Friday, October 14, 2011


Welcome to scenic Hope, New Jersey.

I assume it's scenic, anyway.  Though the term Tara uses the most is 'quaint'.

We're camped out in a cheap motel while we get our bearings.

Three delinquents were nabbed the other week, each with a bouquet laid out for them.  From what Tara and I can tell, they had ties to some local gangs.  I hope I am not right about which.

I don't like being here.  I had the birth of The Sun recounted to me.  There's something in the air.  It's setting me on edge.

This would be when I would say "It was a mistake to come here", but it isn't.  I'm not sure how I know that, but I know this is what I  was supposed to do.

That worries me too, though.  I call myself a seer, I give vague prophecies, but the truth of the matter is, whenever I do, I don't feel as though I'm the one giving them.  Something speaks through me.  Maybe that's my lot, on the chess board.  I provide exposition.  I explain the rules, I state the venue, I deliver the pieces.

But the game is changing, and I've not been  informed of the new rules.  Already, what should have been a concrete vision has changed.  Jeanette was supposed to be the one here.  Chelsea was not supposed to be involved.  I was not supposed to have stumbled through a choking mass of overpowering smells and cacophonous whispering leaves and end up halfway across the country.

And yet, Cups and Pentacles have replaced Swords for the time being, and I don't know why.

Oh well.  We're going to get something to eat, and then begin investigating.

I hope this wasn't a mistake.  I wish I was still locked away, safe in my room, distanced from events by a computer and a disability.

But I have been placed on a different board, in a different game, with different rules.

For now, I have no choice but to play along.


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