T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 4

Late to the game? Catch up here.

IV. 21 and Done

I took a nice long drag on my cigarette and exhaled it over the top of my coffee mug so I couldn’t tell the smoke from the steam. I looked at my wrists again, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming as I thought about the dream I had just finished doing. I say doing instead of having because it’s a more accurate description. After all, the point of language is to, as close as is possible, describe things that you can’t point a finger at and say “That’s what I mean.” Language does the best it can at this despite being used mostly by people.

Before I lulled myself into an internal debate about the differences between language and communication, I pulled a beat-up leather-bound journal from underneath the pile of last week’s mail. I had bought it years ago with the intention of keeping a daily journal of my thoughts and activities but got distracted from writing them down by the nature of my daily thoughts and activities. I fished a pen out of the pocket of the shirt I slept in and clicked it three times even though once would have been plenty.

Continue reading “T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 4″

T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 3

Late to the game? Catch up here.

III. 3×7

“I’m not the devil,” the man stressed before taking a sip of his beer before continuing, “I’m a devil and I hear you’re a shaman.”

I guessed I was in a bar. I hadn’t looked around yet, but judging from what I already experienced, bar seemed a safe bet.

This would be pretty weird if it happened while I was awake, but was pretty standard for double dreams. People are always acting like this in double and triple dreams. I’ve never met anyone who’s been in a quadruple dream.

“C’mon now,” I said as I raised my palm and pushed him back with my eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t see your light.”

“Easy mistake, I tend to keep it covered or dimmed,” I said turning to leave.

“Understood, nice knowing ya.”

“Likewise,” I replied while going through the door.

Once through the doorway I found myself sitting across from an old man, obviously a widower judging from the decor. I was wearing a black suit, a red shirt with a black tie and a two-toned hat. One of the tones was black and the other was red. We were smoking pipes in silence, one of my favorite things to do on a cool fall evening, which a glance out the window confirmed it was.

After some time two little kids came through the door without guns. One was dressed like a witch but with a long gray beard and the other was in a wizard’s robe. Must be Halloween. They were holding a broom and staff respectfully. The items looked familiar for some reason unknown to me. Recognizing stuff you don’t isn’t anything that usually needs to be worried about in a dream. No telling where one’s mind pulls dream imagery from. It’s not a question I ponder much.

The kids seemed nice enough but it was too late for them to be coming in and they didn’t have any candy. Candy-less kids on a day like this is dirty pool, even for dreams. They were covered in what I intuitively knew to be monster guts. We had a pleasant enough conversation, I suppose. I decided to leave a few minutes after I was referred to as “Grand Magus” by the old man. I knew what one was, that I was one, and why I was dressed in the manner I was. I wasn’t happy about it though.

The imagery was indicative of some of the parts of my Self that I don’t put forward very often. The reasons I choose to put a bushel over my light, so to speak, are mine to keep. Exerting spiritual or magickial energy can be, and usually is, a nuisance wrapped in a hindrance. I prefer to remain invisible to the unseen universe as much as I possibly can. Easier for everyone that way.

Continue reading “T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 3″

03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 2

Late to the game? Catch up here.

II. Chicken Soup For The Skull

“Hey Sam,” I said from the sidecar of the motorcycle we had just stolen. “Why don’t we make this motorcycle fly?”

“Oh, that’s right, dream motorcycles do fly.”

“If you want ’em to.”

“Yeah, This dream is so real, I almost forgot they have different rules.”

Sam put out his cigar and started the motorcycle. We zipped down the street and when we reached a good speed Sam yelled, “Hang on, I’m taking it up!” And that’s just what he did.

Dream flying is a little different than regular flying. As a matter of fact, just about everything is a little different in the dreamlands, but anyone who’s been asleep more than once knows this to be a true fact.

In the dream world, time and distance don’t have the same authority that they do in the regular one. Also, things have no obligation to make any kind of sense whatsoever. The regular world has a Newtonian undercoat to it, but not so much the dreamland. Again, this shouldn’t be news to anyone older than seven.

Continue reading “03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 2″

03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 1

Late to the game? Catch up here.

I. “B” Is For Basement

Sam and I were in an elevator. It was a Tuesday morning, not my favorite morning of the week if I’m being honest. Truth of the matter is I’m more of a Wednesday type fellow when it comes to mornings, that’s if I have to choose, which I don’t. My opinions about the times of day and how I feel about them were neither here nor there, though. Sam and I were on a case.

A local law firm suspected there was a vampire living in the basement and called me to have a look see. I called Sam because he likes going into law firm basements. I asked him why. He just said, “You’ll see.”

Vampires are pretty common and usually not that much of a problem if you’re smart about it, which I usually am. Easiest way to get rid of a vampire is get it when it’s sleeping. Killing something while it sleeps is one of the easiest ways to kill something mechanically speaking. Emotionally and morally it can be a different story, depending on what or who’s getting 86’d. I focus mostly on killing monsters, so I don’t usually find myself in the middle of an internal moral struggle when it’s time to kill them.

This particular elevator we were in had three buttons: “B”, “G”, and “U”.
I pushed the one labeled “B” because that’s the button that usually takes you to the basement. It’s a lucky thing that elevator buttons are pretty standard. It’s the one place where things can’t go wrong.

“Why’d you do that?” Sam said with a slightly disgusted tone. “We need to go underground, you should’ve pushed ‘U’, not ‘B’. No telling where we’ll end up now.”

Continue reading “03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 1″

02 T.J. Washington In “Hoodoo, Hoodone, Hoodid” Pt. 4

 

Late to the game? Catch up here.

 

IV.


My sneeze had revealed to me why Sam and I couldn’t kill Memotepp after we were finished killing Youmotepp. Well, that’s not exactly true. Truth be told, we didn’t kill Memotepp because he wasn’t there. That much was a no brainer and I already knew that. More accurately, my sneeze helped me realize why he wasn’t there to be killed in the first place.

The revelation wasn’t a very comforting one and there were parts that still made no sense, but that was no reason not to trust my instincts. My sneeze-fortified instincts were telling me Memotepp wasn’t a mummy. Nor a human. Vampire could be ruled out too, so could werewolf or a Frankenstein. Many of the other things something could be could also be safely ruled out. It definitely wasn’t a tree or a goat- probably not, definitely probably not.

My guess was that Memotepp was really a mischievous-but-not-evil, shape-shifting spirit from the fairy lands. In other words, Memotepp was Judy.

It had to be true, even though I wasn’t so keen on it being the truth. That’s the thing about things being true, they don’t care about how you feel about them, they just keep on being true in spite of your insistence that they be untrue.

I was starting to wish I had asked Youmotepp some questions before Sam and I burnt him to death just a few hours ago. By the time I had finished wishing that, Sam and I were back in Youmotepp’s office. Sometimes it’s as easy as making a wish and having it granted. It’s an unreliable hook to hang a hat on, there’s no telling when a wish might come true, but when they do…boy, do they.

Continue reading “02 T.J. Washington In “Hoodoo, Hoodone, Hoodid” Pt. 4″