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Come with me to my Sabbat
MEMOIR PROJECT ROUGH DRAFT
Strange was the day and odd did I feel when I first transvexed into the realm of my sabbat. Now the questions often asked by the inquisitioners in the earlier years of the second millennium were often of this manner: What witching ways must one master or what curious arts must one conquer to transvex through space and time? And, what wicked works are wrought forth from the joining of shadow and man at the ceremonial sabbat? Shadow and man… the binary perfectionists are still muttering about like madmen suddenly bursting into shouting at the tops of their lungs: “Ones and zeros! Blacks and whites! Goods and evils! There is no room for the sabbat! It is an equation that ends in a fraction! Yes yes, a fraction! There is no place for fractions, nor for decimals, nor for shadowy sensations, nor for white lies, and especially not for the sabbat! There is no place for the sabbat—this grey and fire burnt place—this celebration of that which destroys that which is perfect. That which is truth. That which has form and substance. That which has plot and foreshadowing. That which begins and ends! It destroys them, yes is does! Only he which is perfect may entreat himself to the joys of being ethereal without a body and endure impunity from sin. But you, you are human, you are imperfect and you may not be among the blessed whilst you partake in this witchery. The Sabbat! It sucks the light right out of the soul and one dance is all it takes, one dance frolicking around Lucifer’s blazing cauldron. Where do you think he gets the flames for his fire? From your heart! Your heart! And one dance is all takes and you are turned to coal.” What do these people know about shadow and man? Risking heresy, may my words be the broomstick and your mind the cloaked rider as we trasvex through space and time, as we frolic around the cauldron’s fire, as we join shadow and man at the ceremonial sabbat.
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