One cannot get the vastness from their thoughts as they look upon the cold vastness of the Ontario Sky. That I would lay upon the snow waiting to fall asleep; could only see the vastness which would be there in the night. Of what sits in my mind are if the dreams that remain --- the thoughts which alone sit inside of my mind as I fall asleep beneath the light of the full moon. The countess books of the myths; of witchcraft, vampires, and other dark folklore sit alone in the back of my mind alone with the old ghost stories that were told in the years when I was with the boy scouts began to play themselves vividly in my mind.--- of the horrors, that would be inside of the unknown. But as I would wait for my eyes to close, began to think about the wolf-like hound that was looking back at me a few hours before as I had ascended up the face of the crater. The eyes of that hound looked as they were not of this living world, almost mythical; that of those belonging to a werewolf --- though I had felt his eyes looking on me for well into hours, even after when I had fallen into a dead sleep. One would describe my sleep as one were I had felt the dead looking upon my metaphysical state of mind, I had been looking at my own body. Bundled into a sleeping bag with the hood tightly covering me to protect the cutting winds which were ripping into my bare flesh. I remember the dream cycle as being a long as an eternity; one that lasted well into the waning night hours. One could only awaken in horror and thinking, "My God!!!---it was only a dream; though to the slumbered physical body. The nightmare seemed and appeared so real enough. As real as the night I had lost a profuse amount of blood when I had hemorrhaged from where I was stabbed from the back of my head when I was living on the North End of Mason City, Iowa."
It was a night that was close to the one when I spent the night beneath the stars in the Elmwood Cemetery; like when I had stayed in Canada it was also a mid-December, the year was 1998. I woke up to a hemorrhage in my left ring finger --- was that from a bite of a large rat the size of the one I kept, and named Talbot. This one was a little more hostile; locked down on my finger --- the little fucker would not let go, but that night when I camped on top of the crypt; the place where I did a lot of my thinking when I had been depressed. I was climbing up the crypt when I noticed that my hand began to hemorrhage; I had tried to stop the hemorrhage which included drinking my own blood since it was going everywhere --- what I still remember of that night was that the blood was covering part of my sleeping bag as well as the snow. Without a bandage --- I thought of using one of my gloves for that night. That did not happen though when I was staying in Sudbury, Ontario, though that dream I had that night when I hemorrhaged was the one that I had when I had slept beneath the cold winter sky of an early January of 1999 as well as back in that December. I couldn't write of the dream then because I could not remember details of that dream then, but that same dream haunted me when I was sleeping in the nurse's office.
What I remembered of the dream was that I was walking in a snow covered churchyard where I was lead there by a being in a black veil. I had no idea that the one in Sudbury, Ontario, had been the cemetery which was in my dream; the Eyre Cemetery. It was one that was there for many years; one that had been there since the 1800s. It was in there when I had seen a harrowing sight; one that stands as a horror that was beyond description. It was a scream that sounded like a thousand screams from the dead and the howl of the whippoorwills --- a bird that screams at the dawn of darkness when someone dies; if they continue to scream until dawn, the soul of the deceased would go to a place where light would never remain. As I would look on ahead of me, I had seen a sight which is of an unspeakable horror. One that would be as something that they would say if abortion is murder; the folklore of the sacrificed infants would be as they were alive --- only that they were all dangling from a single tree, one that is near a funeral urn. If the words, Thou Shall Not Kill, were a horror novel, this would be the image that would be in the minds haunting the doctors killing newborns from the money they earn after working in the abortion clinics. The siren of winter behind the black veil would be showing me a premonition of what would forever sit inside of my mind --- one that I have not written of until this very day. It was a sight that would be haunting of my mind since the years that I had decided to become a writer.
The deafening sound was one that would rip into the mind behind human ears; one that would be a man of prayer would be rebuking this vision.--- a harrowing revelation of such!!! But as I would remain in the years gathering behind the pews, I had dark revelations of one who would be hanging as the man in the tarot card where he is dangling by one foot and the other hanging behind his leg --- this is as how I had seen the pastor of the Christian Fellowship in Mason City, Iowa, hanging by his leg as a fool, a fool that left me to forever be the nomad looking for the horrors that would be in my nightmares. As I; one who would not understand the nightmares behind the horror that I would see among the shadows, but as I would sit here now, I carefully write out this narrative of what I relate of the reoccurring nightmares that would be of the horrors within my mind. The haunting thoughts that would be within my mind, one that spins as an instrument wheel of torture; a dark seer as one would say that I was knowing even the relative belief's center would never hold within the writings of this narrative or the words written within the writings from the grave. Of I am the one who walks within the shadows of the premonitions that would be within the shadows --- as one who shares the dark descriptive narrative that the Joliet psychic related when she slipped into her state of dream. That was a similar dream cycle shared of me for many years. One that haunted me since I turned 20, reading books about nightmares, witchcraft and folklore; almost as a book that I had once read when I was a young teenager and pre-teen in the boy scouts. She appeared into the dream as an observer; knowing that I had once seen her long before I had met her but when I had the nightmare --- I had many questions and Christianity did not hold any truth. That as I had walked among them who toted the holy bibles; converting those who would not understand the ones who embraced the darkness within the shadows. That of I had questioned the words that were taught of me within pews saying that I should be rebuking the things within the nightmares instead of what I'm doing to understand them.
As I would sleep and begin to dream, the sounds of the aborted begin to grow louder; one that sounds as the dead from the words of the Christians when they say when the lost souls burn in the brimstone and fire. That as I could hear them, one could feel the winds of the winder blow upon my face --- I am still among the spirits of the deceased walking among the living but my body was still asleep, bundled in a sleeping bag and the backpack as a pillow though I had felt my body walking among them --- in the snows of the cemetery Eyre. On the ground were papers that appeared as parchment from the times of Egypt --- ones that read as the times of ancient, describing the details of beings that are like people but the flesh is gray as stone; teeth are of that being similar in the nature of a bat. As I had walked further, I felt something crawl up my shoulder but I had felt a whisper from the wind. As I would look at the papers; they would appear as something out of H.P. Lovecraft's letters to his correspondents.
It would be within the shadows that I would see the hound again in the Eyre, it was one that would be the thoughts that would be haunting - the sight of the hound was one that haunted me as I would continue around in the cemetery yard. The hound's howl was as bloodcurdling as the screams from the abortion tree; one that would be that watching over them when the mothers decided to destroy their pregnancy --- the one's that are without the voice the one's that are chosen to become sacrificed. Stupefied. I stand alone within this winter's darkness --- one that looks across the alien skies that would be in the full moon of Sudbury, Ontario. The winters of Chicago had prepared me for the nights that were to come in Canada. As I would stand there, looking at the hound looking back at me; its bark was ghostly haunting to the sounds of the human ear. Fear was the thing that overcame my exhausted senses as I was standing alone within the dream that was among the dead of night --- the nights that would be beneath the full moon of the Ontario skies. Looking on, the ghostly maiden in the black veil was looking back at me holding a book which was written in her own ink --- was made of blood; it was there that wrote of the nightmares that would be of my mind and the mind of the seer from the city of stone and steel. As she would sit there --- a being appeared slowly on the snow, her eyes the color of a jade and hair the color of the raven. She was wrapped in a gray comforter; only of her had been exposed to the cold was her face and her hair covered over her chest. That of I --- one would say that I have truly gone a bit mad; damned to my nights living in the sanitarium as I had once before. Though as I would continue to observe this manifestation; her face appeared as the one similar to the person who hosted my stay when I was in Ontario - as I would look from one side of my shoulder would be a rodent the size of a medium hound, I had heard what it was thinking, "Don't be afraid." The rodent had eyes that were almost as a human's --- reflecting that of a human soul. But as I would stand there, I had seen something that I had looked at in the words of the parchment though they appeared written on the stone.
Of would be said among the snows, that all would be of dream,,,,
All of the darkness shadowed winds blow, the whippoorwill's scream,,,,,
It is of words that were spoken in my mind many years but as I would be drawn to the abortion tree, one would be looking on in a horror that would sit beyond the words that are left unwritten. The words of the writings from the grave are those that are the only things that have been written of the nightmares within the abortion tree. And of the screams had came from the trees, the howling of the whippoorwills; those that would be said - of the writings within the dreams, of the words that would haunt both my mind and of those that would be haunting the dreams of the Joliet seer recently. She would not hear the howling of the whippoorwills, but the rodents of her vision were connected to the nightmares that had haunted me in the thought and nightmares - horrors that would be as a monstrosity in the minds of the ones who would say that a nightmare as this nature should not even be written or embraced in such a way to write of as a narrative.
As that of I; one who was fated to write of the nightmares which are the premonitions which haunted me; it takes a trauma such as a stabbing to understand the thoughts that would be of the mind. Those of I; I and I alone would see the horrors that would lead to my own emotional crucifixion. The thoughts that would be of which invoked by the youth pastor; the one of the Christian fellowship in Iowa. The dehumanization was all too familiar to me even when I was staying around Wheaton. When I was with Intervarsity, during the times when they would say, "Let us pray," I had once sketched the harrowing picture that would be of my nightmares in the latter years. The nightmares of the abortion tree. That as I would sit at the Wheaton College campus café, looking at the sketching that I have made. Waiting for a friend who was a student there; the public safety looked at me scrutinized because of what I am. Accusing me as a witch as did the youth pastor did when I was in Iowa. The papers were giving off an odor that would make one suffocate from the putrid fumes. Though as one would tell me to think upon the pure and the lovely; but what is pure in one's mind are the contorted and the perverse.
Of what would be written of my nightmares, if one of the religious thought would sit down to read this narrative they would claim that I have been oppressed by demons then convince me to attend a revival to become molested by the Holy Ghost. In my mind as I would continue in the dream, I could hear the wind calling out the name of the one called the Great Old Ones. The lynching thoughts that would be of the horrors are of those that cannot be spoken of among the faceless gathering among the nameless pews. Those of the one who would be brought up among the Baptists, one would be looking at me as one who would be the one whom is shunned as one from the Salem years. It is in the lynching thoughts, one as I would fall asleep and dream; while standing among them in the pews would be one hanging from the ceiling. The individual was hanging in the position of the hanged man on a tarot card. It was as a horror that would not be written in the eyes of those that have their eyes fixed upon the dogma, those who would be writing of this as I am would say that I have lost my mind. Only within the city of steel and stone one can really relate of the nightmarish revelations, premonitions of what is written in the thoughts that would be sitting among the siren in the black veil. Of what would be written, I would be told to crucify this part of me that would be a haunting presence in my nightmare dreams. Of what would be of this; they would call a sin because of the horrors that they would not understand. They would say that they had prayed to the deceased son hanging on the cross, and the mother molested by the father but as when they would then speak in tongues; I had then again heard the screams of the whippoorwills along with the souls from the abortion tree.
The mother fuckers often forget they are human at times when they see that I am hemorrhaging from the back of my head or if they would read the newspapers of the assault. Of what happens they would say that the horror is the result of when one walks away from the church, and what they would say is the denial of the Holy Ghost. They are blind because what they cannot see is not built within buildings of wood and stone. The Gnostic thoughts are of those accuse of a heresy, but as I am writing of the nightmares, they had been with me for many years - only that as I had been in Ontario the time that I had been there and slept during the night beneath the open skies of the Canadian winter. Crucify the mother, Son, and Holy Ghost; worship them as the perversion of the trinity. Thought as I had spent my time among the pews; I'd think about the howling of the whippoorwills among the screams from the abortion tree. What they would say of my nightmares, they would say that I would allow them to die since they have been called the abomination. Only as they would begin to die; they have other ways of show their forms, sometimes --- in ways that are beyond unspeakable. The thoughts that of the pure, lovely, and noble are the fucked up in the eyes that see the world in a pale shade of black --- one as I; would see the horrors within the words written within the parchment. Those who would be reading of this would say that I am sick, or in need of mental health in some way because of how I would describe the horrors within the gothic shadows. Though as I would see the siren, the song which is heard within the winds --- the winds that are within the winter's shadow. The snow is symbolic in the sense of death; it is the sign of when everything dies.
Under the winter darkness, the whippoorwill's howling grows louder among the shadows. It is haunting combined with the cries of the aborted hanging from the abortion tree. From the skies, one could feel the winds that are blowing from the south of heaven. The air is cold, colder than death itself and one could see the raven perched along the headstones as well as the pigeons perched on the branches of the trees, their screams echo for many miles until one's ears had shattered and hemorrhage from the wounds. The raven then drinks from the blood as the vampire written in books of old forsaken folklore. Those that were penned in the ancient Americas. The crimson fluid glistened on the headstones under the light of the full moon. The woman within the Black Veil would stand before me, dangling around her neck would be a religious talisman dating back to the times of the Salem witch trials. Those from state of MA, and around Providence as well as far as the Midwest --- namely around Chicago or Minneapolis where many of the modern witches call their home in the Midwest. This was a curiosity that I had even before I decided to pick up the pen to write in letters, but that curiosity is what had driven me to write of the nightmares that continued to haunt me as I would sleep or when I would sit down and begin with my writing. But as I would sit there in the darkness, I can still see my sleeping body bundled beneath the sleeping bag and layers of clothing to protect from the cold, biting winds of the Ontario night. Although, that as I continued to sleep --- my metaphysical state can still see the deep purple sky in the dead of the Ontario winter. The Canadian landscape appeared alien to the imagination --- vast, and things that would invoke the imagination to play tricks upon the mind. As I would continue to walk among the vast darkness, it would appear as a grotesque shadow dancing along the walls --- the thoughts that would be as a child who is deathly scared of the dark combined with the horror that would follow from dying of a malevolent demise.
Many eons would not be able to describe the nightmares as this but as one would look at the images of the abortion tree, I can only describe them as the visions that haunt the mind of the female doctors who bare their own children. That they would sleep and dream, the shadow in the black veil would look back at them - and as I would stand there in the winter cold, I can also see those doctors --- alone in the cold, unlike me, they were in the snow --- naked and hemorrhaging from where they would be giving birth, only what they are birthing after nine months had been stillborn. It was as written within the parchments that are presented before me. One of them; becoming mummified before my eyes - the horror that would become before them is written as they were standing before me. That the seer with the ink shall write the words that are of the unbirth. As the one becomes mummified, she continued to hemorrhage from the stomach but as much blood she had lost she still lives.
From the shadows the mother's would grieve, in the darkness lies,
From the birth to the womb, their firstborn shall only be born to die,,
That as I would stand there and watch; I would try to close my eyes in horror as their stillborns would join the infants that have been aborted. It is the punishment from the Pagan Gods as well as the Christian God for the inhuman crimes done in the name of science, and of those who were stillborn birth would never see the horrors that would come of the mothers --- I could still see the one become mummified before my eyes. I wanted to get closer but something standing next to me said that what is done has to be done, it is as the card --- the seven of swords on the tarot card. ----which is the card symbolizing imprisonment. Of I, one that had been haunted many years --- the curiosity of the craft is one that had always been there with me from the beginnings. Of I, writing this narrative represents a recluse who is always traveling alone - as the card which pictures of a hermit and his lantern. That as I would walk among the streets of Sudbury, Ontario, and within the gates of Eyre --- my horror is still coming to pass, as I was thinking --- I must awaken, somehow. I began to run, but thinking --- where? In the horror --- one can only see the psychophobia that is in my mind and the thoughts that are of the megalomania. The claustrophobic terrors were coming to pass as I had seen the naked doctor becoming mummified alive and the cold of the winters only bring the horrors into a disturbing sleep cycle that I cannot awaken from. I kept thinking if one is dead, is this what they see when they dream or when one is close to death.
I woke up with a jerking motion of my weight falling back into my body, only to see that I had five tarot cards on my lap. As I had opened my eyes, there was an individual hanging in a tree that was like the card sitting on my bundled lap; another was tied up and surrounded by swords as well as another that was mummified --- the one that was mummified in the Eyre Cemetery, she was laying on the snow covered ground with one sword laying on her and another three stabbed into the ground. Horrified, I had tried to scream but I had no voice to scream so I had used some of the snow on the ground to splash on my face. I had awakened again but this time everything was gone --- all but just me and the backpack that was there which I used to hike up the face of the crater. I was still bundled into the sleeping bag because I was shivering from the fright that was there in my sleep, the black veil was gone but could hear the song from the siren of winter. The night had waned into daylight although the sky was a pale gray, but it was a welcomed sight to me --- it took me about a few hours to finally awaken but still was physically drained from the torturous nightmare that had greeted me during the night under the open winter skies. The skies that were of the alien landscapes of Ontario, Canada. Calmly I started to crawl out of my sleeping area, unzipping the sleeping bag to replace my hiking boots that I had stowed in the bag that I used to pack the sleeping bag into. My hands were numb but did not turn black --- it was a cold that was familiar to me since I am from Chicago, and it was one that was close to the one that was in Iowa when I was sleeping beneath the open sky in the late February while I was without a place to lay my head. I had said nothing of the hound that was looking upon me when I was climbing the face of the snowy crater to the people who hosted my stay when was in Sudbury, but they would of thought that I would of froze while I had slept, but what they would not understand that the Farenheight cold wold be much colder than what they call cold - I stated that the cold that is considered cold in Canada is mild to that that would be in the Midwestern United States, which they go by the point were life begins to die by extreme elements.
