A bit late, but ...

Happy quarter of a century, the dot com domain! :)

Funny how the internet now has an established history. And that we all should have been privileged to have been a part of it, like the people who lived through the turbulent periods of history known as the Wild West, the Renaissance, feudal Japan and the Age of Disco.

Aw, frell

He Pingping Dies, Age 21

The world's shortest man has passed. He was just 21.

Grud frelling damn, that's young. :(

Dreams of Traps and Sorcery, Part 1

I dream sometimes of fictional female cops.

The other night I had a dream where Cote dePablo's character Officer Ziva David, from NCIS, was twisting my arm, and my response to her was "Don't. Stop. Please ... don't stop."

Last night, I found myself switching from Miami to New York, following the trail of Anthony Zuiker's CSI series. I had identically - structured Goetic Temples in my homes in Miami and in New York, the latter being on the penthouse level of an exclusive skyscraper. Apparently I could afford it because, as La Voisin's Maxim of The Throned Devil states, and please feel free to recite after me, "Power Attracts Darkness; Darkness Attratcs Power."

The floor of the Miami one was of some smooth, polished stone the colour of honey, with half pillars against the white walls of the same material. The interior of the Miami temple was dark. I wore a black silk robe.

There'd been a murder; one of my rivals had been found dead lying in the middle of the temple floor with a ritual knife in his back. I had become the prime suspect once the cops found blood in the large bronze offertory bowl on top of the altar: I'd just managed to prove to them where the blood come from, namely the little mini bar freezer below the altar containing bottles of blood. "Name your poison," I'd told Calleigh DuQuesne. "Lamb, beef, chicken. No pig, though. All kosher."

Anyhow, I was lighting incense in the large bowls at the front of the altar; crumbly granules of incense in the bronze censers billowing white smoke into the room. The cop on the scene was Horatio Caine; he exited the room, talking on his mobile, leaving me in the vestibule alone.

Two perps entered the room. I recognised them as brothers. They were armed with a knife and a gun. I turned to them and said "Liked the incense? I mixed it just for you. Sage, to ward off evil, sandalwood, and tetrodotoxin to paralyse your muscles."

At this point, the two assholes were flopping about on the floor, gasping. Caine calls me out, pointing his gun. "Did you poison me as well?" he asked. I shook my head. "Just suggestion," I tell him. "Post-hypnotic suggestions only. Eto kuram na smekh! and all that.

Points if you can recognise that saying.

As this came to a close, the perps were being wheeled away on stretchers, saying that they were "doing the Lord's work." I just smiled, and whispered in their ears, "Abraxas. Enjoy your dreams tonight."

And where did Calleigh come in to all of this? Her boyrfriend de jour had been caught and wounded by these perps at some point prior to my entering the dream. I felt the man die in his hospital bed, with Calleigh present by his side; I was in the office with Horatio when this happened. A few seconds later, Calleigh was on the phone to Horation, in tears.

Part One of this dream ended with me returning to meditation alone at my altar, interspersed with scenes of Calleigh weeping as she scattered her beau's ashes over the Everglades, Horatio posing somewhere wondering where his shades of justice were (they were on my altar! Booya LOL!) and finally, the two fundies in prison orange struggling in their sleep, waking up and screaming as the credits rolled.

I never realised my laughter could sound so much like a menacing cackle. :) I should practice that.

Part Two: New York. Coming Soon.

Dreams of Traps and Sorcery, Part 2

I said, in my earlier post, that I dream of fictional cops. This next part of my dream concerned itself solely with one such character.

Okay, so I was meditating again in one of my Goetic Temples - only this one was in New York, atop a skyscraper. It was night outside, and the interior of the New York Lodge was brightly lit. The walls were of a light cream colour, the floor and half pillars were of a dark red marble, the colour of veinous blood, but the altar and bowls were the same arrangement as in Miami.

In meditating, I was wearing a kingfisher blue silk robe with a paisley pattern on it - the same kind of robe my Mum wore on the day I was born. Gold sash. Underneath all of this was nothing.

There was a chime from behind me. I turned, and saw that Detective Stella Bonasera - or perhaps the actress Melina Kanakaredes, who portrays her - had entered the room, and had struck the entry chime on the small side table set against the far wall, near the entrance, beside the fully laden money trees. Melina was wearing a smile.

And nothing else.

I found myself watching as she came closer to me, still smiling. I noticed that she was smoking. When she came up to me and began to lean over, I found myself wondering whether this was a gift or a trap. So I touched the back of her hand. One small, sharp tap - the way I toggle all of my "victims'" trances on and off - and her eyes cleared.

'Wake up,' I said to her.

With a scream, Stella / Melina lurched away from me, stumbling over herself as if blasted away from me by some telekinetic force. She wound up curled in a corner of the Temple, fearful and shivering. I got up, went over to the far side of the altar and opened an armoire there, withdrawing a spare Acolyte's robe in white linen, folded neatly. Crossing over the Temple floor, I proffered the robe to the actress.

'I don't want you to see me changing,' she said to me.

'It means nothing to me,' I replied, my voice soft; then I returned to my meditation.

Yes, folks, even in my dreams I am on the lookout for traps. Be careful you don't step into one of my dreams on one of your own astral voyages. :)