The Rules of Magic Journals 3-4 by Ash Nom DePlume by Ash Nom DePlume - Read Online

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The Rules of Magic Journals 3-4 - Ash Nom DePlume

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These are Journaled reflections of Lee Günter O’Neil who has recently learned how to access the supernatural potential available within all free-thinking humans. In cooperation with Dept 1793 he has recorded his journey to power so that it can be shared when appropriate and if some tragedy were to occur the knowledge of how a western thinking person can achieve usage of the potential all humans share.

As this knowledge is too important to leave on a shelf and trusted to the good intentions of government; it is luck for me and you the reader of this and the other series I have purloined, that I can beat the security of this online storage service, enjoy. Since these are transcribed from handwritten, you will find out later journals, I cannot confirm if the names have been changed to protect the sources. The journals are not of an even length, which is either how they are recorded, or separated into instructional units. I didn’t get the reference notes from the location I obtained them. I will be getting them published as fast as I can and if I am still not locked up, will put a copulation volume together to make it easier to avoid missing a journal.

It's all good as long as I don't get caught, so enjoy your voyeuristic view into his life. If you meet any of these people don’t tell them you have been reading their innermost secrets, they might not like it.

Sincerely yours,

Your Secret Hacker

Reflective Journal Entry Three.

The drive out to the family farm was strangely relaxing, and the roads were clear. While there was snow everywhere, the temperature was to get far enough above freezing to melt a lot of the ice off the roads.

For the first time, I could remember, Grandma was not up at the obscenely early hour that this day was starting. Grandpa had made some bacon and eggs, and explained that Grandma was too sick to be up. Farm fresh eggs and bacon are usually the makings of a great breakfast, but learning that Grandma has cancer and is not going to last much longer, took all the fun out of the meal. Also, learning that family farm was in serious, as in losing, it to the banks financial, trouble was even worse.

That our appearance at this charity fundraiser was all a sham, as would be everyone’s behavior. The whole town was on the brink of financial collapse, which the local banker juggling credit lines to the limits of the law. Everyone was having to bet on Federal bailouts and FEMA money from residual damage from flooding and tornado damage. The county was so tight on money that some of the drug cases for dealing methamphetamines were being delayed so the criminals could be rotated out of the jail on bail, as the jail was full.

That to pay the next county over would bankrupt the county if they had to house our criminals. That it was the jail was only for felony convictions awaiting transfer to the state prison and delaying actions that kept things going until someone was released.

Half the beehives in the county had died off from colony collapse disorder that may have something to do with the pesticides that are in use. If the farms in the area, including the land Grandpa has leased out do not make a certain yield the whole county, even the multi-section sized farms are in trouble this year. Grandpa raises a few head of cattle to keep a cash flow outside the rent income, to bank loan cycle. The water pump just broke and the COOP has closed credit to everyone as they are out of credit too. Bill the banker will be our foursome along with the retired sheriff ‘Uncle Joe’. Joe is not actually my uncle but has always been a friend of the family.

During the front nine holes, I got an education as to why the whole world was in financial trouble. The days of dumb farmer are long over, as to operate in the modern age required futures markets and GPS navigation of harvesting equipment since an extra one foot margin near the fence can make the difference between success and bankruptcy.

If anyone said anything nice about the Wall Street executives who have become government officials in charge of the bailout of the problem they created, I missed it. If it was up to my golf partner’s death by agonizing torture would be the starting point, then they would want heroic medical intervention, so they could torture the bastards to death all over again. Sterilization of anyone that was related and might have once liked one of distant relatives of these spawns of Satan, may have come up in the conversation.

The nice old gentlemen seemed to think that chainsaws and hot pokers were surgical tools for sterilization. For decades, these three men were the icon of the gentlemen farmer, and the American Farmer success story and feeding the world. Being reduced to forced retirement by a fixed election and financial ruin that threatens to take everyone in the county and possibly the state down with them, has left them, shall we say, ‘displeased’, maybe homicidal, it’s a fine line.

The jist is that apparently, crime does pay, in the form of a crooked sheriff that nobody can quite catch at it, though his drug-dealing brother seems to never get caught either, to the Washington sellouts who sold the world economy to Goldman Sachs, while sacrificing their competitors Lehman Brothers. Thereby, plunging a generation of America and multiple generations in Europe to slave like status, opening up the possibility of global economic dominance by the Chinese. I was so glad I came home for the holiday cheer.

For the back nine, the foursomes were rearranged for the leaders to play each other. My new foursome included the Sheriff, who I remember as being a bully that used to pick on my older brother and I when we were children. They say you can learn a lot about someone playing golf. How they react to bad shots, and do they cheat on their stroke count. I just cheat by moving the ball by force of will. According to the score, I was playing 5 strokes below par for the course, in the snow. Which is impossible, but they were doing the counting.

The Sheriff, needs to go to anger management classes, and stand in the corner for life for cheating at his golf count. After the 11th hole, I started hearing the voice of C3PO telling me to let the Wookie win. By this time, Sheriff Tim was so bent out of shape at losing his balls, golf balls that is and I am not going to inquire or check on the other ones, that he couldn’t hit the broadside of a bard at five feet.

For the rest of the course I hit as short of a drive as I could and did not do any other assistance to my game. My game got better when I was not hitting harder as my real control was much improved. Mr. Thomas, my summer school math teacher, and part time golf pro for the local course was even impressed with my natural slower speed game. Saying he wished I had the control during high school, we might have won a tournament or two, and a golf scholarship would have made my parents happier. During the summers of junior and senior high school I stayed with my grandparents and went to summer school to make up for what they did not teach in the big city with overcrowded schools.

After playing golf with the Sheriff, I was thinking that he should be called the shire reeve of Notingham, and that Robin Hood needs to be showing up to put an arrow in his overbearing ass. Comments about my getting and MIP, are rude period, especially during golf. Second, how did he know? I am sure my parents and grandparents were not telling. Then his comments about keeping an eye on everything going on in HIS county, leads me to think that he pulls background checks for the thrill of blackmail materials and power.

Considering the county is all but broke, this is a waste of money, and boasting of writing traffic citations for being one mile an hour over the limit strikes me as the search for fine money, and not public safety. As the interstate cuts through the county and the slightest wind gust can cause a one mile an hour variation in speed, he was in the business of shaking down drivers not improving public safety.

Police officers should