Do not read this story out loud at night.

Do not read this story in front of a mirror.

Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.

The first time it happened, I was about five years old.

My mother was out of town I think. We were left with her beautiful sister. My aunt was a ‘babe’, and so she had loads of distractions. My sister and I were left to our own devices.

It was a safe neighborhood. Mama Carol was a Grey-haired, overweight neighbor. Kept to herself largely, but always had a smile for kids.

I had just been smacked and so I was downstairs weeping. I was seated on the steps waiting to report my aunt to my mother the second she arrived.

Mama Carol shuffled over and consoled me. She pressured me into eating some sweets. She promised me that it would be our secret – secret.

That night I was in a dream. At least I thought it was one. Most of the kids on my block were there. Except for Zoe, my sister.

Mama Carol and a few other adults were in charge there. They taught us to be rambunctious. They taught us spells I grew to recognize them as curses. They taught us to basically terrorize our families.

There was a premium on blood and death. Big bonuses were promised if anyone died by our hands.

I always woke up tired in the morning. I found it stressful.

They stopped bringing me into their meetings when I asked why we could not drink a cola or Kool-Aid as opposed to blood.

The second time was in my freshman year.

Of all the fraternities to join, I ended up being tapped by one neck-deep in wars and battles. You could get shot or stabbed by these people for anything (real or imagined) ranging from a fart to your height. They were just so… Bloodthirsty! Their bloodlust was bananas!

A lot of brothers died. But Bello took a shine to me and protected me. Prior to his graduation, he oversaw my initiation ceremony. It was performed by the banks of a large river. I saw and heard things that I cannot talk about. Let me at least say that there are many entities on earth that are not human.

One day I deflowered the woman who would become my wife. I love her. While she slept, I felt nature ‘call’ me. Afterwards, when I stood up to flush, I was astonished to see the cistern filled with bolts, nuts, keys, chains, padlocks, a small bearing and all sorts of metal.

Suffice it to say that I wisely avoided getting shot at or stabbed after that incident. I was hitherto impervious to death.

The third time was when I was contesting for public office.

Whilst on campaign, I visited with my constituency. It was a townhall meeting.

The oldest indigene attended and requested to meet with me. At the end of that meeting, I foolishly allowed him to lay his hands on my head and pray in a dialect I did not understand. My sycophantic team kept screaming ‘amens’.

I won in the general elections.

I always win.

Even when I play chess online, I win. And I do not play chess! The game or prize does not matter. If I competed for anything, it was mine.

But people around me seemed to die every couple of months. Like clockwork. I have been attending more funerals than ever in the last four years.

And so I have taken to telling everyone of my experiences.

Uhmmm, no. This snitching is not allowed. It is an offense punishable by death in every coven.

I teach people how to break free of; blood oaths, selling of their souls, demonic possession, enchantments and divinations… I set free an average of twenty five souls every month. For the last year or so.

Then just last night, the fallen one shows up offering ‘my soul’ back to me… Lol…



I am having too much fun with this rogue behavior. He can keep ‘it’.

I up and accepted Jesus into my life a while back. Lol…

I have a better deal with God.

Do not read this story out loud at night.

Do not read this story in front of a mirror.

Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.


Mama Mia

My mum is just a mum. 

No slaying… 

Not a diva… 

No swag… 

Does not own a smartphone. 

The quintessential mother; loving, selfless, godly, religious, safe… You know, mummy-ish. Every phone call from her ended with a prayer. She is a Christian and a ‘prayer warrior.’

I come from the Northern part of the country. A job in the federal capital territory was a dream come true. I jumped at it enthusiastically. 

The first few months were tough. My learning curve was steep. But I balanced out. As things got better, I moved into a better part of town. I got a car and started to make new friends. 

I met a group of attractive women et al. They were called the ‘witches of Harlem’ behind their backs. They had a Goth/Emo combination going on. They were easily the life of any party or occasion. 

I have always done well with women. Women love me. I think it is because I am nice… Yes, really I am. 

The ‘head witch’ was Ada. 

She was hot. 



She had a tattoo of a tiger over her left boob. It started between her breasts all the way… Uhmmmm… Left. She was tastefully pierced and studded here and there. I first met her at a soiree hosted by the American embassy. 

She walked up to me and told me that she liked me. She then asked if we could date. I was single at the time so I said yes. I love tigers…

My rep’and market value skyrocketed afterward! I suddenly began to get invited everywhere. My affiliation with the witches of Harlem was well received. I began to be called, ‘the wizard of Oz’. 

Teehee… Me, church-boy, a wizard?! Teehee…  

Anyway, Ada was okay. I truly have dated better. Looking back now, I think I had started to find her boring. All bark and no bite. I have been with ‘church girls’ that behaved like your favourite pornstar. So, I found Ada a tad lacklustre. 

I have always insisted on condoms. Despite the fact that Ada hated condoms. 

I insisted despite the clean bill of health her blood work from National Hospital showed…She raved and ranted about her hatred of condoms… Shed a crocodile tear or two… Threatened to sexually starve me…  (and she did). I insisted on the condoms regardless. 

Remember that she sexually starved me? Right…it lasted about a week. She staged the fight on a Friday. 

By the next Friday then, I was on a casual date with Adriana, the daughter of a Brazilian diplomat. We were at MarionStones® eating grilled steak and vegetables when Ada suddenly showed up and was disrespectful to me and my date. She caused such a scene that we were all asked to leave the establishment. 

Adriana already knew about Ada, so she was cool and wanted another date if I “survived the night.”

I got back to my studio apartment to meet a livid Ada, who proceeded to verbally abuse me. She said that she would make my life miserable and that I “had better fall back into formation!” 

I calmly broke up with her and walked her out of my house. 

The nightmares started that very night. I woke up screaming every night for the next few days. I would wake up and see scratches and cuts all over my body. Injuries that were not there the night before, injuries that no human could have inflicted. 

I became skittish and paranoid. I was tormented by ghouls and nightmares every single time I shut my eyes. 

I uncharacteristically called my mum and requested that she come spend a few days. She uncharacteristically accepted and said she would be at my place by dusk the next day. 

That same day,  Ada called and asked if I had “come back to my senses” yet. I told her to “go and die!”

That night, she showed up in my dreams with a few garishly dressed women and told me that I was going to die the next day. 

I woke up troubled. I was starting to understand that these women were not just called ‘witches’ for fun. I was suffering the wrath of a witch scorned. I am not ashamed to admit that I knew I was going to die the next day. I was a broken spirit. My only regret was that I could not reach my mum to spare her the trauma of being the first person to see my corpse. 

I actually put my affairs in order before noon the next day. My mum arrived towards evening. After fussing and praying over me for half an hour, she left me in my room. I was now more optimistic. I had faith and hope. 

I must have drifted off to sleep because when I opened my eyes, Ada and three of her friends were in my room holding gourds and cowhide whips. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My heart began to beat violently, my tongue felt swollen and my eyes bulged as they took turns assaulting and battering my strangely supine (and somewhat restrained) body. 

Ada then pulled out a long porcupine quill sharpened at the tip, dipped it into her gourd and approached me, her intention obvious… Just then the door of my room flew open and my mum stepped in. 

I tried to call out for my mum to save herself until I saw that she was smiling.

 Yes, smiling! 

You do not want to see my mum smiling when nothing is funny. 

She locked eyes with Ada who was now looking back and forth between my mother and I in confusion. 

“Rachel, I… I don’t understand… What are you doing here?”

“He is my son!!” Was all my mum said through gritted teeth. 

At her words I felt a great weight lift off me, unseen shackles seemed to fall off my body and I regained  my faculties instantly. 

I looked up to see Ada and her goons curtsy humbly at my mum and then, I swear (down), vanish into thin air. 


I tried to bring up the topic the next day, but then my mum started to smile… 

The Omuha Fraternity


Mrs Obaniko detested her husband.
Senator Afiang Obaniko held her husband of over thirty years in very low esteem.

He had given up on life. Gone were the days of vibrance. He had lost his edge. He seemed content to sleep and then awaken. Eat, drink and work out. In between, read a book or two and then some news.

He, in her opinion, was a shadow of his potential.
He seemed to have embraced a stunning depth of lack of ambition. He seemed to be content with bare minimum.

Unfortunately, Dr. Ochiwar Obaniko did not care about her opinions. Or anyone else’s for that matter.

Consequently the relationship was precariously perched at the edge of a sheer cliff. It was a matter of time.

So when Java did not come home the night before, another decrepit pillar of their relationship was on the verge of collapse.

He was late… As usual.

He could perceive her signature fragrance from inside the elevator of the police force headquarters. She was the only woman he knew with a penchant for male perfumes.

Her aides, assistants and security respectfully stood and bowed as he sauntered into the office of the Inspector General of Police.

Her voice was elevated.
She was stressed and afraid. It was understandable, Java, their daughter was an only child. She was not just the apple of their eyes, she was Ochiwar’s life.  She had been missing for a little over twenty four hours.

The perpetrators had called the house. The Butler said they wanted a ransom of one million dollars. In small unmarked bills of course.

His wife was livid and incensed. The money was not the issue, somehow though it was his fault.
Java was twenty years old. In the country on holiday. She was busy in the Senate ironing out national policies, where was he when this happened?

Her sour disposition did not help the situation. The I. G of police was already beleaguered by a myriad of official problems. He did not need a senator of the federal republic complicating his already complicated life. And so when Dr. Ochiwar walked in, he naturally preferred the man’s mild – mannered disposition.

His wife’s brothers and sisters were unfortunately present too. The cacophonous racket they were raising was as useful as Jack Daniels to a newborn baby.

Everyone was stymied. The situation was hopeless. A notorious gang of kidnappers had been terrorising the town for about a year now. The victims were usually killed anyway. Ransom paid or not. Java was as good as dead. The time line for the cash drop expired in three hours.

Senator Afiang increasingly grew incensed as she observed her husband marooned on his phone. Seemingly less than a hundred percent present.

“who the hell are you talking to at this time? What could be more important than your missing child? Your only daughter?! Can’t your whores wait?” Her flawless diction and accent-less phonetics empowered her words not only to hurt, but also to emasculate.

As if to further provoke her, his rather immature ringtone shattered the dead silence her cruel words had created.

Dr. Obaniko calmly picked up the phone,

“Do you know who I am?” He almost whispered into his mobile phone.

“I am reborn” He continued with his eyes closed.

“I will pay the ultimate price. My rights will not be usurped.”

The room was silent as he nodded intermittently listening to the voice on the other end. As he listened, tears escaped his closed eyes and trickled down his roguishly handsome face.
Everyone present knew that the call had to do with Java. No one interrupted. They hung on every word propagated by his strained, cultured voice.

He ended the call and slowly extracted an excessively white handkerchief which he proceeded to use to wipe his tears and noiselessly blow his nose.

He arose slowly and approached the I.G’s desk, he leaned over and rhetorically said,

“Do you know who I am? I am War!”

Then he proceeded to tell a suddenly very suspiciously docile  I. G of police the precise location where his daughter was being held.
He disclosed the number of people within a twenty meter radius of his daughter and the sort of weapons they were carrying.

As soon as he was done talking, the I. G barked some orders into an intercom.
He jumped up and left his own office running, screaming instructions as sirens instantly
began wailing outside in the car park.

Dr. Obaniko left the office and his wife behind without a backward glance. She called out after him gently. He paid no heed to her or anyone else. His personal assistant rushed towards him offered her shoulders as support. He was suddenly limping, sniveling and profusely weeping.

Senator Afiang and her entourage got to their fifteen bedroom mansion an hour later. Her sirens afforded her preferential treatment on the roads.

Java ran out of the door into the arms of her mother and extended family.

Inexplicably, she was set free. Her kidnappers suddenly began to disagree. Fatally so. Ultimately her captors fell upon each other with knives, furniture and theirs truly in paranoia and rage. The last one alive had hoarsely told her to go home. She had driven back in her own hitherto carjacked Nissan 370z.

Dr. Obaniko arrived an hour later. Father and daughter clung to each other and wept.

Less than a month later, Java returned back to Cyprus to continue her second degree.

Dr. Obaniko was suddenly appointed as the minister of petroleum by the president.

The governor of his state reached out in fellowship and within twenty-four hours, their newly incorporated company was awarded an oil block, complete with licenses and perpetual tenuity.

Chevron and Shell simultaneously conferred on him the title of “Goodwill Ambassador”. Each multinational paid him an annual honorarium of half a million dollars each.

He accepted every offer with humility, grace and charisma.

Before he could assume office as the honourable minister of petroleum, he was forced to accept the position of senator representing his federal constituency.

It was only fair because the senator representing that constituency died suddenly. She was fatally stabbed and shot whilst on her way to a meeting within her constituency.
As her husband, the Senate, her constituency, her governor and the powers that be unanimously deemed it fair that he should complete her remaining seven years in office.

Night Of The Blood Moon


A few weeks ago I was in a bad place. Bills stacking up, financial pledges unfulfilled, everyone was racking in huge numbers but me.

A friend even spent millions to buy just one SUV.

Another one killed close to a million buying our select few champagne… In one night!

My daughter uncharacteristically requested for a few quid, zilch! Nada. Zero. I was broke.

Everyone was making paper but me. I began to mediate on things that were not expedient. I started to entertain the profane in my heart. I was desperate.

Then came all that ruckus about a blood moon.
As a devout stargazer I was immediately intrigued.
And as is customary, I hit Google to see what I could.
I learnt a lot.

I’m one of those people that strange miracles happen to. Always been like that. Dozens of stuff too disturbing to disclose.
I seem to stumble upon the strangest things… Ah, my curious soul!

The most amazing things related to the blood moon jumped at me online. Hours later I put down my tablet quivering with excitement. I had to see this moon.

I set my alarm for 3 am. It was supposed to be at its reddest a few minutes after three.

I crashed at about 11pm sharp as is customary.
My alarm seemed to go off the very next minute.
Groggy but psyched, I pulled on a pair of camouflage combat shorts and then wrestled into a tank top.
Strangely, power was out. But I know my nest blindfolded. I picked my way into my study to fetch my Canon EOS 50D. Zoom lens too.

As soon as I got on my porch, I grimaced. Rain.
Nice try.
I was not going to be deterred. I walked back indoors and dropped the camera and pulled off the tank top. Located a pair of flip flops and stepped out into a mild drizzle.

The houses along my street are fully detached. It’s a lovely neighborhood. Every street has a security man walking that beat. But on a night like this, I knew he would be huddled somewhere sheltered and dry. Guess we don’t pay the security outfit enough.

I started to scan the skies. It was raining in earnest by now. In fairness to the ‘bloody’ moon, the skies had taken on a reddish hue.
Ethereal, beautiful.

A few moments later, the rain stopped suddenly and the clouds parted,  simultaneously.
I looked around and then up to see the reddest moon ever!


“Lord have mercy!” I remember exclaiming in awe.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” a woman commented behind me.

“Yes it is!” I answered without turning.

We are a strange bunch along my street. It was no biggie that there was probably another star gazer there living.

If you say the right words in the right ear, the right things will come aright She quoted.

Right off an ancient text I chanced upon earlier online.

I slowly turned to face her. I felt goosebumps break out all over.

She was stunningly beautiful. Whilst I had the loveliest female neighbors, this one surpassed them all.
This one I had not seen before.
This one, like me, was topless.
She wore just a white wrapper around her waist.
Forgive me for not getting into the details of her bosom, but she was hot. And more importantly, (perv) I thought I was going to die.

She looked, well, red-ish.
I guess I looked the same. I thought it was because the moon was at its fullest, reddest and directly overhead.

“Who are you?” I croaked. Absolutely petrified.
“You know what I am ” she countered. “Will you say the right words?”

“I am not sure I want to.” I slowly stated as she stepped even closer.

“Say the right words and seal them with a kiss. Right here, right now. Or forfeit life for you have reached the crossroads. Many have killed for this moment, many will kill to be in your shoes right now.”

All I could think about was Judas Iscariot. Yup, Judas.

Christ! I constantly amaze even me!!

She was totally in my space by this time. We were practically chest to chest. I think I’d stopped breathing too.

“Say. The. Right. WORDS… Mr President. Or forfeit life.”

Oh she was legit alright. She definitely knew. Too much about what was. And what ought.

Suddenly emboldened by something from within me, I lifted my arms and wrapped my hands around her waist. I felt her sidle even closer.

The world is mine… I have the Light in me…But I will not kiss you.”

I felt her stiffen.

“It is in your best interest that I do not. If I do, your life will become forfeit.” I felt her try to step backwards. I tightened my grip instead and pulled her closer still.

“You can not give me what is already mine. And whatever you have, I have just taken too.” I released her then.

She stumbled backwards. Her wet, red-tinted bosom heaving visibly.

Temper… Temper… 10%…43%…86%…

“You will die!” she hissed at me.
“We will come for your soul soon… If you speak of this to anyone, anything, anywhere… You will die on the spot.”

Some females actually look lovelier when they get mad…

“I’d like to see you again. Please wear a red dress. Red suits you. Let me buy you dinner on that day.” I proposed, stepping forward extending my right hand for a handshake.

She looked at me for a while. Then studied my hand for a bit.
Then she took my hand. Looked at me strangely and then vanished into thin air.

I turned and walked back inside.

The Snake In My Bed

We have kids together. Not married (yet). Guess the unmarried bit, plus recent financial blessings started to put some strain on us.

I was finally getting some worldwide recognition for my work. Global prominence, and a huge fan base. She was getting insecure and desperate. We fought a lot recently. Situation was ugly, tense and a tad violent.

I hid in my work.

Ever wake up with a sense that something was wrong? Your entire body suffused with adrenaline, combat ready? Guys, you know what I mean.

I awoke with a start. The room was pitch black. I’m one of those people that wake up fully alert normally. A lifelong result of jarring alarm clocks set. I will usually wake up a few seconds before my alarm goes off, just to stave the rude awakening.

I woke and lunged forward toward the foot of my very large bed. Almost headlong into the wall-mounted flat screen TV. I would usually roll right, over Inemesit – that’s her name, and maybe over on her sometimes. As the mood dictated.

Instinctively though, I chose to move toward the foot of the bed. The bathroom light switch was just ahead I knew. The bathroom door was always open. As I vacated my resting place, I heard a muffled thud and a bit of rustling behind me. I hit the switch and tried to hop right off the bed and on my feet in one motion… Silly me. I fell heavily. But I sprang up and faced the bed, my right hand hitting the light switch on the wall. The bedroom flared brighter as the second switch illuminated the room. The bedroom door too was always open – behind me. For the kids.

Then I saw it.

It was a snake. Still striking my recently vacated portion of the bed passionately. Its fury almost malicious now that I think of it. Amazingly, Inemesit was still asleep! Whilst a serpent partially over her was for some reason trying to kill her lover.

“Jesus!” I croaked in shock. It whirled around toward the sound of my voice.

It slithered down the foot of the bed – my erstwhile path toward me. I felt my bowels loosen and gooseflesh break out. It was a bit of a long snake, with shiny black scales.

I sleep in the nude. Imagine how defenceless I felt standing there naked, naked girlfriend mercifully still asleep on the bed. Kiddies room behind me. Even if I could find my voice, who could I call? Any sound I made in panic would awaken Inemesit or the kids, if either showed up here… I gallantly softly closed the bedroom door. My eyes never leaving the reptile.

It is a small bedroom. Door behind me. Wardrobe too. Dresser and mirror to my left, wall to my right. Large bed in front of me…no, not really. In fact a large snake now weaving in front of me.

It was a cobra. About five foot long; standing.

Strangely though, it was mesmerising and beautiful. Hypnotically lovely. It looked like it was dancing for me…side to side. Then the part under the head, its chest I think, flared…and it began hissing…forked tongue probing the air. Instinctively I knew it was about to attack me. And Inemesit was still sleeping!

I hear snakes are fast. I hear cobras spit in your eyes. I hear the death is painful. But I had a sexy, beautiful baby mama on my bed. And kids that needed me in the house. Who was going to take care of them?

I lunged left toward the dressing table and grabbed the longest can I could see, the snake reared back to strike.

My grip on the can was flawed so I had grabbed it by the head, no time to reverse my grip…so I reflexively pressed the head of the can in sheer desperation into the face of the incoming fangs…and jumped back, back slamming hard into the wardrobe.

It recoiled oddly, sharply, and did a funny wriggle and fell forward toward me.

“Jesus!” I yelled as I sprang up, its head missing my naked, flailing genitals only because midair I parted my thighs to adjust for the falling serpent.
As I descended, in line with scriptural prophecy, I came down heel first onto it’s head. As I heard the sickening ‘squelch’ of its head crushed, I ground my heel viciously till I heard its head bones crunch twice.

I jumped away to the right to avoid its writhing death dance and since it seemed to work, liberally sprayed some more from the can onto the writhing serpent.

It was a macabre and beautiful scenario; the can was a Jasmine scented air freshener I had bought on sale at Spar supermarket.
I was alive!
Inemesit was still asleep (really? Chic, seriously?!)
And my kids were safe…
And the air was fragrant with the cloying, oriental and heavy scent of Jasmine.
And the snake wasn’t going to rise again.

Inemesit never woke up. She died in her sleep.

“A brain aneurysm…” the autopsy report stated.

“No foul play suspected…” The police report stated.

“Hmmm…hiiaan!!” I stated.

I just wonder.

The Ladies of Rage

“I am ready…are you?”

I will never forget the first time I heard those words. Every time thereafter, the words still leave me feeling like I have been rubbed the wrong way. A bit like a standoff between a cat and a dog.

About two decades ago, I was in an altercation with a very unruly fellow. Totally uncouth; his mouth did call for blows, and his mouth did receive the said blows. He had the worst social skills my young life had ever encountered. He had no sense of modicum or decorum. He was obstinate in his views and I, irascible. It was not a pretty beat down.

I hate to fight. But the chap would not stop taunting, cursing and swearing. Maybe it is because I was raised Baptist, I elected to put the fear of God in him.

I hit him hard! Severally. In desperation he picked up a rock and let it fly. I reflexively turned my back and tucked my head to my chest…the rock hit me like a rubber bullet (a tale for another day). I spun around, adrenaline numbing the pain. My eyes caught a castaway table leg and I picked it up and advanced.

He knew. In retrospect I saw it in his eyes. He was going to be permanently damaged. Onlookers knew too. I heard their silent “oh god no!” As I closed in on my quarry.

She knew too. Because she was suddenly between us. Switchblade held at waist level. His last line of defence.

I took in her average height. Attractive features blurred slightly from a life poorly lived. Her eyes stopped me dead in my tracks. They were devoid of emotion. Steely. Focused on me. Her lips were open, chipped front teeth bared.

“Move or I’ll make you sorry” I remember hissing.

She answered me not a word.

Remarkable on her part. Because back then, my reputation required she be turned to toast.

“Are you crazy? I can make your life a living hell.” I threatened.

Still the stare.

“Do you want to die? Here and now?” The situation was getting embarrassing. Coward was actually comfortable behind this urchin.

“I am ready; are you?” She countered evenly.

The gauntlet thrown. My bloods boiled Vesuvius… I was going to Mount Krakatoa this couple!
The intellectual in me fortunately showed up. Reappraised the situation, and I stood down.

Jane and I have been friends for decades now. Potty-mouth was her brother (yes, past tense. Yet not by my hand. A less forgiving man I hear). She was Queen of a female sorority on campus. I have heard horrifying tales of their initiation ceremonies. Their inhuman hazing of recruits. And proclivity for martyrdom. Very extreme young women.

Here’s to The Ladies of Rage…and to queen Jane… You’re still alive darling?! There is (definitely) a God that loves you for some reason I can’t fathom. Lol…#bighug#

A Light to Guide You.

What you think you are doing and what you are actually doing are two different things. Lay aside flawed perceptions, leave the clueless to their idiocy; the fact remains that all you do is based on your understanding of your actions.

How vast is your understanding? How adept are you on the subject you are acting on? Don’t forget that all you know is all you have learned, but all you have learned is not all there is to know.

With this premise as a foundation, it may be conservative to be cautious when you act. A good Book says, “by wise counsel wage war.” You may need to seek the opinions of a wide array of proven peers and elders.

Apprenticeship is sadly lacking in this day and age. Most of us rush into ‘wars’ and projects based on whim and/or intuition. Feelings have little facts backing them. They are the most unreliable indices to base anything on. Quite frankly, your feelings can kill you. They will lead you on a path of misery and can destroy all you hold dear if not properly harnessed.

As quickly as you can, learn to cage those random notions. Feel free not to exercise your God-given right to be stupid. Audit yourself. Second-guess every move and motive your creative mind churns up. Yes you are a free moral agent, but your actions have effects. Some of these acts of yours may be the eye of a tornado, the funnel surrounding the main catastrophe you’re churning will ripple for miles around. Leaving disaster and sorrow in its wake.

So, seek counsel from those competent. Two heads though, are not necessarily better than one. What if the two heads in collusion belong to morons? Yours of course being one? Submit yourself to higher power and authority. Because I love you needn’t make me your best sage to building a bomb. Despite my best intentions, we will inevitably cluck in derision in the afterlife. A lot of graves are filled with ‘good intentions’.

I wish you light. I will to you illumination. I want the radiance of Truth as a light to your path in life. I pray for this light in your souls, to keep you warm, confident, and happy.

Shine on. Shine bright my friends. May Truth strike into combustion with your spirit.