Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

00. It is Learned by Walking
(Gabrael’s Prologue)
Nothing on the face of this earth—and I do mean nothing—is half so
dangerous as a children’s story that happens to be real, and you and I
are wandering blindfolded through a myth devised by a maniac.
— Master Li Kao (T’ang Dynasty)
My first waking impression this morning was a hazy glance through
frostbitten glass at an overturned trash can. The sound of a dog rummaging
through the garbage. The gentle pattering of sleet on the roof. Doppler
shift as a car turns on slick asphalt. Sentence fragments, thoughts
bisected in a 3 x 3 set of windowpanes on the far wall. If you’re really
intent on a decent reproduction of the event, lie down and close your
eyes. Imagine a chill sensation, a hazy image of a toe with overgrown
toenails sticking out of the bed covers, and then a camera pan to the rusty
trash can outside. Not a dramatic opening for a book, but it’s all this day
has given me.
None of this bodes well. My head feels like an empty shell.
Qliphothic, surely. Oh yes, to be sure: the number of panes in my window
has control over what the day has in store. It’s still dawn, turquoise
twilight, and I’m all tangled up in the sheets. What I really want to know
is… where is my coffee, when did 7:30am become an acceptable wakeup
time, and where are all the lithe nymphs I was promised when I joined
this God-forsaken “mystical order”? They promise Love, Light, and
Liberty, instead I get an empty apartment full of books and a goddamned
pet spider monkey. It just goes to show, never believe what you read in
books.
Get out of bed with a wince, because the hardwood floors are about
four degrees warmer than ice, and hunt for a pair of socks for what seems
like an hour. This is the part of being an Invisible Master that I think gets
lost in the translation: getting up in the morning to a freezing small
apartment in Chestnut Hill and hunting for your socks as you wonder
why this morning reminds you of the Moon card and, metaphysically
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