It's the year 2109, 7:04 AM, Greenwich Mean Time.

Simultaneously, at exactly the same second, without knowing it, passengers stand to answer boarding calls in airports in New Edo, Beijing, New Delhi, St. Petersburg, Liverpool, nKosi Town (formerly Johannesburg), Baltimore, Buenos Aires and Milan.

In a large room, almost a hundred A/V monitors (they used to be called Tee Vees) change the channel randomly every 1 minute 15 seconds to every 3 minutes 45 seconds, depending on audio output and color fluctuation. The woman sitting behind her large desk reads over the translucent plastic tablet in her hand for the fourth time and contemplates how she forgot the method of crying.

In thousands of ramshackle streets in four adjoining time zones, children run laughing, playing ad hoc games with rules remade every five minutes, different every night, til four AM.

Over a large hill near Oklahoma, an not-quite-old man regards the lights below and wonders why he finds gambling so distasteful.

In a deep sea trench, a small container filled with plutonium, dropped from a Russian satellite over a century ago, continues not to break open, in the pitch-dark water of ponderous pressure.

Behind a shack near the Caspian Sea, two boys and a girl, ranging from 7-10 years, light cigarettes for the first time.

In a basement somewhere, a young woman, naked before the cameras, looks at the smiling faces of the men standing around her, of the two standing over her, and tries to remember again what discomfort feels like... then changes her thought-train again.Three miles away, her fiance sits behind a steering wheel, wondering why he can't sleep again.

In an obscure island in the Gulf of Mexico, a man steps into a bistro and does not look over his shoulder every other minute, though he has every reason to do so. In two minutes he will be interrupted in the bathroom.

In a hospital bed in Indonesia, a man with almost no sight and no walking ability begins his fourth year of waiting, patiently, to die.

Under the waves off the coast of Florida, a man checks the dials, then the scanning logs on routine and thinks about the condition of the grass, just 8 or so meters above his head.

Down Route 170, the bass plaer of "The Spoiled Androgynes" still can't sleep. He looks at a photograph. He's been asked about it now and again, and never tells the story behind it. No one else recognizes the face or the place.

In Nice, France, a young man sits with two books... one on Reflexology, one on Shiatsu and Accupressure. He's trying to match parallels, find the similarities and connections.

In a private jet speeding out of the Mediterranean Sea, two women are just finishing making love, for the last time. A blinking laptop and a pack of cigarettes wait outside their cabin.

In the Phillipine Islands, ten blindfolded men and women are lined up against a wall.

In the mountains of Mexico, another two children never wake up. Their eyes are eyed hungrily for a brief moment, then the decision to bury them is made and agreed upon all around.

In a cavern in Nevada, America, Corporal Hayes assists in unloading the latest classified cargo. He's helped store many items here, but never so great a load as this, never so many boxes. He, and all the other soldiers, are quietly astounded at how LIGHT the boxes feel.

"Go away. I'm pissing!"

The pounding sounded once more against the door.

"Occupied!"

The pounding made its repetition tertiary.

"Seriously, I'm BUSY!!"

No pounding, just half of a pause. Then, "This is the police. We're taking you into custody!"

"- Can you let me finish first? If you bust in now, you'll do more than catch me with my pants down, you'll get urine on your boots. Then I'll have 'disgracing a police officer in the line of duty' added to whatever charges you'll exonerate me from in 24 hours, but that one WILL stick, and I'll be stuck!"

There was some muttering outside, a few shorthand questions and answers traded back and forth, the most audible thing said being something like "Do we have all the exits covered" followed by an inflection of affirmation. Then, "Right. Two minutes." Another cop quipped, less forthrightly, "Don't forget to shake!" Door-muffled mumbles of reprimand flowed the tide down, and Al considered his situation.

It must've been over the cash register, the camera that caught his face. The Carribbean region hadn't been quite so monitored but after the Policing Acts of 2107 had been passed and the USA had annexed more of the Islands, closed circuit surveillance was now comparable to London. "The palm trees are dense with lenses", as the popular song went, and it was not psuedo-psychedelic rambling nor hyperbole, but an accurate attempt to describe the situation. In this media-rich age, of course, cameras were as cheap as toilet paper and more necessary.

Al knew this, coming off the flight. Now that there was a detachment waiting outside the restroom, it was too late for an age change. There were no windows for immediate exit, except the one, covered in glass. The vent was four by fourteen inches; no escape there. And his bladder had just this second emptied. Right. The only way out was in their hands. Well... not the first time.

Twenty-four was a good age to make a getaway, anyhow.

After washing his hands, he opened the door slowly. His bland look of whatever-could-this-be-about was vaporized by the five gun barrels exposing themselves to him so urgently at less than three yards. Throwing his hands up was no admission of guilt, but seemed the proper courtesy at this juncture.

"Don't move. Keep your hands visible." The gun barrels kept their jaw-dropped and jaw-dropping stare while another officer stepped forward and searched his pockets. The captain looked over the wallet, checking the ID cards. A hand gripped his wrist and firmly pressed the hand to the obligatory portascanner, which made its warm swipes and beeps. Then it was taken away, his hands were placed atop his head, and he found himself facing the wall. Yeah. Typical welcome he'd been used to for the past decade.

"You are Hans Tobin. Special Interpol protocol 76-BGY relieves us of the responsibility of relying on handprint ID or informing you of charges." God bless the information age. "You will come with us."
The handcuffs clicked and beeped onto his lowered wrists. Al's backpack and leather case were still sitting next to his small table. The two patrons and the barista watched stolidly as he and his entourage ambled out the door. Three cars, lights whirling, were waiting outside, and the door to the closest one opened; the officer's look of unwelcome. Good chauffeur service, but horrible porters. What was this country coming to? Al suddenly became aware how the street, teeming with playing children and busy truckers and lounging restaurant workers just ten minutes ago this fine Thursday morning, had become very quiet and deserted. He looked both ways and saw the cars blocking off the intersections. He'd been off the plane maybe three-quarters of an hour. This was proof enough that even the idle islands, where life was supposed to go at a steadier pace, were speeding up. Still, Boston held the standing record of thirteen minutes.

Good that everyone was gone; more room to move.

A strong leap into the air brought him atop the closest police car and three truncated swear-words of surprise. Then a drop. The split second it took them to get around the car let him pull his legs behind the cuffs, then a dash for the nearest alleyway. The guns cocked, he heard them all, listened for bullets, and caught one right on the linchpin, and the cuffs vibrated as they separated; the electric shock dying as it started (only as bad as petting a cat after a carpet walk in rubber soles). A few rolls brought him to the alleyway and he ran three paces, then a good yamekaze quadruple jump (bounce, bounce, up the walls) brought his torso just over the roof's edge. Up, and then across the corrugated iron sheets, if they didn't collapse... The harbor was still five blocks away. The "taxi pit" was on the way, good thing too. He hopped ten feet at a time across the rugged segments of junk huts. The water was not insight but close enough to smell. The sounds of shouts and cars finally sounded, and got closer as he came upon the circle of taxis. Al jumped down, grabbed the wad of bills from his boot, and made for the first taxi in line.

"Buenos dias, Senor," he said to the cabbie.

"Buenos." The cabbie could tell there was some sort of trouble, and dealt with it at least four times a week; that much was spoken from his face.

"Do you want to make three hundred American dollars." Al presented the bills, just out of reach.

"Where are you going?"

"Not with you; you don't want me as your passenger. You just want to take the money and drive as fast as you can."

"Let me guess, you're going to ask the same of two of my friends behind me!" The cabbie's smile was savvy but pepped.

"Si!"

"Yes, we can make a Caribbean drag race! Of course, I get prize money up front."

"That's how it works." Al paid the good man, and repeated the same conversation with two more cab drivers. With bar room shouts and dust clouds, the three cabs shot off in completely different directions. Al waited til they were out of sight, then pelted for the harbor.

Within five minutes he was lying in the sewer. He found a good crosspipes and listened. Here, as always, you could really take the pulse of a city, and after all the years he'd practiced this skill, he could read emotions from each driver, each noise, sometimes guess the maintanance schedules, manufacturers, metallurgical makes of plumbing systems. On windy days he could tell how well the architecture of some buildings was holding up. It was a knack that had been grown over a long time, and was very helpful in infiltration and sabotage.

Al suddenly realized how tired he was.

The police cars had ceased, after two hours. The rank stench of the sewer didn't bother him as much as it would most, but it did accentuate the fatigue. He knew if he went back up that there would be patrols, and that in five hours the tide would come in and flood these pipes. His visit was going to be very short, and he still had a few things he'd left at the bistro where this merry rollick had begun. They'd been siezed by the police, probably... It might be worthwhile to check and see if they were just out back with the trash. Ah, but plans for disembarkment... he looked about, found a torn rag- must've been a shirt, once- then a can of oil. This country was getting prosperous; people were starting to throw things away again. He wrung the rag out as best as he could. With the oil he wrote in his code, then found a plastic bottle. With the oil can's lid he cut his finger an inch-long gash, squeezed it to bleed, and pressed the cut to the threads of the bottle top, rotating the bottle until there was a full circular smear ingrained, all the way around. Then he blew on it to dry and screwed the cap back on.

His friends would be looking for just this sort of thing.

Al submerged the bottle, rolled it in the fluid for fingerprints, threw it down towards the light and watched it slowly float away. It had worked more times than not. In trying to remember he was hit by the urge to faint, and half-leaned, half-collapsed against the tunnel.

Now was a good time for an age change.

Very busy day. A thirteen hour shift, and three phone calls.

I've come to a conclusion, which clarifies some of the readings. I should've considered that before. I keep overestimating people in the north county, basically.

Dad's being a pain again.

I have a full-time job on the way. It could bring in some nice bank. And being honest culminated in my current boss, Larry, all but begging me to keep a day working at the Bar and Grill.

I seem to have fallen into a club w/ two of the other housemates. It's cool. Socializing is fun.

Mission Status Report
27th day on Theta-Tau 7
Teamlead nKosi Jennings reporting

Completed our sixteenth soil sampling, taking it down 1.2 km. After the first 5 or so meters of ice, we still have nothing except permafrost, worthless shales and the odd bit of quartz layers. We are no closer now to determining the cause of the EM pulse phenomena. With five more days before the Zephyr's return, we have nothing now to do except clarify our findings, pack up our equipment and "enjoy the warm, pleasant climate". 

           nKosi switched off the recorder and stirred his tea. Then he leaned back in his chair, breathed in the aroma of Red Zinger, trying to hear the steam condense four feet about his head, against the ceiling of the Tent. One good thing about this wild goose chase was the month spent in a moderately normal gravity environment. You really missed the creature comforts of little things, like shaving and drinks in open cups. Little things like that became all the more precious, after months on a zero gee survey ship. Sip, swallow... ahhhh. Outside the muted roar of the 5-day-old snowstorm dipped in pitched, then resumed its mid-range noise. Against naked ears it would've split his ear drums within a second but here, safe inside the half-inch think insulite, it barely made a faint howl. Yes, just a half-inch was all that was needed to keep the noise of 70 kph winds and -30 degree F temperatures out.
           The mission had been entirely fruitless, but not without consolations. The 7 hour cycle of this microplanet was hidden well by the constant cloud cover and almost perpertual blizzards, so maintaining that 26 hour sleep cycle wasn't hard at all. Also, the gravity was almost a full gee; they could've been at the North Pole back on Earth. And none of it would've been enjoyable this long, boringly frustrating month if it hadn't been for that pass by the Theta stars, that had picked up the strong EM pulses emanating from this "curious little ice ball", as Captain Watkins called it.
            The airlock beeped, the atmosphere popped slightly, and the door opened. Liu and Becky were back. There was the rustle of their suits being shed, the clicks and chatter, and the steps. nKosi swung his chair to face them.
            "Any change?"
            "Nothing," said Becky. "No ferrous metals, no peaks or slopes in radioactivity. This planetoid should Not be putting out that energy."
             "But the readings were triple checked, with two different probes. All readings were confirmed. I even check the local asteroid field; the magnetic fields are affecting their orbits and pathways, however slightly."
             nKosi mused on this, offering them some tea. Becky accepted, Liu declined and went to get himself a V8. "Well, we've had a tidy little vacation, if nothing else... Equipment maintanance completed?"
             "Yes sir," said Liu. "Everything's packed except the x-87 and FR-43 scanners. We just packed and loaded the 2 km drill array."
              Becky stared at her tea. "I guess at this point I may as well take some pretty pictures of the snowflakes." Everyone knew about her art hobby, of coloring, editing and juxtoposing microscope pictures.
              Which is why nKosi was perfectly credulous when Becky called him over three hours later. "Lt., you'd better look at this."
              Becky was sitting over her instruments, looking slightly irrate. She had six thermoseal petri dishes, one of which was "on the bench", under magnification.
              "Lieutenant, these snowflakes are identical."
              nKosi looked into the eyepieces. seven snowflakes were in view, all perfectly hexagonal, and some were rather alike... no... two of them were very alike... He adjusted the knobs and focused on the two. They were very intricate, and not every detail was immediately visible, but the more he stared at them, the more inescapable was his conclusion: they were exactly alike. "Becky, you're right... I'm seeing looking at two completely similar snowflakes. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it."
              "I haven't examined all of them, but it looks like there's at least five repeating motifs."
              "Have you begun cataloging them?"
              "Oh, well, no; they're just snowflakes- at least..."
              "At least they WERE just snowflakes." nKosi nodded. "Right. Catalogue them, and have full pictorals on all the repeating snowflakes, and let me know when you have a full report."
              "I'm right on it."

              Becky had her report in the morning; nKosi knew she hadn't gotten much sleep.

Oi.

Currently at one of the more uncomfortable terminals at Red Emma's. It's a 1998 iMac named "Louise", and its mouse runs on a tracking ball, not a laser. Awkward setup.

Worked my butt off last night. They had some special party apparatus that needed an extra hard clean-down, that needed to go into the box mirror-shiney. Annoying. And I'm still sore from the whole ordeal, and fairly certain the excess moisture, along with the cold, isn't good for my health.

They have chess sets here, of course. The chai latte is good too.

-------------------------------

I have another short story in the works. A bit simpler than the one I had before, and thusly more executable. It'll take me maybe three hours. As soon as I can GET three hours.

I miss my laptop.

Damn that car business; my finances are going to be tied up with that for a while...

--------------------------------

No omens or coincidences lately, not since the Matrix deal. Maybe something yesterday, but that's too weird and trivial to consider.

So I'm threatening to become a right regular at Red Emma's.

It's complete hypocrisy from my stance on this place two years ago. Perhaps my puritanicism was a reaction to who I was with at the time.

It's a neat arrangement. I buy a drink, get a computer, go nuts. It's not as laid-back and comfy for me as the Bohemian Cafe (RIP) was, but it's still cool.

I'm finding myself pleased with Ellen's decision. It's just good to feel validated on something like that... It proves my instincts were right. Frankly, that whole swinging thing is too close to the monkeys that copulate with anything that has a functioning organ, and trying to attach tribal self-determination to a failure to restrain baser urges is just stupid and sick. Poor Anne... I bet she DOES feel creeped out by a lot, but is so used to ignoring it she doesn't know how to recognize the feeling, let alone act on it. (No idea how guilty that makes me feel.)

I'm currently working two part-time jobs and scraggling to get more. This car thing is, of course, becoming a complication. I really wish I hadn't crashlanded in Jon's place... that hole sucked me dry.

Last night I set a new standard for avoiding unstable people and maintaining my reason against such. It's something I need to exercise.

I'm concerned about the energy interactions with my father, as with any Jupiter in Scorpio person. It doesn't usually work out at all, and they forget themselves too easily. Something I need to meditate upon, perhaps.

Right, need to do my uncle's chart...

As I read through some of the listings I've joined... I believe I may be more ahead than I thought. I think I need to assert this more. This may be the real talent I have.

Hunh. Another coincidence. Last 15th I was watching the Matrix sequels, and a friend happened to ask, via LJ, how much clothes cost in the Matrix. Seriously. Wow.

Strange indeed are the ways of karma.

Shame they're all the way out there, and not interested in pursuing any exploration further. Which should be rather a safe thing.

I got bitten in the ass because of that pendant, I'm certain. Since I salted it I'm not getting strong impressions anymore. But, when the pendant was simply in my residence, not just when I was wearing it, I was still getting strong emotions, even compulsions. Yeah, not good!...

Smokey Quartz. Or so I think. Could've been some more ordinary form of feldspar. Even so, it was very strongly charged.

"What if you could use an evil power for good?" You can, but you pollute, you corrupt your purpose and intentions.

It's a Sagittarian thing as well as a Scorpio thing. Sagittarian is a bit more free-associative, not totally concrete; Scorpio elements facilitate more vivid impressions. Piscean elements deal more with lighter impressions; like me on the light rail humming the song my mother (also a Piscean) was hearing in the grocery store. Cancerian... more gut-level, more instinctive, perhaps...

I'm beginning to believe that minds and souls have certain properties in common with circuit boards. There are components, and there are variances. Associative frequency is necessary, as well as individual intention and direction.

Of course this is purely speculative, utter hocum to the scientific mind, but I'm just trying to make sense of some things.

So, how did I get bitten in the ass? I don't think I was even wearing the pendant on Tuesday, August 8th. And I'm sure I didn't get the act itself, but her contemplating the act itself. It was a strong bit of synchronicity for her, of course... she followed a few "signs" to get to it. (I should've left in March.)

The problem is my emotions run high in matters like this. I've kept myself in a relative state of stasis, specificly to avoid being manipulated or guided this way. But... what else can one do.

I know what I want to do. I want to have some friends who can approach this with both theoretic and intutional mind. Gandalf knows me; I want to know more, do more, and of course for good. I want to refine my aura, clarify my focus, receive clearer, more profound, more vivid impressions, influence events for good. I do not want to alter anyone's thinking by will; that is against everything I believe in. I do not want more money or fame. I do not want to get on the news for being the next Crowley. I do not want to sacrifice nubile virgins to goat-gods or throw sex-orgies. I'd like to heal, to enlighten, to help, to teach. And most certainly to learn. Perhaps to find nirvana. Sensory indulgence doesn't motivate me so much as mental and spiritual enhancement.

I've been a little hyper today. I was very excited to start at my new job, and had lots of needless energy to throw around. With luck I still will be able to work at that new place... I like the job. I like serving at a fairly laid-back place.

Started plunking around with my guitar. I think I'll be getting back to it, if only as a hobby.

Just an update...

I found a new job, which is, right now, just a tide-over job. I won't be staying with it for long, if indeed the pay stays as low as it is. They're a little stupid around the Inner Harbor, somehow...

My ex is of course denying any knowledge of the pendant, and would, of course. Discredit for credible deniability. Which is fine by me; I needed a good reason to ditch Jon and co., and seeing their contradictory reactions helps me out just fine. It also keeps me away from my ex's deceptive ways, which is very necessary. I won't see her again, at least for years.

It's the same with all these Towsonians. Arrogant countyside people who think their isolation is uniqueness, not ignorance.

I've finished the first two books of the Illuminatus! Trilogy. Not brilliant prose like the Dune series, but compelling and interesting nonetheless. I think I should've read it when I was 19, perhaps. Now it feels a bit young for me. But, I'm going to finish the third book, perhaps re-read it; it seems like something I should be prepared to refer to. Besides, there's a lot of names dropped which seem very important- including my favorite, David Hume. And, I am rather interested in the evolution of science, the "College Invisible", et. al. When science was a cult... hmmm.

I salted the pendant a few hours ago. I cut its cord, then immersed the stone in half a pound of salt, where it's going to be sitting for a while. The cord wouldn't burn, so I left it in a trash can a ways away.

It wasn't a casual decision, but it had to be done. No good would've come from it. Indeed, it probably helped my job get bad. No more worries, now.

Right after that two funny signs came up. First off, my favorite convenience shop actually DID have the Camel Light 99's, after a little digging. Secondly, a pair of boots magically appeared near this condo's doorstep. A pair, neatly pointing, almost saying "Take me! Wear me!" They look like they're the right size, too. And no, no city dweller I know would just leave those out, although the shopkeepers there may be that eccentric.

Funny, how life gets, right? I don't know what those coincide with, except telling me I've made a cool decision...

-----------------------------

Spoke with young Mr. P. H., had a coffee. We discussed anarchy, capitalism. I think he's got more rhetoric than theory, which is par for the course. He IS 11 years younger than I.

-----------------------------

Not much magical to do here, in the middle of the city. There's enough going on that certain things may crop up more often; plenty of things to interpret as signs, but... enh. Tomorrow there's that theatre thing at the Cork Gallery, which I THINK is at 5 PM or so. I don't think they included that information.

(diarist's note: The term "God" as I use it does not usually refer specifically to Iehovah, YHWH, Allah, Hecate or any particular denomination. It's all and none, and not gender-specific; I believe God, be It theoretical construct or the real deal, to be all and no gender. So, I'll keep sex politics out of it if you will.)

Hm.

I have a new roommate, who's an anarchist writer. He publishes online twice a year and has thousands of subscribers, as well as several writers working with him. I'm not sure how legit he really is.

He's a Libra with a Moon in Cancer and a Venus in Scorpio. That much I know. He's taken a fascination to Tarot, of course. Everyone likes a get-out-of-jail-free card.

---------------------------

I haven't had much time for spiritual discovery this week. My job was threatened by an attempt to separate myself from someone's magick. Things being as they are, I've been back on the job trail, which is a lot more productive with an internet connection. I anticipate getting work rather soon, somehow. If not, I'm simply going to buy that van, get it registered and fixed, and leave town.

Later tonight I will be going through some of the exercises in Keith Sherwood's book, "Chakra Healing and Karmic Awareness". I've read it now and I'm preparing to start applying it. I haven't meditated in a while, but... we shall see.

---------------------------

To wit... the object in question is a pendant, a grey quartz ellipse, on a black cord. It was given to me back in January, maybe December, by my fiancee/girlfriend at the time. I try to remember what she said when I asked her what it was, and she said "A connection". I asked if her sister/friend had played any part in it, and she said no, knowing full well I did NOT trust that person at all. I think she also said something about cutting the cord and putting the stone in salt, but that could've been Ellen. I remember putting it on and wearing it a lot, and my devotion strengthening. Thinking about her more. That sort of thing.

Well, bad things happened, there was a break-up, all that. No one was assaulted, not physically at least.

I don't think I was told enough about this amulet. Plus, I'd always sensed some shadows in her. Sudden intense bursts of fear and hate and other things, sudden and unreasonable. I think I did some bad things to harden myself against them. Perhaps that's what teasing is... And still, cruelty.

I am thinking things over, dissecting. I am trying to figure out the currents and the cords. I am wondering where influence works in imposition, compulsion, convection even. I am wondering what will truly is. What ever it may be... It is strange that so many who are easily close to God are so far from God.

The soul pollution IS grown worse, much worse. Was I tainted by it, or did I infect?

Is n_e_writing. If I haven't done this right, you can find him/me on the friends list. He is/I am starting a new short story. Nothing about moping over ex's; this is pure science fiction. No lasers or aliens actually... more exotic, thought-provoking subjects, actually. Hope you enjoy!

Strange Weirdnesses in my life:

1. Every girl I've dated over since 2001 has had some variant of "Catherine" in her name, somewhere. Most were one-night-stands, but there were some regular relationships too. The last one, a 3 year affair, had it as her middle name.

I don't have any personal fondness for Catherines. It just happens that that, in social situations, is where the mutual interest lies. Some random girl named "Cat" or "Kate" or "Cathy" or "Kati" or whatever digs me and I dig her. Before that it was "Jennifers". Maybe people around here are stuck for original names. My personal significances could be... Catherine from the Linda Hamilton/Ron Perlman "Beauty and the Beast" or "Catherine The Great" which was a moderately funny and rather watchable movie starring Peter O'Toole.

2. I get omen-fits from time to time... My last girlfriend's name was announced and reinforced all over television, a street, a manager at work, etc. Very weird.

3. The 3 of Cups has had a particularly vicious and weird significance lately. Some day I'll get over that.

4. Bad luck seems to come in periods of 5 years. The universe and I simply stop agreeing, stop cooperating. An awful summer comes through, and life is never the same. Something I don't want anymore.

5. Well, it's hard to call anything coincidence; I know too much astrology. I also read up a bit on probability mechanics. Then there's the works of Robert Anton Wilson, who speaks of controlling your reality. The gist of his work is that if you look for coincidences and omens, they will appear. You control your reality, and can shape the signs and path of your life. If you think this or that, it will in some way occur, depending on how deeply you believe so. If you have equivocative or contradictive thoughts on where it will all go and how it will all go, you're in for a rocky, dangerous ride.


A girl I knew was convinced leaving her boyfriend was a dangerous thing, though she had conflicting ideas on why she should and should not. As she proceeded, she was bitten by some animal and suffered a serious injury. Nothing fatal but it took weeks and lots of medication to heal. Her state of mind was affected, as well. Later a tree branch fell and wrecked her car. She was also sure her boyfriend was going to leave her, or had left her, and swiftly proceeded to find her way out. Sure enough, she found her sign; a client of hers was troubled over a cyclic, unhealthy relationship, and the advice she took upon herself forced her into a position where she could not go back to her boyfriend. (It should be noted that she was a massage therapist and only just recently a BA graduate of psychology; massage therapy ethics clearly prohibit counseling clients. It's to protect both client and practicioner.) Later that night, she was introduced to her new lover. Her boyfriend, knowing nothing, asked her for reconciliation a week later, and she refused. Her new circumstances and her past failure to communicate made it impossible, and she proceeded to precipitate events afterward to fortify the impossibility. Her karma was only delayed, not prevented.

We create our realities. There are always options. We just have to find them. The best way to make sure our karma is balanced, and we get the best we deserve, is to maintain purity of intent and purity of action. Know thyself, know your environment. Know not just what you're doing, but also what's going on. Exercise good judgement, even at the risk of being called judgemental. And never do anything to compromise your benevolence...

This is my first entry in this LJ.

Please pardon the colors; we're still redecorating.

The one previous was left over from my short career as an indie electro musician. I'm done with that, after this summer's events. Now I'm picking back up on some things I've neglected.

Thanks for reading, and to my friends. Maybe this will get interesting.