Scary Werewolf (Photo credit: martin.grondin)
English: Possible representation of the Werewolf Español: Representación de un Hombre lobo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Master was already bushed after the voyage. The trip was supposed to be his siesta period, as he finds a rocking boat in sea storms particularly lulling. However, the Enchanted Writer, who was also a physician and shared the Master’s habit of snoozing in storms, was feeling insomniac today. This meant that the Master Jesus was kept awake by mind-blurring questions.
See –the Enchanted Writer who is also a doctor of the human mind is not really as dull as his many questions make him out to be. In fact his questions make the learned ones seem dumb. The Master loved him. He reminded the Master of when he (the Master) was younger and had amazing adventures sitting at table with and questioning various spiritual leaders of various sects –from the ancient sorcerers and Asthoretheans to the New Age and Zen Instructors. The Master knew the cardinal teachings and practices of all. He became a somewhat notably controversial fellow whose questions dazed foundations of beliefs. In fact, the Master had been known on occasion to turn suddenly to face his very own followers and question the validity of their beliefs. The Master was just all by himself in a very different class. He wasn’t one to indulge religious dogmatism or so crazy for a large fan base that he’d tolerate just anything. He really did not “give an ant’s piss”. He was just… just himself!!!
Now and then, one could observe the Master pat the Enchanted Writer’s shoulder whilst gazing fondly into his eyes as the writer engages him.
That gaze –was what the Enchanted Writer was daydreaming about when John tapped him. “We are ashore.”
It was a quiet and peaceful countryside. So quiet it was eerie.
Out of the woods suddenly leapt two werewolves bounded for the Master’s team. Out came silver swords and guns with silver bullets as the disciples of the Master braced up for the encounter. Near drew the werewolves as they prepared to strike. But, up went the Master Jesus’ arms as the werewolves froze in their tracks. The Enchanted Writer was enthralled by the Master’s act and he already began to take notes analysing what psychic technique(s) the Master must have used. And when the Master engaged the werewolves in a conversation, the physician was amazed.
“Who are you?” the Master asked. “We are a legion of spirits because we are many. We used the arithmetic principle of division and the physical principle of compression we were taught during military training at Camp Hades. So we are evenly distributed into these two humans. Please let us torment your fable-misguided disciples a bit and show them how useless their silver toys are.” replied the demons. The Master finalized “A talkative lot you also are. Now, I know you are expecting me to ask how you’d rather be dealt with, and favour your plea to send you into the herd of swine over there. Then, after you possess and make the pigs drown in the water, you will be free to continue your demonic adventures. But, let’s get creative. I am banishing you right now into the sea to forever roam its depths, doomed to inhabit the hollows of its soul.” So depressed were the demons that they couldn’t even scream as they tore away from the two men who became calm and regained their normal human forms.
Then out of the woods came the natives of the region who had for long been serving the Wolf-god. They would have asked the Master to save them completely and bring sanity to their lives. Instead they are shocked by the power the Master wielded. They would have asked that the Master bring them in on his secret, but they were angry with the Master for getting rid of their former protectors. Did they not know that the Master who got rid of these werewolves was more powerful than them? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Surely it stands to reason.
Reasoning these issues did the Enchanted Writer as he leaned over the Master’s right thigh on their way back after being begged to leave the region by the poor natives! Poor souls!
P.S.: These things have I, the Physician and Writer, witnessed and documented for proof in the Biblical book of Luke 8:22-39
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Fuentes del angel caido – Fountain of the fallen angel (Photo credit: chrisfreeland2002)
This 6th day of the month of January in the year 2013 AD, I, the Enchanted Seer, give this prophecy:
The 31st day of April, 2013 will be the debut of the well-known spiritual leader, who actually is named Deceptor Luciferibus. He shall desire to make an appealing public appearance and win the hearts of the masses. I see him aglow in the full worship of the media as the lights pour on him and the human world watches. Then one called the Enchanted Writer shall approach him in dialogue.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, you daze many when you miraculously turn stones into food to feed many of your followers. Further, many have referred to your motivation and ministration sessions as soul-doping because of the euphoria of these beautiful experiences.
Dec. Luciferibus (shall smile somewhat warmly, but knowingly): Please, don’t thank me.
Enchanted Writer: Then, how is it that these people leave your grounds and still go on to lead depraved, unchanged lives? Is giving them these things proving to be all they really need for living?
Dec. Luciferibus shall smile somewhat nervously, but knowingly, and clean a bead of sweat.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, you have met with the Creator-God himself we have heard. Is this a false allegation?
Dec. Luciferibus (shall smile quite sweetly): I am afraid it is not false.
Enchanted Writer: Please, could you give me a photograph of you and the Creator-God for a keepsake? Permit me say “I am SUCH a fan!”
Dec. Luciferibus shall quickly manufacture a picture of him beside an old huge man with white heavy beard, both of them looking splendorous.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, like I said, I am such a fan. I have also a picture of myself and the Creator-God but it has nothing in common with this.
Dec. Luciferibus (shall then smile quite fearfully): Who are you?
Enchanted Writer: I am sure you know who I am, Sir, and are just teasing me. After all, you are notable for just knowing things, aren’t you?
Dec. Luciferibus shall then be visibly shaken as he pockets a damp handkerchief.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, we heard you grew up in a monastery, and having achieved the height of spiritual enlightenment, want to start a new religion enshrined in oneness.
Dec. Luciferibus shall smile artificially and eye the Writer maliciously, subtly, without saying a word.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, pardon my DIRECTNESS, but does this new religion point at all to the Jesus Christ, who died and lived again to save the lost and degenerate souls, as God?
At this stage, all the floodlights and spotlights and camera flashes shall blow out!
I, the Enchanted Seer, have written down the words of this prophecy in the Bible –Matthew 4:1-11. The choice of the people to, or not to, follow the Deceptor and the dire consequences (if they follow) are yet unknown, but I shall have died peacefully whilst eating monkeybrain sauce and my sagely bones laid to rest before then.
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Introducing the Creator-God, all-wise holy-prankster
Of men’s fates, he is a chess grandmaster.
Even if some refuse to acknowledge his name,
They are still no smarter than pawns in his game.
/ Going back in time to an age before humans started playing chess, we see three pawns… /
Having a lack-full beginning as a servant
Was a pot-bellied wealthy Arabian merchant;
To follow the Enchanting Star, he folded up his house to be sold,
And bundled the weight of it all in gold.
/ Oh! And he kept a Shi’ite assassin with him to guard him… /
A noble savage raised in an African monastery
Saw the Enchanting Star as a greatest mystery.
He then set out with all his life’s essence
Symbolised by his jar of frankincense.
/ Like Prince Akeem Joffer (Eddie Murphy) leaving Zamunda at last for a life of discovery at America… /
Hammered and shredded, this woman is a soul at loss.
The only thing she lives for is to caress a heavy wooden cross.
Seeing the Enchanting Star she set out on the spur,
Squeezing out of her cross a tincture of myrrh.
/ I, an Alchemist, charitably helped convert the cross (symbol of her sorrows) into the myrrh bitter perfume… /
Epilogue (Matthew 2:1-11) The three wise men present baby Jesus their gifts:
Arab: Jesus, take my gold in exchange for your richness,
And take my Shi’ite to protect you from Herod.
African: I have been “forming holier-than-thou” in self-righteousness,
But my frankincense smells like “fart” before you who is himself God.
Sufferer: My perfume has been donated to the house of Mary,
To be kept for the day you meet your worse-than-mine fate.
God: You lads willingly did my bidding, go make merry;
Whichever way it turns out, I always checkmate!
Author’s note: I planned the above stunt with the Creator-God. If you don’t believe I am a player, go to http://www.chess.com/members/view/krystophyr
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Washington DC – Judiciary Square: Meade Memorial (Photo credit: wallyg)
A supernatural world that knocks the earth out of its orbit
The rules override the laws of physics and logic
A powerful system whose fingers weave through all nature
A power that affects events in nature all around us
A living breathing force that swallows the ball of darkness
A solution to the complex puzzle of the corrupt human nature
A mystery that smashes the imagination
A fact the limited cognition can’t process
I am the Unseen One
I exist even if you mortals don’t want to admit it
I am even if you have challenges acknowledging it
You don’t expect me to fade because you deny my reality
You don’t expect my deity status to change because you blaspheme and curse me
You don’t think I will be guilty simply because you rain –
Well, since you are below and I above –
You fire blames upon me
I have made my case, but you simply don’t want to pay attention
Then you bring up all these “facts” and allegations
You manufacture your own versions of circumstantial and hard evidences
Without even a slight trace of my “DNA” to inculpate me
You concoct your own versions of character evidence against me
Without even a peek at the copy of my personality profile
Available so readily all around.
And when I won’t even honour your subpoena
You blatantly call me a coward
Then you go on to lead your lives
Mostly oblivious to my reality and design for your lives
Occasionally admitting to my existence with the angry jab or a curse word at me
I still try to help you see
Not because I cease to be a deity without you
(as I can reel out a billion universes and creatures in a second)
But because I am still concerned about you.
Yet, my reality remains a mystery to you
A reality more promiscuous as a blazing sun temporarily hidden behind a cloud
Yet can be observed to be there
But, again, poor mortals are stuck on detailed analyses of the clouds
Blind to the sun!
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Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.
Original(O): You can call the frog cute
Just so he can help rid you of mosquitoes.
Explained(E): Just as you can call the cow pretty just so she gives you milk. This is about ass-kissing -pardon the use of the term “ass”. When we think about ass-kissing or foot-licking, we usually think of pleasing those “above” us. But, besides royal(and gorgeous) asses, what about that “low-life” or “social misfit” of a person whom we don’t really feel the slightest admiration for as a fellow HUMAN; whom we just keep around us for the things we stand to gain from them. Worse still, we keep them believing they matter to us. Such pitiful, scary emotional vampires some of us make! I can’t imagine what thoughts will run through the mind of that young man when he learns that his “girlfriend” is just keeping him “around her ankles” for some bizarre reason remotely far from attraction.
O: A long road ends in heartbreaks
When your heart grows sick from longing.
E: Some will claim distance breeds longing! Indeed, I’d like to know the definition of that distance -one year, across one continent? Not that there are no EXCEPTIONS. I’d like also to know the meaning of EXCEPTIONS. I know of a friend of mine -distance of about 6 time zones and 3 years. It appeared he wasn’t an exception.
O: Though one may prove brave and strong
By walking the length of it,
Is the journey any more fun?
In the end, anyway
You will earn the Purple Heart for boredom.
E: I would applaud such a friend, for instance; but, they are no more together today. And such a man he was! Such a man!
O: How fast time flies
When its wings are unclipped by the pen.
E: Sometimes, I would start writing around the stroke of midnight, and get lost till it’s around 2am. Writing has such great pull on one.
O: Life turns up great
When played by the book.
E: And where is such a book?
The only one that’s given my life any semblance of sanity is the Bible.
O: But spare me the throes of reading music.
E: A just-by-the-way comment. But, if there’s any reader here who can also read music, my respectful bow. How is it that reading something so liberating and wonderful be so seemingly boring?!
O: I’d rather be just another croaky-frog writer,
Who sings his words with a bang
Even though he plagiarized.
E: And I can’t count the number of them. Writers who photocopy others’ ideas and words. With no originality on their own part. And they blow their own trumpets loud with it.
Anyway, let’s acknowledge some creativity there. They remixed another’s song and made best-sellers with it.
O: Then what advantage does free-styling have,
When the monkey also has his stunts?
E: I would give more credit though, to some fledgling writer who shows some personality/originality.
What then makes anyone earn the title of a “writer” when just anybody can freestyle.
NB: I do not mean to sound derogatory or insulting by using the word “monkey”. From my past writings in this series, you will see more clearly how I have used the term to refer to human beings in a poetic way.
O: But, can we all be poet laureates?
E: The answer would be a banging-croaky “No”!
O: You don’t need wisdom to choose which to be.
You only need monkey soup.
E: By saying monkey soup now, keeping in mind past usages of the word “monkey”, I am referring to creativity/ingenuity.
O: And don’t even begin to think
You know the choice I made.
Humour me if you can
Not forgetting that you’d still the monkey soup,
So we can speak the same lingua.
So long, fellas!
We shall meet in the jungle.
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Posted in insane rantings, life, poetry
Tagged Art, Bible, explanation, Frog, Human, life, Monkey, musings, poetry, Purple Heart, rant, Time zone, Writing