Glowien ~ (Valhalla, ch. 2)

chapter 1

~

 

Over dead and dying men, the Valkyries choose the battle slain. For Odin at the Ragnarok, end of time for gods & men. Heroes laid like battered planks on the bloody road, paving the way to…

– a portion of Ragnor’s Saga, A Viking Poem by Wulfstan Johnson

 

~

 

Valhalla

I stared at the card, trying to hide my shock from Dad & Amana.

I guess it worked.

They just went about their business, as if I never had a seizure before I even got out of bed to get ready for school. I felt both, anger & relief.

It took a few minutes to calm down.

I swung the blankets off and kicked my feet over the edge of the futon mattress.

As the card was placed on the bed-side table, I noticed that my phone was back on it. Daddy must’ve put it there before he left…so glad the screen didn’t crack. 

I snatched it in a hurry, opened the text.

I sobbed…a gentle sob – like the one you have when you’re really happy about something, or exhausted – the wistful cries.

Dad & Amana had already left, so I didn’t have to be too quiet about it.

The text said, it was real.

So did the card, and the hand-written note.

Someone was playin’ a fucked-up prank.

The text was sent from a blocked number. Asshole. Apparently, a hacker. Can’t wait for the next season of Mr. Robot.

On instinct, my mind spanned all the possible culprits, but also ruled them out due to the complexity of the joke. This was just way too elaborate for any of my friends to pull off.

I’d never encountered anything in my life that shook my reasoning like this. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t just shluff it off to being a dream anymore. I decided that what I was experiencing had a reasonable explanation.

This decision produced an interesting cerebral quandary: my sense of reality shifted, so to speak.

I was uncomfortable…so much to where I had to concentrate on the trivial things around me –

the wastebasket,

the poster on my wall of The Milky Way,

a digital projection of our Solar-System gliding through space towards The Great Attractor center of the ceiling,

my desk with my laptop, tablet, and iPod (circa ’07),

the bookshelf with my Father-suggested-collection of historic accounts of persons like Mansa Musa,

comic-books (DC & Marvel, of course),

documents on masonic-gardening,

the entire catalogue of Francis Bacon – My favorite (which included the Shakespearian writings, of which, it’s alleged, that a Black Woman was the original ghost writer),

N.K. Jemisin,

Toni Morrison,

Tomi Adeyemi,

Michelle Obama,

Amos N. Wilson,

Carlos Castaneda,

Deva Anon,

A. E. Waite,

Manly P. Hall,

A. A. Bailey,

W. Stirling,

H. P. Blavatsky,

A. Avalon,

Plato,

Niccolo Machiavelli,

Danté,

Lucretius,

Osiris Keller,

Hiram Surtyr,

The Cabala,

The Kybalion,

The Egyptian Book of The Dead,

and other ancient & modern writings on metaphysical-exo/esoterica & philosophy.

And yet, after skimming that small handful of authors in My library, every item seemed different – like, they weren’t really mine at all.

I remembered having this same sensation in the dream.

Snap out of it. “Breathe, hun,” I said out loud.

I came out of my trance and realized at once that I had to finally get to school.

I lifted one of my arms, giving a quick sniff to see if I smelled appropriate enough to skip a shower.

Figuring I smelled better than 95% ok, I gave my underarms a spot more deodorant, to mask the girly-musk, and commenced to trying to control the morning-hair frizz.

After my pj’s were fought off, I slithered into my favorite black pair of skinny jeans (which I wore yesterday) slid on my Birkenstocks, bra, a blue fitted longsleeve tee, mild foundation, top-lid-only eyeliner, mascara, a brush of periwinkle eyeshadow, and pomegranate-pink lip balm. My brows were already on point.

Amana taught Me that a lady of gorgeous modesty used mild make-up, if any at all. Simplicity was the best vice. And since I had a flawlessly fair skin-tone adjacent to my almost-black hair, the little paint that I applied to My face would stand out. She was right, as usual.

My best-friend, Alaniah, who I mentioned earlier, had a super-cute older brother who always drove her to our school – Keller Academy of Supercompugenics: KAOS.

I texted her and asked if she could pick me up on the way. She was always fashionably late so I knew she hadn’t left yet. We argued for a few minutes about it not being on the way, but back-tracking. I apologized, and told her it was a poor choice of words and that I’d had a very difficult & emotional morning already and that I didn’t need to get in a fight with her about something so trivial. She said sorry as well, admitted how we were both acting like fuckboys, said our “I love yous”, and finished getting ready.

This was all, may I remind you, via texting.

~

The school day began like a normal 8th grade procession and progressed uneventful until lunch time.

I loved that KAOS was well integrated & diversified – balanced as fuck.

Every school is a colorful garden of personalities, including the fast-growing weeds that try but fail to kill the more fragrant, desirable and beneficial plants.

Upon this thought, I was reminded of The Young Duke of York quoting his Uncle Rivers in King Richard III, saying:

Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace,

and since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,

Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

 

I was walking, tray decked with a beautifully seared salmon and salad (we the students adored KAOS’ partnership with The Oregon Culinary Institute), and as I checked my texts, while turning down an aisle to go sit with Alaniah & Eva, I smacked tray then head first into a girl that was coming from the other direction.

Now, commonly, the amount of force exerted while colliding with someone wouldn’t cause the two people to raze downward, but for some odd reason, this incident did.

Our food tumbled to the floor…we, and my phone, went following…

Time halted.

The immediate glare from the colors of sparkling yellow-gold & blue warping in front of my eyes blinded me. I shielded my head with my arms as if preventing the onslaught of something being thrown at my face.

I was on my back.

I’d forgotten where I was and I started yelling. I felt a nauseating fear, a dread so foreign, real, and terrifying that my stomach knotted worse than any menstrual-cramps. I clinched it and morphed into a foetal position. My fingers clawed at the cafeteria floor, everything was spinning.

I felt an essence crawl through my intestines & vital organs. It felt like a snake coiling, uncoiling, and recoiling in my uterus, through my gut, and in my chest. It hurt like a motherfucker. I thought I was gonna puke until it stopped. So did the screaming.

I was sitting upright, still on the floor. I don’t remember moving to this position though. My mouth closed and I looked around, startled, but calm. There was no one in the cafeteria except me.

I was completely abandoned.

That’s impossible.

…impossible for hundreds of kids to vanish out of a room of that size, that fast.

Psychologically speaking, this was all very jarring, while at the same time, I felt that peace that surpassed all understanding. Something wouldn’t allow me to panic anymore, especially after what I experienced earlier this morning.

 

As I stood, I noticed my body felt more stable.

A peculiar & comforting energy flinted within.

Not knowing why, I started walking toward the nearest exit, westward, perplexed at how empty & silent the environment was.

I reached the doors and shoved them open.

 

The sunlight was brilliant.

 

It felt like my first time outdoors.

The air, sweet. I could taste a sugariness upon my palate.

The grass, shrubs, bushes, trees, the infinite spectrum of color…everything. Radiant.

At that moment, the only thing that mattered was my breathing. It felt miraculous. I never had so much fun feeling my breath before.

A soft breeze swept over.

The scent of my hair reached my nostrils. Rosebud oil. Splendid. I loved this scent which Dad introduced me to. He was the best smelling Man on the planet to me. Amana agreed.

I’m not certain how long this moment of blissful intoxication went on, but at a particular moment I heard footsteps in the

Glowien ~ (Kindergarten, ch. 1)

It is true, that if the affection or aptness of the children be extraordinary, then it is good not to cross it…

– Francis Bacon, Of Parents & Children, The Essays or Counsels of 1625

~

Kindergarten

Death is Release.                                                                                                                                                                                                        

She is the stalker of all organic beings.                                                                                                                                                        

Always be aware of her haunting.                                                                                                                                                                           

To be properly aware, rid yourself of fear.                                                                                                                                                              

To be rid, know that there is none.                                                                                                                                                                       

To omit Death from Yourself, reject it;                                                                                                                                                                  

accept to Thineself, Life Eternal.

~

This was a mantra The Ineffable taught me after my accident.

I was scared to death – and how appropriate that was, being scared to death. I used to be afraid of dying, but I learned early in my training that the only way to conquer something I was afraid of, was to face it. Or, accept its challenge – but only when prepared and ready. I was arrogant and stubborn when I took my first challenge, and the accident was indicative of it. A heavy price was paid, though inevitably, it was worth it…

I was in Mrs. Merriweather’s class the morning it happened.

During math, I imposed my help on a fellow-student and she didn’t want to be bothered. I insisted though. My Dad told me later that I should, “..always ask if someone wants help, or wait to be asked. It should be their choice.”

I was just so excited, being a young-god and all, that I wanted to flaunt my shit in front of everyone, especially the dumb-fucks in the class.

I, like all children, was obsessed with attention. Dad also told me I should, “..never attract unnecessary attention. Remember honey, people obsess about things when they’ve lost control over themselves and the forces around them.”

I had absolutely no idea what that meant at the time. My Father enjoyed talking to me and my siblings like we were older and understood his terse idioms.

Anyway. As I was saying, my classmate didn’t want help, but I was persistent.

Our seats were next to each other at the circle table, so all I had to do was take a gander toward my left, and I was aware of her problem. I leaned in close to her right ear.

“The answer is…”

“I know what it is!” She whisperingly yelled.

“Then write it down,” I replied haughtily.

“Mind your own business,” she retorted. (Dad told me this, too.)

I thought about what I was going to say before I rebutted. Try to diffuse her hostility, I thought. Well, actually, being that I was five it was more like, She’s being a meanie. So I just went with…

“I was only trying to help, gahosh..” To which she responded,

“Yeah well, help this.”

And then she slapped the shit outta me. Thank Black Jesus she dropped her pencil first.

It stung, of course, but it didn’t hurt as much as the thought that I upset my classmate so much that she decided to hit me in the fuckin’ face. I’d always been so nice to her. So, why did she slap me? I wasn’t mean to her. I didn’t take any of her belongings. I didn’t sit in her favorite spot during storytime. I didn’t snitch to Mrs. Merriweather when she snuck candy underneath her desk and was eatin’ it when Merriweather wasn’t lookin’. I couldn’t figure out, at the time, what would compel her to use such aggression. Perhaps she thought I was just bein’ an asshole. I could own that, but I just stared at her, stunned.

Then the unexpected happened. She hit me again.

I was dumbfounded.

What the fuck was she thinking?

Was she crazy?

Was I crazy?

Were we both crazy?

I was appalled.

I felt angry and sad due to the physical and emotional pain from being hurt by a so-called friend.

I lowered my head while holding my hand against the left cheek she bitchslapped me on and started to cry, silently.

Then it happened…the accident.

As I looked down, I noticed a bright yellowish-golden pattern traced around the outline of my feet, sorta like the aura of a candle flame.

At first, I thought I micturated on myself. (micturate = pee. Dad was always teaching me fancy words to everything.) While thinking this, I realized that the color was warping between yellowish-gold and blue, and I didn’t pee yellowish-gold AND blue.

It was weird.

So weird, in fact, that I thought I must be delusional from the impact of getting hit twice.

That would’ve been a more socially-acceptable response rather than what truly happened.

The colors kept warping. They got brighter around my feet. The yellows, golds, and blues started rising up the sides of my ankles, then to my Achilles tendons; calves came next:

knees,

thighs,

hips,

waist,

belly,

ribs,

back,

chest,

arms,

shoulders,

neck, face, head.

It warmed where the colors touched.

It was then that I realized what was happening – I was glowing. The whole of My body had been illumed.

I panicked, while simultaneously feeling like Goku.

As the panic took over, the warm sensation became feverish. My body shook violently. My heart was beating faster than I’ve ever felt it before. Sound altogether ceased. Nothing could be heard. Fear birthed itself in the pit of my stomach, to the limbic, then through the remainder of my body. I was shaking so vivaciously that the laces on my shoes untied.

Mindfully, I couldn’t stop my internal dialogue. In other words, I couldn’t stop mentally talking to myself. (I was taught, later, the importance of shutting off the internal dialogue for clarity of mind – I can do all superphysical things when my mind is quiet.)

The inner conversation continued.

Does this happen to other kids? Am I dying? I want My Dad! I need a hug! Someone, please stop this!

By this time, Merriweather had interceded during my convulsions. She had me in a firm embrace with one of her arms. She was vigilant, the other hand at the ready to make sure I didn’t choke on my tongue.

I felt my head move upward…looking at the high ceiling of the low room. I saw the lights and how they synced with me during the convellere. They got brighter then dimmer – fluctuating. A smoky fog of the same colors, yellowish-gold and blue, formed in front of my eyes and began waving in warpy circular patterns on the roof. I noticed a black splotch on the left of my periphery.

Death.

Something sure and infinite within me, doubtless, knew that that small dark mass, an optical illusion or not, represented Death.

My mind flashed. A dream.

I was flying.

A distant scene,

…now not so distant.

I was floating on a particular consciousness of time – a shadow from what was.

The past.

A small apartment. It looked vaguely familiar.

A girl, about my age. Faint. Clearer.

Her face. In focus. My classmate – the one who hit me.

Her mom.

A fight.

The classmate crying, bright red marks on both sides of her face.

…runs to her room.

Door slams.

Scene.

The shaking abruptly stopped and the colors disappeared.

I lowered my head, turned it left, and was now staring directly at the classmate; she’d been hovering in her seat the entirety of the episode.

I was still seated on my chair in Merriweather’s embrace. The purple and yellow hooded zip-up I was wearing over my t-shirt was down over my shoulders, though my arms were still in its sleeves.

I took a deep breath, then said,

“Why did you hit me?”

At least, that’s what I think I said. My voice came from elsewhere.

“Um, because you kept bothering me?” The classmate voiced this like a question, which stood to reason, ’cause I’m sure she was freaked out by me goin’ nuclear all of a sudden.

“Forgive me. My intention was to assist you. I should’ve asked if you wanted my help.” (Fuckin’-a, so like Daddy.)

Then I gave her a command. Which I’m sure, for her, was a bit confusing.

“Tell me what you just saw.”

I was surprised she obeyed. Or rather, the other-me before the accident was surprised. The Me that was speaking from and in that chair intended everything happening.

After her re-telling of what she thought she saw, the Me that was acting in this strange event, during a seemingly normal kindergarten day, stood up slowly as Mrs. Merriweathers’ hands fell by the wayside, hoisted her hoodie up on her shoulders, calmly knelt down and started tying the un-done laces of her shoes. (During my later recapitulations, I remembered when I knelt down, I placed my hands over my shoes and the strings slithered into position by themselves. While they moved into position, I felt a strong heat radiating from the palms of my hands and fingertips. They glew golden with the familiar yellowish-blue aura around them.)

With my shoes tied, I stood up, as slowly as when I knelt down. When my legs were straight, I was taller. Stronger. More adult than a five-year-old.

An energy surged through and around me. It was as if a prominentia, sent directly from the Sun, plunged its virtues through the fiber of my body. ‘Twas as much intense as it was comforting. Empowering. Encompassing. Peaceful. Not a muscle was overwrought. I was relaxed completely. If a car were to drive head-on into Myself, it would’ve imploded from my solidity.

A commotion.

I felt the chaotic silent energy of a bunch of kinders listening and witnessing the post-traumatic stress of two peers in a potential fight. I ignored it, and them.

I looked at my classmate in her left eye. She looked frightened. I would’ve been, too. I spoke again.

“You should talk to the counselor about your problems at home.”

“What are you talking about!?”

“Your mom. You should talk to the school counselor. It’s not good to do to others what your mom does to you. Especially, if it hurts people.”

The classmate looked horrified. She cried.

“How’d you know that?” she asked, words slightly trembled.

“I don’t know,” I said tenderly. “But, what I do know, is that you should talk to someone about how your mothers’ actions inspire you to feel and react.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” whimpered she.

Time to dumb it down, I heard a voice in my head say. Talking like an adult was dead-ending this convo. Plus, as usual, I remembered Daddy teaching me that, “The conies are but a feeble folk..”, and, “..comfort the feebleminded.” So I simply said to her,

“After you hit me, I saw in My mind your mom hitting you. I remembered that your parents divorced last summer, and since then, you and your mom have been different.”

If my classmate was crying before, now she was bawling.

Without hesitation, I stepped, walked, glided, or flew into her personal space, and gave her a cuddle.

I felt a bunch of prickly-like things all over my body, like the feeling you get when you lick a battery or when you stick your finger in an electrical outlet (Daddy said, “NEVER put your tongue or fingers ANYWHERE they don’t belong!”). Only, this was a tickle-feeling, like a bunch of fast moving ants crawling over my skin.

Immediately upon feeling this, I thought of times when Daddy took me and my little sister to the park by our old apartment.

Near this park, there was a wood. Within it, there were a lot of old and ancient trees. We’d walk along the pathway, weaving in and out of the forest, in silence, like Daddy was studying the movement, or listening to the signals-intelligence The Trees were relaying to one another. He’d close his eyes and take sedated deep breaths, allowing the acerbic cool of the pacific-northwest air to permeate his broad lungs.

We live in Portland, Oregon. Here, there’re a lot of trees. I’m grateful for this.

After a while of this Nature Ritual, he would find a tree that piqued his interest, usually a pine of some sort. He gazed at it for a few seconds before walking towards it. He would stop directly in front of it, almost as if he were about to give it a smooch.

“Put a hand on the tree,” he would calmly tell Us.

This is when the magic happened.

As My Sister & I touched the tree, I noticed how my body released all tension. A feeling of tranquility and gratitude overwhelmed me. Daddy said we were, “…feeling the soul of the tree. Trees are closer to the characteristics of humans more than you know. They are True Warriors.”

As with most things Daddy told me when I was this age, I didn’t know what the hell he meant by the trees being warriors. I trusted, though, that he knew what he was talking about.

A few moments of elation would elapse after we touched the tree and, without warning, we would start to feel it. The it I’m referring to is the intense prickly-ant sensation streaming over our hands and arms. The longer we kept our hand on the tree, the deeper and more we’d feel this mild electricity course through our veins. Daddy said the electricity is, “…us becoming One with the Warrior.”

This, in consequence, made it possible for humans to know what the warrior, or tree, was feeling. And also, this link between Tree and Man would allow the tree to absorb and remove from us negative and harmful feelings and emotions. So, Daddy would tell us, if we were ever feeling upset, irritated, or sad for any inexplicable reason, to go touch a tree with the palm of our hand, or lay our spine against it, until all the bad feelings vanished. Or, gently stroke the leaves of a non-poisonous plant.

The only requisite was patience. Dad further instructed us that,

“It takes patience with Oneself when communicating with Nature & The Universe. Nature is very patient, so Nature requires us to be the same. Emotions and feelings run deep, and, just like our feelings, it takes time to understand why we’re feeling what we are and to rid ourselves of negative energy.”

As I hugged my classmate, every knot of tension and negativity within her dissipated. I actually felt her relax. I absorbed it, like I was a Tree. I made it my own; I was her and she was me. We became one body, one mind, one spirit, one consciousness. We were aware of everything and nothing simultaneously.

I was uncertain if it was just in mind or deep inside the soul that kindled the fire, but after what was an infinite minute of ecstasy, or being outside myself, I knew, doubtlessly, everything that happened to my classmate in her lifetime.

I saw every birthday party she had – and not just seent it, but felt it…lived it. There was no differentiating between my experiences and hers. They, we, were one.

This duality of worlds colliding as one, while pondering the experience later in my life, confused me and gave me a headache when I tried to make sense of it. But I remembered, then, another lesson The Ineffable taught me:

“Trying to make sense of things, through primitive reasoning, while operating in The Second Attention, is both rash and dangerous. Get used to the notion that there’re things within existence that will not be understood through base rations of The Mind. A Psychological-Ascension & Self-Awareness must first take place before those higher things can be ascertained.”

I gently pulled myself away from my classmate. She was no longer crying. I have no idea how long we’d been hugging. I noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. These lines, in contrast to the light brown tone of her skin, inspired a wonderful Mirth inside my head & chest. It felt good.

I realized, or just finally admitted to myself, that I liked the look of her face. I also liked how our skin color looked combined. My complexion was porcelain. I was slightly shorter. Both our hairs were long – mine dark, almost black, and straight – hers medium brown, thick and exceedingly curly.

We were holding hands down below and looking at each other in the eyes. We smiled.

The school bell rang its annoying buzz. Usually, this startled me. This time, however, it didn’t. I kept calm.

When it rang, I closed my eyes as if the bell reminded me that I needed to take a break and meditate.

As I opened them, after nine seconds, or so, I noticed things were sideways. The calmness left. Confusion entered. An intense hue of reddish-yellow light blinded me.

Daddy had just pulled the curtains open to flood my room with the morning sun.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey..” (He said that to me every morning in homage to one of his favorite films.)

I blinked and sat up, slowly. My hair, which was usually up in a messy bun the evening before, was down and anarchic. I brushed a mouthful away, along with the drool that now resembled a thin paste-like translucent glue.

“Sweet dreams, baby?”

“Huh?” I blankly responded.

“Did you have good dreams last night?”

“Uh, yeah…I guess so.”

“Care to share?”

“What? No. I, um…can’t really remember what happened.” I sighed. “I was back in kindergarten, though. It was really weird.” I felt high.

“Kindergarten, huh? Shit, it’s been eight years since then. You three are sproutin’ like bamboo. I remember…”

“Daddy,” I stepped on his words. “Spare me the trip down memory lane. Not before I pee and shower, please.”

“Or pee in the shower.”

I eyerolled hard. “Seriously?”

“Don’t even front. We all do it.”

“Whatev.”

“Don’t whatev Me young…”

“Daddy!?” I said, exasperated.

He stood there for minute, a bit uncased due to my second interruption. He constantly reinforced to Me, My little sister Eva, and big brother Kadmon to never interrupt anyone. It was one of the rudest things you could do while conversing.

He forced a weak smile, doing his best to resist the temptation of setting me straight.

“Aight, love. Hurry. Giz is in the shower up here and I believe she still thinks that she can drain all the hot water from it.” He giggled. “You should use the lower-level or outdoor one.”

Like I didn’t know that, I thought. My mood was miffed so I felt it best to follow his example of levity.

“You’re still calling her Gizmo? She’s in 7th grade and you still haven’t showed her Gremlins yet. She’s still waitin’ to see this cute, little creature you nick-named her after.”

“I know…haven’t had a movie-night in a while. I miss ’em. Maybe tonight?”

“That’d be coo. You’re not gonna get too many more nights with me when I’m in high school next year,” I said, while scratching that early-morning-haven’t-washed-my-shit-in-3-days-scalp-itch. “Plus, Kadmon’s social life is already cray.”

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I trip every time I think about it; You, Kad, and Eva, all in the same school with some of the same guy friends…”

“…and that’s why you’ve had us in Aikido, Wing Chun, and studying The Shoninki since we were five. I think Eva and I can take care of ourselves with boys, Daddy. Also, Kady’s gona be a Senior next year.”

“Exactly. His Senior friends goin’ after his Freshman sister. I know what I was thinkin’ and doin’ when I was a Senior.”

“That, and you didn’t have a Father who raised us like you did. Don’t You trust Me?”

“Perhaps. Time will tell,” He said quickly.

I chucked a pillow at him. “You always say that.”

“It’s true. Time tells…”

“…all lies. I know. You’ve drilled that in for a while now, too.”

“Then maybe one of these aeons it’ll make sense to you. I think the Rites of Passage, that come with adulthood, will remind you of all the lessons I’ve been uploading in you and your sister that your brother has so kindly chosen to corrupt.”

“Perhaps,” I said smiling.

With that final comment, Daddy threw back my pillow (which he caught), smiled his proud fatherly smile, turned, and left my room.

I stared at the empty space…sitting there, trying to recollect what I woke up from.

It was too vivid to’ve been just a dream. But the facts were, I was sitting upright in my bed, Daddy had come to wake me up to get ready for school, we conversed about family-movie-night, my sister, brother, and high school. As you’re reading this, no doubt in wonder as to where this is all leading, I’m thirteen, and in the dream, or whatever it was, I was five and in kindergarten.

Reasoning took over.

I shook my head to resuscitate from the daze, and taxed the whole thing off to being a lucid dream.

I laughed out loud uncomfortably.

My red iPhone beeped from the bed side table. Before it was picked up, I noticed a small folded piece of paper next to it. I instinctively grabbed the paper, unfolded it with delicate haste, and stopped.

My hands began to tremble.

I couldn’t stop repeatedly speed-reading the calligraphy-styled writing.

In my left hand read three words.

The design of the writing was old, not of the young teenage type, so I knew it wasn’t mine, nor Kadmon’s, or Eva’s, nor any of My friends’. In truth, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone handwrite a note.

(At school, in every class, we use the network wide Intuitively Collaborative Digital Ubiquitous System, lovingly referred to as Icdus, that absorbs and reads the brainwave emissions that are dispensed in the air upon thinking, which are then immediately, with the speed of thought, added and synced in the data storage area of our personal computers and/or hand-held devices. This allows for our notes, when hearing the teacher’s lecture, to be saved in text format, precisely as the professor speaks, or the altered notes from our thoughts, on our computers without the need of typing, therefore freeing our minds to fully take in what our instructors are teaching, without obstructing the lesson by doing needless typing or writing.)

All this I thought in an instant while the words of the note held me captive.

It merely said: It was real.

What, the dream? What was real? And who wrote this message, got in my room, and left it next to my…cell phone!

I flicked the note in my lap, grabbed the mobile, then opened the text, and before reading it, dropped the phone to the floor.

Breathing hard, I realized I was about to faint from hyperventilating. I reached for the bed-side table to support myself, and instead, rammed my hand into the lamp that was propped, it, too, falling floorward. It made an awful racket.

Within seconds, Dad, and his personal-assistant, Amana, came rushing in the room to see what’d happened.

Immediately, Amana came to my side to help me lie down, to which she began to, in a state of mild panic, command me to breathe deeply and slowly. I must’ve been sweating before I was laid flat because I felt my eyes stinging with sharp moisture.

Daddy cleared the pieces of broken glass and cell phone to make way for him to crouch at my side.

A glimpse of the kindergarten dream glinted in my mind.

My breathing steadied.

I looked up into the angelic face of Dad’s beautifully-exotic assistant. Although obviously not related, I resembled her a little.

She’d been Dad’s righthand woman since he won The Powerball Jackpot.

Dad divorced mom (a pathological-liar) a few years before his lottery win, of which he was grateful for.

That was an epic time in Our lives. The current moment, was not so epic.

Amana was on the verge of tears. Daddy was wiping away a stream. Amana lifted me to an embrace across Her lap. I took Her in when I was calm.

“What happened?” I asked weakly.

“You had another seizure,” she forced out through a sniff.

“It scared the shit out of us,” said Daddy, “We knew there’d been an episode from the sounds we heard before you started choking.”

“Please, sweety,” Amana whimpered, caressing my forehead, “You must be careful.”

“I know,” I voiced, steadying. “I thought I had it beat this time.”

“Well, you don’t!” Blurted Daddy. “This could’ve been it!” And then He started to really cry. I’d never seen Him like this before.

“What your father means,” Amana said nurturingly, “Is that we were worried that this could’ve been the big one.”

“…my god, honestly, I get it.” I said sitting up while regaining my youthful zeal. “Can you two ever just say it?”

I realized then that it was more difficult than I’d thought it’d be to say the words. I hesitated.

“I know I might…die. The chances are likely with this brand of epilepsy.” I looked crossly at my father. “I’ve known this ever since the doctor told us about my first one in…”

My voice trailed off.

I’m sure Dad & Amana were trying to get my attention, but I couldn’t hear them. My mental clarity at the moment was the only thing worthy of attention.

Kindergarten.

I had my first epileptic episode in kindergarten.

Regardless of the notion that I found similitude between these unrelated events, I, however, could not understand the semblance of this note with those three words on it. It was nonsense.

Again, as before, I threw the thoughts away into the wastebasket of it being just a very vivid dream, with the keenest amount of realism I’d ever encountered.

I came out of my thoughts and back into my room with Amana & Daddy.

“Babe, did you hear a word of what I just said?” Amana asked. She was eloquent, even through the drama of the situation.

An erudite young-woman of the utmost degree, Amana spoke six languages – Dad’s favorite ones: Ammontish, Latin, Spanish, Aramaic, Italian and French. She had a doctorate in Psychology from Harvard, another of Dad’s favorites (and the college he’s been pressuring me to attend since I could talk), and was working towards a higher-degree, in between time, from L’Abode Via Herm – a suggestion from My Father, no doubt.

“No. I didn’t. I apologize. Just thought of something.”

“About how late you’re gonna be for school I hope,” said Daddy, calming down.

“Yeah, something like that,” I responded.

“André, I suggest she doesn’t go to school today.” Amana spoke firmly and without bullshit to Dad. He liked that. He treasured it. And, she pronounced ‘André’ in its proper French dialect. He really liked that.

I interjected. “What? I’m fine. Really, I’m good. I just need to get up and move around a little. I’ll be ok.”

“She needs to be in school,” Daddy said, now back to his normal parental self. “It’s her last week. She’s got a dance and music recital, testing at the Dojo and Kwoon, and I will NOT miss these events before I go on tour.”

(Oh yeah. Daddy’s an author & musician; he plays the drums. He and his band are going on tour in the late summer after he gets back from a June-long book tour of the U.K. to promote his global, #1 bestselling novel. It’s a marvelous story. He says that Eva, My best friend, Alaniah, and I inspired it.)

Amana looked at Dad with professional annoyance. She smiled faintly at him before looking at me to say, “Fine. But keep your phone in your pocket in case we need to get ahold of you, or if you have an emergency.”

“Got it.”

“Good,” then she kissed my cheek, got up from the bed, touched Daddy on the shoulder and turned to leave. She stopped right before stepping out the door.

“I just remembered,” she said. She turned back around to face me while Dad got up to finish cleaning the broken mess at the side of the bed. “Something came in the mail for you yesterday.”

As Amana walked over She noticed the note on the bed near Me. It had fallen between Myself and the wall which was to my right.

“What’s that?” She asked, motioning her head towards the folded-sheet.

“Nothing,” I hasted, while tucking it under My pillow, making it obvious I didn’t want Her snooping.

She smirked, probably thinking it was from a boy or some shit like that.

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, looked at the object, then handed me a sealed envelope.

It was pretty, the kind of colors girls like. I was certain it was a birthday party invite. I was unassumingly popular at school so I always got invited to the coolest parties. I wondered why someone was sending a snail-mail invite though; it was so old-school.

“I wonder whose party this one is for,” I said half-sarcastically, half-excited.

I tore the envelope and opened the card.

It was real, was all it said.

~ author: Hiram Surtyr, illustrator: Ruth Barbee ~

Desire: Manifest

Among your friends there is one of those men who doesn’t have much use for the word “can’t”. You marvel at his capacity for work. You admire him more the longer you know him. You always respect him. For he not only has made good, but he always will make good. He has found and appropriated to himself the “Talisman of Napoleon” – absolute confidence in himself.

…to instill confidence in [people], that leader must have utter confidence in himself.

A Caesar or a Napoleon who did not believe in himself would be inconceivable. It is that which makes men invincible – the Consciousness of their own Power. They put no limit upon their own capacities – therefore they have no limit. For Universal Mind sees all, knows all, and can do all, and we share in this absolute power to the exact extent to which we permit ourselves. Our mental attitude is the magnet that attracts from Universal Mind everything we may need to bring our desires into being. We make that magnet strong or weak as we have confidence in or doubt of our abilities. We draw to ourselves unlimited power or limit ourselves to humble positions according to our own beliefs.

A long time ago Emerson wrote: There is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted to the right of reason is made a free man of the whole estate. What Plato has thought, he may think; what a saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen any man, he can understand. Who hath access to this Universal Mind, is a party to all that is or can be done, for this is the only and sovereign agent.

The great German physicist, Nernst, found that the longer an electric current was made to flow through a filament of oxide of magnesium, the greater became the conductivity of the filament.

In the same way, the more you call upon and use your subconscious mind, the greater becomes its conductivity in passing along to you the infinite resources of Universal [Wisdom]. The [thoughts] of Solomon, the skill of Michael Angelo, the genius of Edison, the daring of [The Ancient Egyptians], all may be yours. It rests with you only to form contact with [The Universe] in order to draw from it what you will.

Think of this power as something that you can connect with any time. It has the answer to all of your problems. It offers you freedom from fear, from worry, from sickness, from accident, [and from poverty]. Carlos Musser expresses it well in “You Are”: Because of the law of causation, a man is as he thinketh in his [mind]. Nothing can happen without [your minds’] adequate [thoughts]. 

There is no reason why you should hesitate to aspire to any position, any honor, any goal, for the Mind within you is fully able to meet any need [or any desire]. It is no more difficult for it to handle a great problem than a small one. Mind is just as much present in your little everyday affairs as in those of a big business or a great nation.

The greatest of all success secrets is initiative.

Conceive [whatever you want] in your own mind. Make the pattern there and your superconscious mind will draw upon the [elastic] substance, or energy, all about you to make that [which you intend] real. [Do this as often as the inspiration hits you until you get what you want.]

~ written by Robert Collier from The Secret of The Ages ~

The Secret Power of the Mind

Despite Noetic Science’s use of cutting-edge technologies, the discoveries themselves were far more mystical than the cold high-tech machines that were producing them. The stuff of magic and myth was fast becoming reality as the shocking new data poured in, all of it supporting the basic ideology of Noetic Science – the untapped potential of the human mind.

The overall thesis was simple: We have barely scratched the surface of our mental and spiritual capabilities.

Experiments at facilities like the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS) in California and the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research Lab (PEAR) had categorically proven that human thought, if properly focused, had the ability to affect and change physical mass. Their experiments were no “spoon-bending” parlor tricks, but rather highly controlled inquires that all produced the same extraordinary result: our thoughts actually interacted with the physical world, whether or not we knew it, effecting change all the way down to the subatomic realm.

Mind over matter.

In 2001, in the hours following the horrifying events of September 11, the field of Noetic Science made a quantum leap forward. Four scientists discovered that as the frightened world came together and focused in the shared grief on this single tragedy, the outputs of thirty-seven different Random Event Generators around the world suddenly became significantly less random. Somehow, the oneness of this shared experience, the coalescing of millions of minds, had affected the randomizing function of these machines, organizing their outputs and bringing order from chaos.

The shocking discovery, it seemed, paralleled the ancient spiritual belief in a cosmic consciousness – a vast [adherence] of human intention that was actually capable of interacting with physical matter. Recently, studies in mass meditation and prayer had produced similar results in Random Event Generators, fueling the claim that human consciousness, as Noetic author Lynne McTaggart described it, was a substance outside the confines of the body…a highly ordered energy capable of changing the physical world.

…from this foundation, [Scientist’s] research had vaulted forward, proving that “focused thought” could affect literally anything – the growth rate of plants, the direction that fish swam in a bowl, the manner in which cells divide in a petri dish, the synchronization of separately automated systems, and the chemical reactions in one’s own body. Even the crystalline structure of a newly forming solid was rendered mutable by one’s mind…

Human thought can [actually] transform the physical world. 

As [Scientists] experiments grew bolder, [the] results became more astounding. [The] work in [various] labs had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that “mind over matter” was not just some New Age self-help mantra. The mind had the ability to alter the state of matter itself, and, more important, the mind had the power to encourage the physical world to move in a specific direction.

We are the masters of our own universe. 

At the subatomic level, [Scientists] had shown that particles themselves came in and out of existence based solely on [the Scientists’] intention to observe them. In a sense, [their] desire to see a particle…manifested that particle. Heisenberg had hinted at this reality decades ago, and now it had become a fundamental principle of Noetic Science. In the words of Lynne McTaggart: “Living consciousness somehow is the influence that turns the possibility of something into something real. The most essential ingredient in creating our universe is the consciousness that observes it.”

The most astonishing aspect of [Scientist’s] work, however, had been the realization that the mind’s ability to affect the physical world could be augmented through practice. Intention was a learned skill. Like meditation, harnessing the true power of “thought” required practice. More important…some people were born more skilled at it than others. And throughout history, there had been those few who had become true masters.

This is the missing link between modern-science & ancient-mysticism. 

~ excerpt from chapter 15 of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol ~

The Truth Behind Friday The 13th

In 1118, when Hugh de Payens and eight other knights held a meeting in the courtyard of an old abandoned castle, they took a vow of love for all humanity. Two centuries later, there were more than five thousand benefices spread throughout the known world; they reconciled two activities that until then had appeared to be incompatible: the military life and the religious one.

Donations from the members and from grateful pilgrims allowed the Order of the Knights Templars to accumulate incalculable wealth, which was used more than once to ransom important Christians who had been kidnapped by the Muslims. The honesty of the Knights was such that kings and nobles entrusted their valuables to the Templars and traveled only with a document that attested to the existence of their wealth. This document could be redeemed at any castle of the Order of the Templars for an equivalent sum, giving rise to the letter of credit that is used today…

…But as with everything that happens before its time, the Templars came to be viewed with suspicion. The great kings sought to hold economic power, and religious liberalism was regarded as a threat to the [Catholic] Church.

On Friday, October 13, 1307, the Vatican and the major European states unleashed one of the most massive police operations of the Middle Ages: during the night, the main leaders of the Templars were seized in their castles and thrown in prison. They were accused of practicing secret ceremonies, including the worship of the devil, of blasphemy against Jesus Christ, of orgiastic rituals, and of engaging in sodomy with their apprentices.

Following a violent sequence of torture, renunciation, and treason, the Order of the Templars was erased from the map of medieval history. Their treasures were confiscated, and their members scattered throughout the world. The last master of the Order, Jacques de Molay, was burned at the stake in the center of Paris, along with a fellow Knight. His last request was that he be allowed “to die looking at the towers of the Cathedral of Nortre Dame”.

~ from The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho ~

Note: for a more in-depth study of the Knights Templar, the book “Holy Blood, Holy Grail” by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln is recommended. 

…Florinda, the witch.

To call them sorcerers is not my choice.

Brujo or Bruja, which mean sorcerer or witch, are the Spanish terms they themselves use to denote a male or female practitioner.

I have always resented the negative connotation of those words. But the sorcerers themselves put me at ease, once and for all, by explaining that what is meant by sorcery is something quite abstract: the ability, which some people develop, to expand the limits of normal perception. The abstract quality of sorcery voids automatically, then, any positive or negative connotation of terms used to describe its practitioners. 

Expanding the limits of normal perception is a concept that stems from the sorcerers’ belief that our choices in life are limited, due to the fact that they are defined by the social order.

Sorcerers believe that the social order sets up our lists of options, but we do the rest: by accepting only these choices, we set a limit to our nearly limitless possibilities.

This limitation, they say, fortunately applies only to our social side and not to the other side of us: a practically inaccessible side, which is not in the realm of ordinary awareness.

[Practitioners’] main endeavor, therefore, is to uncover that side. They do this by breaking the frail, yet resilient, shield of human assumptions about what we are and what we are capable of being.

Sorcerers acknowledge that in our world of daily affairs there are people who probe into the unknown in pursuit of alternative views of reality.  They contend that the ideal consequences of such probings should be the capacity to draw from our findings the necessary energy to change and to detach ourselves from our definition of reality. But they argue that unfortunately such probings are essentially mental endeavors. New thoughts, new ideas hardly ever change us.

One of the things I learned in the sorcerers’ world was that without retreating from the world, and without injuring themselves in the process, sorcerers do accomplish the magnificent task of breaking the agreement that has defined reality.

~ written by Florinda Donner, from ‘Being-in-Dreaming’ ~

Of Revenge (cir. 1625)

Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man’s nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out. For as for the first wrong, it doth but offend the law, but the revenge of that wrong putteth the law out of office. Certainly in taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy, but in passing it over, he is superior, for it is a prince’s part to pardon.

And Salomon, I am sure, saith, It is the glory of a man to pass by an offence (Proverbs 19:11). That which is past is gone & irrevocable, and wise men have enough to do with things present and to come; therefore they do but trifle with themselves that labour in past matters.

There is no man doth a wrong for the wrong’s sake, but thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honour, or the like. Therefore why should I be angry with a man for loving himself better than me? And if any man should do wrong merely out of ill nature, why, yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which prick and scratch because they can do no other.

The most tolerable sort of revenge is for those wrongs which there is no law to remedy, but then let a man take heed the revenge be such as there is no law to punish; else a man’s enemy is still beforehand, and it is two for one.

Some, when they take revenge, are desirous the party should know whence it cometh. This the more generous. For the delight seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt as in making the party repent. But base and crafty cowards are like the arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus, Duke of Florence, had a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting friends, as if those wrongs were unpardonable: You shall read that we are commanded to forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are commanded to forgive our friends. But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune: Shall we take good at God’s hands, and not be content to take evil also? (Job 2:10)

And so of friends in a proportion.

This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.

Public revenges are for the most part fortunate, as that for the death of Caesar, for the death of Pertinax, for the death of Henry the Third of France, and many more. But in private revenges it is not so. Nay rather, vindictive persons live the life of witches, who, as they are mischievous, so end they infortunate.

~ written by Francis Bacon ~

The Human Perfected

I have now, My dear [Kindred], given you all the essential information upon this subject in brief form. I shall describe the work of translation in the sequel.

The High Priest (Universe, or, One who lives in The Mind, or, One who is One with The Universe, i.e. Macrocosm) selected Men (people or thoughts) of the finest character and the highest culture, such as one would expect from Their noble parentage.

They were Men & Women who had not only acquired proficiency in Jewish literature, but had studied most carefully that of the Greeks as well.

They were specially qualified therefore for serving on embassies and They undertook this duty whenever it was necessary.

They possessed a great facility for conferences and the discussion of problems connected with the law.

They espoused the middle course – and this is always the best course to pursue.

They abjured the rough and uncouth manner in mankind.

Truly They were altogether above pride, and yet, rightfully with grace, They assumed an air of superiority over others, and in conversation of any depth, They were ready to listen and give an honest answer to every question.

All of Them diligently observed these tenets, more-so, and were enthused, above, beyond & within, to excel.

They were, all of Them, worthy of Themself and of Their own particular virtue.

~ from The Forgotten Books of Eden ~

Life & Work

Life is a battle, and to fight that battle heroically and well is the great purpose of every man’s existence, who is worthy and fit to live at all.

To stem the strong currents of adversity, to advance in despite of all obstacles, to snatch victory from the jealous grasp of fortune, to become a chief and a leader among men, to rise to rank and power by eloquence, courage, perseverance, study, energy, activity, discouraged by no reverses, impatient of no delays, deterred by no hazards; to win wealth, to subjugate men by our intellect, the very elements by our audacity, to succeed, to prosper, to thrive; – thus it is, according to the general understanding, that one fights well the battle of life.

Even to succeed in business by that boldness which halts for no risks, that [grit] which stakes all upon hazardous chances; by the shrewdness of the close dealer, the boldness of the unscrupulous operator, even by the knaveries of the stock-board and the gold-room; to crawl up into place by disreputable means or the votes of brutal ignorance, – these also are deemed to be among the great successes of life.

But that which is the greatest battle, and in which the truest honor and most real success are to be won, is that which our intellect and reason and moral sense, our spiritual natures, fight against our sensual appetites and evil passions, our earthly and material or animal nature. Therein only are the true glories of heroism to be won, there only the successes that entitle us to triumphs.

In every human life that battle is fought; and those who win…often suffer ignominious defeat and disastrous rout, and discomfiture and shameful downfall in this encounter.

~ from The Sublime Prince of The Royal Secret  (1871) ~

Compendium of The In-crowd (a story of modern teens)

Author’s note: mature content.

~

 

I hereby declare, on My Nobility, that the following, hereafter, are the customs, therefore, being the rules of culture, regarding The New In-crowd. These are laws & experiments from Ancient Ages to the Current.

The first tenet is: Know Thyself.

~

Ander stopped writing.

He was stuck in a moment’s worth of contemplation inspired by those last two words.

Know Thyself.

He knew that his classmates would read this report, as well as the faculty. The teenagers in his Junior class, he felt, would not understand his intention, nor would the rest of the school.

This was his sounding board, though – being the Free Speech columnist for Mansa Musa High School’s weekly blog. He was only, and actually, reinventing-the-wheel. But not the common man’s way of defining reinvent.

Invent is a word that was usually understood; “re-, however, has lost its true function.” Ander said out loud.

Being a self-declared Etymologist, Ander loved the study of a word. His Father taught him the importance of knowing the variety of definitions in all words, in every syllable, and its relevance and meaning throughout history. Definitions evolved over time, and new words were added to our conversations, daily, along with our accredited dictionaries.

Ander perseverated on the prefix re-; Once more; afresh; anew; with return to a previous state; mutually; behind or after. 

“I’d love to be able to dump a bunch of useful information into the minds of My peers, without speaking or writing. By merely thinking a thing, and it would waft and wane in the psyches of everyone. That’s true power.” Ander said while bending down to stroke the muzzle of his beloved 3-year-old Dogue de Bordeaux.

“Isn’t that right, Osiris?”

The Bordeaux tilted his head to the left then licked his master’s nose. Ander returned his attention to his computer.

Know Thyself.

This term, Ander continued writing, is to be thoroughly understood as the Absolute Culmination of a Person’s Existence. 

To Know Thyself is the superpower, innate in all Humans, to be, to do, and to have, whatever thine Nature desires for its mirth and perpetuity. All subsequent laws are based and derived from the root of this Aleph Command. 

“Aleph is really gonna jack everyone’s brain off.” Ander said to Osiris.

He closed his MacBook Air, deciding that that was enough for tonight – the article wasn’t due until next Friday.

Ander had chosen, when asked to write this column, that it’d be bi-weekly, giving him ample time to allow his subconscious to penetrate his conscious mind with inspiration.

He didn’t struggle with feelings of inadequacy and insecurity regarding himself nor his writing. He was certain that all who read his section of the blog would be taught and directed wisely. The people loved what he wrote.

Confidence came naturally to Ander. He was handsome, of medium height, broad-shouldered, robust, burly, and portly for his young age, which didn’t deter girls, and he wore his hair scruffy – he was going for a nice head of thin dreadlocks.

He was secure in his Nature; for he understood, accepted, and loved what he was, how he thought, and how he looked.

This certainty within afforded him the grace to be liked by every clique in the school. He had his go-to peeps, his inner-circle, but he enjoyed muddling with all the groupings.

Everyone had their own particular brand of coolness, and everyone had the exact same insecurities that everyone else had. So, knowing this, he thought, there was no logical and emotional reason to not like Myself – if we all fought the same wars with appearances, sex, belonging, attention-getting, and success, then all I need to do is be content with everything that I am to attain all that I want; the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. Everything.

Ander grabbed his special-edition, (Product) Red, 256gb iPhone 7…plenty of texts and emails for a popularly self-made teenage intellectual.

He scrolled through the bullshit to find a text from his girlfriend.

Edelweiss – named after the flower, not the song from The Sound of Music, and of Ghanian/Choctaw descent; her Great Grandfather was an immigrant during the 1930’s, her Great Grandmother, a jazz singer at The Cotton Club.

She was the blog’s editor, a Senior, and the girl everyone deemed the most likely to be the hottest POTUS, ever. She had a fancy for presidential history of the U.S., as was evident by the fact that she renamed the school’s blog, The Obamater.

The cello was her favorite instrument, though she didn’t play.

Edelweiss was the one who recruited Ander to write the Free Speech column.  She wanted, as she stated to him in the final interview, “…an across-the-board, popular, erudite Junior who could maneuver through the trenches of all the social sects; one who was respected, and adhered to.. ”

He smiled, recapitulating that particular interview. “She so won Me.” He thought, his mind returning to the present moment while rereading her text:

Edelweiss: All I can think about is fucking you.

Another thing Ander dug about Edelweiss was her bluntness. Flirting is obsolete. The girl of today was direct about what she wanted…topic for the next article, Ander thought.

Ander: Funny, ’cause I can think about a bunch of things OTHER than that right now.  

Downplay her sexual advances…keeps it exciting. And somewhat flirtatious.  Damnit, flirting’s not dead, yet, thought Ander.

Edelweiss: What’s wrong?

Ander: Just a smidgeon of brainfog. It’ll pass.

E: Sounds like a distraction is in order. 

A: What’d ya have in mind?

E: Um, what I suggested earlier, fucktard.

A: Now, now…

E: Seriously, cum over.

Ah, the challenge. Give in, or keep playin’ hard-to-get.

Ander loved the rapport he had with this woman – their sexual banter was playful, fun, with a dollop of elegance. He liked that. He knew she did, too. They didn’t try at it. They just did it.

Something else that came naturally to Ander – sex appeal; another consequence of confidence. If you said what was on your mind, no matter how absurd, and you delivered it with assurity in yourself, all would be well and everything would work in your favor. Completely.

A: Sigh…

E: You won’t be sighing once your dick is in My mouth. 

A: Jesus.  

E: Come worship My clit then.😏

A: Goddamn, girl!😱

E: Y’know you like it when I talk dirty…and blasphemous.

A: 😂 You mean “write” dirty & blasphemous.

E: You’re a butt-fucking nerd, you know that?

A: As are you.

E: Totally. Now get over here before I’m not horny any longer. 

A: Are your parents there?

E: Yes, but you know they don’t mind. Please don’t make this an issue again. 

A:*sigh* I try not to, but it’s just…strange. It’s difficult for Me to wrap My head around how trusting your folks are. It’s rare.

E: Word – but that’s how they raised Me. I’m intelligent, responsible, honest almost to an error; I tell Them everything about how I think, feel, what I do, minus the juicy deets about My sexual exploits, so they’ve come to let Me be free to do whatever, as long as I understand & accept all the consequences of My actions. They trust Me and I trust Myself.

A: Which is why they recommended you get on birth-control?

E: Yes. And have every potential partner screened and checked before commencing. Plus My Dad told Me all the drama regarding condoms. It seems so unnecessary if one is STD free, the girl’s birth-controlled, and choice about who they have sex with. Quality over quantity, oui?

Ander loved it when Edelweiss used French in their conversations.

A: Man, that just blows My mind. You’re, like, the girl that every dude wants. Ladies, too.

E: Which is why I remain discriminative about who I give Myself to. I’m not a fucking fuck hole (well, except for you and a couple of others). I‘m grateful that I get to be intimate with people I truly love. Which is a small circle. It’s absolutely natural and normal. 

A: Word.

E: Plus, My mother taught Me about the energetic circulation between lovers, how women tend to absorb nefarious biochemical fluids and malevolent radiations from males. And how that lingers and effects the woman for years after. Ew. No, thanks. So, again, I’m choice…..that reminds Me, have you read the excerpt I sent you?🧐

A few minutes passed after Ander’s last text before Edelweiss responded.

E: You’re stalling, Ander. Truthfully, tell Me what’s up. I don’t know of any boy or girl who’d pass on an offer like this.

A: Now who’s the slut? #ohsnap

E: Stop hashtagging. And I’m flirting, asshole. And trying to entice you to come over on a Friday night, knowing that you’re not doin’ shit but writing for the blog, and I’m hawt, and You love Me, and I love You..

A: ..over-usage of “and”, baby.

E: ..archaic misplace of the comma outside of the end-quotation,“baby.”

Ander paused to reflect on his response. I’m absolutely & overwhelmingly smitten by this woman, he thought.

A: ..on My way. You won Me with “archaic misplace of the comma outside of the end-quotation.”

E: Lol. Such a fucking nerd.😍

A: Always.😘

~ written by Hiram Surtyr ~