Warlock, page 17
Good night, my dirty diary. And fuck you too.”
“Diary entry #25.
Today is a great day! Not because of school – fuck that place (except of Ms. Prey of course.), no – there is a same still situation without any movement – I’m a shadow, and everyone doesn’t give attention to me.
All because of a tulpa. I saw her today for a first time.
And all because of a simple discovery! I looked at my issue under another point of view. I thought about old-time magicians. Their obligatory attributes were special things, or rather artifacts with a magic powers, special spells and movements passes. Of course, I know, that everyone of that old dead so-called magicians wee talented actors with set of tricks. But hey! Here might be a seed of truth. Look. Success in a job depends of your confidence, and even with your self-confidence. And I think that all that artifacts and passes is only for raising level of self-confidence. So, I took a notepad and a pencil, and begin my meditation.
At first my hand and mind were still, but then I saw her, my tulpa. I saw her shapely body, and her nudity, that she tried to hide with a half-turn pose. She had a red-brown eyes with a pupil like a cat’s one, and a long dark-brown hair that covers her buttocks. Damn, she was pretty! I looked at her, and forgot about all around – room, pencil in my hand, and even about a school. Here she is! My tulpa! She stands in front of me and begins to turn to me. One second after I saw her pretty tits, and… Uh…
In a second she was gone. I lost concentration.
I do not know how long, but I sat without any movement. Then I shake my head, like after a deep dream, and looked at my notepad. And then I saw something interesting. In the center of the page, all crossed with a random lines was a drawn octagon. It was almost perfect and had a couple of lines at every side. I think that my hand moved three or four times, drawing it. And tip of pencil was stand at one of the corners of an octagon, inside of the figure.
That was pretty interesting, and in the same time – scares me a little. I don’t remember how I draw that octagon. More of that, it was drawn without looking at the page, and I was sure that if I’d measure it sides, it would be perfect.
But I thought that it was a good sign.
Ha! Get it?
Have a nice night, my dirty diary! Sleep well with a dreams, full of octagons.”
“Diary entry #26.
A summary of this day, my dirty diary is: a couple of bruises one friend and first word from a tulpa.
And now in order of this happens.
In a school, as I had said I met the leader of bullies. More correctly would say that he met me. On the biggest break, when I had sat alone with my meals, he sat near me, and took something out from my lunchbox.
“Nice,” he said. “And talking to my friend in that tone that you choose – isn’t so nice.”
I was silent as a fish, looking up on a mess with thoughts in my head.
He continues:
“But, hey, I know that my friends haven’t sharp mind, huh.”
Another moment of silence from me.
“Hey, I know how’s newbie feels. Now you are thinking that if you’re would still in the class, you could choose role by yourself,” he grabs another slice of food, I can’t see what it was because adrenaline makes me almost blind. “But I have some info to you – you can’t rule here. Hey, join us, newbie.”
He looked around and smiled at someone out of my sight:
“Hey, or you’re a fag like Fred? Fred-fag have a new friend, huh? Let’s ask him…”
He stood from a bench and goes aside.
And in one second my sight become absolutely clear. I stood up and went after him. Meanwhile, bully came to Fred, and clapped him on the shoulder. I don’t hear what does he said, because of blood drums into my head. Someone of bullies’ gang screamed something to leader, and it helps me a lot, so, when he turned around I hit him with a tray and a smile on my face. Later, when principal asked people, who sat at the cafeteria, everyone said that it was an accident. And, partly, it was, but juice that I spilled on leader’s jeans was on purpose.
One thing that I learn about scum – the biggest injury that you can do to them – make them funny. No matter, who it is – school bully or someone from fucking pair of Second World War - Adolph or Joseph, each of them most of all was afraid of being funny. And now, leader of the bullies stood in the center of the cafeteria with a dark stain on his jeans.
I’m imagined my own coffin. Here’s a wood, and here’s a nails, and in my hand – an old good hammer. And I’m saying at loud:
“Hey, I know that US is a cheerful country, but such a reaction is too much!”
This would be a great coffin! Nice and qualitative. I know that laugh is around us, but I can’t hear a thing. I hear my funeral drums, and hitting nails, seeing red face of the bully. Some of his friends run to us, and try to scare me, but leader was wise, and stopped him. He said in a hissing manner:
“That was a great mistake, newbie.”
He looked around, took off his hoodie, and put it around his hips, covering a stain.
All group went out, and I sat at the nearest bench.
“Thanks,” said Fred. “It was too much, you know?”
I nodded. I decide to stay silent for a little, because I know that my voice would tremble, just like my arms, that’s why they stayed on my knees. Then I said:
“It was a mistake, I know. Hitting that hyena couple of days ago – would be more vise…” I took a pause, then continue. «But he wanted to hurt you.”
“Fred,” he said, and straight his hand to me.
I shake it:
“I know. And I’m Antony, and I’m guessed that you know it.”
He smiled:
“Yeah. Thanks,” He said once again. “But you became their enemy. I used to a role of victim.”
I found something on my trey that evade of juice and chew it without feeling a taste at all:
“Well, now I’m a bullies’ enemy, I think…” I thought a little, and smiled. “I think that I can stand it, if you had,”
Fred smiled:
“I wasn’t fight them.”
“So do I”
“Yet”
And he was right, because just after a school I was beaten by a group of that bullies. A leader stood aside with a glass of yellow liquid. Do I need to tell you what that was? I can say only that thing that he tells to me, before he spills it on me, when I was lied at the ground:
“You asked this. And we all give you a part of us.”
He spills it all over me.
Loser.
I humiliated him on the eyes of the crowd, and his answer is a small bite after a school at the backyard. I’ll stand it.
That’s why despite extra laundry and some bruises on the ribs (another amateur act from them – my former friends always beat up on kidneys – that bring a lot of hurt without any signs), despite all this I was in a good mood. I set on laundry (Hail to washing machine – it helps me without mother noticing), and closed in my room.
I turn on my favorite meditation track, placed a notepad on my lap and pencil in my hand. I judged that if octagons – is appeared in the last session, maybe they mean something to state of mind that helps seeing tulpa. You know, that trick with a smile – when you’re having a nice mood – you’re smiling, and when you haven’t one, smile that you put without any fun in your mind, can change your spirit to many lighter.
So, I began to draw honeycombs, sliding into state of trance. Later I saw that all of them was a little inclined, like I’m drawing them in 3D space on some angular surface.
Anyway, I saw her much faster than other times. She had a shape of a girl with a dark hair, and something animalistic was in her face. Something powerful, that kind of true, nature power of thunder or a tiger – uncontrolled and scary. She looked at herself, smiled and raised her sight on me:
“Hi, Antony,” she said. Her voice was quite strange. Seems that it undefined yet – I hear my own tone, mother’s tone that bitch from former country tone in it. Strange mix. “Do you mind dressing me up?”
And just at this moment I saw that she hasn’t any clothes. No, she wasn’t naked thought. Just undefined pattern – figure, hips, breast (shapely), but without any texture.
I closed up my eyes and strained. When I opened them, there were sweat at my forehead, and tulpa was dressed up like a teacher. She looked at herself once again and smiled little bit wider:
“Not bad. I see where you took this idea, but it’s a beginning, yes?” she corrected her skirt a little, then said. “Now, take a rest, mister”
And then she disappeared, like a thick grey smoke.
I’m exhausted, my filthy diary, but two friends were worth of it. And that one enemy that I got today… Looking at the place where a couple of moments ago stood tulpa, and on the page full of hexagons - I’m sure that I’ll see a way to manage this issue. ”
“Diary entry #27.
Today I had one of the additional lessons that I still have with Ms. Prey. And today we had talk about “The Catcher in the Rye”. And… Huh… I’ll try to talk civil… I hope I’ll can manage it, looking on a popularity of this book, and all respect from the world of literature. So:
- Fuck you, J. D. Salinger!
Here.
Now I feel better.
I… I just don’t know where I need to begin by talking about it. It has a nice language, nice atmosphere, setting of the inner world of a teenager. Not a brightest one too. But… It’s like a brick. Well-done architectural brick. What can you say about brick, huh? Nicely done? Solid? Useful? And that’s all. I can’t see why someone sees a revelation in it, see a genius book in a nice solid story. You can say that it describes a time, a trying to find yourself in a strange circumstances and all that rubbish that can give you teachers. But it would be just the argumentation of the status of this book.
I think that a great trick was happened here – someone saw geniality here, talk about this. Other people listened to that first guy, and say something “Yeah! That man absolutely right! It’s unseen from a first sight, but it’s a genius!”. And now we have something like nuclear reaction – one hit leads two hits, two to four and so on. And when sometime later you stand on the black surface after reaction ends you see nothing. All thing was in reaction itself. Nothing left after this.
And I think that thinking about “Catcher” as a must-read think is just an aftermath of that reaction.
Many years that brick called genius – how come you think that this is a common (but nice) brick? Yeah. I think it is! And you know, whose think that I’m totally right? Salinger himself? Why do you think he doesn’t write anything else? I think that he doesn’t want to talk with such dumb crowd, who saw a black cat in a black room, and now worshipping it.
Reverse situation. Can of soup from Warhol. That’s truly genius thing. You may say, “Fuck you, Antony! That’s your brick itself! Just a painted brick!”.
And I will say. “First – fuck you!” Second – yes! That’s a brick. And it was created as a brick. And it was sold like a brick. No surprises, no searches for additional senses, it’s just a black cat. Nice healthy black cat. Pur-pur-pur. But that can of soup was genially sold. Warhol was first, who thought of thing like this, and that’s why his can is a brilliant idea, and “catcher” is just a brick.
Ms. Prey was surprised by this explanation, but said that I have a nice way of thoughts. We agreed that every thought have a right to exist if you have a nice background of argumentation behind them. Logic, as other genius Asimov said – can’t be wrong, but you can have wrong presuppositions. I have nothing to add.
Today I decided to make a day off from meditations and seeing tulpa. It took a lot of energy, and I can’t do this every day. So far, at least. Tomorrow is a Friday, and that means that weekend without parents full of movies, porn and chips is close as my own nose! Fuckin’ hurray!
See you, my filthy diary!”
“Diary entry #28.
Friday evening. Some new bruises on my ribs (I count them all to return in a full-scale.), and one new friend. Now it’s a girl. Let’s begin with her.
Her name is Mary. She was away this week, so I don’t meet her earlier. She’s nice and even may be called pretty. I had a lunch with a Fred, when she sat near us. You see, my shitty diary, for everyone except Fred and those bastards that beat me I’m still a ghost. It’s a par – I don’t touch anyone, and they pretend that I’m not exist. Nice and comfortable. I had noticed a new face in a class of course, but hey what I know?
She has an interesting look – she has such a… Natural. I’ll use that word – she has a natural beauty. Something that doesn’t need a push-up’s or ton of makeup. I’m sure, that the guy that would wake up near her, would see that nice face – that doesn’t need any bathroom manipulations to be pretty.
I knew one guy in my former country, from an elder company, and he doesn’t see his girlfriend without makeup. She goes to bed after him, always. And even after sex, she took a pause before brushing her teeth and all girl’s procedures in the bathroom. And that guy was totally ok about this. He said that if she continue to giving him all kind of pleasure in the bed – he doesn’t give a shit about her look. I can’t understand it, though. I think that this would be a sign that I found my true pair – if she would be beautiful in the morning.
So, Fred introduces me to Mary, and we had a nice chat. As Fred said after, Mary have an interesting place in school hierarchy. She was pretty smart, so she could help other girls, and in return – she was a part of their group. Not an alpha, but not an omega too. Girls ladder has other structure then boys, despite all common things. She’s a pretty geeky – she easily talks with us about games, movies and comics. And she already knew all things that had happened to me here. Einstein was wrong about limit of speed – school gossips is much faster than light.
And after school I have another session of beating me up. Without any expression I must to note. Just as a schedule. They were still jerks and still hit’s like amateurs. But they gave me one present – one of them, when he made another hit with a leg to my ribs dropped out a bag with a weed. I was covering my head, but I saw it. I can use it somehow. The more details – the better. I need to ask Fred about this.
And now, ladies, gentleman and you, my filthy diary – time to practice with a tulpa. ”
Chapter 11
Next morning was not just waking up for Alex was rather a resurrection, not just opening of the eyes. He felt worse than before going to bed. He was exhausted yesterday, but today he was totally broken. He was not sure what was it, but he thought that it was a result of yesterday interview. Despite its greatness for the show, it took a little bit more of his energy then he thought. For his luck Jim was a live proof of God’s purpose and justifying his last name, held out his hand with a coffee cup. “Here,” Jim said. Looking Alex, who drank coffee like a thirsty man in the desert. ”I can’t recall when I saw you last time like yesterday, but I knew in what state you’re open your eyes after.”
Barns return to Jim empties cup:
“Thanks buddy”
“You’re welcome,” said Helper throwing wrinkled cup across the room to the trash bin. He missed a little and with a silent curse went to throw it right. “You know what do I think about coffee before the breakfast?”
Alex answered something, but Jim does not recognize anything like words because of a toothbrush in the mouth of his friend. However, he was sure that Barns said something rude.
He thought a little, and then goes to check his stuff. He checked indicators of the charge on his cameras and decided to put them on charge. He always had a couple of power banks in his bag, and they were always charged to the maximum.
“So,” said Jim. “I hope that this would be last interview for this case?”
“I …” there was sound of spitting from the bathroom. Then Alex said: “I think so.”
Narrator came out to the room and said:
“In any case I do not see other probabilities to find something interesting. Our guy is a real talent. He had two friends…” Alex, like his friend checked his working things. “One of them he put to the wheelchair, other one he killed”
They took their bags and went to the street. It was a nice shiny morning. Alex close his eyes, smiled to the sun and went to the van.
“In such places people always suspicious about the newcomers. And when one of them starts to kill people…” Alex waved with his head. «Anyway, even if his father doesn’t say us anything helpful, we had a nice material at the moment”
Jim nodded and started an engine. He wouldn’t say it to Alex, even because of tortures, but he hoped that father of their guy wouldn’t say anything interesting. But something black and deleterious in the farthest corner of his mind said that he’s wrong.
Van rolled on the road and friends went to the “Nancy’s” for the breakfast. It was not too much time that they needed for a couple of eggs, stripes of beacon and hazelnut pie, and in order that in an hour big metal hornet rolling to the Antony’s parents’ house.
Alex tried to concentrate on his notes that he made all this time. He rewrote them during the breakfast and tried to make a structure for his interview. Nevertheless, result wasn’t so good – this case consists of rumors, superstitions and strangeness. That’s why he tried to isolate some storylines from tons of facts that they collected by these days. Some themes were joint in different interviews, some – special and known by one person who knew Antony, but Alex hoped that father can give him an answers.
Jim parked their car in front of the house, and walk out. He opened a side door, and walk to the slide door to pick up his equipment. Alex takes a few minutes to finish his notes, and then walk to the street too.
