Bookstores and Religion

Samuel runs into Father Patrick Sullivan at the best fae-owned bookstore in the city.

So, this one time, at Power Thai…

It’s Saturday, September fifteenth 2007. 11:16 am
The sun is up. The full moon isn’t up.
The tide is low and slack.
Heavy rain pours from dark grey clouds, propelled by a furious east wind.

Power Thai – Ravenswood: Ravenswood Park

Simplicity at its best can be found here within the restaurant. Walls are a tinted stucco, floors a rich red tile. Along one wall is hung a mirror, its base fitted with a wooden shelf in which candles are spaced along its length, lit to provide an intimate atmosphere in the evening hours. Decorations are at a minimum here, the few statues, plants or wall hangings elegantly displayed. Tables are set with linen cloths and napkins with wooden chairs pulled up to the edge.

Enjoying a Thai meal usually consists of beautifully decorated and delicious cuisine. All of these shared with family and friends. The employees here at Power Thai believe that all those who walk into their establishment are considered “family”. Their Chefs take pride in preparing each dish with the finest premium ingredients. Their promise is an oasis of flavor as they invite each patron to come and experience the delicious tastes of authentic Thai cuisine. Lemongrass, curries, and basil are some of the fresh ingredients to be found in their wide variety of dishes, their aroma to hang in the air here.

Contents:
Gronk
Rowen
Samuel
Elle

She chills, she wails, she possesses!

Wednesday, September 5th, 2007.

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.

Pictures of Samuel

In the almost certainly never-to-be-made Windy City MUX The Movie, Samuel would be played by Kevan Ohtsji. (Some of you may remember that Samuel’s original look-sake was Andrew Pang, but after looking at some other pictures of him, few as they are, I’ve decided to switch.)

Ghosts in The Basement, Redux

IC time: Wed Jul 11 19:41:36 2007 (Scene was set much later, around 3 am.)

[Note: Sophie was pressed for time, so poses got a rushed and weaker near the end of the scene.]

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Descend the stairway into a cacophony of multicolored lights and rhythmic music, a world of pure entertainment in its many forms. Almost anything goes as people flood the bar in search of drink, dance the night away, relax in a seat for loud conversation amongst peers and strangers alike, or perhaps even attempt to seduce a possible lover.
Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.
Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.

Ghosts in The Basement, run, run, run!

IC time: Tuesday, Jul 10 05:14:34 2007 (Scene was set earlier, around 2-3 am.)

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.
Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.

“There’s no secret to balance…

…You just have to feel the waves.” Or so the great Frank Herbert’s character Darwi Odrade would have us think.

Given what happens to Darwi and her order in the last Dune book, I think she’s agree that life’s perversity is no better seen than how it can lull you and then suddenly toss up a rogue wave of impressive proportions just when you are getting comfortable.

My life was, I thought, had reached a sort of stasis. I had accepted many things: I was not going to have any sort of real sex life, I was not going to drink again, I would likely go insane somewhere down the road, and either be killed (by myself, someone else, or circumstance) or be committed. But at the end of the day I was okay with that – I’m doing better than a lot of other psychics.

Now, and not that some of what I just talked about might not yet come to pass, through the lens of this wave’s water, things have changed. My future is no longer steady decline into dystopia.

My point is never think your future is set, your path fixed, or your situation permanent. Things will change. Of course this means things, no matter how good they might get for my dousing, will get crazy or bad or whatever again.

At least things are looking up though.

(And yes, I am deliberately not divulging the source of the wave.)

I’ve never kept a journal before. I always did enough writing – all the coursework leading up to and including two dissertations, numerous academic papers, all the writing associated with teaching a couple courses a semester for 4 years – I never had the gumption to commit my own personal ramblings to paper (real or electronic).

Now that my life has changed so substantially, and as a result the amount of writing I must do has decreased considerably, I have, as I put it in the previous paragraph, the gumption to keep a journal.

I’m not doing this simply because I have the time, aside from that time, I do have other motivations. I have something to write about, something which seems more substantial. More important.

What are these things, you, who has found this journal somehow, ask? What has changed in this Samuel Phillip Kwon’s life that gives him time and reason to record some part of his life? I am, as far as I can tell, the most powerful clairvoyant in Chicago. I hedge this statement because psychics are generally a secretive lot. Many vanilla humans don’t trust us or are skeptical about our admittedly flaky powers. A few hate us, some to the point of trying to kill us. Some just don’t care – the ambivalence of the typical American is a powerful thing. Then, as with the poor, MS sufferers, and the whales, a few wish to help us, or worse yet heal us (there are ‘healers’ in the hate-us group too, they just have very different motivations, and include a few more methods in their repertoire, mind you).

I do, in fact, write this with the wish that once I have moved in (in whatever way) others will read it, and if they psychics perhaps learn something from my experience. If they are not, perhaps they will understand at least one psychic better, or hate us all less. That’s the important part, the thing I hope to achieve in writing this.

Perhaps it’s hubris to aim for such a thing, but then if people like Thich Nhat Hanh are writing books espousing his brand of Buddhism, then I suppose I shouldn’t worry much about the inflation of my own ego by keeping a journal with certain aspirations.