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~LEX TALIONIS~

Satura tota nostra est.

Satura tota nostra est.
Satire is all ours.

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Monday, March 22, 2010

This may have been where it all began...

Long, long ago, in a time when I was constantly misdiagnosed and rebelling against the mental health system and various pharmaceutical companies, I wandered while victim of my delusions to a land far, far away. Actually, wandered may not be the proper word to describe my sojourn for I did not initially begin my journey on land but by sea.  There was some unseen magnetism drawing me to a destination. What destination? I hadn’t the slightest idea, I just let the magnet pull me headfirst into the North Atlantic ocean and I swam, determined and pulled by some supernatural force, to another continent: Europe, France( When off my medication I harbor supernatural powers). The place in which I came to shore was Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a fishing village in France, but at the time I did not know the place or the reason I was compelled to swim such a great distance to arrive there. I sometimes tend to wander aimlessly and without purpose when my illness becomes my master; this time was different; some force had guided me there; I had a purpose. As I drew myself out of the water and my feet implanted themselves in the sand of the shore I was quite astonished by the air quality. It was as if I was inhaling some from of alchemy. The smell was quite unique, pleasant, but powerful; a mixture of magic and strange spirits. As I began to walk the shore, I noticed something unusual after a period of trance-like obliviousness: there was a set of footprints beside my own and by some instinct I was compelled to follow them. They were well engraved in the sand and I had a premonition that they appeared before me so that they could guide me-I knew not to where, but I knew it was in the cards for me to follow them. I was acutely under the influence of the delusions of my illness, but, oddly, my archfiend I Frank The Master did not attempt to possess me. Now, looking back, I knew I was being protected by the saint Sara the Black- saint of the gypsies, also known as Sara-la-Kali. As for the footprints, they seemed like safety to me and I knew by following them I would be deterred from evil. I did not walk beside the footprints, but rather placed my feet into their mold. They matched the shape and size of my own feet with a precision that was uncanny, but I was not...

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