Dear Reader, I have been reading Animal Farm by George Orwell, as part of the newly formed Gloom Dog Book club…
*Oh, it’s a great book choice to start with considering current political climes, Clicky…*
There’s a paragraph early on in the story that grabbed my attention because it synced with a conversation that I had with Cade Fon Apollyon on Friday evening, regarding: the 1966 movie Arabesque starring Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren; some randomly posted bible verse in the comments of a YouTube video of disco song that was a hit in Japan in 1977; and an unexpected stream of swan, monkey, lion and elephant appearances to cross my path that day…
*Yeah I know. It’s a bit whacky, butt bear with me and I’ll try to explain…*
First things first, here is the paragraph from Animal Farm that grabbed my attention:
‘Napoleon took no interest in Snowball’s committees. He said that the education of the young was more important than anything that could be done for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jessie and Bluebell had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder from the harness-room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of the farm soon forgot their existence.’
*Okay I’m getting to it… /drags… Get arabesque to show, Dear Reader, Clicky…*
*No, the movie… /rolls eyes…*
*An outbreak of flu is used as an excuse in the opening scene and the missing cipher hidden in a sweetie wrapper, labelled 9…*
*The title of Wes’ talk is meant to be sarcastic. Actually a ‘pollock’ is also a fish… /thinks… Wait, this is syncing with the ‘lost joke’ in your recent post, Clicky…*
*Vans with ‘Cubitts’ on the side were very prominent in the movie… /drags…*
*Weird fucking movie, Clicky. Enjoyable but weird… /streams smoke… To think, we only watched it ‘cos of a Twitter convo Cade had with @monkeynutshell shortly beforehand…*
*/flicks ash… A trio from Frankfurt…*
*Some elephant tweets had crossed my twitterfeed that day…*
*Menemosyne is an aspect of the Planetary Animal Mother, Sophia, according to Gnostic teacher John Lamb Lash… /final drag… Goddess of Memory and mother of the 9 Muses…*
*An elephant would be an excellent witness to a crime, Clicky… /stubs butt…*
*Wes’ latest vid… /grins… Talk about the elephant in the room…*
Okay, I’m gonna have to assume, Dear Reader, that you followed the conversation above and employed your Clicky when cued, to perceive the synchronicities that I experienced…
… So, let’s go back to the paragraph from Animal Farm that grabbed my attention…
‘Nose of a Lion took no interest in Snowball’s committees. He said that the education of the young was more important than anything that could be done for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jessie and Bluebell had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder from the harness-room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of the farm soon forgot their existence.’
*Sorry for the spoiler, Clicky, butt those 9 puppies became Napoleon’s attack dogs, enforcing his rule over Animal Farm…*
*Yeah, it’s a lot to take in, Clicky…*
I’ve nearly finished reading Animal Farm, Dear Reader. It’s funny, George Orwell prefaced the story with ‘A Fairy-tale’, a pejorative term used to describe myths…
… Have a Song, Dear Reader… 😉
Good news, Dear Reader 😀 I have finally, finally finished and submitted my story for Underdog Anthology XIV…
*Something like that, Clicky…*
… I still have to find a dead poet’s poem to mutilate for the Afterword, but Leggy is hoping to publish the new volume in the next week or so, and I will then post ‘Walk I, With You’ for you here at the LoL…
*Yeah, I used an image from the story for that tweet…*
…Right now, however, we have a new missive from Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Text Us Devil, on the subject of synchronicity/synchromysticism. If you have any interest in the subject whatsoever, it’s not to be missed. And even if you don’t, it’s a bloody good read anyway.
Scroll on, Dear Reader, scroll on…
… And enjoy! ❤
Captain….CAPTAIN, Jack Sparrow.
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E-STIR E-STIR E-STIR
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Did you know that, according to Google Translate, “tur” is German for “door”?
Did you know that “TUR” is the NASDAQ ticker for some fund based on Turkish equities?
Welp...now you know.
Open some doors.
A holy crusade should be started. A holy crusade to eliminate all evildoers on the entire planet. That way, when all evildoers are dead, only the good will remain. So, if I survive these purges, that means I too, am good.
Well, there will still be murderers left because the good who killed all the bad are still alive. And I guess there will still be thieves because the murderers took something that did not belong to them. And there will be liars because all of this murder and theft was predicated upon there being no more evildoers left in the world.
We're right back to where we started.
Hrm… maybe it would be best to skip all those shenanigans and just leave things more or less as they are?
This time a year ago (April 2020/when the lockdown started) oil dropped to $11.26 per bbl and gasoline prices fell through the floor. Now, it’s back up to over $60 per bbl, and it’s being projected that by summer/fall of 2021, oil will be up to around $80 per bbl. Oil hasn’t been over $80 per bbl since October of 2014.
Hrm…relying on nCoV-2019 vaccinations, to rally demand for oil. I wonder what other types of things those in the market are relying upon nCoV-2019 vaccinations to rally. Further have to wonder if people aren’t getting vaccinated, does that mean the rallies aren’t gonna happen? I wonder if rich people/powerful people get rowdy when they want they want a rally to happen, but it doesn’t. Do they riot, and if so, how and where do they riot/tear shit up?
The concept of teaching Synchronicity is an interesting one. Teach people how to recognize and observe the phenomena. My experience has been that Synchronicity cannot be taught. If you start pointing weird shit out, people are initially going to query you as to how you saw such a small and insignificant event. Over time, they will start to look at you really fucking strangely.
They may go so far as to accuse you of being the engine that is driving this phenomenon because it only seems to happen when you are around. Or at least, you are the only one that seems to be able to see this stuff, no one else seems to catch it, although yes, once you point it out, they see it too. Maybe at this point it’s important to point out that “seeing” (to me anyway) is one of the more overrated parts of the experience. It may sometimes be a smell, or a sound, or a feeling, or even an aggregate of sensory input that generates a deja vu type of vibe, except with synchronicities the feeling is more like you’re experiencing something that has already happened in the future rather than re-experiencing a something that has happened in the past.
I’m getting off-track…lemme get back on topic. It is likely possible to teach one to recognize Synchronicity, but I’d think an interest on the part of the learner is gonna be necessary.
Seriously…who in the hell wants to be an observer?
A: Fucking no one.
You don’t wanna be in the stands, you wanna be on the field, be in the game. You wanna be making things happen, not be at the whims of chance and just standing their helpless as events unfold because of those who are actually participating and driving things.
Glory. Glory!!! BUCKETLOADS OF GLORY!!!
You want it. You want them.
This is really just me vocalizing my ineptitude at figuring out how one teaches another to be a good observer. How to develop your communication skills so as to be able to be accurate in expressing yourself and relating events to 3rd parties. But to be honest, when it comes to synchronicity, anyone who seeks you out for help is likely to already be either a novice or perhaps even intermediate due to the nature of synchronicity. You were just minding your business one day, and suddenly, the Universe grabbed you by the nape of the neck and chunked your sorry ass into the deep end, and that was the first and last time you could ever be qualified as a “beginner”. Its all uphill from there, and chances are you possess tools you didn’t even know you had before this journey even started.
It is with all that in mind that I reiterate…the concept of teaching Synchronicity is an interesting one. Maybe its not about teaching as much as it is about learning. Maybe even sharing. Maybe there’s an equality type of trait nested within where the teacher and student hats are always and forever interchangeable. There are no masters, there is only mastery.
Some people are probably gonna REALLY dislike such a concept.
No room for advancement.
No way to become a name.
No way to become a face.
What does your face look like anyway?
DATABASE FOR HUMAN TRAINING a glimpse into the databases used by artificial intelligence-Animated Gifs
Hey…you’ve always wanted to get to know people. That must also mean you want people to get to know you. Welp, they are. Problem is, there may not be a whole lotta reciprocation going on.
They, know you. You, are not them.
You may have to suspend disbelief if you listen to this next song.
Just hang in there...you will reach the “wtf?!?” part soon enough.
SO! For those who journeyed into that video, and stuck with it long enough to reach the “wtf?!?” moment, lets us see some of the more or less boring mechanics of how some sweet little soft-spoken pixie learns to summon and master the dark vocal forces of hell.
Is that misogynist of me? Sexist? Referring to a person who I do not know nor have any sort of relationship with as “a sweet little soft-spoken pixie”? To be fair, she was/is singing to me. Or at me.
Prolly not that much different than anything else. You want to learn to do something, you see how others do it, then you practice, practice, practice.
I admit that when I watched that Jinjer/Pisces video, I did not believe what I was hearing. The video is supposedly live, but if you are as old as I am and have been around the musical block a few times, you learn that a “live” recording is…well, not necessarily as “live” as they say it is. Most of the time a “live” recording has been sent back to the engineers for cleanup, and many of the nuances of a live performance have been removed. Also need to point out that electronic vocal processing has reached the point to where there is virtually nothing that one cannot do digitally. So I had to ask myself…
”Wait, let’s say that they are heaping a shitload of vocal processing on her voice in order to make her sound like a man. Is that really any different than some pop diva using autotune, so that she never hits any sour notes? Or even putting a reverb or delay or EQ or compression or some other effect on a more or less clean voice?”
I used to sometimes run my own voice straight into a distortion pedal to get my voice to sound like I wanted. Yep, plugged the microphone directly into a distortion pedal made for guitar. Lolz (true story) Screaming is hard on the voice. Talk to any USMC drill instructor, and chances are their voice sounds like rocks in a woodchipper from all of that screaming.
With all this in mind, I went back and watched the Jinjer/Pisces video again, and I watched nothing but her lips and her throat, and tried to keep her posture in my periphery so I could see what her diaphragm was doing. I also tried to listen for any hints of more or less “female” sounding tones embedded within the signal I was hearing. I heard some. Also, the video angles and cuts are as such that it is damn rough to look for those tiny accentuations in the face and neck which reveal connections to certain tones. I still doubt as to whether she is actually producing these sounds.
So let’s do this…lets see if we can find a something where they are live live…like on-stage live at a concert, and see if it still looks disconnected.
FUCK!!! She’s now got a goddamn huge neck tattoo obscuring everything!!!
That certainly doesn’t help seeing whether or not veins are popping out in her neck, nor does it make it easy to see what the larynx is doing. So now I have to go back and listen to both the studio live and concert live versions, bounce back and forth and see just how similar the screamed/growled parts are. They do sound similar, but not in a Milli Vanilli/lipsyncing kind of way as much of a “how does the vocal tones of the live studio version sound so damn close to the on-stage live version?” kind of way. Are we learning to learn how to learn about strange coincidences yet?
Fuck this…let,s get the straight dope right out of the growler’s mouth.
Formed a new band last week.
Avant Garde Fart Cracklings
Our first album “Crispy Burnt Leftovers In The Bottom Of The Pan” should drop soon. Which reminds me…
if Sulfur smelled like apple blossoms, would farts be more popular?
Do you prefer to know the secret behind the magician’s tricks, or are you just here for the magic? Or both?
It is nice to be able to control others. Especially to control the magician.
The fog days of summer are rapidly approaching.
Frog days of summer...that is.
Ever since this “Q” or “QAnon” stuff has fallen on its face and its followers have gotten all grumpy and discombobulated, it has been quite amazing to see just how quickly the “Disclosure” peeps have also turned on their own masters.
Which reminds me, I watched a documentary the other day called “Alien Reptilian Legacy”.
I’m not exactly big on pointing out certain physical features nor making derogatory type comparisons, but holy FUCK! As soon as David Icke appeared, I was like…”damn, that dude appears to be physically turning into the very thing that he hates…a Reptilian.” Besides that, the documentary was pretty fucking boring tho. Not to mention that the whole Reptilian thing is muddy as fuck since some seem to think that the Reptilians are the good guys, Greys are the bad guys, and others think the opposite. (Greys = Good, Reptilians = Bad) Um…I’ve never seen a Reptilian. Nor a Grey. Nor any other fucking extraterrestrial as far as that goes. Seen some goddamn freaky-assed human weirdos come out of the Ufology community, but never seen an alien. Cept via the wizardry of books, film and television. Which reminds me, its been a while since I checked to see how many alien species are now said to reside on Earth/Terra. I think last time I checked, there was around 78 different aliens visiting from 78 different planets. Lets see if any new aliens have landed.
Fucking hell…that list sucks balls.
That’s from over three years ago, and it don’t help me much.
That’s more along the lines of what I’m looking for in that it’s timely, but that’s just projections from a more or less legit entity in the scientific community (SETI). I need an updated list of the honest-to-God extraterrestrial beings that are currently hanging their space hats on Earth.
GAH!!! That’s more capitalist wet market bullshit. I need aliens with space ships and phasers and warp drives and cloaking devices and chicks with three tits and other assorted technological advances.
Black, Grey and Watch Lists of alien species in the Czech Republic based on environmental impacts and management strategy
More markets? Blacks and Greys?
If anything, that list is missing aliens.
I cannot read much of that article because it is behind a paywall. Which, hey…remember at carnivals where a certain amount of money would get you inside of the tent, but if you wanted to keep going to the various shows inside, you had to pay additional? They tempt you with all those banners, but the truth is that the fee to get in the door is only one fee of many. You then get shown the exit, your funds are depleted, and you’re not exactly sure what in the fuck just happened nor what you actually got for your cash.
I got yet another question for you to chew on…
Q: Where do the disaffected go?
A: ?? ( o ) ( o ) ??
They’ve rebelled, gone their own way, found their own path…but are they welcomed back and nestled into the bosom of mamma’s embrace when everything collapses? Make no mistake, “they” want you as part of their team. They’ll split, divide and set you assunder via any and all means in order to get you into the fold. Build a something up, and tear it right the fuck back down so you have nowhere else to go. Has an air of demonstrating and reinforcing who the rightful owners are…eh? Have any idea what I’m talking about here?
Q: Who owns the Universe and everything in it?
A: ? ó¿ó ?
You’re on your own in answering this one. Maybe if you weren’t fighting like hell to get these fuckers on a pedestal, you wouldn’t find yourself fighting like hell to get them off.
Get them off…the pedestal. Not like get them off get them off. Although…you are getting off getting them on, and, getting off getting them off.
Sounds like you are getting the better end of the deal.
Lets us take a spin around The Synchrosphere, yeah? Been a long time since I’ve done that, so lets see if we can see what the synchromystics/synchronauts are up to.
NOTE: Just because you aren’t one of the popular kids in the popular cliques doesn’t make what you do any less important. There are likely metric-mega-fucktons of people out there doing their thing who have no idea that “The Synchrosphere” is even a thing. They just keep on chugging, keep digging, keep learning, irrespective of what the cool kids are doing. Many of them prolly aren’t trying to carve out their own niche either. Just slogging through the craziness and trying to figure out what they are doing right and what they are doing wrong.
Lemme break out of that “note” and give a coupla examples of what I mean.
Now, I’ve seen a lot of stuff like that over time. They seem to be under the impression that they are completely alone, the only source of “truth”, and all this stuff they are seeing is driving them bonkers because they are shouting into the void and no one seems to be heeding their warnings. But at the same time, this individual does appear to be trying prove something, as well as trying to carve out their own niche because they seem to think that getting “Twitter Verified” will make everything they say and do OK. Validation by the very system(s) they seem to be at odds with, will, I guess, make their predictions more mostest trueerist of all because the message is getting out to millions instead of just a few hundred and people are actually listening! Or something. Maybe its a matter of money. Getting paid to do what you do is a helluva validation in our world and times.
The Moose, or BuckoTheMoose. I cannot speak for them, but I would imagine they would almost assuredly NOT consider themselves a Synchronaut. It’s probable he doesn’t even know what in the hell Synchromysticism even is (not that anyone else does either…heh). Hell, they could be the high priest of synchronicity for all I know.
I do kinda know “The Moose”, however. He’s a cool cat, but also very outspoken/pulls no punches. I’ve never really spoken with him about anything “spiritual”, nor have I seen him mention anything along the lines of more mainstream types of spiritual stuff. He appears to like cars, good beer, good cigars, is laid back, astute, has a great sense of humor, so yeah I guess he’s all about spiritual stuff. Just maybe not the same spiritual virtue signaling type bullshit that the herd considers to be spiritual. You know, spiritual virtue signaling…
- like getting all dressed up in your religious uniform(s);
- going to virtue display barn (church or maybe a political rally);
- join in enthusiastically with the virtue signaling chants;
- nod approvingly (but otherwise keep your piehole shut) as the messages from on high are delivered;
- fall on your face and cry and wail for acceptance by the pure and holy;
- maybe even get to rub palms with a few of the elite…
you know, virtue signaling.
The Moose may not be your typical Synchronaut, but they’re a cog in the wheel. Not only that, they are their own wheel. A voice. Their voice. To exclude them would be tragic.
OK!!! So, enough of trying to figure out the synchronistic forces and dynamics at work on our planet, and lets off to see what the big guns are up to.
Up first is…
Yes, that’s right…the Synchromysticism Forums are BACK!!!
I admit that I’ve known for some time that these forums were there, but I further admit I’ve not given it much of a look. It appears that only one person posts there (Peg from the old whatchacallit forums), and a lot of it appears to be only reposts of news stories…all of which are separated by the same ad over and over where someone is plugging “astrological mini-readings” for $50 via cellphone text message. The forums layout is confusing, the giant pictures in the Table of Contents make no sense, and the whole place seems to be more about “Q” and “Truthers” than they seem to be about Synchronicity and/or Synchromysticism.
Now, is it possible that the one person who is making all the posts over there is actually a community account shared by several people? Sure. Maybe they’ve decided to take a 4Chan type approach to administration in order to bundle everything under a single moniker, so that the reader has no idea who is posting what. But even if that is so, as of the time of this writing, the forums only has 1046 posts in 575 topics, and there are only 11 registered members.
Not gonna be much discussion going on with only 11 registered members when only one of those registered users appears to speak. The forum layout also seems to be structured in such a way to discourage discourse. Topics are WAY to detailed and specific, there’s no readily apparent and coherent parent-child type of inheritance, and I assume the thought process here was to make moderation easier by putting all of the burden of staying on-topic on the posters.
Don't stay on topic? BANNED!!! Simple.
Very authoritarian, hopelessly rigid and completely counter-intuitive to the erratic and unpredictable nature of Synchronicity. I can only assume that the goal is to amass useful and usable information. Actionable lists of worthwhile data.
Oh well, it’s their forums, they can do whatever they please with them. As to the Evergreen Consulting/Jen Psaki thing, controlling the shipping lanes and intercepting freight is how you make money in the datastreams. Just gotta add your own node to the existing infrastructure(s).
Let’s move on to…
Spirals are syncy in my own sphere(s) as of late. This post is kinda interesting because only yesterday I crossed paths with that image above, and there’s been lots of holes and sinkhole types of things appearing on my radar. But what I’ve been mainly thinking about is a particular axis/view that is usually required to identify a spiral. Take for example the rifling within a barrel of a firearm/gun. You really need to be able to look up/down the barrel in order to best see the twist of the rifling. From the side you get more of a sine wave type of impression. But in the case of say a spiral galaxy, a side view will give the impression that there is no spiral at all. Just a cloudy more or less flat blob of a murky mess with maybe some wedge-shaped properties.
Kinda weird how the up/down of the z-axis changes based upon observer perspective in those two instances. Whatever this weird “edge” is I keep seeing tho? I can’t quite put my finger on it. I cannot tell if it’s a reset type thing where the reset somehow carries conditional types of properties over in order to exist in two places at the same time, or if there is simply a dimension that I’m missing. Perhaps there is always an inverse to the more forward types of dimensions so as to preserve information when one reaches the edge where dimensions cease to exist.
EX: The edge of the Universe.
Maybe I’m thinking too much in the micro scale and thinking too much about shrinkage instead of expansion and/or macro scale(s). Maybe the dimensions do not shrink when one reaches the edge. Maybe they expand. Maybe they both expand and shrink. Whatever it is, the typical 3/4/5/8+ types of dimensions that create our reality seem to become incoherent as a specific and succinct set. Perhaps the existence of an inverse carries an accurate enough stack of data in such a way that matter which becomes corrupt in our Universe/reality can and will remanifest itself elsewhere, all while giving the appearance of existing in two places simultaneously. Spooky action kinds of stuff that is not easily identified as such. We are, afterall, talking about more or less zero-times between extraordinarily remote/distant objects.
I can't quite put my finger on it.
Let us off to downunderland where their fall is just getting cranked up in anticipation of winter…
Brizdaz can always be counted on for having some interesting shiz, and today is no different. Looks like there’s some Synchronistic learnin’ going on there, and even tho I wrote the top bits of this post several days ago, its still kinda weird to see the connections. But hell, who am kidding. Synchronicity is nothing new, and the concept itself has likely been around since long before Jung got his hands on it. So…
Q: Where is the new?
A: Right here.
Me, you, him, her, it, they, them, us…all of this shit may be as old as dirt, but it’s new as fuck to us.
Looks like Rune Soup has a new podcast series type thingie or something…
Those vids are about an hour each so I’ll prolly forgo for the time being. Prolly won’t watch them later either because I’m lazy af.
Which reminds me…a certain someone who I shall not name (RooBeeDoo) noticed recently that a someone who hasn’t posted a blog post in a very long time had a new post up. Let’s saunter over there.
SynchoMiss has posted on her blog for the first time in like 4 years…
I have no idea where she’s been. Actually, that’s not true because I bumped into her on Twitter several years ago and I guess she’s kinda more active there.
I have no idea who she is.
Actually, that’s true. I have no idea who any of these fucking weirdos are. Just a buncha freaks being weird and doing strange stuff. Like…writing. And like I guess…reading. And then like…writing some more (all of which are pretty damn strange).
Aight…enough of that shit. It’s not that I don’t like cruising around and checking out people’s blogs, because I do. I almost never view any blogs anymore. Not UnderdogBitesUpwards, nor Frank Davis, nor Merovee Frank and not even Miss Ivannah The Topless Psychic.
heh heh heh heh heh heh
Anyway, yeah I like reading people’s blogs, just have completely lost the heart to do it. I don’t drop in with an encouraging hi, nor howdy, nor keep going, nor kiss my ass, nor fuck off and die…nothing. Nada. My heart just ain’t in it currently.
/queue sad music
Me me me me me em mem mememememememememememememe
Yeah, this post is already 9 pages long and I should likely get it over to Roob before Doomsday gets here.
We’ve got 800 fucking billion forms of communication available to us on this planet, and not a single motherfucker on this entire rock seems to be able to figure out how to communicate with one another.
Am currently suffering from a wicked case of flabbergastritis.
Perhaps I should go.
(no pun intended)
*Good idea, Clicky…*
The comment section is open, Dear Reader, so don’t be shy to use it if you have any questions or comments for Cade, myself or Clicky. Have a Song 😉
Dear Reader, prompted by a convo in Merovee comments about rabbits and bad hair days, I’ve decided to post my story from Underdog Anthology IX: Well Haunted…
*Thanks, Clicky… /pats snout… I’ll format the story and you go get a Song for the end…*
… called ‘Fountainhead’. I was saving it to post for Halloween, but I’ll post ‘What Time Do You Finish?’ from Underdog Anthology XII then instead 😀
by Roo B. Doo
“Okay, Thom?” Jess placed on her hands on Thom’s shoulders, and gave them a friendly squeeze. “You still want to do this?” she asked him, addressing the brightly lit mirror before them.
Thom studied the reflection of the woman standing behind him. With silver hair, thickly plaited, and intricate henna designs adorning both her arms from wrists to biceps, Jess was an odd mixture of old and young. He nodded slowly before leaning his head back, to look up directly into her wrinkled face and sparkling eyes. “Yes. Let’s do it.”
“Alright then,” Jess said with a smile. She pushed Thom’s head forward playfully, and looked down at the shaved skin she’d created near the crown of his head. She tenderly caressed it’s smoothness with her gloved fingertips before swooping down to lightly kiss it.
“Hey, is that part of the ritual?” Thom asked. “Doesn’t seem very hygienic.”
“Yes and no, it’s not.” Jess took the bottle of Povidone-Iodine from the trolley beside her and quickly swabbed the pale patch on Thom’s head, turning it umber. “But this stuff tastes disgusting.”
Thom’s reflection stared hard at her from the mirror.
“Seriously, Thom. Dis. Gus. Sting.” Jess laughed jovially. “Trust me, I’ve kissed all the ones I’ve done before,” she said with a shrug. “They all turned out okay. Please, grant me a little superstition. It is Halloween.”
“Okay, Jess. I trust you,” Thom replied. He watched her pick up a scalpel, but his eyes lingered on the electric drill that lay passively on top of the trolley.
“Thank you.” Jess placed the scalpel blade against the orange patch of skin beneath her gaze. “Now, this may hurt.”
Thom’s hands tightened their grip on the armrests of his chair, hidden beneath the heavy, flowing cape that Jess had made him wear. “No problem.”
Thom Lusher’s headache had been with him for as long as he could remember. It had taken up residence in his skull during childhood, whilst Thom watched his mother die of cancer, and squatted on throughout adolescence, as Thom’s father attempted to drown himself in vodka. The nagging, low throb was a constant in an otherwise unreliable world. It was something Thom could rely on, even consider a friend.
The headache had once come to his rescue, when Thom’s PE teacher had attempted to get handsy down his gym shorts. It had immediately flared into a raging, sparking tempest, forcing the contents of Thom’s stomach out of his mouth and down the front of his fumbling teacher, revealing the damp outline of a sad erection. Yes, the headache hurt Thom, but not nearly as much as the world did.
The only time the headache disappeared completely was when Thom dreamed ‘the floating dream’. He’d be in the thick of a situation, when, suddenly, his feet would leave the ground and he would start to rise. As he looked down, observing the action below, Thom would be acutely aware that he was steadily floating higher, and that his headache was gone. Levitating upward in a world made of sky, Thom felt serene and pain-free. Until he bumped up against the hard, dark arc of space above, at which point Thom would wake to reality and a fierce ache in his head.
The headache was part of Thom’s life and he’d steeled himself to the fact that it always would be. Until he met Jess, that is. She was the hippy, dippy proprietress of ‘Curl Up And Dye’, a hair salon on the edge of town. They’d got talking at a shared smoking table, outside Starbucks on the High Street. Little did Thom know then how Jess would change his life forever.
“Go anywhere nice on holiday this year?” Jess asked, as she started to peel back the flaps of skin she’d incised with the scalpel, to expose Thom’s skull.
“What?” Thom asked incredulously.
Jess was concentrating hard on the wound she’d inflicted, but stole a glance at Thom’s reflection. “I’m sorry. Force of habit,” she replied sheepishly. “Day job.”
Thom smiled ruefully at her via the mirror and resisted the temptation to shake his head. “Not this year. You?”
Jess had resumed scraping back the skin. “I like to spend November in Thailand. I leave tomorrow. You’re lucky we met and I could fit you in.”
Thom didn’t know if he should feel lucky or whether he’d gone completely mad. He’d only met Jess by chance earlier that day and now here he was, sitting alone in her dark and empty hair salon, completely at her mercy. The yammering pain in his head reminded him that he’d not exactly been blessed with luck in his life so far, but Jess had given him hope that somehow this could change.
“Have you done many of these?” Thom asked, to cover the sounds of faint scratching that filled the silence.
“More and more this year since Bore-Heading became a thing again. Of course I did mine back in the Seventies.”
“You did it on yourself?”
“Yes, for the purpose of enlightenment, not to follow some silly rock star like the kids do today.”
Thom frowned; that wasn’t why he was there but considered it ill advised to argue given his present situation. “And were you enlightened?”
“Yes. I discovered trepanning others is entirely more lucrative than trepanning myself. Thank goodness for silly rock stars, eh?” Jess flashed Thom a wink in the mirror. “Okay, Thom, I’m down to the bone. Ready for me to open you up?”
Thom stared into the violet eyes of his reflection and took a deep breath. “Go for it.”
Jess returned a solemn nod before turning to pick up the drill.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” the old woman asked Thom, as she placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
“No, go ahead.” Tom smiled up at the woman before going back to his book. He rubbed his brow and took a drag on the cigarette sat idling in the ashtray on the table.
“Ta,” she said sitting down and placing her shopping by her feet. She pulled her coat tighter and took a sip of her coffee. “Brr, it’s cold today.”
Thom nodded his agreement but he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat; he wanted to finish the chapter he was reading.
“Perfect for Halloween, of course.” The woman continued talking undeterred. She looked up and scanned the sky. “Cold and clear of cloud. Perfect for piercing the veil.”
“I’m sorry, what is?” Thom asked. He wasn’t paying attention but didn’t want to appear rude.
“The veil between worlds, here and beyond,” the woman said. “It’s thinnest at Halloween. We have perfect conditions today for piercing the barrier.”
At her words, Thom immediately pictured himself sailing upward through an ocean of sky before hitting impenetrable nothingness. The dull throb of his constant headache suddenly spiked, causing him to wince.
“Are you okay? You’ve gone quite pale,” the woman asked with concern.
“Yes,” Thom answered abruptly. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw his fists impotently beating against smooth blackness of space; a fragment of his dream from the night before. “Sorry, yes I’m fine. I have a headache.”
“Wait here.” The woman ordered, before rushing off inside the coffee shop. “And watch my bags.”
Thom felt confused; he wanted to leave, but felt obliged to stay until she returned. His headache had started to settle down but his curiosity was piqued. How could this woman, a stranger, have described his floating dream, when he’d never told anybody else about it before?
“Here we are.” The woman returned, placing a mug of hot water in front of him.
“Er, thanks,” Thom replied sceptically, as he watched her rummage through one of her many shopping bags.
“It’s for this,” she said, brandishing a teabag and a wide smile. She dropped it into the steaming mug. “Ginger tea. It’s the most wonderful tension reliever. I always drink it if I have a headache. Please try it. My name is Jess, by the way.”
Thom dunked the teabag, turning the clear liquid amber. “Thom Lusher.” He took a tentative sip of the hot tea. “Thank you.”
Jess sat back and observed Thom contemplatively. “If you don’t mind me saying, Thom, you have the look of someone who knows suffering. Have you had the headache a long time?”
Thom froze mid sip. He felt the hot liquid burn his top lip but his headache had ebbed away. He stared at Jess’s frank and open face, encouraging him to unburden. He put down the tea and lit a fresh cigarette. “All my life,” he said thickly.
Jess sniffed the cold air before glancing skyward. “Well, Thom. I think I can help you.”
“No, wait!” Thom sprang from the salon chair and turned toward Jess. He backed into the mirror unit, scattering pots of hair product to the floor. “I’m sorry, Jess. Can we just wait a moment?”
Jess placed the silent drill back on the trolley and rushed round to comfort him. “Of course. Oh my goodness, Thom, you’re trembling. Just sit down a moment and I’ll tidy up this mess.”
“I’ll help-” Thom started to bend down but Jess stopped him.
“No, you’ll get blood everywhere. Sit there, I’ll sort this out.” Jess handed him a towel. “And wipe your face, you have blood trickling from your hairline.
Thom perched on the edge of the salon chair, holding the towel to his forehead, while Jess got onto her knees and started gathering the strewn pots.
“I’m sorry but it was when you gunned the drill twice,” Thom explained. “I don’t know, it just set me off.”
“And I’m sorry, too. You’re obviously not ready for this procedure. Oh no, this one’s broken open.”
Jess got to her feet and wiped her hands on spare towel. “I’ll have to get a mop.”
“No, Thom, it’s okay.” Jess grabbed Thom’s right arm and shoulder, pushing him back into the chair. “I’ll mop first and bandage you up, then tidy up your hair. Nobody will notice the bald spot. Promise.”
Thom let out a noisy sigh of relief. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
“I shouldn’t worry about it,” Jess called back over her shoulder as she made her way the the back room of the salon. “We all shock ourselves from time to time. I’ll make you drink.”
Jess stopped. “No, I’ve got something special for shock. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
Thom stared at himself in the mirror whilst Jess was gone. He picked up a hand mirror from the trolley and held it at and angle over his head so that he could see the damage. All he could see was a pool of blood that lapped across the shaven skin, soaking into his hair. Thom grimaced at the sight of maroon and black wound with crimson tinges. “Fuck!”
“Here we are.” Jess returned and handed Thom a dark green, steaming brew. She took the hand mirror from him and replaced it on the trolley. “Drink up. This is my own recipe, tell me what you think.”
She left again to collect the mop, leaving Thom to gingerly sipped at the hot concoction. “Hey, this is delicious, Jess” he shouted out. He took a slurp. “What’s in it?”
“Oh a little of this, a little of that.” Jess returned with a mop and bucket and set about cleaning up gloop and splashes of blood from the floor. “Mostly sugar. Sugar’s good for shock.”
Thom drained the cup. “Well, I thought-”
Jess quickly placed her fingertips over Thom’s mouth.”No, sit back and be quiet, Thom. Let the tea work,” she said firmly.
Thom sat back in the chair and watched Jess clean up. She moved the mop from side to side and returned the pots of creams back to the mirror shelf, all in rhythmical, moving silence.
Thom looked at the bloody towel in his hands and thought about his crazy day, and how it wouldn’t be over for a while yet. He felt the tension drain from his body and his eyelids droop. I must tell Jess that her tea is better than the ginger stuff, was the last thing Thom thought before he nodded off to sleep.
“Help me, how?”
Thom took a drag from his cigarette and looked over at Jess. She took a gulp of her coffee and stared back at him. “Help me, how?” Thom asked again.
“Thom, there are many ancient rituals and practices that have been mostly forgotten by the modern world. I happen to be a practitioner in a number of them.”
“Like what? Voodoo shit?”
Jess chuckled. “Not exactly, no. What I’m thinking of for you was stolen by the medical profession and renamed something ugly to put people off.”
Thom was perplexed. The conversation he didn’t want to have, then enticed into having was taking a turn for the bizarre. “What are you talking about?”
“Trepanation, Thom. It has been practised for thousands of years. Until quite recently that is. Now it’s called a Craniotomy and only doctors are allowed to perform it.”
“Wait.” Thom could suddenly feel his seat leave his chair and his knees bumped under the cafe table, hard enough to knock the ashtray to the floor with a clatter. He grabbed on to the edge of the table. “You want to drill a hole in my head?!”
Jess plucked up her coffee cup from the table before it flipped over. “Oh, but I’m trepanning you right now,” she said to the departing Thom, who was floating higher and higher, feet first. She pointed an index finger toward him and retracted it twice, like pulling a trigger. “Rizzz Rizzz. No more headache.”
“No, wait!” Thom screamed as at first a laughing Jess, followed by the High Street, the town and then all the land below shrunk from his sight. He zoomed up through the cold, blue, cloudless sky. Thom knew exactly where he was heading but this time he did not know what he would find.
Suck Glug Slurp
“Oh shit, he’s a gusher!”
A fountain of blood erupted from the hole Jess had made in Thom’s head and splattered over her face, neck and chest. She hastily grabbed the wadding from the trolley, in order to stem the blood spouting from the top of Thom’s lolling head. Blood streamed from between her fingers, across her hand and flowed down along the henna tattoos on her forearm. It dripped from Jess’s elbow and pooled at her feet.
She placed an arm across Thom’s chest and pulled him upright, all whilst holding his head steady, maintaining pressure on the gaping wound. Jess stayed like that, chanting quietly until she was certain the bleeding had slowed enough for her to remove the sodden wadding and she could take a look. Deep at the centre of the circle of blood and matted hair, Jess could see the pulse of pinkish brain.
She covered the wound with a bandage and removed his bloody cape, before setting about cleaning up. Once Jess was sure the floor was clear of blood, she placed black candles around unconscious Thom’s chair and lit them. Finally she hung a mournful looking goat skull, from the top of the brightly lit mirror, so that it replaced Thom’s head in his reflection.
As she finished, Thom opened a fiery eye. “Daughter?”
“I knew it! I knew he was the one!” Jess howled with glee, before dropping to her knees to kiss Thom’s hand. Tears streamed from her twinkling, eyes. “Oh, Satan, my Lord and Master. You have come at last!”
Thom gently lifted Jess’s blood-flecked face toward him and smiled radiantly down upon her.