COSMIC STREET FIGHT/LEGERDEMAIN

The hunger seems relentless. The smell of the hunt. It keeps coming. But I tell you this: The Beast of Seven and Ten will be stopped.

This is cosmic assault, plain and simple. It is a violation of spiritual law. The Beast of Seven and Ten will pay the price.

It is the nature of the corporeal existence of the human soul to navigate our relationships with the transcendent forces of the universe. For some, life is simple and the path is smooth. They engage with the better class of spirit in the better neighborhoods of For others, it's a cosmic street fights and some of those supposedly genteel higher powers are nothing but two-bit thugs. The Beast of Seven and Ten is one of 'em. He doesn't understand reason or fairness-- he only understands a poke in the chops, because that's what he wants: The Cosmic Street Fight.

Don't give it to him.

The Beast of Seven and Ten is a bully. He is strengthened by fear-- your fear-- and when he has you frightened, he's won. He feeds not only on your fear, but on your hatred and anger. Give him none. Outsmart him rather than outpunch him. Be of the moment. Be serene and strong.

Here is the secret: he's an evil magician, but once you know that his tricks are simple illusions, once you've mastered the magic of your own, you can triumph. Use your own magic while you keep a loving heart.

Time for a little sleight-of-hand.

ADVENTURES: HIDDEN DRAGONS TO SLAY

The day began in glittering light and then fog descended upon the oasis. Syren Sea had spread her quilt of thick air across the heavens. Night crept in shamefully with soft, dark, glowing shoes like an embarrassed offender exposed to her victims. The new year had come.

Let those who have ears to hear, listen: The Jabberwock will be exposed, the dragon will be slain. The battle with the Beast of Seven and Ten is here. That which is done in the darkness will be exposed to the light and extinguished. It will take time, but it has begun.

Some people don't think dragons exist anymore, but they're everywhere. They live within the heart of the American Psyche and the American citizen. The dragons don't always hiss fire now-- at least not in public. Now they wear fancy suits and smile a lot and have great slogans. Dragons are charmers. This makes them all the more difficult to identify and slay.

In the meantime, I'm polishing up my sword while polishing off some champagne. That's the American Way, isn't it? The Lady Joker and The Queen of Diamonds are coming over in a bit. Three is a magic number. Things should get interesting. They say they're ready for dragon-slaying too. I'm gonna need all the help that I can get.

Stay out of harm's way, Cristo. Papa's gonna show you how to fight and win. Just remember what ol' Dr. Jung said:

"Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit."

[ "Bidden or unbidden, God is present."]

ALL HAIL THE AMERICAN NIGHT

The nights have grown cold here in Syren Sea. The world around me seems drunk with delusion. Painted ladies, beautiful in their madness, crane their necks to the sky for answers. The stars stare back with rueful smiles. "Figure it for yourselves," they respond. The painted ladies strip down to frozen flesh in hopes of absolution. The moon sneers, "Your flesh cannot outshine me."

Townsmen, drunk with ale, brag of conquests and treasure. Boisterous in taverns, they wear the garlands of their heroes' triumphs as their own. "We are champions," they cry and the desert laughs at them. "You are made of what I am and no more," the desert says, "You are sand and dust. There are no monuments to your feats as there were to your fathers'."

Gentlemen of leisure in silken suits hand them pouches of pyrite, glistening golden in the night. They take their gifts and gamble for the Savior's robes and wage their children's souls. They sell each other casks of wine and fatted calves. They think nothing of the dawn.

I call to them in the distance, but no one seems to hear. Jack Knave has smiled his easy smile and sung tunes that drown my words.

Along the horizon, barely seen against the sky, the Beast of Seven and Ten arises, beckoned by the siren song. My nation's fate awaits the light.

Some say the last fight will come in a whimper; I say it will be a roar.

All hail the American Night.

THE NOTE

Someone had tried to kill me and I had a pretty good idea who it was. I could still smell the blood on me and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.

It wasn’t the end and it wasn’t the beginning. It was only that moment where you know that the way has revealed itself and the key was to figure out how to make it play out like you wanted. It was pretty simple, I figured. Things had to be shed quickly and humbly. It was the only way I would ever be able to settle the score and get away for good.

I had seen the answer in my dreams. Waves of numbers flowing as a river on curves of a woman’s flesh. Her robes had slipped away in the twilight and the symbols were tattooed upon her. Numbers don’t lie, but sometimes their solutions transcend the mathematics. I knew what had to be done.

Surrender and attack. Walk away from it all, like from a burning wreck on an empty road, and head into the night. Surrender the past, but not the fight. Never surrender the fight.

So I worked fast. I grabbed what mattered most: family photos, pictures of Cristo, my writing, my sketches and my guitar. Done. I left that apartment forever. I got into my new car and I told myself that I would play it better this time, that I was beginning to understand, that I would win.

All I left at my place was a simple message:

“Jack the Knave. That’s your name, right? I know you’re gunning for me. You work for the Beast of Seven and Ten, Cappo di tutti cappi, pez gordo, The Man. He gives you dominion. Yeah, I found you out and you don’t like it. I saw what you’re all about behind the smiles and sweet words and I called you out. Now you want me gone.

What I love, you try to kill. My faith you try to destroy. You took my child, you took my ride and you took my pride. You’ve shut me out so far, but the game's not over yet. There's still a few innings left.

And just remember, I have this against you: I’ve got your numbers. I know their meaning. When I roll the dice, I won’t lose, you will. The Angels of Probability ride with me.

I’ll see you at the tables, Jack. I’ll have a pocketful of gold and faith and fortune at my side.”

I didn’t have a clue about the numbers yet, but I knew the bluff would hold him for awhile. I also prayed a good long time. May God grant that the Angels of Probability be with me. Let the games begin.