Tuesday, November 16, 2010

The Book of Sarah

Sarah reminded me that Annie was not born in Philadelphia. She was born in California. That's where the Shaky Hand Man incarnated. So why was it so important for him to come here? Were there not enough appetizing targets out there? I find that hard to believe. I am aware of what goes on. I see TMZ. I watch Entourage. What is it about our city that brought him here? The Pow Wow Woman says he's probably here to prevent a birth. He needs to get to us, among his other targets, because we're doing something to bring that birth about. So I am thinking... who are we helping? Who has been receiving the little blood kisses? Who drinks the 'elixir' filled vials? We each have our favorites. Am I assisting the woman who is to bear this child? The father who will provide for it? Some other interested party? And is it one of my clients? Maybe it is someone connected to Baylah, or Sarah, or Bob? It is a mystery. We must think. We must talk. What is it that the enemy desires? He hates progress. He hates progress of all kinds. He has targeted activists in the past, usually those who would be termed liberal or progressive and even those conservatives who believe in an equitable leveling of the playing field. I will think of it. I will find it. What would change if we were not here? Would he still devour (not him actually, but the dogs, or occasionally the rats) the random strumpet. I don't know. I do not think his heart is really in that. No, we are the meat upon his platter. The others are merely the potatoes or perhaps  those insipid little garnishes they drop onto the rims of over-sized plates in jumped-up, sit-down, fast-food restaurants. I know they killed a lot of vampires during the renaissance. The enemy tried everything back then to stop the reawakening. Nobel vampires were included in all the best after dark autos da fe. The flames showed up so much better then. And the anguished shrieks  seemed  to echo better in the still, night air. Imagine a twelve year old girl condemned to the stake. Me? Well, I do not have to imagine it. I witnessed it. And when I went after the greasy, hate-ridden, superstitious minded simpletons who implicated her I did so with relish. It was one of the few times I culled those not sent to me in visions. And I liked it. I enjoyed it. Their screams were as music. Their tortured cries a lark-song. Little cuts. Tiny bites. Trickles of acid. Nibbling rats. Hungry lepers. Rabid cats. The 'dance' went on throughout the night. And by the morn the wrong was right. And best of all, I did not have to do the clean up. My familiars took care of that.... I am not proud of such transgresions. But what is it they say? Everyone falls off the waggon now and then. Anyone can suffer a crisis of faith. ..... The Pow Wow Woman wants us all to quit the city for a time and retreat with her back to the deepest part of the dense, pine forests. She wants us to take part in a 'throwing of the bones,' a most potent Piney tool that reveals the future in all its countless, onion skin layers. I don't know. I think that we should go. A crisis of faith is one thing. But this is major unrepentent paganism...... Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

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