Visit a monkey in the tree of his life
He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe
When the sugar turns to alcohol
He shares his crop with one and all

The alcoholic tangerines are free
The alcoholic tangerines for you
The alcoholic tangerines for me

Thursday, December 12, 2019

Wolfbane: Chapter 2

        “If you don’t want to see or hear evil, you’d better keep your eyes closed tightly and your fingers in your ears. The truth is that the Satanic Church has grown too large to be concealed. The witches are too thirsty for the blood of our children. Even with the whole abortion industry producing adrenochrome and the entire child protection network providing orphans for Satanic sacrifices, they cannot quench their evil thirst.  Even with the importation of children purchased from the third world, there is not enough nutrition to sustain them. Those of us with our blinders firmly in place will not be able to deny much longer. Are they witches or are they vampires? It matters not what appellation, what parallels to popular culture are most correct. The blood machine is the bank machine. The Swissy flagged Red Cross drains us of our blood and cash.”
    “God Damnit, Wolfbane!” I said. “Why are you so poetic? Can we not enjoy our Christmas dinner without this talk? I don’t see you for fifteen months and we fall into this dramatic mode in the first ten minutes? It took me all day to prepare this fucking figgy pudding.”
    “Fuck your figgy pudding!” Wolfbane roared with laughter. “Although we could use a dram of your botanical spirits, as an aperitif, of course.” A great suggestion! “A little gin never hurt anybody. Tell me again your recipe?”
    “Wormwood and Fennel. Then Eucalyptus and Elderberry. One pot.” I said removing the stopper from the bottle and lowering my nose. My senses heightened by the effervescent aroma of Eucalyptus.”
    “A hint of lavender, as well,” he said. “Delicious.”
    “Pointless to keep a secret from you, sir,” I said. I poured the spirit into two chilled snifters and added a little soda.  A whole meadow of fragrance in one breath.
    Wolfbane tapped his cane on the floor as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s wonderful how our senses respond to a new ingredient that we had been without. Like the truth that is forbidden; once tasted it will never be forgotten. And also how one can become desensitized to the bullshit stinking under our very noses! Little by little, we’ve gotten used to the taste.” Wolfbane never jabbed unless he followed with a straight right. “We’ve spoken many times about the CIA infiltration of the press and the total collapse of the free press in 2008. Newspapers went under in their dozens after the emergence of online media. It’s funny how easily we forget.”
    “Yes, I also remember the housing bubble of 2007 and how the banks wiped out American homeowners in their millions and then hung For Sale signs on the houses. This caused a large recession that affected business, and the most affected business was the American newspaper business. The free press was wiped out by the same bankster bubble that ruined the housing market. And by 2012, what remained of the popular American press was propped up by Federal Bank entities disseminating pure corporate propaganda.”
    “Mind control!” cried Wolfbane. “Witchcraft! Like religion itself, poisoning the mind against the real ethical Christianity that we’ve inherited. When did Christians forget that usury is a sin against mankind and a tool of Satan, who is the slaver of mankind? Who are these fucking priests who replace Christian ethics with doddering religious superstition? Their priestcraft reduces us to bowing our heads and mumbling their Satanic words. Remember this my friend, the Pope is not the Vicar of Christ on Earth and Satan is not God.”
    “I’ll drink to that,” I said. “And communion is not a religious ritual involving the Babylonian cannibalism of the Christ. Communion is when Christians get together and enjoy the freedom, the love, and the blessing of being together. The cup of Christ is not filled with blood, but with wine.”
    “Ye Gads! You’re a fucking heretic,” said Wolfbane.
    With that Wolfbane reached into his jacket pocket and produced two pairs of white cloth gloves. “Put them on,” he instructed. Next, he reached down into his leather briefcase and pulled a gift-wrapped package from it. “Here’s your gift, but you can’t keep it. I borrowed it from the library.” I hesitated. “Well, go ahead, open it,” he said.
    “I know it’s a book,” I said ripping away the wrapping paper.
    “Tell me what you see,” said Wolfbane
    “I see a very old book. A full vellum binding over boards with clasps. The boards are beveled and the covers blind-tooled.  Gold tooling on the spine with handsewn end bands and the edges are sprinkled; all typical of 17th-century bindings. What library did you get this from?” I asked incredulously, already fearing the worst.
    “Why, the Newberry,” replied Wolfbane wryly.
    “Wolfbane, you’re a madman!” I yelled. “The Newberry Library has no circulating items for checkout.”
    “I didn’t say I checked it out, I said I borrowed it!” He bellowed. “I have certain privileges among librarians. Special access, you might call it. Now open it.”
    I opened the book to the title page. It read Demonology by His Majesty King James 1 of England. “Antique laid paper printed with Gothic script. Every page of this massive volume is worth more than $20,000 in the collectors market,” I said, my hands shaking.
    “That’s why it’s so hard to keep old books together. They are worth much more ripped apart page by page,” he replied.
    “What do you want me to do with it?” I asked.
    “Read it carefully. Then take it back to the library. Got to a kiosk, order some materials, then leave it with the materials. You’ll be the first one to have read it in fifty years.”
    “And if I’m caught?” I asked coldly.
    “There is as little chance of that as of you ripping out pages of this book for your own profit,” said Wolfbane.

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