Eric Sangster

I think of support for Trump as an artificial thing. A big bag of gas, a nation sized bag. When fully inflated by the attention economy, superfluous issues, such as those affecting superheroes, seem to outweigh the legitimate operation of government. But as it deflates, it becomes merely a lump. The Trump Lump. People make up the Trump Lump. And although they can check out anytime they like, some will never leave. Those folks I think of as End Lump. Some good people will be trapped in there, just as certainly as there are among the gentle ancient people who, to this day, declare fealty to the Austrian Painter, in their dementia. Early Lumpers are Americans who come to their senses early in the cycle. There is no prize for leaving the Trump Lump at any given time. However, if you leave the Trump Lump, you may always point and laugh at the Lump. That might feel great, but it does the unborn children of the United States no good. Everything that we do, good or evil, now affects...

A loud cracking cluck pierced the stifling heat as the large bird flew overhead. The old sabertooth ignored it. She was observing the pit. Mouth open and panting silently in the razor grass, this is what she saw. Across the expanse, there were pools of tar. Jewels of black, among the straw colored grass, reflecting the sunlight with polychromatic sheens. A giant sloth was the first victim this time. So delicious, the scent of the tar kissed rotting flesh is absolutely enticing! Hunger keeps her pinned here yet, though she knows not to give in to her belly. Others have not seen what she has seen. She waits to ambush one coming to eat. The others, who were not like her, all leapt to an apparent feast, and became hopelessly stuck. Dying, at turns, from dehydration, and believe it or not, starvation! Many never even got to the precious flesh before finding themselves hopelessly bound in the tar, and new bait for the trap. Once, two predators fought over the feast, neither killing...

O ur crow-eyed Illusionist hero has been stung by the glamour Image of Hottie before, and as a counter, casts a glamour of his own, Image of Impoverished Chimneysweep . Little does he know he is mistaken, and the woman is not a brigand in disguise. (You dope! It is the rain in your eyes!) As the woman leaned over the opened owner’s manual in the rain, she held her phone to illuminate the pages that she shielded once again. She heard steps from afar. Turning from the disabled car, she saw a man approach.  “There seems to be some voodoo afoot, but it looks like you know what you are doing!” The curious man wore a coat full of soot, and he passed her without looking. She angrily looked down at the manual once more, as his footsteps clapped to Echo, and she tattled on him down the lane.  Now, Dear Reader, spoiled destiny demonstrates a characteristic of this hero's mechanics! All illusions have at least some blur , most obvious in the recollection of their memory . This il...

“S hhhhh! You fool, that is no nun! Close your eyes, and think upon the memory of your last vision of it, er her!” the small old man whispered fiercely. “I see her,” his companion said, “in my mind’s eye.” And then, “The face and one arm is smeary.” “The blur , now look at the nun’s face again, and look away and remember, is it still blurred ?” The young man poked his head around the corner and looked at the nun, he then retreated and covered his eyes with one hand . A sharp inhalation of breath, “By goodness, IT IS!” “The cantrip of Truesight : think and remember, blurs indicate illusions from memories where the immediate sense seems perfect in every way, at first blush.” “I will remember,” Viscotti replied quietly.         Please find the footnote above, read by me below!  The words are always my own!