The Magic of Solomon

The blood trickled profusely from out her nose. Down, in, and over her busted lips, pooling and splattering on both our feet. Her left eye was nearly dangling out of its socket. Her tears and blood left a trail of pain and misery on the floor of my double-wide. Her beautiful face, exotic features, and dark caramel-complected, ruthlessly beaten to a pulp. She was almost unrecognizable. It was hard for me to look at. Harder yet for me to maintain my calm. I teetered on going nuclear. But that's not what she needed. She needed comfort and security. I would walk the warpath soon enough. She sobbed and wailed on my shoulder, and I embraced her tenderly in my arms until her sister arrived.  The three of us solemnly discussed what would happen next.  No cops. That was a given. The police would get in the way of natural justice and add unnecessary complications. Her sister would drive her to a friend's place outside Pheonix. Her ex-boyfriend wouldn't know to look there. Her daughte...

On Friday, September 21, 2018,   GULAND, demonic intelligence ( he that causeth and cureth all diseases ) of the Grimorium Verum, channeled through me during my mediumship session with him what is now known globally as the "Fell Wind Prophecy." No other psychic, medium, or channeler and I mean no other , came anywhere near my accuracy. You really should concern yourself with what I am being told about the very near future.  I evoked the Demonic force of  GULAND to the astral plane and consulted him through my crystal ball.  Fuck all the pretenders. Their work is complete trash, and they literally are going to get you killed.  -Kevin Wikse The Fell Wind Prophecy "On my words is carried a viral message. Sweeping across the sphere, roaring over the water and screaming in the winds with unnatural speed, given swiftness by artificial propulsion  (1) . The black air, already with death as a passenger, once concealed and contained in the fetid lungs of the inocu...

I chose this rural fortification in Marsing, Idaho, for the privacy it offered and the particular energy it exuded. The walls were a canvas of messy graffiti tags, quickly scrawled upside-down pentagrams, and sloppy spellings of "Satan" alongside the ubiquitous "666." Holes were kicked and punched in the walls, and the shattered glass from broken windows and beer bottles crunched beneath my boots. My intuition was correct. This space was steeped in a rich history of emotional angst, pangs of helplessness, and unfettered rage—the exact flavor of mana I required. But I wanted more. My familiar spirits whispered that the prime location was yet to be discovered. The upper floor needed to be tactically unsound. While this was a lonely place, the flickering candlelight visible from the windows could still pique the curiosity of uninvited guests. Who or what roamed the Idaho farmlands in the pitch of night was not the equation I was here to explore. However, cocking back t...