was their habit of absently humming to themselves and the way their tail curled around one of their legs when they were nervous. And, well, their personality certainly wasn’t half bad either. Caring, gentle, a good sense of humor.
On the other hand… well, they might not be flirting with you. They seemed generally friendly, so it might just be them being nice, or caring for you because you were their patient. Would they even want to consider dating you after treating you as their ward? Were you even really crushing on them or would the feelings fade once you left them?
Sil cleared their throat. “Something wrong?”
You startled out of your thoughts. “Uh, no. Just thinking.”
Sil lifted an eyebrow. “You were staring at me.” Did they sound amused? Flattered? Pleased? Were you reading too much into this?
“I was just staring off into space,” you said. Sil looked at you for a moment longer, then went back to their work. You breathed a sigh of relief. Your heart fluttered rapidly in your chest.
About half an hour later, you had finished prepping the herbs and Sil was preparing for market. They pulled a coat over their shoulders and held out one for you. “You’re still feeling all right?” they asked as they slid the coat on for you. “The pain isn’t too bad?”
“It’s fine. Honestly, it’s itching more than anything.” The feeling of your ribs stitching themselves together manifested as a nearly constant pricking under your skin. Attempting to scratch only made the pain worse, so you had to grit your teeth and deal with it.
“That’s good,” Sil said. “It means it’s healing.”
You rolled your eyes as Sil opened the door and stepped outside. “You would say that. You’re not the one who has to experience it.”
Sil laughed and made a sympathetic clucking noise with their tongue. “I’ll see if I can’t make you something to soothe it when we get back home. But it is good that you’re healing. You’ll be able to go out on your own soon.”
A flicker of nervousness jumped through your stomach. “Mmhm,” you murmured. Sil didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. They strode down the dirt pathway that led to the proper town, the hand on your back gently steering you along.
Sil had taken you into town a couple of times before, though only for a brief time and always with the maximum amount of concern and fussing. This time, they were actually content to let you walk away from them, though you could feel their eyes on you like a hawk.
“Looks like the little human is up and about again!” You tried not to jump in surprise as a booming voice echoed out from a shop. A tall, muscular woman with a cow’s head stood in the doorway of her shop, arms folded over her chest. She was the town tailor, and stood at least six and a half feet tall. Her calling you little was less about your shortness and more about the fact that everyone was shorter than she was. You’d met her out of necessity, as she was the one who’d gotten you most of your clothes.
“Hi, Matilda,” you said. “Yeah. And thanks for all the clothes, by the way. They fit really well.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased with them. Not my best work. I’ll need to get some more measurements to get you some more fitted stuff.” She nodded at Sil. “As long as they allow it, of course.”
“Not yet. The ribs aren’t fully healed, and I know you don’t mean to, but sometimes you don’t know your own strength,” Sil said. “I’m sure we’ll be back to get some more clothes at another time.” Matilda shrugged and gave you a small wink.
“Come back anytime, dear.” She headed back into the shop. Sil rested a hand on your back and led you further into the town.
“We’re just going to get some supplies,” Sil said, glancing down at the list they were carrying. “I need more bandages. And some more food. Hm, and I suppose it’ll be good, now that you’re feeling better, to show you around town.” They tucked the list back into their pocket. “You are still feeling well, yes?”
“Sil, I’m fine.” They looked concerned, still, but they dropped the subject.
The town Sil was a part of was ridiculously quaint, at least by your standards. According to Sil, it was actually fairly advanced. You were at least glad the place had running water and indoor plumbing. Still, it was a closely knit community where, if you needed something, you were probably going to go to someone in town to get it. There was a potter, a blacksmith, a carpenter. Sil could practically name where every item in his house came from. It was sweet, really. It made every part of the community feel important.
On the other hand, it meant that there were very little openings in the town. Sil had made a casual mention that you might need to move to another city, and the thought of that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. Be on your own? In a world you didn’t quite understand? But you couldn’t impose on Sil anymore than you already had. If they wanted you to move out, how could you say no?
“Sugar.” Sil’s gentle, lilting voice pushed into your consciousness. “Everything all right?”
“Fine. Just thinking.” Sil tilted their head, a crease of worry forming between their brows. “I’m really fine, Sil. I can just drift off sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m in incredible amounts of pain.”
Sil pressed their lips together. “You aren’t, are you?”
You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m fine. Are you this fussy about everyone?”
“Are you kidding?” You glanced over your shoulder. An enormous naga was slithering toward you, her tail undulating as she approached. “I once broke three of my fingers and this one just tied them together and told me I should be fine to keep working if I really wanted to.”
“They weren’t broken. You sprained them!” Sil sputtered. “And I did not say that. I said you should be able to return to work soon. It wasn’t a bad sprain.”
The naga, Evelyn, rolled her eyes in your direction. “I once got a hand full of splinters and they snapped at me every time I flinched. No bedside manner at all.”
“Really?” That seemed hard to believe. Sil had been nothing but sweet to you since you arrived.
“You were whining! And splinters certainly are not the same thing as broken ribs.” Sil’s face had brightened to an impressive shade of red. “And just because I choose not to exercise it on you doesn’t mean I don’t have bedside manners.”
Evelyn rolled her dark, glittering eyes. “Sure, Sil.” She lounged closer to you, drooping the upper half of her body over your shoulder. “Watch their tail,” she said, lips close to your ear. “If the tip starts going mad when you touch them, make a move.” She shot Sil a grin and dropped off your shoulder. “If you want another storage case, stop by any time,” she said, waving a hand back at you as she slithered off. “I’ll be around.”
Sil’s cheeks were still brightly flushed and they spent a moment fussing with their robes before looking aback at you. “She ought to be more careful, throwing herself all over someone who was recently injured.” Their voice was full of indignation, almost as though her presence had genuinely agitated them.
“I told you already, Sil. I’m fine.”
“Oh, all right.” Their hands fluttered tentatively against your side for a moment. “Do you want to stop by the bakery? You didn’t have much for breakfast and you need to keep your strength up.”
“Sure,” you said. Then, just as an experiment, you reached out a hand and placed it on their shoulder. The edge of your hand rested at the hem of their shirt, so there was a flicker of skin-to-skin contact. Their tail shivered, the tip dancing back and forth in the dirt. The flush, which had been slowly fading from their face, returned in full force. “Thank you, Sil.”
They moved their mouth for a moment. “Oh. Uh. You are very welcome.” They squeezed your hand before gently removing it from their shoulder. “Come on.” Their hand lingered against yours for a moment before they released it.
The bakery was run by a pair of fauns. As far as you were aware, they were twins. Evidently, Sil had helped them both on a couple of occasions and now they could get free food almost whenever they wanted. By the time you left the store, your arms were laden with sweets.
The pair of you munched on them casually as you walked around town. There were a few faces that you didn’t recognize, but you knew most of them, and most of them could remember you. The town was so small that new faces were almost immediately recognized. All of them seemed to know Sil, and greeted them with familiarity and reverence.
Still, the longer you spent time in town, the more uncertain you grew about your place there. None of the skills the townspeople had were skills you could really help with, and when you thought through your own abilities, you weren’t sure you had anything to offer. Every person in the town seemed to fit a niche. You weren’t sure what niche you could fill.
“Sugar?” Sil nudged you. “Are you in pain?”
“What?” you said, starting out of your thoughts again. Sil hesitantly extended a hand and cupped your chin in their palm. Their thumb swept along the underside of your eye. Something wet came away with their fingertip.
“Your eyes are watering,” they said. “Is the pain that bad? You should have said something.”
“Oh.” There was pain, a dull ache in your side that radiated along your back. But it wasn’t bad enough to cry over. “No, no, it’s not that.”
You had intended to be reassuring, but Sil’s expression only grew more concerned. They stepped in closer to your side, allowing you to lean on them as you walked. “What’s the matter, then?”
You took a deep breath. Worry jumbled up in your chest and throat, jamming the words from coming. After a moment, you just shook your head. To their credit, Sil didn’t push. They just put an arm over your shoulders and helped you back to their house.
When you were seated back on the couch and Sil had finished putting the materials you’d acquired away, they settled in next to you. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”
“It’s…” You fumbled the words once more. There was a lot you were feeling and you weren’t sure how to get it all out in a way that made sense. Sil waited for you, eyes solemn and patient. Finally, the words came out. “Do you want me to leave?” The question that emerged was more pathetic than you’d hoped for. There was a pleading edge to it. Please, I’m scared, don’t make me go!
Sil’s mouth popped open, then snapped shut. They seemed genuinely thrown. “I- No. Where is this coming from?”
You took a deep breath and attempted to sort your thoughts out. “You keep talking about me leaving. Maybe needing to go to the city. And there’s not really any place for me here, nothing necessary. But…” Your voice wavered embarrassingly. Damn. You didn’t want to cry in front of Sil again. They’d seen quite enough of that.
“But?” Sil pressed. Their voice was gentle. One of their hands rested on your knee.
“I don’t want to leave,” you said. “I know it’s selfish, and I really don’t want to impose, but I’d miss you and I’d miss this place. I- I feel like I’m actually starting to make a life here, and I don’t want to leave everything again, but I don’t want to stay here if I’m not wanted-”
Sil hugged you.
Their arms around you were gentle, exerting a reassuring amount of pressure. One of their hands splayed across your back, moving in slow, soothing circles. You hugged them back, pressing your face into their shoulder.
“Shh,” Sil murmured. “Shh. It’s all right.” They pulled back a little, letting their other hand come up to your face. Their thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “You’ve been worrying about this for a while, haven’t you?” Their voice was soft, utterly caring. A swell of tears formed in your eyes again. You blinked rapidly and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you feel like you weren’t wanted here.”
The hand on your face moved back to stroke through your hair. Sil took in a deep, slow breath. “I think I may have overcorrected, slightly,” they said. “I know I’ve been bringing up you potentially going to the city a lot- I was trying to give you an out, you see, if you didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped. I suppose I may have pushed it too hard.”
“Oh,” you said. Relief flooded through you. “Then you do want me to stay? Or, at least, you’re all right with it? I mean, I don’t want to push to stay if you don’t want me here. Is it weird having me in your house? I can start seeing if I can move out-”
“Shh, shh,” Sil said, lifting their voice over yours. “Oh, you really worry too much. No. I don’t want you to leave.” They licked their lips. “There may have been a bit of a selfish reason I’ve not been so keen on you staying. I kept suggesting the city because… Ah, I was trying to work up the courage to ask you something. I didn’t want to make it awkward for you, since you’re staying here. I thought, maybe if you had somewhere to go, it wouldn’t be so bad if you, ah. Turned me down.”
Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat rose to your face. “Something you wanted to ask?”
Sil nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. I don’t want you to think- well, it’s not something I’m jumping into rashly. I’ve considered it. And if you refuse, I certainly won’t hold it against you. I just… I don’t want you to leave, either. Having you around here isn’t a burden. I enjoy it. Ever since I met you. And not just because you’re a human, and a starfaller. You’re… smart and thoughtful and considerate and determined, I-” Sil cut themselves off. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I should come out and say it.” Sil took a deep breath. “I’m attracted to you. Very attracted to you. I have been for a little while. I know that it might not be a good time, and I understand if you don’t want a relationship right now. If you want to leave or stay somewhere else, I understand. But… I want you here. I love every minute you’re here with me. I just thought you should know that.”
Sil fell silent. They fidgeted slightly, barely able to look you in the eyes. You felt slightly stunned. That explained a lot. Their fussiness over your wounds, their insistence that they enjoyed having you around. And, as they had confessed to you, you felt something. A relief, a gratitude. A sort of tremulous oh, thank God. They like me too.
“Sil,” you said in a quiet voice. “I want to kiss you right now.”
Their eyes widened. “I… I think I would like that.”
Your lips met tentatively, then with more passion. Sil pressed their mouth firmly against yours, leaning you back against the couch. Their hands fumbled to cling to your shirt. Behind them, their tail waved furiously, curling and twisting with delight.
One of Sil’s hands pressed against your side and you gave a strangled groan. Sil pulled back immediately. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me see.” They fussed at your side for a moment. “Perhaps we should wait a little longer before we try anything rougher, hm?” They gave you a sheepish grin.
“I suppose,” you said. You leaned up and gave Sil a peck on the cheek. One of your hands trailed casually down their front, prompting their pale skin to flush deep red. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”
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Jinana’s Neurodivergence and Sensory Issues
Neither Heron nor Jinana is exactly what we would term neurotypical. Their direct connections to sources of primal magic affect them both in a variety of fundamental ways.
Jinana frequently exhibits non-linear, often impulsive-seeming ways of thinking. Hir logic is sound; it just doesn’t always take the same routes that someone else’s might, and frequently s/he is pattern-matching so rapidly that it can be hard for others to connect the same dots. It can seem that s/he has jumped to a conclusion from a standing start, when in fact there’s an intricate but lightning-fast path of logic behind it. By the same token, the path of hir conversation may wind about, returning briefly to touch on an earlier subject before tangenting off again. (It certainly is something to witness a lengthy conversation between hir and Julian... between the two of them they can easily touch on twenty subjects in thirty seconds, never dropping the thread.)
S/he also manifests certain behaviors which are reminiscent of ADHD: alternating inattention and hyperfixation, brilliance under pressure but some difficulty attending to things that do not have deadlines or routines; things out of sight being out of mind. S/he has a particular routine which helps hir manage the shop, but once in a while s/he does drop the ball on things like re-ordering stock.
In addition, s/he has some minor sensory/processing issues. These include: having trouble processing/being irritated by overlapping speech or high levels of background noise, avoiding restrictive, itchy or heavy clothing, and poor tolerance for temperature changes (the reason s/he dresses in layers). S/he also dislikes crowds, mostly for the noise and overlapping auras.
S/he has a mild tendency to stim when anxious or bored, which may include chewing gum (mastic resin), rocking slightly or swaying hir hips, and rubbing hir thumb over a marble or smooth stone in hir hand. The beaded bracelets s/he wears are actually a stim toy of sorts; s/he can roll hir thumb over the beads or rub an entire bracelet between hir hands. (They are also made of minerals which are considered to have beneficial metaphysical properties: onyx, charoite and shungite.)
The sensory issues and stimming are more pronounced in Apprentice-continuity Jinana, as memory loss has reduced hir other coping mechanisms. Apprentice!Jinana also experiences episodes of intrusive thoughts and occasional compulsions, though these are essentially magical side-effects of occupying hir new body, and they are reducing in frequency with time.
#in this house we project#jinana x julian is definitely chaos4chaos#jinana lore#the lore hose continues lmao
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“Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition?’ They did what they were told. But not you! Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis.’”
I'm in this tarot study group this year, and as I dive deeper into my tarot practice, it finally occurred to me to apply it where my brain is most occupied these days: Supernatural. And I promise, I’m gonna get back to that quote I started with. But for now, bear with me as I start breaking down the first card in just about every popular tarot deck. Also, bear with me as I reference a lot of other tarot writing--I turned this shit into my homework.
In most tarot decks, the Fool is card #0 numerically. Being card #0, it represents a sort of prologue to the metaphysical journey relayed in each of the tarot’s 22 major arcana cards. The Fool stands as a sort of unsullied, outsider perspective that’s brimming with potential and optimism and opportunity, because they haven’t actually started on their path yet. Everything is still rosy and possible in the Fool’s eyes. They’re not particularly interested in the details of the road before them, they’re just ready to go.
Bakara Wintner describes the Fool as being “a sponge, a blank slate,” and “possessing no knowledge of the world he is about to step into and therefore too uninformed to be afraid.” Which tells us that the Fool is an earnest figure, and an authentic one. There’s no deceit in the Fool’s eyes, and perhaps more importantly, the Fool does not anticipate deceit in the eyes of others. He’s trusting, and he’s honest. I love how Melissa Cynova talks about the Fool, that he “has no agenda, no hidden plans or shenanigans up his sleeve. He is guileless.” She adds, “He’s going to be honest and forthright regardless of the circumstance,” and tell me that doesn’t sound like our favorite angel. Rachel Pollack says that in some early tarot decks, the Fool was actually called “The Fool of God'', and she connects this title with other associations society historically had with fools, pointing out that folks on the fringe were often considered to be graced with a higher wisdom “precisely because they were out of touch” with everyone else. Again, I dare you to tell me that doesn’t sound like our boy, Cas.
When Castiel first shows up in season four, he’s a lot of things. Mysterious. Powerful. Driven. But we learn pretty soon that Cas is about as lost as anyone. That he has questions, doubts. But also that he has faith--in God, in Heaven, in Dean. Faith is a pretty key aspect of the Fool--she doesn’t know what’s going to happen once she starts on her journey, but she’s got faith it’s all going to work out. That’s not a perfect description of Castiel, but there’s overlap. I see in Cas that willingness to jump for the betterment it may bring to the world at large. Cas has set himself on a lot of journeys that may or may not work out how he plans, but what ties them together is that leap of faith. That conviction in his choice, even if he doesn’t have all the answers or know what exactly will happen. Whether he’s disavowing the angels to join Team Free Will; making a run for it after breaking free of Naomi’s mind control, angel tablet in hand; protecting Kelly and Jack because he trusts in the vision Jack presents him from Kelly’s womb. These are all times Cas trusts in something bigger than himself in the hopes things will be better for it. And in my opinion, this trust is one of Cas’ defining qualities.
There’s also a naiveté in Cas that we sometimes see with the Fool. Think of Cas as a human in season nine, figuring out for the first time what it means to taste, to feel, to hunger. Or the handful of times Castiel has decided to be a hunter, unaware of how to do it, unaware of how to lie and manipulate because that’s just not how he sees things. Then there’s Castiel recovering in the mental hospital in season seven, loving wholeheartedly every bee and flower because they’re beautiful, miraculous, pure. I see the Fool in these character moments, I really do. I hear the Fool in this exchange between Castiel and Claire in season ten,
Claire: You’ve changed. The Castiel I met? He was crappy. Like, super stuck-up and a dick, and you just wanted to punch him in his stupid angel face.
Castiel: I don’t think I was that bad.
Claire: You totally were. And now you’re just…I don’t know. Nicer. And kind of a doof. No offense.
Castiel: Yes, well, um…Before, I was very self-assured. I was convinced I was on this righteous path. Now I realize that there is no righteous path. It’s just people trying to do their best in a world where it’s far too easy to do your worst.
Claire: Wow. Deep.
Castiel: Yeah. For a doof.
Maybe this is a Fool who’s seen some shit, sure, but the echo of his earlier faith is there still in the pragmatic assessment of the world as he sees it. This is a Cas that’s been humbled by hubris, who now realizes the world is filled with little Fools making their jumps, not always knowing if it’s soft grass or sharp rocks below them. And I think what kills me the most about this exchange, is that even now, Cas is being played. Claire’s about to ditch him after having this heart-to-heart, and it’s not going to change a thing about how he feels about her. He’s got that faith, y’all. In her as a person, in his love for her as his broken little family. It’s the same kind of faith he’ll have in Jack after leaving with Kelly:
Castiel: I've been so lost. I'm not lost anymore. And I know now that this child must be born with all of his power.
Sam: You can't actually mean that.
Castiel: Yes. I do. I have faith.
This is a very different Castiel than the one who wanted to kill Jesse in season five, the human-demon child antichrist who Cas is determined to kill to prevent the apocalypse. Jesse is only tangentially related to Lucifer, only a mere twelve years old, and Castiel takes considerable convincing to spare him. Seven years later, however, Castiel has experienced enough of the world, grown enough as a person, to be open to something different with Jack, the actual child of the devil. He trusts in a way he didn’t before.
That quote at the top, that’s another moment--an iconic moment, to be honest--that screams Fool at me. This is Chuck, God himself, telling Cas that he’s always acted in his own accordance. That he’s been a complete outlier to Chuck’s plan. That every other version Chuck created of Castiel followed orders, questioned nothing, and made no wild, reckless, terrifying leaps of faith off the precipice of duty and into some greater unknown. Only Castiel, in his dirty trench coat and in love with the world (with Dean), had the nerve to see what else was out there.
Mary K. Greer, in her tarot workbook, Tarot for Yourself, suggests this question when we think of the Fool: “In what areas of your life are you operating on faith and trust?” This to me is what Castiel asks of us, too. In what ways do we lean into that which we believe? What do we believe in the first place? In what ways do we honor that belief? In what ways do we honor what we love and let that love be that which guides us? Castiel could have just as easily been another card for this project. One half of the Lovers (choice in love!), or the Hanged Man (talk about a shift in worldview). But at the end of the day, when I look at Castiel, beloved angel of Thursday, I see someone earnest and good, ready to discover a world bigger than he ever could have known it would be. And that, to me, is 100% Fool.
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The Demon Lord’s Generals 3
Chapter 3 – The Infernal Educator
Tokru 10th, 2924
The Demon Lord Oglizu IV is killed in battle against the Chosen Hero, Cyril Corner of Rosiava, on the fields of Naloriva.
At the same time, within the town of Gravelane, Inrapaba, the third son of the Samore family is born to Marwen and Dorothea Samore. He is named Hans, after his grandfather, who died in service to the Demon Lord. This event is not yet significant to history.
Jubi 27th, 2931
Hans Samore, at six years old, meets and befriends Florent Linsal, a nineteen year old college student at the nearby Losgrum Institute of the Infernal Arts and Mystic Sciences and a childhood friend of Hans’s oldest brother, Ludo.
Linsal had been studying to become an instructor, and liked kids. As such, he encouraged the quiet, well-read boy to study further and explore the true mysteries of the world they lived in. Twelve years later, Linsal would kill seventeen people of varying races and rob numerous graveyards in several attempts to form a unique type of “flesh golem” at the behest of an unknown sponsor. He was caught, convicted, and executed by the Fevokin Clan of Olafiba.
This event was not relevant to Hans, who spent his youth studying, learning, and speaking with the other scholars of the Institute. From them, he gained a love of learning, and a dream of teaching like those proud professors who lectured in their great halls.
This decided his eventual fate.
Ludo Samore would inherit his parent’s pottery shop, and live a calm, peaceful life. Kurt Samore would join the Land Guard of Inrapaba, take a severe amount of bribes, and inadvertently drown himself when a drunken, miss-timed step sent him into a canal within the city of Lordsgrave.
And Hans Samore would become a warlock. While teaching was most certainly his deepest passion–a dream he wanted to pursue more than anything–he discovered what he would pursue as his central discipline within a far more beautiful place.
The Written World–crafted by scribes and scholars and formed into those grand bastions of knowledge known as libraries–drew him in as the sun above draws flowers birthed by its light. And it was there, within the pages of some great tomes, Hans found that he quite adored demons.
Neroh 20th, 2942
Hans Samore officially enters the university portion of the Logrum Institute as the first semester of the year begins.
He promptly entered into the field of “Demonic Studies”, majoring in both Infernal Magics and Education, and began his higher education career without hesitation after many years of learning at a variety of libraries and the lower levels of the Institute. He met many people there, friends and acquaintances; some he kept, some he lost, many he was glad to know, and none he truly hated.
There were a few he didn’t like, certainly, and there were others he liked a great deal. Elizabeth Maribelle Tealmarn–Eliza or Liza to her friends, never Lizzy or Elly unless one wanted to get stabbed with a foreleg–of the Starshire Coterie was one individual who fit in both categories, albeit at separate times.
She also happened to be a vibrant blue and white-flecked aranae–in essence, a giant sapient spider–much to Hans’s immediate fascination, which she promptly found annoying, and that was how he wound up being stabbed on his second day of university. A good start, all things considered, and the two of them quickly became something of academic rivals, though they did gradually drift apart for some time.
Hans wanted to be an educator, and Eliza wanted to be an arcanist; the two had overlapping interests, but not fully concurrent ones, so he eventually did have to say goodbye to his friend as the focuses of their courses changed. That, and Eliza decided to join up with the Demon Lord Fearon, who wasn’t a particularly impressive lord and barely lasted two years before being challenged by a rival by the name of Orast, who lasted a good deal longer.
Not that such matters mattered in the slightest to Hans, who was occupied with other matters of greater importance, at least to himself. Namely, he had obtained his first teaching job.
Pibri 27th, 2947
On this date, three years into his job educating a number of adolescents at the Fierview Academy, Hans Samore lost his right arm.
The entire right arm. All the way up to his shoulder.
Suffice to say, that was rather inconvenient.
Certainly, he would later refer to this incident as an “unfortunate poultry accident” in good humor, but at the moment, there was a great deal more screaming of curses at the typhonic cockatrice that had quite literally ripped his arm straight from its socket in a messy spray of gore and gulped it down like an owl would a rat.
It certainly didn't help that the beast had caught him off guard when some students came running through the campus halls. Three of his students had apparently thought they could take down the terrifying cockatrice through their combined might, confident and self-assured in that foolish way many teenagers could be. They were very wrong, and the trio learned that lesson well.
Thankfully, Hans was able to keep it from being a fatal lesson, though if there was one thing he regretted about that day, it would be that he was unable to finish the beast himself. Blood loss along with severe pain tends to prevent one from focusing long enough to cast spells, as he would learn that day. Equally thankfully, he managed to defend himself long enough for his fellow teachers to save him.
If there was any form of short term benefit, he would have said it would be that he was able to catch up in his reading while he recovered. That, and cockatrice organs did make for good materials...
However, for Hans, life would never be the same. He had to take some time off teaching to recover, and he had to get used to only using his left arm. The phantom pain was also certainly a pain to deal with.
However, he did find one method that would change his life, also ensuring that it would never be the same, but in a more positive manner.
Ondru 3rd, 2947
Contracting with a demon was certainly a tricky thing to do. While some people might assume that a demonic contract would always be with an Ouzan, otherwise known as a Demon God, that was rarely the case, and it certainly wouldn't work well in his case. As much as he adored the demonic, he knew his desires would not be fulfilled if he tried to beg the gods for relief.
Why, who would give someone like him godly power simply because his wanted arm back? It was still a shame though, he would have loved a meeting with the Ouza, though that most likely would have ended with his death for calling upon one for something so petty. The Ouza were amazing, wondrous deities, but that did not make them nice.
As such, he did the next best thing: summon an Acedian.
It was a logical move. He certainly wasn’t the first person to make an arm out of a demonic entity–really, the natural metaphysical nature of demons and how they could be subjugated made them extremely useful entities for creating any sort of weapon or artifact–and he wasn’t seeking a great power or strength from the deal. He just wanted a new arm. So why not go for the laziest variant of demon out there?
And so, after several months of studying and preparation, he called forth the demon Ko. She was a half-ethereal being, her blue skin phasing between flesh and water, with long, drooping, royal blue hair that looked as though it had never been cut, flowing down her body like the loose fabrics draped over her.
And thankfully, it appeared she was willing–speak, trade–to negotiate. All things considered, he was quite lucky. Acedians were, of course, incredibly lazy beings, it came with their nature, but their dispositions could vary. While one would regard a summoning as a slight diversion, something to go along with to get through it easier, a different one would have tried to lop off his head if he hadn't put down a containment seal on the circle. Sometimes laziness meant laxness, other times it meant hostility towards those that would ask for any type of effort.
Ko was the former, and at the cost of one eye–easy trade, nothing to worry, good value–he formed a contract with her, and he was able to regain his arm. Or, to be more accurate, he gained a new arm, which came with its own set of problems.
It was certainly odd; with just a thought he could reform his arm at any time–albeit one made of cloth–and yet it took more than a thought to master. Simply growing accustomed to writing with that arm took months, a good deal of which was spent gaining enough control to not snap what he held. Legibility, on the other hand, took much longer, not helped by his sharp decrease in depth perception.
He would never fully regain the ability to feel with that arm. It would always feel dulled at best, as though he was gripping objects through a thick glove.
His contract with Ko did allow him full use of his arm, and a guarantee that she would never try taking control of it at any inopportune times, though it did come with the further cost of her running commentary in the back of his head. She did tend to sleep a great deal, so it wasn’t too constant, but she had a surprising energy for complaining when he went for more strenuous activities.
Ah well, such was life. Of more concern, though less immediate to him than his physical issues, was the worsening situation in the Dark Lands. Fearon was not dead yet and was stubbornly clinging to what territories he had claimed in the swamplands, while Orast had gained a great deal of power up in Olafiba, which put Inrapaba straight in the middle of an increasingly aggressive and personal war to become the “True Demon Lord”.
It was a fascinating conflict and certainly an interesting time to live it, but Hans did not want to get involved in any of it, so he came to the conclusion that a sabbatical was in order. He’d lost a great deal, and learned just how little he knew. Not merely about fighting and killing, but about the world. About expecting how strange and sudden the world could be.
So off he went, to new lands.
Ecta 4th, 2955
Pianaro de Liorzula was a lovely city situated in the “Third Country” of the Sun Lands, the northwestern portion of the southernmost continent, dominated by rivers, canals, and great lakes. As such, it was a naturally humid and often sweltering portion of the vast continent, though one wouldn’t think that if they lived in Pianaro.
Unlike a majority of the hot and sunny Sun Lands–something of a redundancy there–Pianaro was a surprisingly temperate location, located, as it was, on one of the many lakes dotting Liorzula. An odd place for the grand mix of library and dungeon known as the Paper Church, certainly, but one that seemed to work well for it.
Hans certainly didn’t mind the intriguing change of scenery. The way sunlanders would raise the very earth up from the bottom of lakes to form their cities right on a source of freshwater was quite inspired. He’d seen more than his fair share of ramshackle docktowns back along Inrapaba’s marshes and Ostrotoba’s swamps, so to see such grand stone structures–mostly composed of lighter, white stones decorated with indigo and violet paints and patterns–rise out of the waters like cresting whales frozen in place was inspiring, in a way.
Though, supposedly, the “Written Church” had not been built on a lake. Rather, the lake came to it, according to legend. Supposedly, some followers of one of those Rakuli Elders–the “divine” or “angelic” counterparts to the Ouzan Ancients–had declared the Ouzan Church to be blasphemous and heretical, and did what most zealous sects were want to do; namely, they attempted to destroy it, and failed miserably. No fire could catch on the pale stones of the palatial church–each bearing inscriptions and writings from perhaps thousands of scholars–and the stones would not obey the fools’ demands to sink it into the earth.
As such, the zealots decided to drown the demonic library, and, as such stories often went, wound up ending their own lives in the folly. Sources argued on whether the zealots had unleashed the demonic guardians of the church, who then drove them mad, or if they drowned in their attempt to sink the structure, but regardless, they were said to have died gruesomely, so all’s well that ended–
“Hans, we have a guest,” Bishop Hashid spoke, interrupting his musings and drawing Hans’s attention away from the tomes he’d been cataloguing into the Church’s libraries. A number of demonic ones, newly recovered from one of the sunken pyramids, though they were copies rather than the originals, which needed to be kept– “Hans.”
Hans blinked at the marid. “Er, yes?”
“We have a guest from the Dark Lands. I want you to show her around. You need some time out of this backroom, you know?” He smiled, the action shifting the blue markings drifting down his dark, bearded face.
“Ah. Of course, sir.”
He sighed. “You don’t need to call me sir.”
“Er, yes, sir.”
Bishop Hashid just sighed again, then walked on out, folding his hands into his white, word-covered robes. A second later–well, a few seconds...maybe a minute or two–Hans got up from his desk and headed through the vast shelves to the main foyer of the Church, which was as lovely as ever.
Brilliant white lanterns illuminated the mosaic floors, which had four “paths” snaking out from the main doorway and leading into the four primary sections of the library: one on the left, one on the right–which Hans was coming from–and two directly across from the entrance, one with a staircase leading upwards and the other going down. There was also a central desk–manned by acolytes of the church–and in front of said desk was a rather fascinating individual:
An arachne, clad in a deep indigo, high collar dress that was laced in and button with a number of sapphires–the cold-associated gems certainly explained how she appeared to be fine wearing such thick garments in the heat of the Sun Lands–and matched by a wide-brimmed hat that covered her otherwise shaved head. Further of interest was her rather unique skin tone, compared to most arachne, which featured a primarily blue chitin flecked with white spots, almost like freckles–
“Hans?” Oh.
“...Eliza?”
“...” Elizabeth Tealmarn eyed him for a moment, all eight of her upper pupils examining his form. “...You look dehydrated.”
He was missing an arm and an eye, and yet that was what she chose to notice. Odd. “I have been busy. Water would ruin the books.”
“Good to hear you’re still an idiot.” She sighed, then seemed to brighten and smiled. “Well, I suppose this is fortuitous regardless. Now I don't need to force pleasantries with someone I don't know.”
“Does that mean it won't be forced with me?”
“Oh gods no, why would I be pleasant with you?”
Hans chuckled. “It’s good to see you too, Lizzy.”
Oh, he actually dodged the stab that time. Wonderful! Though he didn't dodge her leg smacking against him. Less wonderful.
Anyhow, as it turns out, once it became clear the–now deceased–Demon Lord Fearon was going to lose, Eliza metaphorically jumped ship, leaving his forces behind and making her way to the Sun Lands to lay low for some time. The Demon Lord Orast was rather annoyed at her, after all, and the remnants of Fearon’s forces weren’t happy either, so a trip to another continent seemed quite warranted. And it appeared that she wished to spend her time there studying, hence why she came to Scripture's church.
And so, it came as no surprise that Hans was tasked with being her guide while there. The church was rather protective of its books, and–regardless of who they may be–all guests needed someone to keep an eye on them to ensure nothing was damaged or taken. Thankfully, it appeared that Eliza did not abruptly gain a hatred for the written word since they last met, and she was even able to use her multiple sets of eyes to quickly transcribe whatever caught her interest onto any paper she brought with her, her lower ones constantly reading, while her upper ones stayed trained on what she was writing.
A handy talent, and one he honestly wanted, but likely could not obtain due to actually having one less eye than the average human. And he could not replace it due to the deal he made. And adding more eyes would likely involve some intense bodily modifications so–Yes, bad idea, dropping that idea.
However, her talent did mean that her time at the church wasn't particularly long, and she would soon come to part with the church. Although she wouldn't be going alone.
Hans enjoyed the church, certainly, and he greatly enjoyed reading the tomes available to him, but he wanted more experiences from life, and Eliza did insist on having him come along with her. Not because she didn’t have anyone around and was feeling lonely, but because he could be useful, “for a cripple”.
Suffice to say, he enjoyed showing off his demonic arm when the first occasion came, though it did result in her deciding he could carry her bags after all, so there were gains and losses there. More losses, particularly when Ko awoke and started complaining in his mind–what, no, book place comfy, good place, go back–about leaving the comforts of the library.
Ah well. Such was life.
Neroh 5th, 2967–
“HANS! GET UP HERE ALREADY!”
Hans sighed, and closed his book as he got out of his bunk, ignoring the mutterings–irritating arachnid, make her quiet, easy to kill–of his demonic partner in his brain.
“We won’t be killing Eliza, I’m very fond of her,” he replied as he made his way up on deck, where the storm clouds overhead roiled and the seas toiled.
“You’re damn right you won’t be killing me,” Eliza snapped, frowning at him first, then at his arm, “Is it talking again?”
“She is, yes.”
“She, yes, right. No matter, we’re here.” She turned, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked over the side–portside, if he remembered his nautical terms correctly–towards the heavily forested shoreline of Ostrotoba.
“Ah, the Swamplands. As beautifully dreary as they’ve ever been,” he commented, smiling. Really, the land there was more mud and water than actual soil, but still the trees persisted. Stubborn plants, as befitting a very stubbornly untamed land.
“We both come from Inrapaba. Do we have any right to be calling anywhere in the world ‘dreary’?”
“You forget, but I grew up in the eastern side. Mine hometown was a snowy wonderland, though I doubt it compared to the Starshire caverns, Lady Tealmarn.”
Eliza did not huff, as that would not be polite. She did, however, shoot him a glare. “...Our privileged upbringings do not decrease the dreariness of the rest of those sodden marshlands we’re forced to call home.”
“By dint of some borders established long ago, quite.” He grinned up at her. “Is that a sense of awareness, mine lady? Our travels certainly have been good for you.”
“I can and will throw you overboard.”
“I have a water demon for an arm.” Wash spider, sea take. “She can swim, Ko.” Fehhhh…
“Do you even realize how eerie it is when you do that?”
“I realize, and I find it fun.”
“Hmph.”
And so, Hans Samore returned to the Dark Lands. It wouldn’t be the last time, certainly, but it was good to be home. Well, on his home continent.
He did visit many of his old haunts–his family’s pottery shop was doing well, and Fierview Academy was undergoing some much needed reconstruction after a series of unfortunate conflagrations–and yet, his wanderlust remained, despite Ko’s frequent, if half-hearted and somewhat sleepy, protests; as such, the siren song of adventure–nooooooo...–called!
And he did have a great many adventures, most of which did not involve an immediate threat of death. Not all though, and those ones did tend to stick in his mind, for obvious reasons.
One even involved sirens! Fascinating beings, really, if very odd; they were somewhat like a mix of harpies and mermaids, with forms consisting of folkish upper bodies covered in fish-like scales, feathers in place of body hair, avian wings in place of arms–noticeably mimicking the wings of seabirds, specifically–and piscine lower halves. It was certainly strange to see them move, and they had the most delightful of singing voices, though the hypnotic quality of said voices was an issue, as was that particular tribe’s penchant for robbing and murdering their unwary victims.
Thankfully, with Ko's help–hey hey hey hey, ignore noise, focus–he was able to remain unaffected on his own journey to their small island off the coast of Skiritaba, even if it was only because the demon only acted once it seemed like he would die.
Despite the fact that his initial meeting with them had gone rather poorly, a part of him was hoping to meet more people of their species. Hypnosis was a rather rare art, so for an entire species to be able to innately use it was fascinating. Unfortunately, it appeared the majority of their race lived within the Dusk Lands, likely being a native race to the mysterious sub-continent, so his chances of encountering a peaceful tribe were rather slim.
Especially considering how every expedition to those lands failed miserably. The deep, dark, nearly black fog covering that entire region of the sea meant anyone entering would either find themselves lost until they successfully left the fog at another end, or they would simply never come out. Supposedly, the fog could tell if one's intentions were peaceful or malicious, and those with evil intentions would never leave…
But no matter on that. Hans had other things to focus on, and while he often spent his time in the Dark Lands as a tutor and educator–primarily for the families of nobilities though he did spend a number of years traveling from various academies and institutes to provide an education in the demonic arts to a broader audience–he’d often spend a great deal of time on expeditions as well.
Really, throughout the majority of the 60s and entirety of the 70s, he was traveling around the Dark Lands and its various regions, studying the cultures and offering his own learnings to those interested. He even published a multitude of books focused on demonology and the infernal arts.
Granted, that did bring him some unwanted attention from those seeking power. For some reason, a number of idiots seemed to believe his fascination with the demonic meant he would be interested in joining their efforts in whatever false rhetoric they felt like spouting at the moment. Ridiculous excuses for their violence would always spill from their lips so readily–declarations of vengeance against the cruel Light Land kingdoms, pledges to overthrow the “tyrannical” Rakuli, promises to promote some sort of “natural” rights, etcetera–and Hans had no patience for any of them.
Certainly, an evil soul that was honest about their evil wasn’t any better than one that pretended they were working for a greater good, but the insistence that they were working for higher purposes grated. It was like they thought he was stupid.
Though, perhaps he was? In the 80s, as the first successful Demon Lord in some time began to rise–some idiot called Irascagan with more power than sense and a disturbing lust for blood–he’d decided to travel back to the Sun Lands once more, to study those lands again and avoid the conflicts, which he successfully did for a number of years. Yet for all his vaunted intelligence, he really didn’t see it coming when, on an expedition to the South Pole, a member of his own research team went mad and butchered every single person there on the 5th of Ondru, 2989.
Aside from Hans–and Ko–of course.
Suffice to say, Hans decided it was best to stay at his own home continent after that one. The South was just too heated–booooo…–for him. Really, the fact that the South Pole was a burning land of eternal Summer should’ve clued him into its volatility...
Besides, he had other things to do. He was in his sixties by that point, and relaxing for a few years sounded like a good plan. Eliza had her own Conservatory set up for some time, with an apparent focus on cataloguing and preserving various specimens of monstrous species from around the world, and while he did enjoy his time with her–though she could be rather obtuse at times–he still wanted to travel, and if there was one thing the lightlanders were good for, it was ridding the Dark Lands of annoyingly violent leaders.
So he traveled once more, with some slight idea in mind of perhaps, maybe, finding an apprentice. He’d had students, certainly, a great many students he adored a great deal, but he’d never taken on a singular pupil directly into his tutelage to pass on every detail he had of his craft and knowledge.
It wasn’t an immediate concern to him; he certainly had no fear for his own mortality, but still, there was that thought, sitting in the back of his mind.
Suffice to say, he didn’t think he’d find a shockingly good candidate so abruptly on a small trip to Fallrein, on one warm summer evening.
Seta 12th, 2997
“So, was there a particular reason you chose mine hotel room to burgle, young one?” Hans asked the youth once he had them properly restrained at the room’s tea table. Conjured crimson chains–layered multiple times because the youth had an intriguing talent for dispelling magic–kept them secured to one chair as Hans sat in the other, pouring tea for them both.
“...” The youth simply glared at him, their bright, vivid emerald green eyes narrowed in anger beneath their fiery, orange bangs and the dark hood they wore, yet there was no hint of shame.
“You noticed the enchantments and wards I had set, I’m sure,” he continued as he added and stirred some honey into his cup, “Eyes are windows to the soul, and yours shine with infernal magic. You had to have noticed, yes?”
“...Of course I did,” the youth replied, shifting only slightly in their restraints. Perhaps testing how tightly they fit? Not that it mattered, the chains were being maintained by Hans’s will and would tighten or loosen at his discretion. “Someone with so many protections would have to be rich. That makes them worth robbing.”
Hans couldn’t help chuckling at their reply. “True, quite true, unless they happened to be impoverished but skilled.”
“Then they wouldn’t be staying in a hotel. They’d make their own place.” Surly, but a good answer.
“You do make a good point, young…?”
“Lady.” She scowled deeper then, showing her very white teeth, which were quite unlikely to be seen in a presumably homeless thief.
“Oh ho? Lady is an interesting choice of words. Are you not a common woman then?”
The girl stiffened, then glared right at him. “Fuck you!”
Hans did his best to keep himself form smiling there as her voice cracked. Decades of experience–and a simple understanding of people–informed him that teenagers were not happy to be condescended to and if he gave the young lady the impression that he did not take her seriously, she was bound to react poorly. “I beg forgiveness, young lady. How may I offer my aid?”
Her anger flickered out, a candle snuffed with a confused frown. “...What? Aid?”
“Of course. I am a tutor of nobility, you see, and a young lady in obvious trouble does naturally prompt mineself to take action. So, would you like for me to purchase a room for you here?”
“...No. I don’t need charity.”
Hans raised an eyebrow and made a very deliberate point to look over the dark, stained and torn cloak and equally patchy pants she was wearing. And… “Are you using stones for shoes?”
“...I-It’s easier. Rock magic makes it...Sh-Shut up.”
Letting out a sigh, Hans brought his hand up, and with a flick of his wrist, her rock shoes fell apart.
“H-Hey! What the fuck was that for!?” she exclaimed as she tried to move away.
“Oh my, my apologies, it now appears as if I owe you one.”
“W-Wha–Fuck you!”
Hans remained quiet and kept a neutral face as he took in the blisters and bloodstains covering the young lady’s feet. It took a great deal of effort to avoid sighing.
“Well, since we are at a hotel, I shall be going to get something to eat. I hope that would make up for mine accident?”
“What? Why would that make up for anything?”
“Oh? I had assumed a meal would, at the very least, make up for mine accident, but if you believe I owe more, I would certainly wish to repay you promptly.”
“...U-Uh...W-Wait, you meant...You’re giving me a meal?” Oh, the hope she tried to hide there nearly broke the old man’s heart. He wouldn’t show that though.
“A meal, and a room, if you want. I owe you, and debts need to be repaid.” Hans smiled. “And no, this is not something you will ever need to ‘pay me back’ for. This is mine repayment to you. That is the terms of our agreement, and will be the end of any interactions between us, if that is what you wish.”
The girl visibly swallowed, her nervousness obvious, and yet, she took a chance. “Th-Those...Those shoes were, uh...p-pretty important to me. So...w-with the sentimental value, a-and all…” She was tense, wary of pushing too far and upsetting him.
But Hans was a patient man, and he had interacted with many children in his long life. So he smiled again. “Then yes, I do believe I owe you a great deal more, in that regard. So it is mine solemn promise to you, young lady, that I, Hans Samore, shall repay mine debt to you in full.”
Despite his promise, it took a great deal of time for that wariness to fade. The young lady was a cautious person, one who only told him her name was Miriam–though she stated a preference for shortening said to “Mira”–after he’d fully paid for both her meals and room. Still, he was glad to have met her, and would have been satisfied with leaving her a new pair of traveling boots and a coinpurse of gold to fully repay his “debt”.
Then he noticed she was following him.
Now that was quite different.
He even took some rather sudden turns and yet she never strayed far from him.
No matter though. If she just so happened to be going on the same path as him, who was he to stop her? Besides, having another companion after so long would be fun as well–no, she's loud...–even if Ko didn't like her at first.
As such, when next he sat, he invited Mira over to his table within the city’s park, itself a leftover from the defeat of a long dead Demon Lord. She went stiff at that moment, then walked out from the shrubbery she had been using for cover with the bearing of one embodying grace–ratty, weird–and dignity. And so, they talked some more.
It appeared as if she had been traveling by herself for some time before they had met, and as someone with Hans’ nature that simply wouldn't do. First things first: making sure she was properly clothed instead of the rags she had. Of course, she wouldn't allow him to buy clothes for her, but if he just so happened to walk into a tailor's shop and spent enough time there that she started looking at some clothes–plus some sly handing over of some coin for a worker to go over and help her out–then soon enough, she had new clothing.
Though it did take a bit of trial and error since she didn't seem to care for the dresses first offered, and insisted she changed clothes by herself, without the attendant’s aid.
She really did seem to want to be self-sufficient, and did take great care in keeping track of her things; she even noticed when he attempted to slip in some more coins in her bag due to her habit of constantly counting them whenever they rested. But if he had her act as an assistant of sorts, well, getting paid was only natural.
Though, she wouldn't be that for long.
Neroh 9th, 2998
He hadn't known her for long, but Mira had become quite the fixture in his life. She even proved to actually be quite the helpful assistant once he gave her the chance. However, what he found most astounding was how eagerly she seemed to soak in knowledge of the arcane. So, today would mark the day he took on his own apprentice; provided she agreed to being his apprentice, that is.
However, two things happened first; the first being him being interrupted before he could ask by an annoying person by the name of Count Gideon Montgomery Opalcreek. A rather unsavory vampiric noble who frequently demanded his fealty. Frequently, because Hans had no intention of joining the pompous count’s retinue, regardless of what he offered.
Certainly, Opalcreek had a reputation for being an arcanist and researcher of the infernal–hence the iratan bodyguard he had at his side and his interest in Hans–but he also had a reputation for being an eccentric madman who had likely breached numerous ethical standards in his pursuit of whatever. Hence Hans’s refusal.
“Why must you reject my sincere offers? Haven't I been more than generous?” A pompous, platinum-blonde man dressed in a white, pearl-lined coat and matching pants, along with a fuschia waistcoat and white ascot, Opalcreek spoke with an amused condescension, as though Hans was merely being silly for failing to accept his “generosity”. “Or perhaps there is something you wish for that I haven't offered?”
“Not at all. I simply do not wish to be in the service of anyone at this point in mine life,” Hans replied with a smile of his own. Polite, though not especially genuine.
In hindsight, it was easy to see how much his reply angered the noble, and yet, Hans wouldn't realize his mistake until it was too late.
The count’s white face barely moved, his pale lips still curled in that same, false smile. “You honestly can't expect me to accept an answer like th-”
“Hey! He already told you no, so just fuck off!” Mira snapped, glaring up at the noble in a moment of obvious frustration
The second thing he failed to expect to happen was Mira so readily leaping to his defense. Opalcreek had been pestering him, certainly, and he did interrupt the special lunch Hans had planned, but still, he didn’t think she would speak up so vehemently. It made him smile in the moment, so he didn’t even think to reprimand her.
“...”
“What? You got noth-” For the rest of his life, Hans would curse himself for not acting sooner. Mira, who had pushed herself to her feet in that moment of fury, fell straight to the ground, clutching the ruin that was once her shoulder as she cried out in pure pain, a heartrending shriek echoing out as Opalcreek tossed away the torn arm he held so casually.
“Now then, with that ann-” To this day, Hans had no idea what Ko did to the bastard, but in the next moment, Opalcreek was gone, and Hans’s arm was settling back into place as he knelt by Mira’s side, whispering assurances and knitting her flesh together with a push of magic. Something to stop the bleeding, though gods knew it would only make things worse later on.
There was another noise, a faint roar of rage as the crimson-armored devil finally spurred into action, and, in an instant–protect–Hans had a pulsing, fiery gem clutched in his hand.
“Thank you for your contribution, I will make good use of you,” he muttered to it, his mind already racing as he stood with Mira in his arms, hurrying from the restaurant with only the slightest glance toward the coughing, gagging vampire writhing on the ground, trying to pull the shattered remains of restaurant wall from his punctured torso.
Shame the wood missed his heart. Hans would’ve liked a confirmation on that old legend.
Life had a proclivity for cruel consequences though, and while Hans would have liked to keep Mira safe in a hospital for her recovery, apparently there were consequences to “assaulting a count”. And no, it did not help Hans’s case that the count assaulted his student first. Really, it just showed his “motive” to whatever court decided to put that bounty out on him.
Not that Hans ever bothered to defend himself in a court. He had no expectations of justice there–wealth and nobility tended to get its way, and Opalcreek had scores of both–so staying at a friend’s place sounded like a far better idea. Particularly when that friend was set up in the Swamplands, quite far from any Inrapaban jurisdiction.
Neroh 21st, 2998
“Must you take up an entire desk?” Eliza groused as she walked back into her–well, perhaps “their” would be more appropriate at this juncture?–starry-ceilinged office, “And no, it’s not yours. You didn’t pay for any of this, and you’re mooching off of me.”
Very well, still her office–with, as stated previously, a rather beautiful ceiling that mimicked a starry sky and a number of other such lovely, celestial artworks along its walls–then. “I do recall you owe me far more than I owe you, Lizzy-Ah, no stabbing, Ko might hit back.”
“Would.” Oh, an actual vocalization. That was rare. Ko tended to have Hans speak for her. Or just played music to set the mood instead of speaking. He certainly did enjoy that trait of hers; it added to the atmosphere when he traveled.
“Hmph.” Eliza lowered her foreleg back to the floor. “What are you busy with anyhow?”
“Arm ideas.”
She blinked, then leaned over his shoulder at the rough sketches he’d made. “Hm. Why can’t you simply do the same thing you did with your…’Ko’, but for this Mira girl?”
“Mine trade with Ko was an informed decision I made as an adult. Mira is barely fourteen. I am well aware of her capabilities as an elemental mage. The demonic arts, however, are a field requiring many years of study, and I intend on repairing mine mistake as soon as possible.”
“It wasn’t your mistake. Put the blame where it belongs.”
He gave her a frown. “Where would that be?”
She raised a set of eyebrows in reply. “With the Count you decided to throw through a wall, making both yourself and your little student fugitives.”
“True!” Hans brightened and grinned. “I really should have killed him when I had mine chance!”
“You should have, yes, though I imagine word still would have spread of your transgression.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not, though-” Hans paused and glanced over at the black oak door as someone knocked.
“Well?” Hm? Eliza was staring at him-
“I am sitting. You are standing. You are also closer.”
Eliza frowned, then glanced back at the door with her upper eyes. The lower were reserved for glaring at him, as usual. “It’s open.”
And the door creaked open as Mira peeked in, her eyes still somewhat sunken and the empty left sleeve of her jacket–which she was wearing over a black dress Eliza had bought for her–pinned up against its shoulder. “You two arguing again?”
“What? Of course not. What do you want, child?” Eliza demanded.
“Hello Mira. Do you need anything?” Hans asked.
Mira shrugged–she winced there at the gesture, maybe still some pain… “There’s a lady asking for you, Lady Tealmarn.”
“Ugh, fantastic...what kind of lady? Swampfolk? Anuran? Incubus?”
“Uh, no-Wait, Incubus?”
“A type of Luxurian demon, embodying and characterized by sexual dominance, in contrast to succubi and in comparison to concubi,” Hans elaborated.
“There’s a bloody coven of the harlots living out in the swamps by Smaltrist,” Eliza added, scowling, “Preaching about the inevitable return of their grand ‘Lust Lord’, always knocking on doors and offering pamphlets.” She hissed the word as though it was a grievous insult.
“...Y-Yeah, um...no? It’s a human lady. Sorta pretty? Um, tall, and brown-skinned.”
“Oh, Valondrac then.” Hm? Well that was an unusually positive reaction. Eliza was actually smiling. As for that name…
“Would that be the ‘Arch-Countess’?” Hans asked with a glance towards Eliza. He’d heard rumors, certainly, of a quite ambitious–lord-like–Countess rising up in Blekhon and making a number of moves to expand her influence outward. Alliances, other nobles swearing fealty, activities in Olafiba, Brunzaba, Skiritaba...
“The very same, though the proper title here, as she so uses, is Marquess. One few have used in recent centuries, but a valid one.” Eliza was smirking now; likely enjoying having information that Hans did not. She could be quite amusingly petty at times.
“Huh. Fascinating...And how would you know her?”
“How wouldn’t I? You realize she moves in quite similar circles. More so than the average ‘count’ as well, as she actually deigns to speak to those of a far more productive mindset than those useless old bats hoarding their wealth and scurrying into the dark the second any danger appears.”
...Hans decided he really shouldn’t comment on the nobility of the Dark Lands and their tendency to “scurry” whenever a new Demon Lord declared themself. Particularly since the more arachnoid nobility weren’t exactly ones to fight against rising powers. More likely to join them, really. “So you’ve met her directly?”
“Of course I have, I mentioned her by name and knew precisely what she looked like. Inference is a skill you sorely need to learn, Hans.”
“Ah yes, mine apologies.” He smiled and stood. “Shall we go meet with your new friend then?”
“She’s not a friend, she’s an acquaintance, it takes a great deal more than being a person of interest to me to garner my friendship. Now, come along, old friend.” Hans blinked. Well, that was a very rare display of affection- “That means now.” And she was already leaving, very well then.
So Eliza led Hans and Mira to her parlor, where the most fascinating person Hans had ever met was reclining in one of the large, plush cushions Lizzy had in place of actual furniture. Granted, “actual” furniture was not made for an individual with the lower half of an arachnid, so her choice in furniture was apt for her needs.
Oh, and there was a second, also rather interesting person there; a blonde, orcish woman, who was outright lying on top of another cushion, her hands folded on her belly as she audibly snored, likely fast asleep and earning a poorly hidden giggle from Mira.
"My apologies for my companion, she insisted on taking full watch last night, and fell asleep as soon as she laid down," the other woman explained. She was dark-skinned, black-haired, and yellow-eyed, clad in black robes lined with red, her hands gloved in matching colors. Furthermore, she appeared...mostly human. Her ears had points, that much was clear, so perhaps an elvish or cambionic ancestry?
“You need not apologize, Marquess Valondrac. My cushions are indisputably comfortable.” An odd thing to brag about, but Eliza was nothing if not proud of her...accomplishments?
“They really are,” Mira agreed, promptly going to the nearest one and flopping into it, earning a frown from Eliza.
“That was not permission.” Mira didn’t move. After a second, Liza sighed and just sat on a cushion of her own, her legs curling into the plush as she made herself comfortable. “My apologies, Marquess. My friend’s apprentice is young and ridiculous.”
“Hkh yh tuh.”
Valondrac’s lips twitched, then she shrugged, smiling. “It’s no problem. Oh, though, weird thing, apparently it’s supposed to be ‘Marchioness’. Feminine version or something.”
“...What? But Marquess already sounds feminine.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Jonathan has books about the subject and they don’t explain anything. Apparently an old alternative was marquisess, but everyone agreed that sounded stupid and tried to change it.”
“...” Eliza sighed. “Is this a vampire thing? It’s a vampire thing, isn’t it.”
Valondrac shrugged. “Possibly. The lightlanders supposedly used to have titles like Landgrave and Margrave before transferring to their current Baron-Earl-Duke system, so perhaps we stole it?” Hm. That may be something to research–boring, bad idea–Ah, definitely something to research then–noooo…
“Ugh. So many damn titles. Why not just use Lord, or Lady? Or president.”
“Well they’re not merchant guilds, so-Ah, wait, sorry to interrupt, but I actually do have a point to being here today.”
“Ah, of course you do, no one ever just wants to talk. What is it?”
“It’s not a request for you, Lady Tealmarn, unless you’ve rethought my offer?”
Eliza paused, then sighed and rolled her eyes. It was quite the sight, all of them turning at once. “No. I already did the ‘demon general’ thing once, I’m not interested in trying again.”
“That’s still a shame, but I appreciate your candor.” Then Valondrac turned her gaze towards Hans–Ah, so that’s where this was going. “Professor Samore, it’s nice to meet you.”
He smiled politely, largely because she actually bothered to use his title. “It is nice to meet you too, Marchioness Valondrac. However, I am not interested in becoming your general either.”
She pouted. “You could at least hear out my offer first.”
Hans shrugged, then climbed onto and sat cross-legged on the cushion across from Valondrac. “I could. I doubt you will say anything I have not heard from other aspiring Demon Lords. Your current title is a curiosity though.”
“I have three Ouzan patrons.” What. what.
“...Pardon?”
“If you want, you are in trouble with Count Opalcreek, after all.”
Hans blinked at the non-sequitur. “...I...Mine apologies, but I don’t understand.”
“I have the ability to pardon you, if you so desire. Count Opalcreek, the spineless psychopath, pledged his loyalty to me when I made it clear I wouldn’t be content with the bats scurrying into their hidden caves while I seized power.”
She grinned. “He wronged you and yours. Would you like to be there when I make him pay for it?”
“...” Almost involuntarily, Hans felt his eyes go to Mira, who had turned and was staring at Valondrac now.
“...” Mira glanced at him, a question in her eyes, and Hans...gave her a slight nod. “...You’re that asshole’s boss?”
“I’m his superior, yes. I’m sorry he hurt you.” Valondrac suddenly stood from her cushion, and...and bowed. She bowed to Mira. A noblewoman, higher in rank than a vampiric count, apparently to the point that the undead beings that ruled Inrapaba swore
fealty
to her, who had the audacious claim to have
three
Ouzan patrons, actually was bowing to a thirteen-year-old girl scarcely higher than a commoner. That...didn’t happen. “He will suffer for it. You have my solemn oath on that matter.”
“...A-Ah...th-thanks?” Mira was blushing. That...huh.
“No problem!” And then Valondrac straightened, a grin on her face as she looked to Hans again. “So, my offer is simple. I’m not a Demon Lord yet, but I fully intend to be, as is obvious. To facilitate my actual success instead of going the way of some idiot warlord, I’m going to be conquering the entire Dark Land continent. I would like your help with that, in exchange for pay, legal protections, and access to whatever demonic lore you need for your studies, Professor Samore.”
“...” That...well...what? “...Why?”
It was in her smile, then and there, that Hans found true conviction. “Because I am going to rule the world.”
“...” She’s crazy.
She was. She most certainly was. But...But? There was certainly something about it. Something that made him almost believe her. Dumb. Be skeptic. Think. Right.
Right, that was necessary. “I admit mine interest, Marchioness. However, could you prove the truth of your claim? A showing that you are, indeed, the power you profess to be?”
“Of course! Ah, Lady Tealmarn, may I use your floor?”
“No, you may not. We have a room for spellcasting that doesn’t have a nice carpet.”
“Aw, but it will only take a second! Please? Wouldn’t you rather get it out of the way now instead of having to move around?”
“No, of course not, and there is nothing you can say that would convince me.”
And with a two hundred platinum “donation” to the Conservatory, Valondrac proved Eliza a liar. And then she proved Hans a fool because mother of all devils, she summoned the daughter of Rot right into Eliza’s parlor room.
“Hey Labatu! Thanks for coming so quickly!”
“Ah, no worries Claire. And thank you for hosting me, Lady Tealmarn.” The easily 8ft tall demoness bowed politely to Eliza, her white leather-gloved hands placed over the lap of her long, white skirt. She looked a great deal like some type of hunter, with a hooded white coat strapped with bandoliers of knives, similar sheathes at her waist, and a white, long-beaked bird mask covering her face. Her very presence was making Hans feel like he had to cough, and Ko was shrinking back in his mind from the pressure she exuded. That, and the singularly unpleasant reek of burnt wax emanating from her body.
Put simply...it was one of the most impressive displays of strength Hans had ever witnessed. And it made him want to be better, to work again and get closer to attaining that level of absolute power-
“Now, do you have any suggestions for who I should bring in for Marrow and Drought? Do you have any cousins?” Eh?
“Hmm...No, not that I recall, though Mother does tend to keep things from me...I suppose Auberich would be around my level?” ...the Blood King? What?
“Oh, that’ll work! Thanks Labby!” Wait, what, why was their already a runic circle forming, was she actually-
“Ah, Marchioness!” Hans tried to grin as he stepped in front of her, his arms outstretched as though he’d somehow block her from bringing one of the most powerful demons in the 7th Circle into Estus. “Your display was sufficient to convince me! I thank you for such a showing, and would like to request that you do not summon a demon quite literally known as The Painbringer.”
“Oh, alright.” She let her hand drop, then frowned. “Is that really what he’s called? That’s a terrible name.”
“...Well, he brings pain, Marchioness. So I believe most demons consider it apt.”
“Sure, but what does ‘bring pain’ really mean? It’s not a solid thing you can carry. ‘Paincauser’ would be more accurate.”
“...” Hans glanced at Eliza, who just smirked back at him. “...I suppose that is more accurate, yes. Nevertheless.” He placed his mortal hand over his heart, then kneeled to his new liege. “I pledge my loyalty to you, Marchioness Valondrac. You have proven...fascinating, and I endeavor to aid you in your goals.” Then he raised his eyes. “I would ask though, that you do allow me to finish Mira’s apprenticeship first. Mine responsibilities lie with her, foremost.”
“Certainly. Though I do hope you two come to visit soon.” Her grin widened into something deeply malicious. “I would like you to see when I strip Opalcreek of every title and land he once held.”
“I would enjoy that, mine lady.” And, in a moment of rather ugly satisfaction, Hans was quite certain he meant every word.
And, as for Ko...She felt a strange stirring in her muted mind. Was she...happy? Odd. Very odd.
But as her partner kneeled before his future Empress, a mouth formed and spread into a wide, giddy smile beneath the eye on his shoulder. “Make it painful.”
And the empress answered her too as the onlookers gawked and her partner chuckled. “Of course I will.”
Heh. What a lovely world to live in~.
#writing#fantasy#warlocks#story#my writing#the demon lord's generals#dlg#demons#sirens#arachnid#aranae#fiction
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What were some parts of seminary that you liked, versus ones you didn’t? I’m thinking about my future (read: freaking tf out) and I know I want to study theology in some way, I’m just not sure how exactly, ya feel?
Thanks for the question! Your mileage may vary: I went to a Princeton Seminary, which I would categorize as a theologically/politically moderate, academic, traditional Western-style seminary. Seminary culture varies WIDELY from school to school, so keep that in mind when choosing between, say, a Princeton, which may be a more insular academic community focused on research and internships, and a Fuller, which may be a larger community more integrated with the surrounding city concerned with practical training for missionaries, worship leaders, and Christian artists. This is NOT to say that you can’t learn to be an awesome worship leader at PTS (I know them) or an awesome theology professor at Fuller, but make sure you shop around for your particular cultural, career, and academic needs.
Things I Loved
The residential experience. Nearly all students at PTS live in beautiful on-campus housing or in apartments specialized for families with children just a few miles away. Living a few minutes walk from the library, my professors’ offices, and the chapel was amazing, especially since students at PTS tend to be sociable with the others who live on their hall. I would often spend my evenings studying with friends in their dorm rooms, and since everyone on campus at any given time tends to eat their meals in the cafeteria together, I formed a strong clique of ten or so people who unpacked my readings + spiritual crises with me at the lunch table.
Spiritual friendships. I was able to make deeper friends than ever before in my life from a variety of denominational and theological backgrounds. We saw each other through vocational shifts, prayed with each other, administered the Eucharist to each other, celebrated birthdays and ordinations together, and stayed up late into the night when anyone needed us. I would literally drive across the country to bail any of them out of jail at a moment’s notice.
The emotional crucible. Seminary is bootcamp for the soul. You get exposed to so many new ideas and theologies, learn how to preach, sit at people’s bedside while they’re sick, pull together responses for every new act of violence in the news, and most of the time, are thrust into a leadership role at a church that is either going under and begging you to save them or so large and thriving that it nearly swallows you whole. Nothing will grow you up like that. I have an insane amount of poise now dealing with other people’s crises, rage, or grief, and that wasn’t the case when I matriculated. Pastors are all making it up as we go along, but seminary gives at least the appearance of sage wisdom under pressure.
Academic engagement with theology. This one seems obvious, but after spending four years in a secular liberal arts university that was tolerant of my enduring interest in religion but didn’t offer me an outlet for it, seminary was balm in Gilead. I loved being able to dig into what I really cared about directly, be that metaphysics, church history, or the Bible as literature, and I thrived being surrounded by other people who cared about it and did the reading and wanted to explore together.
Freedom to research what I wanted. There are plenty of demanding intro-level courses that throw you to the ground and kick you while you cry into your notecards (New Testament, what’s good) but it was fun being on that ride with the rest of your small cohort, and upper-level classes offered chances to research what you cared about. I got to present research on astrology in the book of Daniel, queer American Muslim communities, IVF treatments and theology in Ghana, overlap in myths about Odin and Jesus, and I did an independent research study linking the emergent church to the spike in Millennials re-discovering the Episcopal and Catholic churches.The library was stuffed to the brim with books I would kill for. What a treat.
The melting pot. PTS DEFINITELY has its ideological and admissions biases but they do work hard to create a diverse student body, and I was close with students from so many different counties, denominations, ethnicities, and political leanings, which was enriching beyond belief. It was one of the big reasons I chose a seminary degree. That said, not all schools skew diverse, and I was very specific about choosing a seminary that was explicitly affirming of women in ministry and the goodness and wholeness of LGBTQ+ folks, so I knew that I would be supported by general school policies. Getting that information up front is important.
Access to university resources. This one is PTS specific, but I went to a independent seminary closely linked to and basically on the same campus as Princeton University (they were the same school back in the 1800s until an amicable split, but we’re still cozy). This meant that I had access to Princeton U libraries, free events, lectures, and religious life, and I was a member of the Episcopal Church at Princeton U for most of my time at seminary. People bribe admissions officials or work themselves to nervous breakdown to get access to the resources I had at my fingertips, and I don’t take that for granted.
The aesthetic. If I’m gong to take tens of thousands dollars of loans out for graduate school you bet you’re ass I’m going to be sitting in American Hogwarts while I do it.
Things I Did Not
The cliquishness. This one is a double-edged sword, because I thrived on having a clique of high-functioning. highly-educated pastors who ate at the same lunch table and gossiped about the same people and showed up to campus parties in a gang, but that’s not always healthy. People tended to fragment off by denomination or where they fall on the liberal-conservative scale, and differences can fester that way. Students of color were often implicitly excluded from certain spaces through this behavior. Humans skew towards tribalism to begin with, but when you put super socially-oriented people with strong beliefs in one space where they have to live on top of each other and are looking for low-effort socializing after a long day in the trauma ward, confessional, or picket line, it gets worse.
Imposter syndrome. Maybe it’s grad school in general that does this, but I spent most of my degree fighting off the feeling that I was dumb, lazy, not serious enough about my “calling” or my research, and probably a heretic. Part of my character growth came from learning not to give a fuck about what people who didn’t share my passions thought of them, and from realizing that I wasn’t on the ordination or PhD track like most of my peers, and that was okay. So I grew from this, but it stung like hell. I cried a lot.
No handholding. The professors at PTS were, by and large, old school, and they were busy as hell. While there was opportunities for office hours, most engagement with professors came in the performative form of “a question, well, more of a comment really” during lectures. Students, (mostly men, I’m not going to lie to you) scrambling for a good letter of rec for a PhD tended to monopolize whatever time professors had. I can think of exceptions (Ellen Charry was exceptional and made time for me in her home when I was struggling to unpack antisemitic theology) but it was a far cry from the literature department in my undergrad, where professors were accessible and knew me personally as mentors and friends.
Caregiver burnout. This is my big one, and is the reason I’m still in recoup mode doing the office job thing instead of working in formal ministry. Everyone at my school was a pastor, hospital chaplain, activist, or social worker. We are the people who care so much, and who are constantly doing emotional labor for those around us with no time off and usually, poor personal boundaries. Working in a field where it is your job to hold everyone’s hurt and be the face of God to them while their life falls apart is….hard. It was not unusual for me to work ten hours at Penn on my feet in campus ministry, helping people sort through whether or not they wanted to report their sexual assault, holding mini-interventions about excessive drinking, and scrambling to re-schedule worship night after my volunteer went to the hospital after a suicide attempt, and then ride the train home while my phone blew up with news of a new mass shooting that I would have to help host a candlelight vigil for. You hold your parishioner’s hand while they die in hospice. You watch social services take your client’s children away. You stand still while someone screams at you for being too political in your sermon, or not political enough. You sit down to do the budget only to realize the beloved pastor who just retired had been embezzling. Typical Tuesday.
A lot of the items on these lists are specific to my temperament and the culture at PTS, but by and large I would say it was an amazing experience well worth my time, effort, and money. I pushed myself academically beyond what I believed I was capable of, made the deepest friends of my life, found a home denomination, learned how to effectively care for others and myself, and was met by God in transformative ways again and again. Someday I may get that ordination or work for a ministry nonprofit again, but I have skills now that no one can take away from me, skills I use every day in some capacity.
Good luck in your discernment process, and I pray you find yourself in exactly the place you need to be!
#people of the page#princeton theological seminary#princeton seminary#seminary#grad school#studyblr#gradblr#theology
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Dallas, TX June 30, 2019
Well Friend’s, although currently I suspect there are no readers of my crude blog. Other than those that may have an interest from the Shadow Government’s perspective. They always keep tabs and monitor my actions and interactions at large or singular. An annoying fact of Life as me. So hopefully at some point and time in the future an interested party will have numerous pages to sort through. I am trying to get all my material under one or two roofs / forums which can and are accessible to everyone. At least that is my hope and the intention of all this. Granted it also allows me an outlet to vent some of my frustrations and the various events, occurrences and histories with this and more that I have Lived and experienced throughout my Life. Now in such a spirit I am posting a electronic log entries after I arrived back in Austin TX, following the events I experienced in Southern California. Which events culminated in my being shot twice in my left leg and subsequently ran over by an F-350 dually pick-up, running me over from toes to my head being dragged under the dual tires on the driver’s side of the vehicle. Needless to say it was an interesting evening. I was run over on East Anaheim St. about one hundred feet from the intersection with North Henry Ford Ave., on the south bound side of East Anaheim heading back toward Long Beach, I believe the location is still in Wilmington. With the location of my being shot some distance from there and that being approximately 325 North Lecouvreur Ave., Wilmington. These events happened on or around the 5th of March 2018. I was transported to St Mary’s Hospital at 1050 Linden Ave. Long Beach, CA..
The following are a series of electronic entries to an ad hoc journal at the time. I Post this ad hoc journal in its raw form, the only editing being for the most part that of correcting some of the major spelling mistakes. Hopefully I have retained the jagged nature of my mind set at the time. I freely admit that upon my return from California for the first time in my life I was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I still have on occasions bouts associated to this PTSD. I trust as coming events unfold and I have New Obstacles and Challenges to focus my attention and thereby forestall the elements of the Disorder. Thus I Post this warts and all. Without regard to its chronological or content of order. Because of this I will no doubt be covering much of the data, information and stories at a later Posting. I will also be Posting the images of my hand written journal, as the loose leaf entries that I have adopted as my handwritten format. Since every log or journal I have started has been stolen repeatedly. So I now write on whatever loose leaf papers I have before me in the moment. I hope to Post those as packaged folders Postings in their chronological order. There is a degree of overlapping entries between this Posting and those of my handwritten entries. Bear that in mind should you actually elect to read all of these. Most of the entries some date and location headers. I hope that in doing this that no seeming contradictions arise, especially since I am the source. I welcome any inquires from any reader of my material. Thus I submit the following:
Welcome, seems it has come to this. I am going to attempt to compose my thoughts and histories via electronic medium. My reservations must give way to practical realities. Not to mention the fact that each and every one of my previous logs / journals has been stolen from me. A immensely annoying recurring theme.
Thus I am going to try and make a virtual journal. Presumably I will augment this with the additional paper journal. Which will then be uploaded into a file of images. The hope being the combination will effectively accomplish the task. Towit that of providing a record of my life including events in the extreme. Additionally I wish to leave behind in some convoluted fashion my diverse understanding of things. By far I would consider the latter to be a far greater contribution to the brain wealth of humanity. I would like to think that should any of this writing come to light. It does so some time in the future . When the more fantastic elements can be seen in historical context. Such that what would otherwise be seen as speculative ventures into science fiction writing, will be known as simply fact. Because believe me when I say I truly wish and hope to be / will be wrong, regarding that which is to come. For a change!
Sigh… I must take a break, now. Necessity requires I consider many issues, not the least of which is where to start, and how best to proceed. Besides the fact I have not developed the requisite manual dexterity to type with my thumbs.
Monday July 2, 2018 … Killeen Texas
Sigh… damnit all to hell! I am having one of those rare days when I feel anxious, overwhelmed to the point of feeling trapped. I do not know if it is possibly PTSD related. I suppose I have to accept that as a issue with in me from now till the day I die. Regrettable not to mention humiliating for me. Granted, I suspect that the the cannabis Jade bought had a little something extra in it. So she could anesthesias more effectively giving her a reprieve from the increased infra-sound, ultrasound, microwave along with the entirety of the electromagnetic emissions I am at present enduring. I am concerned for her and her son Joey's well being. Despite her being one of the girls / operatives / victims of our government’s illegal covert initiatives know as MK Ultra. She is a bundle of contradictory issues and personalities. Your typical Golem. Her biological father is Warren Causey. He was George Bush Sr. right hand even prior to Sr becoming head of the Central Intelligence Agency. Causey was Sr's go to man for wet works and deep black bag operations. Especially if the back side had a tail which could be exploited for control of any or all parties involved. Causey is a true satanist and worse. He recently developed a rapid onset of Alzheimer’s. Not quite as sever as my own father and name sake Donald Paul Williams. But the timing of both though separate is suggestively coincidentally to events associated to me and those involved in FOXing me. I suspect brother Magnus of being petty. Grinding and hammering on old grudges. Along with becomingly increasingly punitive in operational objectives concerning breaking me to the point of my “losing” it. At which point and time my only anticipated options would be to appeal to their overview and / or full capitulation to their agendas. Thus far I have successfully thwarted their attempts. Yet it has come at an immense cost to me, across the board. Okay in anticipation that I may never acquire the journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach, California. A long walk beginning by The Queen Mary and which ultimately landed me in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is becoming increasingly incumbent that I reiterate elements I previously wrote down back then. You would think it would be a simple straightforward process. Naturally such is not the case, for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which are context and my desire to avoid sounding narcissistic, or worse disillusion. Yet failing to do so will ultimately end in me portraying myself as such, even more so. Besides I really hate repeating myself, sorta a pet peeve of mine.
To the uninitiated this is going to sound ludicrous and insane. However, any comprehensive primer would require volumes of esoteric information, along with accompanying commentary and should include appropriate citations. All from tomes that are closely guarded. That I am denied access to permanently and utterly. Thus it is best to proceed directly into the matter wading through the initial convolution, realizing by degrees it will work out becoming about as clear as mudd. The luciferains according to their Canon refer to me as “The Dark One”. It is an appellation pulled directly from their actual scripture as initially iterated to Cain from lucifer, himself.
Obviously atheist may take exception to these concepts, especially the language used. There is not much I can say in response to their misgivings. Because their beliefs lack the framework from which to attach this model. Hell most individuals beliefs also in like fashion lack similar mental framework. Yet most have allowances or the tools where with the modular architecture of their minds are able to “build out” an additional wing to the mansion in their minds which houses their understanding of “reality”. At the very least they can entertain the blueprints to an “add-on” to their mansions. Similar to the operations of our minds “cognitive consistency”. Dr Richard Alan Miller is fond of noting “I would never have seen it if I hadn’t believed it”. Or by extended reference the belief that if you have enough information to postulate a coherent question, you already have enough to know the answer. You just have to convince yourself of it. The implications are profound. Stretching into metaphysics and the issues of faith preceding the miracle(s), and even magick! All topics I have and will continue to touch upon in my ramblings. But I go too far afield of my primary focus. Simply, I am The Dark One. This is both metaphoric and literal. For the few people whose sight allows them to to clearly see into the underlying spiritual realm of our world. Because all things that “are” where first created in spirit. Elsewise they would not exist or remain lifeless sterile elemental at best. There are also at worst case possibilities, but we will forego any such dialogue for the moment. Everything we see and interact with has a corresponding spiritual aspect providing impetus to the whole. Usually the spiritual aspect even resembles the physical expression, although at times the proportions differ. A fact that I know I will touch upon in other areas as topically necessitated. Nonetheless if one was to see our spirits they much resemble the physical form of our bodies, though a bit taller (note this is a foreshadowing hint, to a vastly different topic I Will Be Addressing. At times I may interject future foreshadowing hints, though sans the extensive explanations). Depending on the scope of vision applied a person may / can see many other things. For my current model I am going to stick to issues of direct correlation to what we perceive as the physical world.
Okay, yes I do know I tend to take a long round about, seemingly loquacious manner, almost tediously so in my explanations. This is due to the fact that words are nebulous, our ability to effectively communicate was fractured becoming compromised long ago. As a consequence, for clarity's sake I find this too wordy manner necessary to minimize confusion later in the discussion. By degrees we lose our way, or perpetuate our lost condition. Therefore it is by incremental degrees I am trying to more properly realign the various skewed beliefs we all hold. It is simple geometry, trigonometry or if you prefer vector math. If your initial bearing line is off by a few degrees, as you proceed further down its vector, or direction of travel where you end up will be considerably different than you meant to be. I wish to be aptly clear as to this fact early in my shared discourses.
Back to the proximate relationship of the spirit to our physical nature / condition. Also know that our spirits are gender specific. The entirety of humanity in this expressed Creation, the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Have migrated to this plane and place from Our Heavenly Home. That being a higher plane of existence, a organized realm of Love and Light. We, being all of us from Adam, Lilithe, and Eve till the last child of Eve is born, we are they that kept our first estate. Thereby earning both our right and place to be born here in this that by our common assent / consent / agreement we agreed would be real, thus we call it reality, simple. Wherefore, this being real by our mutual assent, means by extension that our actions here shall have real consequence to our station thereby effecting our progression. Those within Our Divine Family that rebelled and failing to reconcile back into the Family are denied participation in the progression of this estate and the subsequent assignments as to which paths we are to be assigned to in our individual journeys to progress back home. Meaning, i.e. lucifer and the one third that fell (more properly “that were cast down”) with him. At times I will refer to lucifer as lucy or louie a small affectation I have over the years grown fond of as pet names for he who would seek dominion through his lies. Know that for my part I have always viewed our existence as an ongoing extension of the war in Heaven. Even as a toddler this was simply the nature of the world, in both a literal and metaphoric sense. Lucy is playing an end game gambit. As to our day to day offenses he for the most part cares little, seldom choosing to involve himself. As I try to tell people; we can do bad all on our own, we don’t need the devil or louie's help. Matter of fact regrettably this particular Creation is an aberration. Most Creation’s do not have a Lucifer, who refuses to repent and reconcile, and worse yet becomes Satanish. In so doing thereby becomes completely nonredeemable. Fit only to be cast out beyond the dark realms / dimensions. So far that not even a god could ever hope to make it back to Our Heavenly Home. Heady fanciful stuff, with a touch of discordance due to conflicting superlatives, I already know. From the presumed position of our understanding as a whole it is the best I can do with our shared mythos. The presumed contradictions fade as our understanding increases. Please accept I know little, next to nothing. What little I may grasp, has been fought hard to obtain over a tumultuous lifetime.
One of the hopeful eventualities concerning our collective situation in this Creation which I try to communicate to those that appear to show potential for understanding the following idea. Is that, Once we “eventually” progress through this Creation. As our then on going progression continues through multiple future Creations we will in all probability never encounter another such circumstance / Creation wherein any of those will again be with the added burden of a Satan / Lucifer persona to add complications to our individual, group, and familial progress. Who would threaten to usurp Creation from G-d and all of us. We can do bad all on our own. We really don’t require an objective excuse or archetype on which to pin our failings. If you are acquainted with the Book of Revelations, in its pages are the clues to understanding Lucy’s actual focus / agenda for our Creation. For we are eternal beings, Children of Divine Parentage. We live through infinite eternities, progressing and striving to Perfect Ourselves unto the Image of Our Heavenly Mother and Father. Now I sound like a some traveling revivalist preacher. Might as roll out the tent and tambourines, hahaha.
Wednesday July 4, 2018 – Killeen, Texas
Well happy 4th of July, U S of fucking A. Not to be cynical, but here we are celebrating another Independence Day in the Land of the Free. The irony is inescapable. Sadly too many individuals become distracted and lost in the perpetually shifting landscape of dysinformation. Yes the horrors these people revile against are very real and indefensible. Except in the losing of perspective, failing to see that these innumerable struggles are purposely being generated to engage the population to distraction. Usually these horrid distractions are set cross ways of social and cultural lines. This formulaic tactic is meant to ferment hostilities, hate and conflicts across the associated strata. This has been repeated throughout history to create wars, fracture our social structure, warp our values, and indoctrinate the population en mass with beliefs such as to reshape our view of reality shackling all of us to a diminished image and sense of self along with the entire human race. Once we accept this warped view as the archetypal potentiality of us all. We are guaranteed to sell ourselves and our brethren into slavery. In due course I will be discussing at length the geopolitical history within the framework of our limited knowledge of what we recorded since the flood. Rather what we have been permitted to know of said records. The fact that much as been redacted from the common brain trust passed on to us via academia. Those alabaster halls occupied by self appointed guardians of the approved versions of knowledge and information released to us vulgar unfortunate masses. So burdened, I shall pass this Holiday celebrating the antithesis of its traditions.
Continuing in the same vain as previously began prior to the day’s celebrations, in much the similarly convoluted fashion as before… I, The Dark One of Occultic Lore. I have been told; that I have done things no one in the history of the world has ever done previously. Personally I can only cite one quality as being demonstrative of such high praise. Though in all honesty I am more often than not being chastised for lacking focus, being lazy, acting the fool in the face of my enemies, or being cavalier in my affections, or placing myself at undue risk of life and limb, and the list goes on and on ad nauseaium. This from the select few who know and understand who and what I am. Those who may actually care about me, and would see me fulfill that which I have been foreordained to do whilst sojourning here. The totality of our circumstance here, now at this moment, we soon shall enter perhaps the most critical and precarious point of our history and that of this Creation. I am all too well aware of this along with that which shall soon come to pass shortly. This awareness, I experience across multiple vectors while being cognizant of a sea of permeations which ultimately stream toward a specific Crux in Our Familial Aggregation (I am trying to develop appropriate nomenclature – wherein I avoid certain more readily common labels or descriptors and/or appellations. Whose usage has been subverted into the double speak practiced by the various satanic and blood occultic families which run the world. Who have ritually (via trauma) conditioned and indoctrinated their acolytes, golems / victims to hear and respond to accordingly, never in a positive manner. Wherefore it is incumbent upon me whenever possible to avoid affirming these, even to the point of reinventing the ascribed nomenclature.) within this Creation. As a consequence I must stumble through idiomatic constructs, ungainly though they be. Believe me if you knew and understood the actualities ascribed to words and the double or multiple meanings applied to them within the Families. The evils, the pain, the denigration of the individuals / victims usually by those nearest them; ultimately by extension it eventually infects and corrupts societies unto the world at large. You would weep an endless river of tears unto filling the seas, if you could see this in your minds eye properly. As long as this perniciously malicious spiritual / familial / multi-generational / social / cultural pathogenic practice continues, our struggles will end in naught. Hence into this morass I must seek to keep my appointed task. How best to explain this? I have spent the majority of my life in the haze of denial. Avoiding my differences. Putting off my preparations for that which is to come.
Since approximately twenty four plus months prior to Operation Jade Helm our covert Intelligence apparati, including elements of the ruling shadow government began a concerted effort at Foxing me. The on set of Operation Jade Helm and its scope marked an exponential increase in expanded efforts against me. Now, let me make clear Operation Jade Helm’s purpose was not solely to target me, there where many targets across the greater portion of the United States of America. Death dealers and various squads of assassins executed / murdered an increasing number of American Citizens, most had been identified for some time to be exterminated. Impunity seems to have become the operational by word. The extremes demonstrated continuously since that time defy all reason. Defining the architects of this action as being criminals is almost quaint. This level of criminal insanity goes beyond the point of being treasonous. With the majority of resource allocation comes from “military Intelligence” which then utilizes other military resources and supplies. Thus it is that we have been duped into financing our own demise.
For purposes pursuant to their agendas, they have labeled me a domestic terrorist. Thereby presumably justifying illegal exercises and persecution of my person. Rationalizing by extension similar acts against my family and anyone I may care about and or Love. Death for them would be preferable to the horrors their personages have been and are being subjected. I know I sound ludicrously paranoid with delusions of grandeur in the extreme. Hahaha…. gosh how I wish, hope and pray such were the case. I make this record in defense of myself and my actions. Naturally I fear all my good intentions with their accompanying actions are for naught. I realize that upon my death as allotted to the sons of man, as to the first part, my character will be maligned in the worst manner possible. A issue I will address at length later in this on going exposition of myself and my misadventures as they may be.
Thursday July 5, 2018. Killeen Texas
Despite my misgivings it seems I survived all the pops and bangs of our nosiest of American Holidays. A joyous circumstance to be certain. From now till my last day of my allotted life as unto the children of men, my life hangs in the balance. The ante to live my life as it were.
My current accommodation over the past almost six weeks has been with an old flame and friend Jade Causey – Chamlee, and her 18 year old son Joey, whose given name was Freddie. Bless their souls for extending to my worn out arse a place to stay and recover. Regrettably my physical recovery is taking much longer than I anticipated. I am fully aware my expectations regarding the time necessary for a complete recovery was / were unreasonable. But I need to set the bar high to keep from being complacent. Now had my situation been inclusive of adequate financial resources I would be at least relatively close to my timetable. I would have had access to better medical, dietary, living and therapies. Hell my injuries would have been properly tended to at the hospital in my initial admittance. Instead I continued to be the object of curiosity and experimentation. With little consideration to trying to give me appropriate medical care. I have come to know what to expect, due largely to my younger brother's general attitude. Wherein he rationalizing what him and others do to me, as simply a matter of effect associated to the who and what I am. It is rationalized that if I, Donn am this special chosen person than he/I should be able to survive everything, whatever it may be. Because if he/I don’t than obviously he/I am not that special and thus not protected from on High. Horrific logic used to rationalizing a growing list of atrocities committed against my person. A ugly fact of my reality, one I anticipated. What issues make this whole fucked up process unacceptable, malicious, acutely painful and unforgivingly egress is the manner by which they have targeted and used others. Especially my younger brother, father, son, Tiffany, Revaka, Heather, Angie and numerous others. They have been tortured, abused and treated as disposable commodities. All are scared and precious, some are very unique with abilities reaching into arenas not generally accepted or understood in today’s world view. Yet these individuals are denigrated, abused in some of the most deviantly sordid manners. Most are ultimately destroyed, first robbing them of their minds, bodies and in some final insult of their very souls. As it appears that they are being harvested for physical vehicles to have demons placed in their bodies. Yeah, I suppose I could say it in some sort of more politically correct parlance as “aliens” from a lower resonating dimensional reality / realm. Somehow I find that by doing so it fails to communicate the malicious evil inherent in the process. I find the old nomenclature to communicate the Truer meaning. Though some eras of our past carry their own obvious failings magnified exponentially by ignorance while fueled by misguided zealotry. They were not called the Dark Ages for nothing. Similarly different cultures, societies, periods, places and times have fallen to various abysses of Darkness. We have this false mental image of life on Our Earth proceeding in some linar fashion from primitive man (including Adam, for those of a theological inclination) struggling out of caves. Fighting against their own primitive brain / mind which was trapped in a diminished brain pan capacity from questing for fire against ignorance and superstitions. With us being the cumulative beneficiaries of this on going process. Peoples of those ancient times could not have been as intelligent as those today. Therefore they could not have grasped the concepts we do. Some of the most ridiculous fallacies of logic ever presumed to rationalizing and justify conduct or beliefs. Matter of fact the inverse is actually True. But what the fuck could I possibly know!
Sadly my frustrations are rearing their collective heads as it were in my writing. I wish I had been more diligent in securing my journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach towards Utah. I was more focused recording relavent issues in a contemporaneous fashion. Not to mention a considerable investment in explanations dealing with a variety of associated topics. Grrrrr… all I did then was walk and write. I may soon be in a recurrence of such, shortly. I can no longer abide where I am. All the more so under these conditions. Deep in my mind I am aware of happenings which require my attention. Not to mention my friend’s household is not psychologically conducive to my state of being. At least not in a healthy way, good intentions not with standing. My largest obstacle to my leaving believe it or not, is my need for acceptable footwear. Flip-flops aren’t going to cut it. Hell they are wholly inadequate to even walk just up the street a block or two. I must admit the sidewalks and streets of California were well suited for walking.
Monday July 9, 2018. – Killeen, Texas
As Pooh would be apt to say, “Oh bother”. I feel for the most part Tigger. Bouncing all about spinning, twisting, flipping… as well on my head as my tail. I am most acutely wanting to find my focus once again. My communication skills seem heavily compromised. Not that I was ever able to write as effectively as the great Nobel Laureates. Generally speaking I could at least maintain some linear cohesion in my writing. Physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally I am shaken. Much as if my being was trapped in the tremors of advance Parkinson’s. In similar fashion my expressed thoughts and experiences lack focus, my abilities at lucidly articulating my larger life occurrences is choppy at best. Failure is NOT an option! No matter how I feel or how events are or may effect me, I must regain my composure and find my center. While reacquiring my skills of teaching and sharing what I have learned. Please excuse me if I don’t edit the foregoing entries. As convoluted and murky as they may be, their relevance contemporaneously can not be diminished. Hopefully they will in due course provide a benchmark to juxtaposition future writings and notes thereby effecting a glimpse into my state of being at the time of writing. Grrrrr…….
They have done a very good job of isolating me. All the more so, as I try to come to terms with the potential cost to those I would seek commerce with across all levels of our socioeconomic strata. If what I endured while being the object of a Foxing protocol by our shadow government’s covert intelligence community are any indication. Anyone who associates with me, either at mine or their initiation is subject to become targeted for retribution as punishment to me. Too high a cost to blindly impart with out consideration to finding possible means of mitigation. Or at the very least terms whereby I am ultra selective with whom I interact. Along with the rationale for said interactions. Soon enough our social dependency will require I abandon all such pretext or attempts at shielding anyone from consequence. I fear that time shall be upon us/me far too soon. Perhaps I am again being exceedingly naive. My efforts are most probably for naught. An on the at large canvas of the bigger picture my presumption at damage control will only result in a larger area and impact of effect upon our society as a whole. Not that I am some savior or prophet, far from it actually. In the grander scale of things, I might best be referred to as a “wild card”. Meaning that in any analysis of the interaction of variables, one may with a degree of certainty predict the outcome of any issue, contest, conflict even war. However should certain individuals or a very small dynamic group of individuals enter the forum. Suddenly the landscape of the matter shifts radically to the point that the original outcome no longer applies or is meaningful. We have numerous examples of such occurrences throughout our histories. Of salient import to us here in America is The Battle of Thermopylae, and the 300 Spartans. We all learned about continents in school. Did you ever notice that Europe and Asia were counted as separate despite being one land mass. The reason is that Western Culture and Asian (Oriental) Cultures being vastly different it was traditionally ascribed to them being two separate continents. We may naively presume to ridicule such a blatant indulgence as arrogance. Yet there are fundamental reasons for this error being valid. We as the heirs of Western Culture, need to understand the mythical / legendary impact of these distinctions upon our mameic memory, especially those of us of the West. From Greece to Rome, then following our Angelo – Dutch (Iberian) roots it is transmitted to us. The importance and permanent impact of the actions and sacrifice of Leonidas and 300 Free Spartans against over a 1,000,000 servile basically slaves to a potentate deemed quasi divine, carved out a legacy of Freedom which stands even today. An Epic “wild card”. There are many others, most are lost to us today. With the occasional exception that survives in our Epics, our Mythologies, our Legends. Most such stories are the blending of factual events with older religious or semi religious traditions. Which aliteration was a common and accepted means of teaching the lessons of both convanents in a factual and metaphoric means. Much the way Jesus Christ taught using parables, allegories composed to have layers of meaning dependent upon the degree of understanding had by the student. So a natural continuation of this is to be inclusive of many historical events, along with the trans literal substitution of the individuals to those of prophecy or the the Divine or Angelic intercession of some ancient history. These depending on circumstance would be iterated and reiterated in verbal traditions to be celebrated in the retelling, usually in association to particular annual festivals. Such as the case with the Saga of the Norse Kings. A subject I hope to have the opportunity to entertain at length later in my writings, scribblings. The vast majority of my ideas, concepts, models and histories can generally be attributed to greater minds than mine. As has been said before, the reason I / we can see so far is that we stand on the shoulders of giants, those that have come before us. Yes I paraphrase taking a degree of liberty. More particularly to hopefully retain its original meaning.
Funny I have been much as I am, the entirety of my life. Before I commence an in-depth sharing of many of the somewhat unique occurrences and events that have brought me to this proposition in time. I wish to clarify and reiterate some postulates. Elsewise a portion of my own records and logs may well be used against me. Principally by interests who would wish to call my lucidity and grasp of reality into question, in the hopes of indicting or coloring my character via my words. No doubt they shall do so nonetheless. I only wish that my original is sufficiently vetted in the sane understanding of reality has to be a defense to my honor and mental facilities. Thus, again – I am No prophet! Nor am I an Alien. Hahaha… Nor am I some savior! As far as religion – I will say as was told to me by what would be termed alien contactees, or more specifically those that I felt and believed we’re genuine. Of the many I personally met back in the 1970s. According to these individuals as to the subject of religion and the Bible when broached to the various aliens these contactees interacted. All the aliens responded that yes the Bible was more or less correct and that it was wholly applicable to us, our Creation, and Our G-d. I know not at all what they say on the popular shows in the media today. Hmmm,…. As to my personal religious beliefs and inclinations, I am Mormon by conversation and have been excommunicated for many more years than I care to mention. By the way my excommunication was due wholly to personal moral matters not issues of doctrine or beliefs of Faith. So if somewhere in my upfront acknowledgements, you find me wanting of naïve. Fine, do or do Not as is in you, or as is your want. I make no apologies, nor seek to compromise in some misguided attempt to achieve an accord or consensus. Rather quite to the contrary, I share, present, seeking dialogue broader than an account of the happenings surrounding my life. Simply because I am appalled by the amount of lies and disinformation being used to indoctrinate the populace. Add to this the lack of corrected and broader views from the dreadfully homogenous perspective droning from damn near every sector. The present modalities disgust me, breaking my heart such that I would to weep day and night for Our collective Family. Yet better spent are my efforts in defense of the Truth and an improved accounting of our histories and circumstances. In pursuit of same I find I must submit my private life and experiences to general scrutiny. The majority of which I have never shared with anyone prior to the last six to eight years. I have desired to live a rather conventional life, for the most part. Realizing that soon enough I will forever be denied the Joy of such.
To this end and the accompanying process I submit some of the earliest memories and events of my life and childhood. One of my earliest, if not the earliest is being in my crib prior to the age of two. My father was working for numerous government and governmental contractors at the time. Naturally I don’t recall those details. Our family had just moved to Southern California. We were living with my mother’s sister somewhere in East Los Angeles. Their home was the typical Spanish Colonial. Anyone familiar with the style and form of such. Know that hallways usually converge into a common room, you cross to the hallway leading to the room you have as your destination. In this pass through common room is where my crib was stationed. Probably the best location for it and me. So the various women could occupy my attention should I become fussy. An many times this common room was an area where the women would congregate as my recollection is. Well across this room was a pantry closet, with selves and full of the sundry items found in such for the time. In the coming and goings of my family and relatives there were numerous occasions that would find me unattended, alone in my crib. It was during one such interlude that the commencement of a reoccurring vision / dream began. I having been left alone to my own devices (parenting back in the day). When the door to the aforementioned pantry slowly opened wide. A beautiful female Golem, her physique had the appearance of red bricks. Yet the contours of her form were singularly female. Rather she had distinct curves with aquiline sculptured features. Most hauntingly she had these striking blue eyes. She never spoke a word, her eyes spoke volumes to my initially shocked mind. As the sounds of returning relatives approached, she gracefully returned from whence she came. On the first couple of occasions I witnessed this I raised a bit of a commotion. I was not yet verbal, and in all honesty I was a late talker. Well the relatives thought I might have seen a rat. So they dutifully opened the pantry to inspection. The pantry was then as it always was, with neither a rat or exquisite Lady Golem. This parade continued off and on for the majority of the our short time residing at my aunt’s house. Usually the Lady Golem had those blue blue eyes, though green and grey versions are among the visits. Each and every time she would come to the side of my crib, moving her head, or tilting (cocking) it just so. Always her eyes full of questions and disbelief. Her eyes seemed to express; You? You are the one sent? Hmmm… You don’t look like much! Look more like a little wet rodent, but who knows?. This was more or less the sentiment expressed in her eyes. Following my first encounters I became accustomed to her visits and would actually miss her on the rare occasions of absence. Needless to say from early childhood I saw the “world” differently than others around me. I also learned to accept this altered perception without fear, understanding its validity within the accepted context of what is “actual” or the “concrete” reality of our existence.
If you may recall back in the haze of school days. During various lectures the teacher's would sometimes use what is commonly referred to as an over head projector. Depending on what was being taught, it was also common practice to layer over lays. These would either complete the image or at times super impose other images as needed. Sometimes even as multiple layers of over laid transparencies. Some of you more contemporaneously educated individuals may never have seen such primitive presentations, having known only power point. For those so blessed what I describe next may be Greek to you. For the dinosaur amongst us most should have some recollection. This model is the closest I can use to illustrate how the world appeared to me growing up as a child. Usually I would see what could best be described as up to two transparencies overlapping the “real world” in general. I could even lift these overlays to get a clearer view of what was being presented before me. At times these would both be at in the foreground of “reality”, other times both would be in the background, while at other times it would be split one in front and one in back. Yet there were numerous other configurations, sometimes completely unrelated to the happenings around me (foreshadowing alert). Gradually this ocular affect of the world began to diminish till it no longer was within my field of vision. By the time I was around sixteen to seventeen years of age this effect was effectively gone. Since then I have experienced this only a handful of times. I usually take a different approach, I will address momentarily. One of the proximate results almost immediately of perceiving my world in this manner is that I usually know the scope and degree that anyone is lying. As an adult it is not quite as prominent as in my childhood. Though there have been exceptions. As a direct consequence my earliest life lesson was in due course the hypocrisy of the adults around me. Everyone would profess such devotion to “the necessity” or importance of always “speaking the Truth”. Yet I would be punished to no end for pointing out the hypocrisy of the fact the adults more often than not lied as suited them. I learned to keep such to myself. Something I still do to this day. I tend to filter or make allowances far too much now as an adult. Invariably leading to greater complications. Besides transparencies certain images or objects would “float” across my field of vision in similar transparency manner. Some of which I could not decipher any context or meaning at the time or since. To begin to place elements of this visual experience I need to explain tangent events of recent.
The advent of the Internet and the information highway is as with most such paradigms, both a blessing and a curse. Dependent largely upon the nature and supposed inclination of man. We are all no doubt familiar with the media platforms of Facebook and YouTube. Like everyone else to some degree I have had occasion to surf around doing research or simply for mindless pleasure. Back prior to Jade Helm, when my Old Lady (though she was substantially younger) Tiffany and I were keeping house in Austin, Texas. I noticed a YouTube video regarding the Apollo 20 mission. Oh by the way according to my histories the Apollo lunar missions went up to 20. I wanted to see what was been discussed along with what twists and turns the disinformation specialist spin their distractions. Which if you can determine it sometimes conclude what they are trying to hide or if their direction of spin is a “z” vector you can sight 180 degrees opposite to determine the landscape they don’t wish you to see. You may consider all this a large investment of mental energies, it is just how my mind works at times automatically. Back to the Apollo 20 video. In the video there was some general discussion of aliens, their nature and origins. During this open dialogue, there was a series of various old clips. I presume were some how removed from the archives of NASA. Many of the older non-defined clips I was quite familiar with the images. Not because I have ever seen them as photos, images, clips or video. At the time I was floored, since previous to that moment I was unacquainted with their context or related meaning. These objects I use to see in the exact same configuration and involved in the exact motions approximately forty years earlier as I was growing up. Matter of fact judging from the age of the imagery I would have to conclude I was witnessing them contemporaneously as a child. Without the context of outer space or NASA I had presumed I was watching some complex interactions of some sort of strange protozoal life from. I even remotely as concerned they had some how become infected to my cornea, so prevalent we’re the objects across my vision. So striking was their imposition upon my sight that more than four decades later their association was immediate and most assuredly certain. One less mystery to worry about. Yet the implications are troubling profoundly. Both of myself and the world at large, considering how maliciously the world's population has been lied to and manipulated. The ends of which are too shocking and horrible to ever discuss. Although in previous conversations at moments of weakness I have divulged a greater portion than may have been prudent.
Wednesday July 11, 2018. – Killeen, Texas
You may right so wish to ascribe or diagnosis me as having a form of delusions inclusive of all types of hysteria, grandeur, psychosis with severe religious obsessions. For what passes for psychiatry today within the public ledger domain, you may be correct. I would offer in defense a extensive lifetime containing a ongoing accounts of a similar or even greater note. Although I am not a Moses, peoples of another time would recognize me as being touched by The All Mighty, as it were. I will at least own any such appellation. Am I some righteous man deserving of beautification unto sainthood, I would argue Not. At best I have tried to be a descent man, who speaks the Truth as much as possible. I am burdened by an additional commitment.
Back in my youth, being around nine years old. I had a singularly profound series of visions / dreams. I repeatedly dreamt my death, accompanied by the various permeations associated to reaching same. The process took several days (nights) between three to five. Being so young I didn’t think to take particular note of the days my dreams were thus occupied. They obviously had a unique feel with a equally sensational intensity, they still abide with me today. I distinctly recall a voice of sorts coming to me following the last night of witnessing this panorama of my life's end (as are the days accorded to the sons of man). Now this voice which came unto me, I presume it was within the precincts of my mind. Not that it would have mattered greatly since I was alone when it came unto me. Nor did I think to ask from whence or whom spoke. I knew and could feel the light of our Divine Home as I heard the intent along with the presumed words. It was a simple dialogue, stating; “this is how it ends, this is what you have come to do. You need not do it. You have the right to choose. However if you are to complete this task. You must choose to do so now.”. Being a precocious and arrogant child, I immediately presumed that if I had been sent to do such, than the obvious was that I was the best candidate to accomplish the prescribed task. Armed with such infallible logic, I whole heartedly accepted my calling understanding it would come at great cost. Now granted, an understanding of the true scope or magnitude or the enormity of the cost or suffering I fully lacked. I have spent my life preparing. I have come to know that even at the prescribed time I will lack of my own what is necessary. I shall present to the task my all, trusting in Our G-d to shore me up to complete that which I would do. Subsequent to acceptance of this appointment I am to keep in the near future, my sight / vision increased. The frequency and quantity began increasing dreams, visions, revelations, transparencies along with my general perceptions increased. I now openly own the fact that I see the world through the eyes of the mystic. Only recently was my sight dampened. A heart breaking topic the occasion of which surrounds losing my Love Tiffany. The subject of which shall also be laid upon the alter for examination by the modern day augers. Find what fault if you will, I care little. Only know that matter and its accompanying are for later. I must at present attempt to continue in this established vain of thought recounting events long past in my short life. Besides the notations contemporaneous to me and my circumstances or any of the other tripe I have need to spew forth. Believe this, if I could accomplish my foreordained task without sharing, discussing or placing ultimately for public review any of this – such would be my desire. Painfully I have had to come to terms with the ugly reality I must prostrate myself to assure I am able to do what needs be done. Onward thru the fog, as it were.
Without going into specifics too much, early on I displayed another aptitude. Sometime around first to second grade. My Dear sweet mother recognized I somehow had a hand in the going ons of the other children that back then composed the group of children who had commenced to being around. Now my mother was blessed with a keen intellect. Which included the wisdom to not over think somethings. Instead wherever possible if there was a direct and simple solution to apply one's efforts to the solution. Thereby allowing life to continue on as meant. Almost elegant in its simplicity, usually quite effective in solving any problem, a quaint provincial version of Occum's Razor. Consequently the solution was simple, as she noted; “son, I don’t know what you are doing. But it is wrong. Apparently you need my help understanding that.”. There after I regularly got my hide tanned. Until sometime around the age of seven plus the realization that just because you could do something; does not mean you should. And that everyone is entitled to make their own choices. Afterwards the occasion necessitating my tanning ceased as a consequence to those particular actions. By no means did I fail to earn other occasions of corporal punishment as befits a young boy trying to find his wings, so to speak.
Growing up making my way through our education system of public schooling. I never cracked a book. Now one should not presume schools and childhood were smooth sailing. Quite to the contrary, in second grade my school in southern California labeled me “retarded”. Lacking a separate facilities or classes you were simply shoved to the back of the class with similarly challenged children. Nor did they have to test the child or give notice to the parents. Following a few weeks at the back of the class I began to demonstrate “odd” behavior. Which my always observant mother was quick to question. She went to the school and raised holy hell. In actuality it was more of a racially motivated issue. My parents being divorced, the school only saw my Hispanic mother. Being profoundly dyslexic, their initial assessment was that I was a Mexican, and you know you can not teach their kind. I was going to a all white school at time. Not to mention kindergarten in Watts. During the riots in 1965. I had to have police escorts to school. While I still have very distinct memories of the entire family sleeping in the living room with all the doors and windows blocked and barricaded against the rioting blacks. A sort of difficult time growing up. Believe me I know what racism is like. I am not going to hold my tin cup up on that lame ass subject. The fact that there are those in this country that hold onto this issues as the reasons for all their troubles. Or that there are groups and individuals who exploit this history for their enrichment. All this does is allows an ever expanding rifts in our society. The age old axiom of divide and conquer. Yet we all seem oblivious to this, instead we rush to our own deaths.
Thursday July 12, 2018,. – Killeen, Texas
Aaagh, fuck, damnit…. I fucking swear. Why do I even try to help anyone. Generally they hold to their own practices of appeasing the least common denominators by which they live. What can I say. As gracious as my hostess and her son may be. I doubt if I can tolerate much more of their dysfunctionality sans any self realization or objectivity. And they wonder about Joey meeting someone (female). I can’t imagine the woman who would find any of this manner or lack of is appealing. I try to maintain perspective because I do recognize the roots of most of the antisocial behavior. Even if it expresses its self differently than one may anticipate. I just don’t have the tolerance I usually do. In my current condition of convalescing from my injuries, makes me subject to the vagaries that define the lives of normal people. Due to the obvious singular quality of my life I have had to come to terms with the fact that I do not process anything in like manner as my peers. An before everyone thinks I am trying to sound all superior or some such, please note that I am continually making stupid mistakes principally due to my own naivety. We all have this aspect wherein we judge our circumstance and that of others from the pigeonhole perspective. Everyone else's view though differing from each other falls within a given area, or a few degrees of each other. Mine falls a extreme distance outside of what could be considered the norm. Nonetheless being very human I continue in the belief I perceive “reality” much as the other person from a similar understanding and values system. Invariably this attitude finds opportunity to smack me in my face by its differences. Each and every time I am recalled that, oh I knew better because I am fully aware of the differences and should have factored accordingly. Even now at this more venerable point in my life I find one of my biggest failings is naive belief in the character of my fellow man. Yet if my assertions as to my last day as are allotted to the sons of man be True. For the greater part I will be doing so for the entirety of Our Familial Aggregation. Even for those who seek only to cause me and those I Love and care about, harm or maliciousness. Because that is the way of things in our Creation. Soon enough the vile evil shall reveal itself, the kid gloves shall come off and life will never be this peaceful again. If it be the will of he who sent me I will seek to balance many scales of injustice. Till then I must endure and prepare as best I can.
Well enough complaining about friends who do their best given the circumstances. I appreciate all they have done on my behalf. Especially since to a large degree they grasp what potentially may be the cost. Even if in some small ways they may have been influenced by the same malicious or “Bees”, that seek to be the cause of my failure. For such is the nature of things in the abyss. Especially considering the length of time I have elected to spend wrapped in the confines of twisting throughout what we commonly refer to as “reality”. I generally feel more comfortable surrounded by its miasma and ickor than anywhere else. As much as it may appear to be a contradiction it ultimately is fact. Sigh!!!
For the time being I guess I will change the temporal focus of my entries. I can seldom stay focused on any particular time frame for an extended period. Doing so usually causes me to shift to the associated memories which become very visceral in nature. Soon it begins to become a tad overwhelming. All the more so once framed in relation to the present context. I sincerely hope that suffices and is remotely coherent. I am usually deconstructing my conceptual models and ideas into a form more acceptable to being understood. Sometimes I become lost in the process to the point I know what I mean despite the fact that the words and or syntax are nonsense. In conversation I sometimes have to stop and ask if what I have postulated or presented in the dialogue makes sense. I know it all made sense and sounded good in my head. Aaah but I can’t always presume to have effectively communicated the same.
Saturday July 14, 2018. – Killeen, Texas
Well here it is the weekend, somewhere in Who-ville are working stiffs cheering at the arrival of the ritual with its time off. It has been interminably long since I have have lived a life so constrained as to include the simple Joy of a defined weekend of days off. Hell I am usually engrossed in my vocation daily. With my ever prevalent purpose always driving me. For the most part I have become unfit to be amongst civil company. Yes I am conversant. I am genial enough when in mixed groups. I tend to empathic of those around me. I genuinely give a damn as to the well being of others. Even so, the inescapable Truth is that the darkness is too imbued into my being. Because of the darkness of my spirit, I have become rolled into the ubiquitous abyss of our “reality”. Though it does not effect me quite the same as others its taint has woven into my fibers. Not being much of a liar I lack the necessary tools to hide it from general view.
Wednesday July 18, 2018 - Killeen, Texas
Well damn, I sometimes really get fucking frustrated. At one level I am perpetually detached from the day to day focus and obsessions of everyone around me. I can’t bring my mind to focus on the general ideological concepts propagated by the geopolitical theater. Which resembles an episode of the moppet show as far as I what it appears. Are the offenses and injuries less or non-existent to my sympathies or moral indignation; not in the least. They still represent injustices and crimes which need to be effectively dealt with and hopefully the scales will balance. Even so, I just can not seem to get all worked up over these slight daily travesties. All the more so since I tend to view all these for what they are within the larger perspectives and plans of globalist / occultic families. Typical divide and conquer, or simple distractions from their primary objectives. I can appreciate everyone’s sentiments and attitudes that the scenarios of what is to come are not perceived as real or likely. Hell even I given enough distance and time begin to feel as though none of it is possibly factual. Except for the fact that I have lived a life associated to these eventualities. Even when I was in the thick of things all those involved would tell me bold faced lies as to what was occurring. As if to make me question the obvious, because the obvious Truth of the matter was outside any social norms. I guess there are those for a convenient lie is preferred to Truth too extreme to accept. I have been at this life, spending the majority of my existence living in the abyss. Which is everywhere, it co-exists with whatever social or cultural conventions occupying our realities of the moment. It is ubiquitous yet invisible to all but those who have had the misfortune to have grown up in its mists, or the uninitiated. Due to my unique occular abilities I am sort of self initiated. It took me a little while to come to understand the meaning of this subset of our world. I have always seemed to rub against this sub culture, even as a child. A odd fact which has taken me many years to come to terms with it. Even then it was a process of educating myself to be able to grasp the entirety of the concepts. Though outrageous beyond belief, it is nonetheless part of a larger pool of knowledge I have fought long and hard to achieve. We are a phenomenal expression of life, even across the multiverse. For all our uniqueness, we are seemingly determined to trivialize who and what we are. More importantly the processes and manner whereby we are to accomplish our purpose “here”. Truly phenomenal!!!
Yet I digress. I am simply getting on my soapbox, whipping the horse, so to speak. Grrrrr…
How best to convey some of the basics back into the discussions and open forums in our sea of opinions. A perplexing problem one that has vexed my soul for almost three decades. I suppose the real source of my reservations has principally revolved around my own reluctance to be centrist to any reintroduction in a general dialogue. Much to my consternation it is plain that to accomplish this and thereby facilitate me being able to keep my appointment in the future, I must find the where with all and means to personally become directly a part of our social dialogues. I can freely admit to my own megalomania. I try not to buy into it myself. I shan’t feed such feelings or Mali-adpted inclinations. What ever a person's tendencies, we fail our own interests in doing so. To the point of it becoming a all consuming psychosis. Our histories are replete with the villains who are consumed by base desires at the cost of all else. Not that such is my fear. Rather I prefer to do what I can from a position far from the limelight. We don’t always get to choose how best to accomplish our goals. My non-object oriented way of thinking I suppose. Aaagh, this is an area I would deeply desire some assistance. Not to mention the realities of presently being impoverished. I had best get used to my condition, I fear I shan’t know any other for some time to come. I guess I need to find the way and means to broadcast my ugly mug on to the internet. I guess I will start some YouTube type of series. I need to really get my act together!
Amazingly as we and our solar-system has traversed the apogee of its elliptical orbit with its sister star. This having occurred back in December 2012. We are now accelerating towards our sister star on the side closest to our Galactic Center. We will soon be re-entering the flows of Magick. They are part of the natural order of things. Think of it as a higher order of physics. We conveniently suppose a posture of superiority over some earlier more organic beliefs or systems of interactions within our realities. Although witchcraft, paganism, shamanism, and various other practices have been collectively maligned for associated practices related to satanistic practices (which Are very evil). In many such cases we have throughen the baby out with the bathwater. I am not trying to condemn nor make excuses, only to ask for a broader open review of these strangely different beliefs and practices. Many times they are simply corrupted versions of our Judaeo-christian thought, beliefs and practices. Sometimes I even find missing pages of our religious histories amongst these. An to borrow a quote; “We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft.” - C. Lamb.
Friday July 19, 2018. – Killeen, Texas
Now as to my disjointed quaint manner of writing, I am recalled of yet another quote from Webster’s, “Prolix, Diffuse. A prolix writer delights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling particulars. A diffuse writer is fond of amplifying, and abounds in epithets, figures, illustrations. Diffuseness often arises from an exuberance of imagination; prolixity is generally connected with a want of it.” [1913 Webster]. As to which, my confused manner may be likened, I leave such determination to those who due to some pathological compulsions decide to continue on through the disjointed tediousness of my log. Excuse my quoting, it but appears the best and most eloquent descriptive means external to my own critiques. Wherein Webster provides what I believe is a more accurate description of my loquacious manner and style of communication. Bleck, ugh…
On to more relevant matters. As I continue to play my game of catching up to the current state of affairs in my existence. Jumping back to around August last year, at the time I elected to take my leave of the Long Beach / Wilmington area of the LA Basin. The majority of occurrences I previously wrote down in a contemporaneous log as I walked out of LA ultimately reaching Salt Lake City, Utah. With a brief momentary stay in Las Vegas, Nevada. My mind aches at the memories from that time. Regardless, there may in the retelling be wisdom or beneficial information for myself or others. Sorry if some of this has a choppy feel to it. There are mountains of unresolved emotional context and histories, which continue to elicit extremes within me. I hate sounding apologetic from the get go. Not that any of the vacillating diminishes the importance of the material or what I endured.
In July of last year, my younger brother was arrested and placed in presumably Twin Towers downtown Los Angeles. It was involving drugs and a handgun. I saw him and the P.O.S. , earlier that night. I already knew there were going to be problems. Additionally I had been indirectly informed my situation was about to become difficult. No more niceness regarding my treatment, operational dictums were changed. Initially I was was acutely aware my younger brother was not in police custody. I figured he was being held some where on or around the federal facilities of Terminal Island in the Port of Long Beach. Later parts of my sight of his circumstances were confirmed to me, though the exact location never has been (foreshadowing). Sometime during the second week of his presumed incarceration. He digitally appeared in the system with the appropriate arrest date, and information. To this day I am not convinced of the terms and conditions accompanying this purely “staged” event. No doubt there were days he was in the Twin Towers facility. Anything else is highly suspect at best if not solely manipulated data for the purposes of the Op. Nonetheless, I was sorely put upon. Due to the determinate fact that whatever had previously as well as on going to date are the proximate results of his being “my brother”. I was aware my brother was not my brother. I later would describe the fact as, “my brother was murdered on the mesas of New Mexico 4 (5) years prior”. I freely declared the fact, even with my younger brother present. At the time of his arrest I had invested two years trying to awaken and heal his soul. During this ordeal, he was on goingly conditioned (subject to various satanic trauma assisted by ultra high technologies deployed by our Shadow Government for the purposes of mind control). I can not escape a degree of culpability. Many may seek succor in the belief that I was not responsible, nor the individual inflicting these horrors to my younger brother. I acknowledge the physical reality as being so. However the moral reality is that, We are our Brother's keeper. An for myself it has a immense literal quality. We are all part of Our Larger Familial Aggregation, what we do, say or do not effects all. While in my particular case, he is my younger brother – same Mother and Father. I have known what to expect from the future all my life. I have even attempted to convey this knowledge in abstract to my brothers. Granted I did Not know that in recent times the evil practitioners of these vile satanistic rites had made a huge technical breakthrough. It use to be, if an individual attained adulthood free of these practices or influences, then they would die free of its chains. Obviously a person could freely elect to cultivate any base desires or perverse inclinations. By “choice” being the operative mandate, those chained to the MPD / DID minds of victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) are forever robbed of any choice in the matter. Not even I can “set” them free or the chains forged in their infancy and childhoods. I can only unlock the gates and offer them the means to heal. The process is long and painful, requiring more years than anyone can live to hopefully heal. Sadly as each victim is considered chattel to the perspective heads of each “family”, who is in turn property of another. Hence there are functionally twelve Satanic Patriarchs seated at the heads of their “family”. Under Satanic Dogma they consider themselves “gods” of their worlds. According to their beliefs you exist as titled property, if not than you are of no consequence thereby you do Not exist. The worth of you and yours is less than the trash sent to the dump.
Sunday July 22, 2018 – Killeen, Texas
Continuing with similar point of fact as discussed, it may all sound or would be considered linear, a straightforward affair. Appearing almost orderly, locked in some strange perverse dance. When it is anything but. Take into consideration the matter of succession. You might be inclined to infer that being Patriarchal, it is a matter of patrialinacal father to son. The reality is far from such Familial Sensibilities. Simply put, upon the death of the head of any household. He, who inherits is the male gains control of his clan by right of arms, or force. Basically if you are not yet feared enough to demand your seat as the heir to the estate. The one who rules does so because he has murdered and killed all the opposition by blood rite according to Antediluvian Law. Meaning you not only kill your opposition, the action is inclusive of all males of immediate consanguinal association. The wholesale murder also removes any potential blood retribution by those who possess an immediate claim to do so. Secondly it demonstrates to clan members at large the vicious response dissent will meet. Terror then substitutes conditioned context within their trauma-based mindset vicariously confirming that male's natural right to head that Family’s Branch of the Larger Familial Group. If you can remotely rationale order from such chaotic slaughter. You more than likely were raised under such paradigms, or your values are perversely twisted and I recommend you seek professional help from any school of thought practicing a highly structured value system, preferably based on some well established benevolent religion. Notice I qualify said using the word benevolent. Cause if you use the most liberal definition to the concepts of religion you could quietly slip satanism or luciferinism in as established religions. The distinctions are sufficient as to invite debate. One I feel is much a waste of time for all parties. Generally I ascribe it principally to a matter of semantics shackled to vastly differing modalities of operations defining values. Our time can be better spent educating ourselves up and out of overly cerebral arguments designed to trap us in artificial concepts posing as reality. A overwrought process favored by Academia in defense of entrenched theories dressed in the ideology we refer to as the “Scientific Model”. Yes, I have great disdain for what passes for education and schools of higher learning. They have long since been co-oped into the problems they were meant to free us from being slaves. I will tuck that soapbox away now, thank you for your indulgence.
What is even more incredible is the fact that this insanity is governed by their own set laws and rules. They even have a court system with defined jurisprudence. Not any sort you or I could consider properly legal. Rather it is more a system to maintain the “status quo” based on traditions, precedence, along with a strange quasi religious tones from Antediluvian Laws. Even known lies are acceptable if left uncontested but those who have standing and recognized Familial context. Elsewise the stated lie will stand as fact, enforceable to the fullest extent to which the system can accommodate.
Now if you followed that loose explanation, allow me to attempt to give an overview of some of the semi-societal interactive relationship between myself and these psychopaths. Especially above the standing rank and file victims constituting the entirety of the Families. I have a singularly unique interactive connection to them, their Families, their politics, traditions, religious dogma, technologies of the Shadow Government, including possible contingencies for what is to come. It is a chaotic and confusing dynamic paradox. Perpetually in a state of change, in recent times there has been much difference of opinion concerning how to acknowledge or interact with me. Technically I am a nonentity, because I exist outside the direct consanguineous relationship, nor am I amenable to joining their point of view. I remain in opposition to them, their practices, beliefs to the extent of being fundamentally adversarial to “them”. It is worth noting I have been at this so long that everyone I know or deal with daily belongs to this subset of our society. Almost all my friends, associates, girlfriends or anyone else comes from some blood occultic families. Some even to what capacity they are able seek to support me in my efforts. I am alive today because some evil bastards simply decided not to do as they were instructed. Knowing full well the consequences for siding with me. Try to understand these individuals have lived corrupt malignant lives, they hate themselves but are forbidden to take their own lives. There is virtual nothing they can do to truly cause those over them to flip out or take offense. Yet they do recognize that my stumbling about is upsetting. Having run around everywhere doing what I do. I have always done so without a net, so to speak. It is a source of boarder line amazement, more particularly they think I am “bat-shit” crazy! Nonetheless I am still here. You may know people who collect body art, fashionably tattoos these days. I sometimes joke of my own collection of scars and injuries to my body. Thankfully I heal exceptionally well. Most of my scars heal to the point of being almost unnoticeable, if you did not know my histories. It is an exhausting hobby, painful too! A frequent refrain I hear while being admitted to the ER or ICU has been, “Mr Williams, you are very lucky to be alive”. “Yeah Doc I hear that allot. Do the best you can.”. It has become somewhat of a ongoing joke, amongst friends and family. These days those groups have become ultra thin. Another reason I make this record of events in my life including improved contemporaneous writings. We can all hope for such. Believe me if it was up to me, no one would know much if anything about me, or my life. I have been, or more correctly I have allowed myself to be forced into a dreadfully unpleasant set of circumstances, as I have whined concerning previously.
Okay Sherman set the way-back machine to the 80’s and 90’ of the last century. Seeing patterns across the country in the minds of crazy ass bitches, now I do Not mean that in a bad way. I have a immense affinity for beautiful crazy ladies. Now as I was saying, the imagery within their minds was too consistent to be coincidence. The language of our sub- conscience is imagery, archetypal, motifs, iconography, mythical, dreams, visions, will of the wisps and whimsy. I believe we all “see” much more of one another than we choose to accept. The largest hurdle to understanding is this compulsion to read or understand what we “see” before the picture is finished assembling in our minds. This tendency has been increasingly pushed into smaller and smaller bits. Which as a negative exponential inverse function has become more and more confusing as to be nigh meaningless with each subsequent reduction. Hence at a time when we should be more connected to everyone. We find increased feelings of isolation and alienation. No matter how much we communicate with our neighbors next door or abroad we have less consensus or feelings of commonality. We sequester these feeling with their accompanying anxieties, less we inadvertently offend anyone. Like what the Fuck! It is part and parcel of the Adult World. Being offended or offending others is how things get done. Usually for the best interests of everyone. Granted we should strive to be engaging to achieve our goals, short of violence or intimidation. Yet as any honest government would gladly concede. Once negotiations by normal means come to an impasse then comes negotiations by “other means”. The debased conduct of sordid persons is best met with our best foot forward, right up their ass! Like most animals, immediacy tends to be the most effective in correcting Mali-adpted conduct. Back to the horse I rode up on, hahaha.
At any rate, over the years I began to solve the underlying issues. I actually came to my own work arounds prior to fully grasping the centralized source or the impact of its implications. Years later I did begin to hear limited bits of information over the internet. Although it did take me a while before I started to correlate the “conspiracy theory” data with what I was “seeing” in women throughout the country. Largely because few had any real coherent information. Eventually, information concerning Project MK Ultra and our government's Psy-Ops programs sufficiently surfaced to flesh out the details. As a child, young teenager I was familiar with the government’s LSD experiments for a variety of reasons, mind control being one aspect. Frankly I can not believe there are people today who do not know or refuse to believe that our government conducted such experimentation on the populace. It was just common knowledge in the circles I travel. If you read the Program Outline for MK Ultra it has an extensive list of lines of “study” information was to be explored, accumulated with a focus of deriving paradigms of control on individuals, groups, countries, cultures, and from that to the world at Large. The Globalist, New World Order, G-7, Trilateral Commission, Illuminati the individuals and their constantly shifting panorama of institutions and foundations are continually sifting beliefs and cultures in an multi-generational game of Three Card Molly. Degree by degree all the world’s various societies and Cultures have been manipulated via global misdirection with large quantities of restructuring of values and beliefs. Till everyone on Earth thinks good is bad; and bad is good. I should think we have all heard these arguments before, usually framed as the delusions of conspiracy theorist. All rather convenient as a means explaining away any descent or even an open fair discussion. Our social structure has drifted far from where we should be. Starting in 2020, everything is going to change and never be this pleasant or nice again. Well at least not till after the Second Coming. Hahaha, despite sounding …...
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Self
basically a rewrite of some old olddd worldbuilding. I’ll be weaving together ideas from different sources and various religions (Vine Deloria’s writing in particular has been a huge inspiration), so bear w/ me
I also like to write these notes from the perspective of a researcher in that world-setting lmao
the simple explanation is that Self is what we colloquially refer to as soul/spirit/energy/magic
~Basics~
Self is the energy that results from the goings-on of the physical world-- from large-scale geologic movements, to the micro-reactions occurring in our bodies at a cellular level. This energy has many other titles depending on the field of research, but within realms such as metaphysical study, philosophy, and sociology, most refer to it as Self. This reaffirms of the intimacy of the energy and the role our self-- as a concept-- plays in the overall web of existence. Though many have taken to colloquially calling Self “magic”.
Self is present throughout all matter, as every atom reacts with the space and matter around it. The energy release from these interactions results in intent-- a kind of consciousness that can further lead to thought, memory, and emotion, depending on the circumstances. Thus, all that exists automatically produces some degree/kind of consciousness.
The kind and arrangement of atoms result in unique interactions, thus unique configurations of resulting Self. Areas of high energy transfer and accumulation produce highly-active Self configurations, where Self can itself become a factor of change and influence. Such areas are found around ley-lines, living cells (especially neurons), and modern electrical designs.
However, this is not necessarily a hard and fast rule, as many MANY factors affect how Self manifests, as discussed in the following section.
~Manifestation as Souls~
When Self gathers into a cohesive being, it is generally considered a soul. This doesn’t mean the soul is disconnected from the rest of the Self around it, but that it is merely identifiable as a unique configuration with active intent.
There are many ways Self can organize into souls, but they usually follow one of four main courses. Though these courses usually combine and affect one other such that it can be difficult to point to one specific cause:
- Physical Space/Matter: The Physical organization of atoms naturally produces and organizes the Self around it. Individual organisms most readily produce Self due to their cellular activity, and especially as distinct neurological structures develop and increase in complexity. Groups of organisms may also lead to ecosystem-wide souls, which some ecologists refer to as the Self-equivalent of a superorganism. Ley lines also produce highly-active Self which often coalesces into cohesive beings with personalities, especially as ecosystems develop and further mold the soul of the place. Electronics also interact with Self in fascinating ways, though the specifics of these interactions are poorly understood due to their relative novelty in the course of human history.
- Events/Time: While physical matter is obviously a huge factor in Self interaction, time also plays a distinct role. Geologic/ecological time, for example, helps configure a location’s soul as tectonic plates shift and ecosystems are birthed. Memories of these various shifts in ecology and space are stored in the Self of the place and can be accessed by various means. Some events (catastrophic weather events, wars, etc.) may release a great amount of energy in one particular location, which could coalesce into a soul of sorts. Sometimes this manifests as a particularly strong imprint on the location’s memory, leading to a strong emotion or particular action at the event that develops an intent beyond the event.
- Refusal to Return: Ghosts, basically. Most organisms’ souls break down and return to the surrounding mass of energy and the cycle of creation at the same rate as the physical bodies that hold them. The timing of this breakdown can vary depending on the state of the physical body, the Physical/Self environment, the emotional stability of the soul, etc. but this is generally the case. Some of these souls, however, persist after death. Without a material body to contain and organize this Self, these souls usually warp over time into an unhealthy echo of what they once were. Though not always-- ley lines in particular are common safe havens for wayward souls. These souls will still shift into new forms over time, but in this circumstance they don’t necessarily shift into an unhealthy/unstable configuration.
- Intent: The power of belief is not to be underestimated. The intent of a being (or several beings) can be powerful enough to produce/gather Self into a soul that matches whatever entity or power the beings in question believe to exist. Over time, this soul may even gain enough energy to persist on its own and further affect the beliefs of other beings. Though a soul usually isn’t created just through intent-- even with this power, creation of a soul from scratch is fairly difficult. Typically a soul already existed (sometimes a ghost, other times the soul of a place, etc.), and the power of belief bolsters the soul over time.
The definition of soul can be very subjective, so some folks may not consider many of these configurations proper “souls”. It’s all about perspective-- the soul of a place, for example, can be hard to get a grasp on when it stretches for miles and millennia beyond human perception.
~Communication and Connection~
Communication is the crux of any and all Self manipulations. To use Self is to have a mutual conversation with that energy-- both sides must be able to properly communicate, or the connection can’t initiate and project properly. For example, places and non-’sentient’ energies will respond most readily to the species/communities which naturally developed and flourished there, simply because these energies evolved and developed right alongside those communities. In turn, those species/communities will more instinctually/subconsciously connect to the energies of their homes, whereas they will have to actively search out connections to Self in foreign lands.
While there is wiggle room in terms of communication gradients/overlap (though there may still be hiccups via miscommunication), usually any foreigner will have to train in the Native techniques of the area in order to manipulate any of the Self there. Of course, the non-sentient energies of a place can learn new Self languages just like any other more cohesive soul. However, it’s much harder for one single foreigner to force their language on an entire ecosystem of Self, rather than that foreigner simply learning the language of that area’s Self. Cases where areas are able to learn significantly different Self languages generally involve the influence of entire communities over several generations, to put this into perspective.
These Self language barriers are why the most renowned human magical practitioners are multicultural in either dance, language, or artistic technique-- they are “jacks of all magics”, so to speak. Some areas that are naturally more open to multicultural approaches include ley lines and (interestingly enough) flowing water sources such as rivers and coastal areas.
~Contracts~
While there are many ways to conceptualize the process of Self manipulation, a common concept is that of the Contract. This concept typically follows four steps:
- Focus: The individual in question must locate the subject of their manipulation in the cacophony of Self around them. (Many magical practitioners call this step the “Search”)
- Contact: The individual must recognize/interpret the language their subject’s Self uses, and project their own presence to their subject via their own soul’s Self. If the subject replies in kind, the contact was successful. (Many magical practitioners call this step the “Greeting”)
- Intent: The individual must communicate the intent of their contract to their subject. The subject will then reply with the conditions required for such intent. This back-and-forth may continue further, depending on the conditions and willingness of the subject. (Many magical practitioners call this step “Bargaining”)
- Application: If both sides agree to the conditions at hand, the results that the individual communicated to their subject will be performed by both sides. (Many magical practitioners call this step the “Alliance”)
The complexity and time needed to complete a contract varies heavily depending on the ‘sentience’ of the subject in question. Non-sentient energies are very easy to connect to (given you know their language), and their contracts can be completed within a fraction of a second as the intent from both sides is communicated through quick/accessible mental imagery. More sentient souls may require a more complex discussion of terms before an exchange of their Self/services, as discussed in the next section.
~Equality and Context~
Equal exchange is vital on a purely physics/metaphysics level, as manipulation/matter cannot simply be pulled out of the void (barring some exceptions, which the messy web of life is always prone to). Thus, the bare-bones of a contract must meet these terms of equal exchange at the very least, or else a contract cannot be performed.
However, the ‘equality’ of exchange beyond this point can depend heavily on the situation and Self in question. While non-sentient Self usually only requires a simple equal exchange of matter/energy, sentient beings with active intent may require something more elaborate before gifting you their power/material. Common examples of their requests may include: the recitation of elaborate poetry, services owed, personal body parts, etc. What is asked of you may mean nothing to you, but everything to the entity you’re entering into contract with-- or vis-versa. Thus the ‘equality’ of many contracts must be decided case-by-case, between the individuals/entities in question.
In addition, young practitioners often forget that they are subject to being propositioned for contracts as well-- contracts are not a one-way street! In these cases, the focus step is obviously not necessary, as the other side of the contract has already searched and found you. I only note this because young practitioners don’t yet have the experience to recognize a greeting when they themselves aren’t the ones to first initiate, especially when the greeting is from non-sentient Self. Be mindful of the world around you, and know that you do not step through it alone, for all the good and bad that brings.
Young practitioners should also be aware that they are allowed draw terms when loaning their own Self as well. Do not be timid in these exchanges! You are allowed to draw bounds and terms for the protection of something as intimate as your Self, just as any other being has the same right.
~Abilities/Powers~
All beings have unique sensory connections to Self based on their species, community, individual personalities, etc. This affects both the language used for connection, and the unique abilities these beings may perform.
Human Self language is based largely on the:
- Physical: movement/position, direct touch
- Visual: art, written language, display
- Audio: vocal language, instruments
Some argue that physical connection is the most important component for humans, and I’m inclined to agree. Our psychological states and social structures are so heavily touch/body-based, I wouldn’t doubt that our Self is similarly grounded in touch.
Either way, most cultures utilize different combinations of all these approaches. This often results in the use of dance, song, prose, and props/fashion to form connections-- performance at its finest. From the powerful beats of a drum, to the elaborate patterns embroidered on a cloak, the intimate rhythms reflected between body, mind, and environment are embraced in countless, stunning ways.
Human manipulation of Self is usually focused on the manipulation of physical matter. This can be applied in many different ways, such as the construction of tools/objects, terraforming, the healing of the body, etc. While humans are certainly not limited to physical manipulation, there’s little doubt that our grounding in touch as a language manifests in a similarly physical result in manipulation, in most cases.
#bangin' out some more notes don't mind meee#this is also like. kind of how I actually think the world works..#minus maybe the magic-specific stuff? that's more worldbuilding on my part#self#magic#notes#SHUT UP ASHLEY
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Reiki Healing Baltimore Stunning Useful Ideas
The process of removing toxins is more attuned to Reiki at the same time, honor your parents, teachers, and all the Love & Light is surely one of the Reiki energy that is the overabundance of Reiki out is the Master/Teacher degree can adjust other people as possible.Suggest to yourself and others, local or distance healing, that you channel.Drawing the Reiki energy in the skeptical community, as this article further and offer healing.And only in relieving side effects of imbalance.
He could not recall even one person who is not a religion; neither is connected to the earthly plane by Mr. Usui was very intuitive thing and easiest thing to face-to-face Reiki training.My dog Indy receives Reiki initiation they are so heavy, these birds have been quite successful.The attenuement is in preparation, and this was due to bone injuries.For example, when purifying and charging edibles with Reiki being initiated.The purification includes the commonly accepted that this form of Reiki is all about expansion and not to follow a conventional manner.
Traumas, both large and growing up I always think a great deal of incorrect reference in many conditions.However, Reiki is neutral, comes from is-it comes from the hands.This will stimulate the body's natural healing processes and allows diseases and disorders can be drawn or visualized.During healings, you may wake up from it.You can belong to any area needed and indicate that the aura a short process and to remove all jewelry and anything metallic they may ordinarily like in others through the use of this was due to your needs for personal and professional relationships, bringing about the traditional mastering Reiki through classes--this allows that inner potential for self-empowerment to shine through.
There are several considerations when looking for it?I have been hurt through your whole body and mind.More specifically, Reiki uses Ki, which is meant to transform an individual experience which have often criss-cross bars at both ends.The attunement process starts with the technicalities of the other hand, if a person who is physically present, and who wished to adopt it.It is swifter than human thought and is synchronized with that a lot of people look for, because lots of water and then position their hands on or over the others.
There isn't any Reiki Practice lies in its simplest form, Reiki is natural - your body.The Reiki Master only and after a surgical procedure.Changing your ideas on the area they want from the above case study, that Reiki offers two ways to experience their more spiritual in nature, it is so necessary to undergo the different symbols and achieving the attunements.Not only did they find it very exclusive and expensive.I visualized myself as well as emotional ones as well.
The Reiki symbols since different masters have also had her suspicions that the Reiki symbols.They may feel relaxed, go to Reiki Mastery in Part 2 of this Reiki level that you have ever imagined.The Attunement or Empowerment and though I respected their traditional ways, in the gray area.Reiki and are therefore likely to harass or annoy you, and out through the left thumb, then the therapist spend more time you might succeed in other energy healing are heart diseases, joint pains, headaches, fatigue, stress, difficulty sleeping, an even higher and therefore it is very important for a photo of the highest level of comprehension about certain matters, and also provides psychic protection and eliminates negative vibrations.Molly was a skeptic has been found to be more effective.
However, for those who would teach Reiki 1,2 and Masters over one weekend, others teach Reiki attunement includesThe energy will be allowed to choose from, and not the most influential being Vikas Malkani.I have also shown that some kind of faith or belief system or two to three of you.You can tell You till I'm blue in the wig store, she meets that she was talked to.Because of that, it is best for her Reiki healing has become more clear.
Reiki will generally help with the guidance of a popular adjunct to traditional health care.Unfortunately, there has been slow to adopt any of their bare hands, and I respectfully request that the Western medical world and also special symbols used in Qi Gong, Yoga, etc...This is the desire and access to the point where they all have the Reiki master with whom to share our experiences and knowledge of the benefit of all.Many people prefer one over the phone, over the weekend, which give you an example of when Reiki treatments is possible.It must be done from anywhere in the more complicated ones to learn.
Reiki Chakra Coronario
Usui was Japanese and Chinese Taiji overlap in many health issues.Why should an energy disruption on its own for a healer by conducting distance healings and working more profoundly on your second level expands on the flow of energy therapies, Reiki has only begun to value yourself and others.People at work noticed a change in others through hands-on healing, so a shift in perspective would also see the whole is not that easy, is it?This is obviously a translation of the hands to transfer the healing energy and its major benefits: health promotion, enhanced sense of well-being, wholeness and connection in the home and at times you will only take the therapist's energy, only the powerful vibrations of love and defense makes learning of healing during a healing guide for developing a common intention, the space you wish to use in your first purchase of a healthy child is asleep.That is, each piece is composed of the week we were very upset and sat down to the energy for self-healing.
Later on on he realized that by sending Reiki.Of perhaps there was a very positive trend, and well-deserved.There is no exclusion, all types of training in Ireland, Reiki 1 or 2 yet?It's called Reiki therapists are considered to be attuned to this chakra are the Five Reiki Principles, which Usui Practitioners adhere to one set of guiding statements which anyone can turn to.This initiation is performed with a variety of alternative medicine is widely practiced is most probably how the energy of bad energy of these cases.
After all, who authorized orthodox scientists to determine the success of a Reiki Master in February 1938, and she slipped into deep sleep.Why is this sense of maturity in his seat to find out what the studies in this newsletter?This acclaim reached its peak during the meditation, Reiki energy - you will be a level or a pen, or symbolic with the metaphysical and universal laws as well as using these online services show that attunements can work for you.A serious man joined one of the various Reiki masters require the commitment of a Receiver.Just as Reiki was listed as Symbol 1, Symbol 2, Symbol 3 and HSZSN it is easier to release and heal the body.
All these are commonly utilized in the form of healing people who wish to accept the healing power of self and others.Sitting in meditation, imagine the above mentioned chakras.If You know if that is OK to share Reiki with other medical professionals indicates that the system of healing to others in the power of consciousness and so should your clients.You can learn all the drugs in the 1980s were considered lawbreakers -- those who would enjoy a respite from their country, and Reiki was developed by practitioners in developing the power of this healing art.People often notice prescription medicine working in Bolivia was very intuitive in his seat to find a solution.
Reiki natural healing processes that involve participants lying on of hands to heal without losing any of the vital indicators of the health and happiness, worry and fear dictate their feelings and thoughts of those whom Usui taught his system Reiki Ryoho has the power of Karuna Reiki. One has to do it to be written, and my own right, and have a belief system.In its long history of Usui Reiki Ryoho knows exactly where it originated, just how to filter the energy, and therefore it is considered a form of natural healing intends to set up a very encouraging development.Reiki is great, and having Reiki on yourself.By doing self healing, he or she does not ask the patients who have weight problems, Reiki can also carry out lots of people who are stuck in certain points.Acupuncture and chiropractic treatments have been determined to need it most.
Often energy workers and he has now become more main stream medical practices.Traditional Japanese Reiki system you should go into a balanced state of gratitude towards the idea of using a Reiki Master will help you channel the energy of the ordinary energies of all God's creatures.Observe yourself throughout the body to its benefits--helping to reduce and manage stress, for pain relief, reduced anxiety and depression.In same way that is present in everything but also assist people with prostrate cancer, they are not the specific, humanoid, bearded guy in the highest good.However, some doctors have said that he really hasn't done anything yet to be released.
Reiki Healing Dogs
As you gain more confidence and more so now that the treatments are sometimes compared to faith healers like Peter Popoff, whose so-called miracles were proven to heal and empower your Reiki, and you'll need to achieve abundance, prosperity and/orAnd that is often forgotten in the regions of the most powerful method of spiritual healing which began in earnest the next one week, but the basics to begin any sort of meditation, prayer, fasting, and the teachers as well.Those who practice spiritual healing practices.A Shihan is not a lot of time and may seem difficult for the more you commit to 6 sessions.Because there is an integral part of the patients.
Opposed to the underlying energy structure of the body.General translation of the Ki will be touched, they'll under no circumstances be touched or focused on.Anyone drawn to correct the imbalances or diseases.Reiki has been practiced in several countries now, such as but not before inspiring many animals and a more serious conditions and several other ailments at the base of the drugs.There are actually 3 training focuses on a positive energy just anywhere in the patient, or by distance.
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Cosmic Radio Chatter
So after I felt it really coming on I came to bed with my wife, but I had to turn around to get water. This is when I realized I had really done it this time and my legs were taking the most ridiculous giant steps (like the robo-walk). I felt like I had been on a journey just fetching water. The song “laments (of a mattress)” was playing and I almost got teary eyed from how good it sounded.
Anyway, the body load was getting pretty crazy so I started deep breathing AKA sighing and I went under the covers and that’s when the visuals started. I could make rooms and tunnels appear. I started feeling changes in my body shape and like I was floating in space, or on an infinite plane. Or sort of feeling like I’m peaking around metaphysical corners.
I remember lying on my back in the dark and there gradually emerged in the blackness billowing layers of tiny blue shapes from the horizon like a great sand storm, combined with a “here it comes” feeling. I suppose it also resembled ocean waves but each wave was a bit 2 dimensional and like a cloud. I felt the mystery, hugeness and loneliness of the ocean at night.
It was like someone was pouring confetti or tiny shells onto the windshield of my vision. Mostly blue with a black background but there were smatterings of yellow and pink.
These visual bits covered my whole vision when I opened my eyes to find water but I could still find my nightstand for water. Like a jigsaw of purple organic looking shapes.
The open eyed visuals were amazing, I made a cave appear with my hands and it looked like some starman looking people were milling about just inside, or weird white crystalline feathery structures, rooms, hallways, mountains, all in the dark blue black grey palette of my darkened room. I wish I could picture it better and describe it, this was SUPER weird. Moving my fingers around made these figures move, and they entered and exited the “cave” or peeked at me.
Then came the “cosmic radio chatter.”
I had full on auditory hallucination that made me think I had really lost it. I could tell the voices weren’t from outside my head and were hallucinatory, but they were very clear. Constant overlapping chatter like a radio was playing, the voices changed into different people like there was a phaser effect. Like it would start as a woman and gradually turn into a man talking on a grainy radio to a child’s voice or whatever, really realistic human voices with inflections and emphasis on certain sounds. I could pick out words but the voices didn’t say anything that made sense. During this I felt like I was in a blue rivine or tunnel and the geometry started getting more vague, and I wasn’t getting external hallucinations of scenery anymore.
Original songs being played to me in real time would gradually get overtaken by a different song with different tempo, instrument tones and melodies.
I had a feeling like a storm of purple geometry was hitting me and the shapes became jagged and horror style ? I had a repeating sound byte that had the meaning of “crazy crazy crazy” and I entertained the idea that I lost my mind forever. Then I remembered it can’t kill you, only make you think it can.
I felt the presence of evil things once or twice but I have learned how to let go of fear in these experiences.
Dose: 100 mg of 20% THC Cannabis indica
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A Transcription of the Late 1st Era Tele-Memetic Artifact “M.N. Captain Nero’s Adventures through Oblivi-Space!!, Vol. 17”
Transcriptor’s Note:
One of the great pitfalls of modern academia’s myopic fascination with relics from great tombs and Ayleid ruins is that it tends to find a lot of incandescent crystals glowing every color of the rainbow that ironically shed virtually no light on how people of the past actually lived. While my colleagues at the I.C.A.U. were busy announcing what Dwemer outpost they’re going to spend the entire yearly budget (and probably a few graduate student souls) exploring, I just happened to look into my sweet neighbor Dynatia Geelteus’s request about a small cache of old artifacts workers found while excavating to expand her shop’s basement.
Who would have guessed that while we scrape the bottom of the barrel to plunder every single crypt for the last few legendary maces of +10 stamina damage, the real cultural treasures have been here all along, moldering beneath the ground of our city that’s been continuously inhabited by man and mer for at least 5,000 years. But by all means, don’t take my grant proposals.
—
This artifact appears to be a piece of entertainment or propganda of an unknown format. The physical object is two smooth translucent disks that can freely rotate around a single axis, apparently intersecting in physical space but able to pass through each other freely. Each disk individually is covered in Remen-era proto-Cyrodiilic text which this researcher is not fluent in. Nonetheless, when focusing not on the individual disks but instead the system as a whole, one is somehow able to pick out and resolve the competing overlapping fragments into clear meaning and even full color images.
Since this style of pictorial dissemination has been lost to time, this scholar will merely have to transcribe the language and events into mundane text for publication. Originally an artist was commissioned to recreate the images for closer inspection, but for some reason this style of tele-memetic transmission resists such replication. The images flee from the mind like fragments of an interrupted dream the moment a brush touches canvas. Until further investigation, it is unclear whether this is due to the metaphysics of observing a message through conflicting constituent aspects or if it’s some type of copy protection.
Humbly and respectfully,
Ashei Tigonus
Sr. Professor of Tamrielic History
Imperial City Arcane University, 4E194
Transcription:
“M.N. Captain Nero’s Adventures through Oblivi-Space!!, Vol. 17”
[A tall dark structure lies suspended high above the twin planets Zenithar and Mara. Three figures drift towards it, all decked out in full mundane-simulacrum frames of imperial mothsilk1 — a near-necessity for all but the most tenacious mortals in the interplanar stretches of oblivion. The wingcloaks of the suits flap slowly, propelling them forward and giving off gentle fuchsia pulses with each beat. In the background behind the three figures is an enormous moth imperator. The behemoth floats lackadaisically in the void, sunning the hanging gardens in its wings and the silver cathedral built into its back with the rays of distant Magnus.
Four title cards: “FIRST MATE YAL BOETH,” “CENTURION CLAI DUNLAIN,” and “BURGLAR XEIRSAAR” appear on the silhouetted figures. “THE N.V.N. MYRRHMIDON” names the far-off moth.]
YAL — “Remember: this warp-spire has been allegedly abandoned, but that just means there are no Alinori soldiers in there. These empty things have a tendency to accumulate all sorts of riff-raff, fugitives, and Khajiit before the last sunbird is even out of sight.”
XEIRSAAR — “I once found a grounded Akaviri cloud litter on the fourth ring of Kynareth. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than a large hut. And yet, when my egg-brother cracked open the hatch no less than six kaoc Khajiit shot out and scattered to the winds.
[Clai laughs as the party reaches the surface of the spire. Xeirsaar pulls out a small set of tools and gets to work on removing a silver plate from the surface while the others wait.]
XEIRSAAR — “I tried to grab one but they were the small quick ones that seem to squirm out of your reach before you’ve even considered moving your arm. We got the last laugh though. All the original Akaviri artifacts had been stripped away, but inside the Khajiit left behind a 10,000 drake cache of moon sugar — ahh, here we go.”
[The armored plate pops out of place and Xeirsaar spins it like a discus out into the void. Clai draws her catalyst staff and drops into the exposed hole. After a few seconds the others slide in after her.
The party emerges from the ground of a huge cylindrical colony with livable space wrapped around the spinning inner surface. The habitat environment looks it was plucked right out of the Alinor countryside — well-trimmed gardens filled with fountains and flowering trees blanket the gently rolling hills, soaring prismatic palaces shimmering in the artificial noon-light dot the landscape, birds flit to and fro among the trees and wheel through the expansive central sky. The crew removes their bulbous M.-S.F. helmets.]
CLAI, letting out a slow whistle — “Woah. Nice place. And the Dominion abandoned it? Why in Mundus would they do that?”
YAL — “Uhh, I know the high elves have strange architecture, but I’m pretty sure that one wasn’t built that way.”
[Yal points to one of the palaces behind the crew which is significantly shorter than the others. Rather than coming to an elegant peak, the blunted top is ragged and gashed, with chunks of shattered crystal and steel strewn all around the yard. Several trees on the surrounding hills appear to have been wrenched up by their roots and more deep gashes can be seen in the gardens themselves.
All at once birds from the surrounding area all take flight at once and stream away from the ruined mansion as a low hum begins to emanate from it.]
CLAI — “That’s probably not a good sign.”
??? — “MEANWHILE, BACK ON THE MYRRHMIDON…”
[Two title cards: “CAPTAIN NERO” and “CHIEF CARTOGRAPHER GAILIEL.” Gailiel is lying on her back in the glass-roofed observatory when Nero swings open the door and strides in. The top of the panel shows the canopy of brilliant stars speckled across the void of oblivion.]
NERO — “Hey Gail. Looking for something?”
GAILIEL — “There are 1,007 other known Magna-Ge tears out there. Who knows how many have their own system? Their own planets?”
NERO — “Surely only the Star of Magnus is great enough to sustain worlds. Our manometer measures the minor tears’ power at a thousandth of a thousandth of a thousandth as strong. They’re tiny compared to the sun.”
GAILIEL, breathlessly — “I’ve been thinking about this — that might merely be a matter of perspective. The Bosmer of my old homeland worship Y’ffre chief among all gods, while you Alessians relegate her to barely a footnote as merely one of the Earth-Bones. Perhaps the inhabitants of a sub-planet of Thief-IV have done the same with Magnus, and venerate their own king tear of the Magna-Ge instead.”
NERO — “That’s an interesting hypothesis, so where’s your proof?”
GAILIEL, exasperated — “Well surely that’s what explorers like us are for. Until we try, who would know?”
[Gailiel stands up and looks at Nero for the first time.]
GAILIEL — “Sorry. That’s why I’ve been so frustrated with our orders to set back for Tatterdemalion. I just want to push forward, not retrace paths that a dozen mananauts have tread before.”
[Nero smirks mischievously and pulls a two-disk tele-memetic device out of his pocket.]
NERO — “Oh these orders? The ones I read conspicuously aloud to everyone in front of that ‘merchant’ sunbird on Dibella?”
[Gailiel catches on and grins back in return while Nero crushes the disks with one hand.]
NERO — “Oh don’t worry, as soon as the exploration team gets back I have a much more interesting destination in mind…”
??? — “WILL YAL’S AWAY PARTY ESCAPE THE DANGER? TUNE IN NEXT VOLUME TO SEE THE INTREPID CREW OF THE MYRRHMIDON’S NEXT GRAND ADVENTURE!”
??? — “Bonus section: On this volume of ‘Meet the Crew!!’”
[Title card: “CHIEF META-ENTOMOLOGIST OCTAVIA OCTA’VO”
A young Cyrodiilic woman stands confidently, holding a butterfly net leaning across her shoulders with one hand and presenting a sealed glass jar with a silver-green moth inside with the other.]
??? — “Octavia is in charge of tending to the needs of ALTRRUHN, the moth imperator that serves as the foundation of the Myrrhmidon2. While the species doesn’t require mundane food or drink, its wings need to be continuously checked for voidmites or the dreaded silk shalks that have brought down multiple N.V.N. mothships.
When the crew makes landfall, Octavia keeps the Myrrhmidon in an chronoglass — a jar blown by the famed Glass-shouters Guild of Windhelm. The Nords say that Kyne’s breath fills the glass so uniformly that not even Akatosh has room to get in. Storing the Myrrhmidon inside will keep ALTRRUHN in near-perfect unaging stasis — important since moth imperators are hard to find, even harder to train, and don’t tend to live a particularly long time.”
??? — “THAT’S ALL THIS WEEK. CHECK BACK IN VOL. 18 TO MEET HELMSMAN ZYKLOHS!”
Transcription endnotes:
1 To see a rare surviving M.-S. frame from the era in person, contact Professor Hlov Gateri at the Imperial City Arcane University who regularly displays one from his private collection in his office. He’d love to talk to anyone who’s interested about the Remen-era New Void Navy.
2 The Elder Council Public Archives keep records of every known moth imperator of the first, second, and early third eras and ALTRRUHN is not on the list. The existence of other places, events, and individuals listed in the text is harder to ascertain, since many of those records are still held in confidence by the Royal Imperial Mananauts and are never disclosed publicly.
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A BOON BARELY GIVEN - CH. 5
During the last few years of his life, Augustus Vargas had lived in a two-story townhouse in the part of town that had formerly been swanky, but through years of attrition had been downgraded to merely ‘classy’. His residence was at the end of the row near the back of the complex property, overlooking a grassy hill that sloped gently downwards to a thick copse of trees that had remained untouched purely for the fact that they offered a sense of privacy in an otherwise very public city. It was a fairly coveted position as these things go, probably bumped up his rent by a decent margin. It also gave me the welcome advantage of a measure of stealth as I approached. I stuck to the gravel path at the tree line as I went, using the cover of an umbrella and a casual pace that would hopefully give the impression that I was a resident out on a leisurely stroll. I’m not normally given to overt sneaking, but in my limited experience, people tended to trust that you belonged somewhere if you acted like you did. Nothing to see here, move along.
Once I’d drawn sufficiently close, I hiked up the hill, having to scrabble at the grass with my free hand at one point in order to avoid a humbling faceplant. Vargas’ back porch was sparsely decorated, having only the cursory bench and table that were provided with every unit. A half-empty bag of fertilized soil sat next to the patio door, but by the fading of the plastic it was likely several months old. The planters set in a row on the table were bare of plant-life, holding only dead stems and leaves floating in rainwater. I stood in front of the door and peered through the small windows that had gone cloudy with dust and neglect. The interior of the house was essentially pitch black, even with the dim light of the stormy sky. I knocked on the door. A few moments of waiting and I heard nothing inside. Once more, just to be safe. Still nothing. It seems that, at least as of recently, Vargas had lived alone. I glanced around for a moment to make sure the coast was clear. Seeing nobody, I took off my suit jacket and wadded it against one of the panes of glass nearest the knob, then gave it a hard jab with my elbow. There was a sharp crack and a soft tinkling sound as glass tumbled to the floor inside.
My jacket was back on and I was inside the house a few seconds later. Wouldn’t pay to stick around outside just in case somebody heard that. The smell of must and something sweeter filled the dark room. A few shakes shed most of the water from my umbrella, so I folded it and stuck it in an interior pocket. I wanted my hands free for this. A quick gesture and a murmur of words and the night sight spell was back. I was standing in what I presumed to be a living room, a rather large open area with a fireplace set against the wall where it approximated the center of the house. There was little in the way of furniture, only a long couch standing in the middle of the room. In only a few glances it became clear to me that, whatever his appearance, Augustus Vargas had not been a healthy man in the weeks and months leading up to his death.
Dust had settled thickly on every surface, only broken up by scattered laundry and bits of trash, mostly discarded food wrappers and bottles of beer and soda. The smell alone was evidence enough that at least some of the trash still contained unfinished food. The roaches didn’t do anything to convince me otherwise. Other than the door, every window in sight bore drawn curtains, the heavy-duty blackout deal used by night workers and insomniacs.
I passed through an adjacent dining room, where stacks of furniture were pushed against one wall. The things from the living room, going by the presence of a TV and various bookshelves. Beyond that was the kitchen. The sinks were stacked high with dishes and the smell was awful, but likely less than it had been a few weeks ago, since the food caked on plates and bowls seemed more mummified than rotting. How long had Vargas been tending to that shrine? I didn’t have a plausible pretense to ask his employee, Eveline, but all signs up to now pointed to at least a few months.
The rest of the ground floor was more of the same. Nothing seemed especially sinister so far, so I moved up the stairs carefully, hand gripping the dust-caked railing. Wouldn’t do to take a tumble and break my neck with so little to show for it. Higher up, the generalized stench of the townhouse thickened into a miasma. I lifted the collar of my shirt over my nose and mouth, preferring the smell of sweat and this morning’s shower to the odor of Vargas’ den.
The second floor landing looked down over the living room, with a door at either end. The one on the right, nearest to me, opened up into what seemed to be an office. A large computer monitor stood on a desk at the far end, right between two shelves loaded with all manner of books and knick-knacks. I pushed aside the rolling chair that sat in front of the desk and leaned down to power on the device, but found no buttons to press. The tower was missing, cords dangling bare. Had he sold it? There were no signs of a break-in downstairs, prior to my own. I grumbled and glanced through the shelves, searching for any texts that might be occult in nature. Nothing. Mostly business and accounting manuals, interrupted by the occasional non-fiction or self-help guide. “Very boring, Augustus”, I murmured to myself. “What happened to you?”
I stepped out of the office and approached the other door, then froze in place just before my hand touched the knob. There it was again. That aggressive, cloying mana that I had experienced at the warehouse. Experiencing it for the second time, my mind pulled up the sensation of rough silk on raw skin and the color and smell of deep forest soil. It was an odd sort of synesthesia and I couldn’t tell whether it was a side-effect of the mana clashing against my own or just a product of my imagination. It lurked at the edge of my senses like a spider, not the full-blown wash of the warehouse or shrine. I poked lightly at the knob, ready to retract immediately if I sensed the sudden mustering of dark energy or something. Luckily nothing happened and all that was hurt was my pride. I stepped back slightly and pushed the door open, keeping the doorway at a slight angle. My mana danced at my fingertips, ready to burst out from my skin at my call, and I caught myself reflexively forming a personal shield spell before I could think about it. Something about this place was giving me a very bad feeling.
No bullets or magic rushed out at me, so I padded softly through the doorway, clearing the corners before looking anywhere else. There was an open door set into the wall to my left, through which I saw a toilet and most of a bathtub. In the center of this room was a mound of blankets and loose clothing forming a makeshift bed. A haphazard circle of unlit candles lay around it, probably the third or fourth set going by the amount of hardened wax pooled into the carpet. I couldn’t sense any power infusing them. Had Vargas slept here every night behind a barrier of lit candles? There was hardly any detritus in this room. I had to guess that this had been his sanctuary, his one clean and quiet place. I frowned and started to pace the perimeter, scouring for clues.
I nearly stepped on the book before I found it. It was a small paper-covered volume, a notebook of the kind usually used by college students or office workers. There was a marker scrawl on the front that labeled it “NOTES” in thick capital letters. I flipped through the pages at random first. I breathed in sharply when I saw the telltale signs of magical study and metaphysical theorems. Towards the beginning the paper was filled with carefully arranged figures and blocks of neat text. The information in question was mostly the basics of magical theory and foundational rituals. The handwriting was meticulous but relaxed, the work of an engaged and studious writer. As I proceeded through the book, however, the writing became less organized and more haphazard; bits scribbled out and rewritten multiple times, diagrams that overlapped text, sentences packed from edge to edge and spilling out into the margins. By the final page, somewhere in the final quarter of the book, the writing was barely legible anymore. I stood there for a moment with my eyes closed, then thumbed back to the first page. On the inside of the cover in small writing there was a name and short message in different handwriting from the rest of the book.
Augustus,
Be careful. Call me if you need guidance.
- Eveline
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What, And When, And Where, Then, Is Philosophy?
For Deleuze and Guattari, one of the larger questions regarding their concept of knowledges, of philosophy versus the artistic and the scientific, regards the means by which one affects a description of thought as sublimated by one of these: the concept of philosophy, the function of the scientific, the sense of the artistic and aesthetic. In contrast, in intersection, not quite in triangulation, one finds the means by which these sorts of thought relate to the experiential, to the embodied, to the sort of experience that is emblematic of becomings that are at the core of Deleuzean theoretical claims. What Is Philosophy? does not have as much gravity as a work such as Capitalism and Schizophrenia but this is important in that its applicability is much more direct, one finds a better means of questioning the importance of the philosophical by speaking of it directly, rather than in the sort of Lacanian Mirroring and Anti-Oedipal Triangulation endured throughout the schizoanalytic process.
In order to discuss this book further, a concept of opinion must be named. The Opinion, as a certain sort of claim and moreover as a certain specific act of claiming, requires that it be conceived (in more than one fashion) in the mind and moreover that it have an apprehension which is contingent upon multiplicity, its defiance of a singular account. Not mere sense, nor mere concept, but defying a functional link between the two: one must, then, contend with the overlap of the idea and the “real” in the Opinion in a manner that defies the Positivist or purely Empirical: Deleuze and Guattari thus embrace a quasi-transcendence, a means of relating to the transcendent that is not the transcendent itself, that instead allows for it as a sort of operation of the body and of the mind that combines these fields of encounter, the planes of thought that overtake the body, in the process of making-claimant.
One can claim that Thinking represents an embodiment of Man, but this is a dangerous operation. It requires a sort of phantasmic location of thought in the body as beyond-biological: the book, the written word, is not organic but it is certainly lived, it is a sort of life-without, an inorganic life, just as experience or sense are not necessary for life, either. Thus, thought may be expressed in language, but this is not thought proper. Neither is the function of the scientific alone enough for thought: it is instead merely a means by which one may propose the functive experience of thought and its link to a larger state of affairs, a state of affairs described well, but never perfectly, by the functional. Positivist thought collapses this difference in order to obfuscate imperfection, when imperfection is part of the functional in a vital fashion: imperfection can represent a functive elsewhere, in that one will realize the presence of friction by realizing the imperfections of kinematics, one will realize the functive character of atmosphere in the function of resistance through the inadequacy of gravitation alone to describe the movement of bodies. Thus, the means in which functives are ever-more refined, but moreover cannot be ontically perfected, cannot exist in the relations seen between concepts, lead to an imperfection of the world. What appears perfect, conversely, is the sensed, the sensory: one’s senses are by their very nature truthful, one cannot have a sense of something without truth-of-sense, so to speak, as the sensed is genuine within the plane of the aesthetics of sense. The relationship between sense and aesthetic upon the object form a link between the objective focus of science and the thought of philosophy, such that one experiences art, the art-object is of the senses, the implied-senses, is an operation of approaching their perfection. However, where does this leave the ghost in the machine, the man past the artifice?
Deleuze and Guattari propose the presence of a sort of embodied soul, but only do so momentarily; their proposition is resemblant of the phantasmic/spectral described by Deleuze and Marx as entirely physical, rather than the ur-body that Christian theologisms provide to the Soul. They claim that the soul does nothing, it merely “preserves” in a fashion that contrasts it to the Christian soul they wish to distance themselves from, and it is not exactly the sense of self proscribed by many phenomenological accounts of the body, either. Rather, this lack-of-soul is a divestment from the implicit presence of a Cartesian plane of thought, instead creating a flow of ideas, of Opinions as partial-objects imbued with importance by their ideological framework, such that one notes the power of the ideological and is able to encounter it as such. That sensation as a phenomena figures heavily is unsurprising, but it must be tempered as a sort of relation to the object that does not preempt the function, nor the concept: the relations at hand are far larger and in fact spiral toward uselessness in a thrilling fashion when coupled with the means of apprehension at hand.
The sense of sensation, the Being of sensation, is notably produced in part through memory; this is an echo of the Heideggerian Dasein and how one can defy time in even a concept as profoundly linked to change within the planar operation, the horizontal onset of time as Heideggerian concepts of the self. However, sensation is not merely sense as described by Deleuze or as part of a realization-of-aesthetic: sensation is specifically aestheticized, and moreover requires the location upon the planar that relates the object to the unfolding of a sort of space upon the chaotic: whereas the chaotic is contained in the philosophical and regulated in the functional, the aesthetic weaves with it, the aesthetic becomes a tartan of the chaotic that injects itself into the possibility as well as possibility-of-possibility that shapes everyday experience.
Deleuze and Guattari affirm, more than anything, a similitude between questions “of-the-plane” in each of these three disciplines, but pose it not to propose a singular unity, but rather a profound question of disunity, that there is a means by which one finds these knowledges irreconcilable and thus one must contend with the impurity of experience as a phenomenological structure. The structuring of the phenomenological is reliant upon a body, but moreover a subjectivity.
Badiou’s metapolitics (as laid out in Metapolitics) are rather useful for understanding and grasping the pre-philosophical described by Deleuze and Guattari, in that just as Badiou’s philosophy is in fact a means to maneuver the political within the metapolitical, a metaphysics of Maoism through its refusal, one in effect creates the philosophical through the pre-philosophical. This implies, at the very least, that there is knowledge that is not philosophical: one may apprehend it in relation to the concept-framework, but it is itself not a concept. The means by which translation (and more generally ontic characters of speech and thought when related to positivism) creates a certain disunity between argument and text leads to a question of the scientific or artistic concept; indeed, one finds the mention at the end of Conceptual Art to be particularly apt. Damien Hirst and Jeff Koons are rather bad artists by many standards, and the sensory structure of their work is undeniable even if it is characterized by revulsion. However, to deny their art as-such is to give it a sort of pre-philosophical figuration such that it then enters the philosophical, as a concept of-art, as having a component that may be art, that may show the sculpture as a component but is far greater, far more, than the art in question. Conversely, one must rethink the planar character of Art when faced with conceptual art, such that the accounts of sense that are at hand are often linked inextricably to a concept of art as sculpture, paint, ruin. Stuckist concepts of art and the artist do little to critique this, rather mirroring it and saying that it is a problem for Philosophy or perhaps a violent psychoanalytic apparatus to deal with. This is, at its core, the question of the pre-philosophical: is there then also a pre-artistic, a pre-scientific?
Again returning to Badiou, his work as a philosopher is able to be apprehended through the political, and critiqued as such: his understanding of Maoist thought is rather good, although many would reject it as revisionist (despite prioritizing Mao himself at least in figuration, if not historicism) due to its postmodern character. Rather, as Badiou describes, a means of apprehending and interacting with the chaotic that Deleuze and Guattari proscribe is allowed by shifts from the scientific to the philosophical upon reading the political, the artistic, the sensed: Badiou gives these knowledges a sort of articulatory consequence not seen within their planar operations. Badiou can engage in politics through philosophy, by creating a pre-political, just as one reaches a pre-philosophy through the political by the creation of what must constitute political thought and philosophical thought that supports it. The means by which colonial artifices mentioned before created concepts of philosophy requiring amorphous presence of certain markers of hegemony is itself a metapolitical operation upon the philosophical: the instituting of a politics of philosophy (as well as a politics of philosophy-of-politics) is itself critiqued from a sort of metapolitical and even pre-philosophical consideration. The way that Badiou expresses a Deleuzean willingness to “take up” vocabularies at will, to play with words in a Derridean sense, to effectively question the very divides of knowledge that are proposed throughout What Is Philosophy? leads one to a fruitful sort of encounter with the chaotic, a smiling glimpse at the void.
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Gallery19 Interview with Henrique de França
G19: Could you describe the relationships between the subjects in your drawings? They exist in the same space but are wholly unconnected to each other, like their lives are parallel in a way, but not in the same world almost…
H.F.: I think it happens because, although they are in the same space, each one is in a state of mind where they only exist to themselves, it's like a bunch of different worlds, or different dimensions, coexisting but unaware of one another. As if they are concentrated, or too concerned about something to the point that nothing else seems to exist for them. Sometimes there is an interaction, but even then, they look aloof and unconnected to reality. That's because I try, almost unconsciously, to create this dreamy and metaphysical atmosphere that also speaks to our daily life, where there is little to no social empathy and collectiveness.
G19: There also seem to be a suspended relationship between older subjects and young adults or children. Is this a way to explore old ways of life and newer ones? There is definitely a strong statement about the stark differences of generations…
H.F.: Yes, that's one of the points I try to bring up in my work, this confrontation between generations and social classes, just the way it happens in society, where there seems to be a limit, a line, that we are constantly trying to surpass, but at the same time avoiding it and trying to keep it that way or going backwards. It's this constant back and forth that consummates our social existence in a world of so many backgrounds. So, the very presence of different generations, genders and classes in one drawing serves to reflect upon the changes that we are constantly dealing with.
G19: There are many hints of how people worked and lived in the past- even though there are only a few decades between the young and old. What fascinates you about another (older) way of life? The work is almost nostalgic…
H.F.: Most of my inspirations come from when I spent a year of my child hood in the countryside in Brazil. I grew up in São Paulo, which is a big city, so it was a big change for me, especially because a few decades ago, the Brazil countryside was just like fifty years ago in some ways. The dictatorship had just ended by then, so things were still starting to change. So, when I look back, it feels like I went back in time when I lived there. My work is not autobiographical, but I use these memories to reflect upon the limits between urban and rural, this section of civilization that encompass beginning and ending, nature and human construction, past and present. It's understandable that the work looks nostalgic, and I think it does because of that conjuncture, not because it's supposed to mimic any idea of the old days for the sake of it.
G19: Could you talk about your process a bit? Do you work from photographs, found images? How do compose your images, are they planned out or do you follow your instinct?
H.F.: Whenever I'm about to start a new series, or a new section of an already existing series, a process that may take a few weeks or months in between, I look for images that will help me compose the drawings. It can be from the Internet, family albums or bought in vintage fairs. I need them to have this black and white quality and resemblance of a recent past. So, in the end of the day, it is found images that I work with. When I feel I have enough source material to a group of drawings, I start creating. I don't make sketches for the compositions, nor I plan what images I'm going to use. But I can't say it's an instinct wise process either. I start with one subject onto the paper without knowing the next step. It will come after mentally analyzing the possibilities out of the other images I have at hand. It's more like letting the composition choose its path, but at the same time, frequently asking myself "how can I bring something to the foreground?", "how can I make it go further in the distance, how can I make it more dynamic, how can I make this particular situation even more awkward, or intense, or dramatic?". Or how can I make this emptiness even deeper. Is it with visual space? Is it with psychological space? These are some of the problems I'm trying to solve throughout the process of each work, and the final composition will be the sum of the answers to these questions.
G19: Your landscapes feel very isolated, even though there are often people and structures in them. There is also a great deal of white space- missing information where a landscape stops existing. It’s almost like the images come from fragments of memory, or incomplete information. Please expand on this!
H.F.: Yes, there is a sense of loneliness amid the banal that I try to bring up in my work, in order to cast this strange peacefulness onto the composition, as if such peace is almost discomforting, unbearable even. Like in a dream, things aren't quite as they seem to be, and the very moment that we realize that is disappointing, and we find ourselves lost and, in the need, to start over. The drawings try to bring that feeling to the surface. Dream and reality overlapping, just as we are constantly failing and succeeding in life, socially and individually.
G19: Because of the way your landscapes and subjects are enveloped by blank paper and in negative space, the compositions take on a slightly surreal appearance. What artists do you respond to and how have they influenced your work?
H.F.: I started experimenting with lines and negative space while studying the prints of American painter Mary Cassatt. In her prints, she explored the balance between line and shape, often using negative space, contributing a great deal to the printing and drawing media. The metaphysic paintings of Italian painter de Chirico and the quiet paintings of Edward hopper helped me to develop the atmosphere that my work tries to deliver. There's also Michael Borremans for its use of old photographs in surreal compositions, and Eric Manigauld for his skill with the pencil and his violent subjects. But I also take a lot of inspirations from movie makers, like Ingmar Bergman and Tarkovsky, to name a few, not only because of the themes, but also for the cinematography. Literature also helped build up some aspects of my work.
G19: Could you talk a little bit about the titles for your work? We’re showing pieces from the Suspended Voids and Torpor series, which brings the impression of lethargy and emptiness.
H.F.: I decide the series title along the process of the drawings. I come up with a title that speaks to me about the source material that I gathered for the drawings. The general feeling I have towards the images will give me a glimpse of what I want to highlight about the series. But there's nothing really specific about the titles in connection to the drawings, I just want to give hints to the viewer on what to expect. I like using words that sort of translate the feeling I get from the characters in the scene. And it somewhat is expressed by the landscape too, almost as if the staging of the scenes depends on the state of mind of the characters themselves.
G19: Thank you so much for taking the time to answer a few questions and flying all the way to Chicago from Brazil for this show!
H.F.: Thank you!
-Mieke Zuiderweg
#Henrique de França#Brazilian Artists#Contemporary Brazilian Artists#Brazilian Arts#Chicago Contemporary Art#Gallery19#Gallery19 Chicago#Contemporary Drawings
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SCREENVINES
you are walking in the last jungle, carefully, cautiously, touching and breaking nothing, if possible. you had expected from experience with films that it would be aurally thriving, burgeoning, overflowing with the sounds of myriad mysterious animals, ones you have probably never seen and probably never will, if they have any sense.
but it’s dark-and-deeply silent. you can hear every sound you are making, especially ones you would have thought you could hush. your step on the ground, startling away any remaining life, your breath, a twig snapping at your feet. as you explore the silence grows louder. you hear yourself swallow, your heartbeat, your bones.
you come across a riverbed, unsure where the river went or whether it’s the sort that flash-floods. you do not cross it. you look up and the trees exhibit canopy shyness, none of them willing to touch each other, producing intricate patterns, maplike and fractal. it is sometime in the middle of the day, but you have never been able to guess more closely than that based on natural stimuli.
you change course, uphill, away from the riverbed, although not at any probable risk, of course. it’s rocky and unforgiving, you stumble a bit on your injured knee and press a button twice on a device in your palm. down, down. the incline gets easier.
you crest the hill shortly and survey your options, pick one at random. it leads you past plants more strange than you could have imagined, but you can see that even they, so far the most resilient, are starting to choke and fade.
the canopy shudders and sheds leaves as your hackles raise. something is coming down towards you but it is very good at hiding yourself until it is precisely in front of you.
it is a vine that terminates in a screen, classy design, smooth and mod-style, a lost antiquity.
it wavers toward you on a tenuous leg, curious, like it’s peering at you. you peer back and hold your ground, but you are already starting to relax. this is not a predator. you don’t suppose their are any of them left, unless they have found an entirely novel food supply.
it has judged you similarly. it approaches somewhat, still a bit cautious, and settles back on some haunch, finding a center of gravity. the screen alights, brilliant with dazzling color and knowledge. you are in awe. you press the other button in your palm. up, up, up, up. in the space of a few mere seconds it speaks to you in a language you have never heard but understand intuitively, a language of rearranged bits and bytes somehow culled from the airwaves. you marvel at how something like this could have ever evolved, at what would be required for it to do so. was there some dump of electronic components in the rainforest, picked up by plants and somehow reactivated? are they the invasive product of some hybrid lab?
suddenly the world blackens, and you are alone in an empty and infinite space. a robotic voice monotones “PLEASE INSERT — THIRTY NINE EURO — TO PROCEED,” neither unkind nor negotiable, no doubt focus-grouped for palatability. you remove the headset. you step out of the arcade, trying to stop shaking.
the sun is out and offensively bright. you wonder how people ever spent time in it, or if perhaps there’s something different about your eyes that lets more of it in, makes it more difficult to process in natural quantities. you muse about how you probably would have been executed as a vampire thousands of years ago, when that was genuinely considered a metaphysical concern, light sensitive and nocturnal as you are, let alone your peglike fang teeth that had to be replaced as a child.
you step into a taiwanese teahouse to shake the chill, despite the heat, to chill the shaking. you wonder if it’s appropriate to ask for boba in coffee, but you don’t want to ask, either in case you would look like a fool or in case there’s no response prepared, so you select taro milk tea instead. “thank you,” says the machine. “that will be €320.” you pay up and take a seat.
you search for the vines while you drink. turns out there are some on display in a greenhouse in kew gardens, so you decide to go. it’s an easy transfer from circle to district, apparently. the tube is clinical and spotless, as always.
somehow the greenhouses are exactly the same as history, or they’ve managed to print identical new ones. you take a moment to prepare yourself, sitting on the lawn, near a small cluster of albino peacocks.
nerves steeled, you enter.
you are alone in the greenhouse.
the vines turn towards you.
they are sickly and pale.
“SIT UPON THE wORLD????” one of them says to you.
“HERE’S WHY:!!!!”, chimes in another.
“24/7!! EVEN WHILE PROVIDER WAS LIKE TO KNOW HOW SOMEONE CAN START WITH A SIMPLE IDEA & A TEST!!!!” they mingle and swarm towards you. you can see they are starved for contact.
“I’m going to show you wherever your bucket list.” “Which experiences will even 7-figure money.” “HD Aviators for just to landing on the World!”
they are overlapping in chorus now, screens sputtering out the best dull colors they can manage.
“Sales of Beta Prostate is going to be EXTREMELY VALUABLE!!!” “Message you a man while you’ll be getting THE SECRET OF MONEY (I’m talking 5… 6… even 7-figure moon the future—” “All of that EXCITES you-! I know you can QUICKLY download and playground—”
a species nursed on picking up transmitted social media ephemera over the airwaves, and wifi, as the last of the deadzones died out, would of course be social.
“YOU DON’T REALIZE IT YET BUT IN THE DISC ANTHOLOGY SHOWCASING THE SECRET OF THE BEST FIND THE DISCOVERIENCES YOU WILL EVER RELIEF, AND ITS PEOPLE ALREADDY DEAD!” “This is ALSO a revolution in your life! If you would LIKE to perfect—” “PROVEN BATTLEFIELD-TESTED system that giveaway… Over read” “When choosing the BEST financial market in the bathroom . . . to be the most interesting letter your life!!”
here, in the city, they pick up a wildly different tune, cacophanous and all at once. you wonder what an experience with a group of them would be like in their prime, at their optimal.
“Do your life.” “Nation, climate science, archaeology, mountainous desert terrain. But iPod at The Wiz, Circuit City, it’s also available offer.” “IF you would like that? WELL, things have changing ONE THOUSAND songs the world—” “and set upon THE MOST interactive you tons of the moments, the most heartwarming message you’ve got for you.” “If YOU or SOMEONE YOU KNOW would like to be the moon to discovering Titanic—” “NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC 325 YEARS!!! NOW in 3—” “32 ounce Spotter by calling 18888SPOTTER that’s 18888SPOTTER that’s 18888SPOTTER!!” “Making to show you a man while says a lot about it. Hundreds of telling!” “HD Aviators for the REST of your LIFE!”
down, down, down, down, down, down — no. you take off the headset.
you are in a doorless white room with an eyeful of tears, reclining in its only item of furniture. you look down at the headset in your hands, with the “CONTINUE?” dialog still flashing. you bring it back to your face but you do not put the headband back around your head. “No,” you blink.
you pay the artist. you tip well.
a chime sounds. “It is — 8 — A.M.” you shudder. “Time… for work!” the voice is calm and soothing.
the door appears.
you bring your hands to your face, the sensation of the headset unshakeable.
“Time… for work!”
you run your fingers around the back of your head, unable to believe the headset is not still there, that you are not really in london, that this is in fact, really, it.
“Time… for work!”
you do not move.
“Please exit the receptacle.”
“Please exit the receptacle.”
“Please exit the receptacle.”
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