The Virus Is An Imp

Virus

Part 29 of 30

I’ve always been one attracted to those who know what they’re doing, knowing the ins and outs of life and are certain beyond belief, and even expand belief until it's certainty for all. Naturally, I’m talking about religion, where it’s sketched out “In the beginning” blah blah blah all the way to what is revealed at the very tip top pinnacle of the end. Everything's resolved...

The weird thing, actually, is that we know all the stuff from the beginning to the end, but we still maintain, at least fictionally, a little doubt as to how it affects our day to day lives. When, as common sense tells us, if you already have the beginning and the end, all drama should then be gone from the interim bits. If I had anything to do with it, anytime someone came to me with a problem, we’d review the opening, then the end, and the person would be immediately convinced that the interim’s OK.

But as it turns out it’s not always like that. My own suspicion is it can’t be that simple because everyone has to make a living. And what better way to make a living, perpetually, than by allowing doubts to grow up and thrive, and finally see worry ester and spill out everywhere, bearing bitter fruit. So that people are like dry plants in the desert when they should be sprouting and budding, alive with moisture and certain faith and knowledge.

It’s a self-perpetuating machine -- and there’s always room for someone else to jump on -- whereby we could, if only we wanted (and it’s easy to get crowded out if you pose the slightest threat), settle everything once for all in just a few seconds. I tend to see all sides of everything, then choose my answer and keep it to myself. Because I don’t like the threats of entrenched interests, never have, probably never will.

We always think religion is “so good,” that virtue is the default behavior. Big mistake. Every time you hear some guy in the public square calling the whole thing into question, then proposing a simpler understanding, notice how he or she’s always gone the next day. Our quick assumption is that they have such a grand message that they’re wanted in other towns, with a big demand. No, these spiritual vampires against the truth are up late at night, hustling people on to their reward, whether by drowning, stabbing, overloading them with poisons, basically everything except “God bless you.”

But thank goodness there’s still a few who not only understand it but put forth the true doctrine for people’s good, like this one guy I know whose prayers are immediately effective. His teaching is that believing your apparent symptoms is always wrong, positing as he does a never-ending series of “imps,” whom we might think of as devils or germs, but germs with a consciousness. Of course all germs have to eat, but do they have to be gluttons? No they don’t. And when they are, that’s when they need to be confronted and cast out.

His quick prayers are the prayers of power, big enough to end the virus in a heartbeat. Were it not for the others, those whose interests are behind the persistence of evil! They’d milk it forever, whereas my guy, he puts an end to suffering. People arise immediately from their so-called "bed of affliction" and march forward in newness of life. So won't you plan on it? To meet me in a dark alley near here, and bring your best offering, and I’ll turn you on as to this guy's whereabouts. Satisfaction guaranteed or a small portion of your offering will be donated to your favorite charity.

Positive & Negative Devils

 

Knowing Your Destiny

Part 3 of 30

I’m going out on a limb to say, This devil doesn’t apply to me in any way. I hate the sight of the Devil and that’s no joke. And it’s the same story if it’s the Tarot deck, where there’s a Devil card. It’s never my favorite card to see. Even if there's positive things you can say about it. Any of the others, including Death, are OK and cards meant for me. But if I pull the Devil card, obviously something happened a little out of whack. Perhaps an enemy is walking up the sidewalk in front of my house. Or is just coming around the corner nearby. Or is somewhere else in the Big City daring me to come out for a decisive rendezvous. But I won’t. I actually postpone trips till some other day, beyond taking the dog out to poo. And if I ever saw a Devil walking by when the dog’s out, we'd need a Plan B. Just yesterday, though, the dog saw a pit-bull and went ballistic, while the pit-bull was quiet and well-behaved. Which one's the Devil?

Here our Devil anti-friend gives us his message, “Always give your level best!” Which is kind of a positive message, unexpected, for a Devil. Although it could be he’s not a Devil but just looks like one. Car wreck? Mashed in a machine? Maybe had chromosome or genetic problems and is actually an angel. I wouldn’t bet on it, but they -- angels -- could just as easily have problems. Remember all the angels in movies lacking wings? Although it’s more likely to be the Devil trying one of two things, 1) Pretending to be a former evildoer who’s gone straight, or, 2) Just more deceit whereby to deceive more insidiously.

How that would work precisely is not a subject I’m given a lot of thought to. Just "Anything Can Happen." But as with the Tarot Devil, like alluded to already, he’s not always a negative but a positive corrective to possibly something unbalanced in your life, eating too much sugar, a reminder not even to tell little white lies, or sometimes meant to ensnare you (“Ah, the cute little Devil”), who suddenly has you in his grasp, the pitchfork piercing you with the hottest sharpest tines ever you've felt. They’re pierced in you and you’re lifted in the air like a forklift, dangled over the fire, and at the last second, in pain and just as you’re about to black out, dropped in eternal flames. That’s a little reward for those of you who like things literal and not just seeing them symbolic of discipline and correctives, which is more of a psychological aim.

My “feel-good” advice, while perhaps not 100% true is at least more pleasant than "Go to hell." So, no matter how screwed up your Destiny appears to be, always give your level best. Try to put yourself in the driver’s seat, thinking this logical “truth,” that Destiny generally has a positive side. Try to see the downers you face as a corrective, steering you toward a positive outcome. Don’t be one who quickly gives in to the idea (like I’m prone to do) that Devils are always literally bad news. There’s about one chance in a million that that’s not so, but it’s better than nothing. So go with the flow. However screwed up things appear to be, continue giving your level best.

Whatever you do, keep your happiness intact to the degree that it’s possible. Don’t let the pick-ax hit you on the way out.

Bad Behavior: Devils & Warthogs

Part 12 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Raising well-behaved adorable kids is one of the hardest things you can do. Especially these days when every kid tries to consciously out-psycho the next. I’m glad I haven’t got legitimate prospects if for no other reason than that. It’s a thankless task; were I in the market I’d take myself out and join a monastery. Or convent, depending how I swung. Still, the temptation is a bad habit to break, although lots easier with age.

So, fortunately, it’s a one-sided love affair for me these days when it comes to mating. Because everyone's understandably scared by an old man approaching the age of death. Which helps save my underlying vigor; I’m not at loose ends, not wasting my substance, but using it for the inner vigor, killing people with kindness and the force of ideas, not just looks. Any residual frustration I have, I invest it into corralling psychos and getting them help. I get a lot of laughs with some of the nurses, handling my cases with exaggerated kids' gloves. Like bloody murder just waiting to happen.

But, really, the best advice you can give another guy is, "Look before you leap, brother." And spell it out as clearly as you can without being a bore. Because sometime before that point you've already said too much. You have to just release them and know they'll misbehave, they must learn. These days are a lot looser, of course, which clearly makes things worse for them. Because at some level love partners actually want romance and restraint, not your bare-ass business dangling and bobbing and straining in their face. 

I won’t bore you with the language of romance. But if you don't get it, you're doomed to a life of skags, runny-nose cross-eyed kids, fights, divorce, estrangement, a bad reputation, and of course a persistent itch. You'll be tossing in bed, trying to sleep, but knowing you're not the only life-form in your body, and that's a huge mental weight. Itch leads to inflammation, which leads to burning, which leads to various back alley doctors, which leads to payday loans, stolen cars, and sleeping in a dumpster. With one eye open and a gun. Friends, before any of that happens, grow up, find a sweet girl and give her candy, meet the parents, take an interest in civic affairs, and be responsible.

I don’t envy anyone these days, kids or parents. Sometimes the parents are only about half grown up themselves. And the kids aren’t thought charming unless they’re in juvenile hall. There’s a whole different vibe these days, behavior up the wazoo, out the you know what (ass). Not happy unless they're underfoot, smarting off, flipping off their betters, opposed to morality, slandering the spirits above, spouting lies, burning flags, doing drugs in church, taking knees at football games, sleeping around, having kids out of wedlock younger than themselves, and putting up absolutely no fight in the fierce war against good values and basic primate sense.

What would I do with kids and their terrible behavior these days? First, arrest the parents. And once the bad influence was subdued, they’d have a better chance in an orphanage of growing up normal. That is to say, as far as doing the right thing, I’m not sure they really stand a chance. It can be tough to get in an orphanage. But get them there! Surround them with devils to tempt them but enormous warthogs to hold them back! And when they turn 18, they're a better person!

Moms and dads, love your kids, if it’s not too inconvenient. Or I will be over with the Psycho Squad, billing you for an expensive ambulance ride, more money for me and a lot more grief for you.

Stanley -- The Spirit of Evil

Part 4 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Cases involving people yielding themselves to evil —  body and spirit — are among the saddest to me. But that’s just because they always seem to go the same way, down the tubes morally and socially. But I’m resolved not to talk politics.

Is it wrong to hate evil? I’ve always hated evil. I got it from the Lone Ranger. He was a do-gooder in a world that seemed to have about 12 people. Himself, Tonto, and a few others. The others were evenly divided into two camps, the good townspeople/ranchers and the evil people out to cheat them because of the railroads, claims of gold or water rights. If it hadn't been for this same boring story week after week, I might’ve never learned morality.

And with me in the work of the Psycho Squad there’s always evildoers. Saddam Hussein wanna-bes, apparently, without land to conquer or nations to terrorize. They take their half out of the middle, acting goofy around people, breaking in, trespassing, often getting their jollies under the influence of something strong, booze or narcotics, so they’re only about half there, but it’s the half that’s entirely bad, the worst part. I'd love to run a full-page ad. A big picture of me surrounded with a description of my morality and how I got there. Then some earnest rage tearing people a new one, ripping them up one side and down the other, but ending with a positive plea, "Get with the program, you half-wits!"

In a typical day, the police often call me. It happens more often than I like, because my favorite cases don't involve evil but are just guys who forgot to take their meds and are acting out. I can get those straightened out right away. They go from shackles to home right away and adapt themselves quickly to normal. Five minutes of billing and I'm done. It’s the people who are objectively evil even when times are good that get me down. And someone — do-gooders unaware of my preferences — will call the Psycho Squad. We take down the information, then kick it around. “Does it sound dangerous? Is there someone else we can pawn it off on? Shouldn't we leave a guy that bad for the police? Take ‘em in, throw away the key? It’s not Stanley, is it? Tell me it’s not Stanley! Anyone but Stanley!”

You can almost spell Satan with Stanley if you bought another vowel. But Stanley must not know how to spell, because this loony bin reject half the time thinks he IS the Dark Lord. It’s a sad case. Looming large with his inflated ego. Which is essentially what Satan is, good boy gone bad, left the family and by inflation lacks the smarts to go back. I’m almost of the mind to quit feeding Stanley's ego, because there might not be much left. But if I could get him in a clear mind and explain to him the mythological elements of what he's doing — that he's a base idiot with a Big Idea personified — then he'd have some worries. With the spark of realization and a brick to the head, he might be normal.

This is an issue Hollywood could clear up. Every time they show one of these (ho-hum) Satan programs, run the disclaimer, “The following show is fiction. If you fall for it, the Psycho Squad will get you! They are bad ass and when they're done you will wish you were in hell!”

February -- Got the Moves Like Dagger

Note: This is largely a fictional account of what I'd love to see happen to February. Yes, I'm trying to destroy February as a month, but, no, I don't (necessarily) want to accomplish it by violent means. Still, how satisfying it'd be -- one of those wish fulfillment things -- if my peaceful values could be just slightly different, and I could see a palace assassin plunge the dagger in, and watch February writhe in pain on the floor and finally die. Am I right?

The council of months was underway at the palace, high in the atmosphere somewhere, the various lords and ladies of time in the large courtroom awaiting their annual decisions. Decisions pertaining to how the kingdom would measure time for the year. Would it be as it had been for the last 10,000 years, with no variation, or could this be the year there might be a change?

As a lowly guest, being an acquaintance of a friend of a day in January, I stood behind a curtain in the very back, straining to hear, wondering, Might February be out? I had no reason to hope, but, being a hopeful guy, I couldn't help whispering a slight prayer to that effect. The same prayer I'd prayed the last 4,000 years.

Trumpets sounded, meaning the Council of Months' business session had ended, and they'd be returning to the court and to the great round table. The table itself was a matter of some controversy, true story. The vote had been 11 to 1, February outvoted again, who, inscrutably, always agitated for a rectangular table. My opinion, February would do anything to change the subject, to give us a reason to think of anything else but its shortcomings. And that's true, when you're misshapen in some way -- say you've got only 28 days to your name -- you tend toward strange eruptions around your betters.

So the months gathered before us and we listened for the announcement. There would be no change to the calendar. The vote was almost unanimous, 11 to 1, and the predictability of time had been maintained once again! February shifted uneasily in his chair, then in a pique slammed his fist to the table. Obviously he had lobbied for more days. I muttered to myself, "What a disgrace..." The other months were rolling their eyes and showing signs of irritation with yet another of February's many annoyances.

It had been widely hoped, not just by me -- like one of those impossible dreams -- that at some point the other months might just vote February out entirely, then divvy up its days between themselves. I'd long hoped they'd keep a kind of stump month, say with 10 days of the old February, and for those days to be a time of revelry and cussedness. I think it'd be good for society -- rife with criminality as it is -- to get it out of its system all at once.

Little did I know we were closer to that happening than I ever had reason to expect! For behind the scenes, behind the curtains, the plot was already in motion. An assassin from a violent group called the Coterie of Devils (represented in the picture as a literal coterie of devils) lurked. We didn't know a thing about it. But all of a sudden, in a flash, this big burly guy with no shirt and the hairiest back I ever saw sprang from a hiding place and plunged a dagger into February's back. There was an unbelievable gasp in the room, many exclaiming, "Conspiracy!", and I myself distinctly gasped the following words, "Well, hush my mouth!"

But what could anyone do? The guy was a stabbing machine, going like speed typing, and the other months, weighed down in their royal robes, and not being trained for defense, were motionless. February took at least two dozen lightning thrusts. Then the assassin, in one last act of boldness, mounted the table, dropped his pants, and mooned in the general direction of February's bloody dying form. This daring gesture accomplished, he leaped to the floor and ducked quickly behind the curtain and was gone.

I sensed the mood was a bit weird, like the usual miasma that goes with shock. Sure, no one liked February, but having him stabbed by an assassin? That's damned tough to endorse. But I decided to go for it, and stood strong on the table, waving a bloody napkin from February's place at the table, and shouted, "Let this be a day of independence for the progress of time and its descendants!" And what's this? The bastards booed me down, and I had to slink out of there in total disgrace, excoriating myself in no uncertain terms, "Too soon, stupid, what the hell were you expecting, you stupid idiot?" 

Demons or Supernatural Helpers?

Call me demon-possessed, because in the last couple of weeks I've become possessed, at least mentally, by demons. In the morning I look at my cereal and think demons. At noon I'm working on a bowl of oyster stew and I see demons, of course. And at night, whatever I'm eating, I'm splitting it with three or four of my demon friends, and so going to bed hungry.

I, like other kids in Sunday School classes through the years, learned several things about demons, mostly that they're no good. I also learned that when they speak it's always gravelly and low, barely discernible as language, and generally quite looney. They ask you to disavow your reason, your family, your values, and even your humanity, and join them on a joyride that's extremely fun for the first little bit, but then takes a less cheerful sharp turn toward destruction. That means something to me; for one, I don't watch Fox News.

But I don't get that from demons. Neither in theory, nor now, in practice. In theory, I think the whole subject quickly becomes abstruse and boring. Like when you start throwing in Plato (I've heard of him) and some of the lesser known writers of antiquity, and the twists and turns of the Greek word "daimon" and how it relates to nature forces, whether they're merely personified symbolically or pictured as literal heads over particular aspects of nature, caves and grottoes. Are you still with me?

By the way, they didn't mention any of that in Sunday School. Which made it much more exciting. Demons were these terrorists from hell who put people through all kinds of torment, throwing them into the fire, and possessing them so they lived in tombs and broke chains like Hercules. A lot of their activity, by some totally weird coincidence, seemed to look a lot like epilepsy. Making us suspicious of very common neurological troubles. Side note to my cousin Shaky: "Sorry about those years chained in the root cellar."

Now, in recent days, I've had the privilege of knowing a being who goes by the name "Tricky the Demon." OK? Do I sound crazy? 1 x 1 = 1, 2 x 1 = 2, 3 x 1 = 3 .... Do I really need to prove my sanity? Tricky came to me with a Magic Butler and liberated me from the false doctrine that scratching itches is bad. For which I thank him, with kisses. Because I've seen more alt realms by feverishly scratching -- or letting the Magic Butler scratch me, especially below the waist -- than I ever saw in my more sedate past.

Anyway, Tricky's opened my thinking to the deeper insight that there must be all kinds of other helpful demons out there. Stands to reason, huh? And bigger and badder Magic Butlers. But when I tell people this, they're put off by the word "demon." Like a lot of other words, they've demonized the word "demon" to the point that their mind shuts off when they hear it. It's like "scumbag," "bunghole," "dill weed," "ass wipe," and, in the Bush years, "french fries."

So in the last couple of days, I've been surveying my friends, relatives, and a few strangers I know from Facebook, on which they prefer, "demons" or "supernatural helpers"? It's probably no big surprise that they scrunch up their face and curl into a fetal ball when they hear "demons." But they become light as a feather and twice as radiant with "supernatural helpers." Just like you look when you read Guideposts magazine all day. So supernatural helpers it is!

Tricky says he's OK with that, Tricky the Supernatural Helper. And I might need to work on the Magic Butler, too, because "magic" sounds fake and frivolous, and "butler," like secretary and garbage man, obviously needs a more modern equivalent, "personal assistant." What's a good replacement for "magic"? I guess for now it'll have to be Magic Personal Assistant, or just find out if he has an actual name.

I'm thinking, with the ancients, that if these supernatural helpers were in charge of the many functions of nature -- thunder, lightning, rivers, clouds -- then they'd have all kinds of specialties today. With the more desirable ones being like a well-stocked smartphone (many apps), able to perform many functions. My Magic Butler seems to have that, and I don't even have to recharge him every hour.

Incantations to my new demon friends: "Demon of dating, have you found anyone yet? Speed it up! I'm getting the mating jitters again!"  .... "Demon of reading speeds, try to harmonize your actions with the demons of my eyes and mind!" ... Then let's say I need to take revenge on someone who's wronged me: "Demon of annihilation, you're a demon, don't worry about the police! That guy's a bastard! Kill him!" .... Now back to the more domestic stuff: "Demon of toast, I prefer actual butter, not Blue Bonnet!"

That'd be a great life, being the demon of toast.

The Guy Made That Piano Sing!

It was a wild time in church today. All kinds of wildness. Thanks to the substitute piano player. Where we got him, I don't know, maybe Borneo. He had me rockin' out. It was a great time!

The thing about this Borneo guy was this: He was bouncing on the seat and playing the piano so hard, so feverishly hard, that it was literally moving around the room, even with such force as to push chairs and the people on them out of the way. He blazed a path right through the midsection, turned and bowled over the first couple rows, and toppled the pulpit. The pastor in a robe of black was white as a sheet.

It's hard to believe, I know, but every word of this is true. If you can picture in your mind's eye a guy, the combination of Jo Ann Castle, Big Tiny Little, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Fats Waller, with the hair of Doc Brown, and completely full of the Holy Ghost, you'll have a great idea of what this guy was like. He took off on his instrument, and I gotta tell you, I was wide awake! He made it sing!

And this was from the very first song, an instrumental for gathering, "Jesus, Love of My Soul / Like a River Glorious." We needed a mosh pit! I caught it out of the corner of my eye, the piano in quick motion; that's when I looked up and paid attention. He was making definite, ever greater, movement from the piano's usual spot! The first thing that popped in my mind -- the very first thing -- was Putin gobbling up territory. You don't expect it, then wham, you've lost Alaska.

He ran over a couple older ladies' feet, who simply out of an old sense of propriety stifled a cry of bloody murder. The fierce look of great pain on their faces was a genuine expression of something primal, great pain. I had to wince, then quickly turned my attention back to Borneo's thrilling performance. The pounding of his hands was crazy, his fingers a blur, with even some blood. As the instrument came closer, I was shocked to see keys from the edges coming loose and flying through the air.

Much later, at the close of the service, I heard that one guy's hearing aid had blown up, apparently doing him a lot of harm when it comes to ears. He was staggering around, clutching the air. More evident in real time were the organ pipes on the wall toppling over from the pounding vibrations. I recalled Jericho, whose walls were breached by a series of trumpets, when all they needed was a rampaging pianist.

One totally strange moment came when the floor opened up and swallowed three or four of the church's worst heretics, proponents of the so-called New Thought. Since there's no basement, it's anyone's guess where they ended up. Wherever, no doubt it's giving them something new to think about. I was happy to escape, having been to only one of their New Thought meetings. Looked like I shunned them in the nick of time.

The minister threw up his hands and made a throat-cutting gesture to the sound guy, who threw up his hands in despair. He cut the mics but the piano itself, with Borneo's jackhammer fingers, was its own source of power. I noticed terrific phenomena in the light fixtures above as they swayed back and forth. They alternated bright and dark, like angelic visitations, then demonic irruptions. Which once you've had troubles with, I can personally attest, everything in life's harder to deal with.

Anyway, so much of the stuff of the sanctuary was totally demolished, there's no telling what'll happen next week. Certainly the usual pianist will be there, but whether there's anything left for her to play, that's another matter. The church wasn't doing that great on money as it was; now what we'll do is hard to predict. I see a sausage and pancake supper in our future.

I'll tell you what I'd love to see, and we could make some money on the beer. I'd love to get Borneo back, and make him wear gloves, and everyone hook arms together while singing "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord," with everyone sloshing beer steins in time. We did that at youth camp once and it was a lot of fun.

Incredible Offer! "Who the Devil Are You?"

I recently came across this cool graphic. I didn't make it up. It's an oldie, one of the great cuts from the old printer's supply catalogs from the Kelsey Company of Meriden, Connecticut. Remember those? (I used to have one of their Excelsior printings presses, so reading and rereading their catalog was a joy of my childhood.)

Anyway, pretty cool graphic,  huh? There's a blank spot to write in your name. So you can say "I AM so and so. WHO THE DEVIL ARE YOU?"

My incredible offer to you is really wild. If you send me your name -- either real or fake -- I will make a graphic like this for you and post it on my blog. My email is dbkundalini [at sign, of course] gmail.com. Or you can leave your request in a comment. I check my email every three or four weeks, so it won't take very long to get this accomplished.

SMALL PRINT STUFF: This offer is good for the first 100 people, with one name per person. At my discretion, I might do more than 100, but there's no guarantee. Your "name" can't be any weird message, to be determined by me alone. I hate to give any examples. Just let your imagination run wild. If your name is very long, like RUMPLESTILTSKIN, it might end up more condensed or smaller. This offer may be discontinued at any time, without notice, by me alone. If I happen to die or am incapacitated, my heirs will be held harmless to fulfill the offer. Everything about the finished graphic will be for entertainment purposes only. There are no guarantees of satisfaction on your part. The results are strictly take it or leave it.

MORE SMALL PRINT STUFF: If the true owner of the graphic, in all likelihood probably dead for 40 years, steps forward and sues for royalties, the offer will be immediately terminated. No warning, no notice, no nothing. If time is of the essence for you, please get your request in as soon as possible. I cannot be held responsible for any dilly-dallying vis-a-vis your requests. I.e., if you fail to request a graphic, one will not be made for you. I repeat: I am not a mind reader!

PENULTIMATE SMALL PRINT STUFF: The above small print stuff does not exhaustively cover all the terms of this offer. Any needed small print stuff, as determined by me alone, will be immediately formulated and triple-rushed into service as the exigencies of any future moment are determined to warrant it. Such warranting to be determined by me alone, with my decisions alone final, if finality indeed is something I choose. You, the requesting party, agree that you have no rights and no recourse regardless of any grievance you may claim or experience. If I am given the slightest bit of grief -- even the slightest bit -- I will terminate the offer with prejudice, as though I am holding a cudgel and am prepared to use it, and your name in the mortice will not appear. Quite simply, you are holding me harmless whatever your beef. If you have a beef, save it. No one cares.

LAST SMALL PRINT STUFF: Death threats will be taken seriously. You will do time. I will see to it.

OK, everyone. This will be fun. Send me your name, or post it in a comment, and, going by the above conditions, I will work up a graphic. So people will know "who the devil" you are. Also, you will be asking "who the devil?" someone else is!

The Killer With Devil Eyes

What a terrible night it turned out to be! And I even left home telling myself nothing was going to happen, I would be fine. I thought I would be. I left with the best of intentions.

And then it happened... We were out, at a hamburger restaurant, where basically all they sell is hamburgers and french fries, and I looked out on the darkened night, then up at some of the other diners. Suddenly a guy turns around and makes eye contact with me for just a fraction of a second before he turned back to his meal. I felt a chill go up my already cool spine as the thought bore down on me: "The killer with devil eyes!" Or to flesh it out more completely, "Maybe that guy's the killer with devil eyes!"

Of course I don't know that he was. He didn't kill anyone right then, and as it turned out I wasn't killed later in the parking lot. Although, God knows, the night wasn't over yet. And I kept feeling that terrible chill.

The guy never looked at me again, not unless he was looking at my reflection in the window. Which I'll probably never know. But one think I do know, my thoughts were racing in my mind like lightning. The security I'd just felt was shattered. In one moment my world collapsed. Because how would I know? Even if it wasn't him, maybe the killer with devil eyes was somewhere nearby. Are our thoughts and fears ever false and/or coincidental?

I had a hard time eating my meal, which by now was getting cold, although I put up a fairly good facade of a guy still enjoying his meal. I picked at it. Was the killer behind me, one of the cooks? They seem like jolly good fellows, but what do you expect from a killer in the moments before he has the joy of killing?

Then I had another terrible thought: What about the two boys over there with their parents. They were like five and seven. If they're not currently killers, maybe they will be someday. One of them could very easily grow up to be the killer with devil eyes. After all, the mass murderers of tomorrow are already with us today. A few video games, an angry father, and too many greasy burgers, and a kid's suddenly off the beam.

We made our way to the car, me not stating my suspicions. I thought there's no reason to alarm my partner. Just get to the damned car, check the damned backseat before getting in, and head for home. And then it happened ... wouldn't you know it? The car was low on gas! I had to pull into a gas station. No one seemed to be following me. I pulled up to one of the front pumps, one where it'd be harder to block me in, and got out. I whispered a quick prayer, my eyes scanning the windows of the nearby apartment complex. The minute I saw a rifle barrel I would be down, my prayer being twofold, that he wouldn't blow up the gas pump, and that the receipt printer would work, sparing me an unprotected jaunt inside.

Thankfully, nothing happened. It wasn't my time, my number wasn't up. But the fear still remains. If not tonight, when? And where? Where is he, the killer with devil eyes? Is he a man ... or maybe a woman?

The Hounds Of Hell

Re - lease the hounds of hell,
What the heck do we care?
What the heck do we care?
Re - lease the hounds of hell,
What the heck do we care now?

Then, after a fairly decisive victory, the hounds of hell having been released, the enemy having been chewed beyond recognition, blood and gore, and sorrow, sufficiently spread, mankind being somewhat worse for the wear but determined to turn over a new leaf next time ...

Call back the hounds of hell,
What the heck do we care?
What the heck do we care?
Call back the hounds of hell,
What the heck do we care now?

The Devil's Lesson: Never Put Anything Off

I probably shouldn't say, Never put anything off, because I have at least five tasks I could be doing right now. Except, of course, I can't do them all at the same time, so something's got to wait. I'll write this right now.

But you think some things are harmless enough to put off until later, until bitter experience jumps up to bite you on the ass and let you know, You should've done it when you had the chance!

Take this cigarette ashtray outside a major store, pictured above. I was there, sitting on the bench. I looked over at it and thought it'd make a nice picture, since it had about nine cigarette butts squashed in the sand. But, I'm thinking, there's no hurry ... they'll be there when I get around to it ... what's going to happen to them? ... maybe the sun will go down a little and they'll have a more artistic shadow, something evocative of loneliness, heartbreak, and being discarded, something to cheer me up.

I'm sitting there thinking about it, but it takes precious energy to get up and walk the one and a half steps to it, then I'll need to fire up the camera, and further strain my brain getting just the right angle. I'd just had a nap anyway and I was still feeling a little groggy. They'll be there, they're not going anywhere. It's not a cute kid with a rattle who's going to lay it down in five seconds.

Friends, I'm here to tell you, the devil is real. That's the only explanation that fits. The devil is real. And his main purpose in his infinitely sad and miserable existence is to screw with my head and make my life sadder. Oh yes, he dangles all the various temptations in front of my wondering eyes, but for the most part I've learned to say no to all that glitters, since in the long run it too will make my life miserable. But I'm thinking -- obviously -- there's very little percentage in the devil's favor to deny me an evocative picture, one stinking picture, of a bunch of squashed cigarette butts. But I was mistaken...

I'm sitting there, literally a step and a half from the disposal, when a guy, noiselessly, without a sound and without a glance or peep my way, rides up on a bike and proceeds to quickly take the butts out of the disposal one by one, until he's gotten eight or so, then puts them in his shirt pocket, and rides away.

I couldn't believe it. It sickened me, for obvious reasons. Smoking isn't good for you in the first place, let alone what you're likely to get out of a bunch of butts smoked by total strangers. But the really important reason why my stomach suddenly went sour, and replanted the seed of devil belief in my mind, coarsened by modern scientific knowledge against devil belief, was that I was deprived of the picture I had envisioned.

It stands against reason is a dozen different ways. But I'll just sketch out a few. 1) I've never sat on that bench before; 2) I've never contemplated getting a picture of that cigarette disposal before; 3) I've never seen someone ride a bike up and essentially empty one out; 4) The fact that it had to happen right that second, at that very instant, the very time that, within a few minutes, probably, I would have been taking the picture, boggles my mind. You think, No! The positive spin is it does once again grant me a place at the center of the universe, so maybe it's not such a bad tradeoff.

We've agreed it's totally against reason, that much is sure. And yet it happened just the way I described it! But perhaps oddest of all is this, the open question of why he left one butt behind!? That's what I have in the picture above, one cigarette butt! This guy removed them efficiently, one at a time, shamelessly, but then, against reason, left one behind. That's one of the questions killing me.

Could it be (and this is a serious question), could it be that someone so frugal as to be recycling used cigarette butts would also have the ethics to not take them all? This is serious business, something like Manifest Destiny. If you colonize and you take it all, that's one mindset. But if you somehow move in and coexist, that would be another. It would still be pretty bad if you moved in and took 90%, which is approximately how many butts the guy took. But if it's only used cigarette butts you're taking -- which are generally considered worthless -- and you leave nearly 10% for some other poor soul to come, that's a fairly decent ethic.

Or, think of this, what if he leaves one behind to prime the pump, so to speak, so smokers who follow won't think they're disturbing something pristine by leaving their butts? It would be the same principle of hanging a for sale sign and taking one of the phone number stubs yourself. If this is what his motive was, of course that's not as much a humanitarian move as would be leaving the last one for some other poor soul. But still, it's really good thinking!

The way I'm resolving this in my mind is this: It's a lesson to me to never ever again put anything off. If I see something worthy of my artistic photographic talent, get the picture now. And the other resolution to it is to know I have a dreadful enemy in the devil, and if there's any way for him to ruin my best laid plans, he will do it, so I must be continually vigilant.