My literary plate twirling is probably getting really boring for you, my faithful readers. I promised (from behind my keyboard,) to bring you "The Entertainment Medium." Even if I am the only person who ever gets to read this stuff, I don't want to be telling boring lies. I want my bullshit to be honest and entertaining. If you are going to be reading this, then I want it to be rewarding for you.
As an evidentiary statement this roadshow variety has to be a fully functioning carnival.
I realize I've left things undone in the future. Everything is fine for right now but I'm still an anonymous nobody. None of my better work is understood and I like having my feet firmly planted. I am blessed with a stable personal life.
But it seems that the reason my friend Gunter, will want me to go to Brussels on the 23rd of April, 2031, is because he wants me to compete against the best readers from all the other para psychological institutes. It can't be delayed any longer. Beings as I'm the person who has designed the Psycho Kinesis tests, they won't be able to compete against me. I already know all the answers and techniques. But it would seem I'm going to be getting it for making the world a safer place other honest psychics like me. It's not going to be a big change, because I'm just writing about what everyone already knows, and we all disagree anyways. Psychics are maybe real, Big Deal, I never really cared I just wanted to show people how to make sense out of what we are doing and why intelligent people will continue to rely on people like me to break down problem sets into manageable bites. WE don't know everything and this is the perfect place to start. Bring on the uncertainty please.
But since this book is going to end up being published, people are going to want proof. I can hear the voices now saying, "Where's the proof?" "Where"s the proof?" I'm expected to prove myself over and over again. I'm getting bumped upstairs into the high paying future of competitive psychic reading elevated into a full contact blood sport.
Through my fingers I try reach out to the five young adults driving me silently to a nearby theatre. Out of the front windshield a crescent moon. I don't want to talk. I know what is about to happen. I wrote about it. Everything always happens if you know what you are waiting for. I'm grasping the wind. My poor sorry escorts actually care what's going to happen to me. I have no idea who these people are. But I feel like, ...., we pull up to the front of the hall, and I'm ushered into the front door right through the crowd of cheering spectators ready for a show, And I'm the featured performer. The atmosphere of the proceedings are more like a roman orgy than a scientific exhibition.
Nobody tells me anything about it. Here I am and the only reason I know anything is because I wrote about it twenty years ago. My writing was terrible, why would it actually come true? But here I am. I'm pretty sure there is going to be something or somebody getting ready to do Psychic Battle with me, regardless of what might end up happening to them. Awe, I've had a good life.
