Second-Sense

A Story by Abishai100

A narrated eerie portrait of a man's claim that he's been 'gifted' the writer's-mantle of casting 'specters' (he can see/hear!) as bureaucracy's special hospitality-drink.

A metaphysics tale of 'perception' extra-powers.

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I've been seeing the specter of visitors and angels and ghosts and demons and faeries ever-since I was a small-babe, having moved from the East to the States and adopting the American Homeland culture of lifestyle/exchanges drawn customs-handshakes and finery and culture-representations, and I considered my 'second-sense' of the visual 'perception' of these other-dimension 'beings' or specter a special photo-graphics 'ghost-magic' of all that had become an Earthling language-arts for the secret quality of bureaucracy-arts (hmmm).

I took up residence at a Western/American hostel-station in the States and decided to use cyber-resources to create a superstitions-storyboard about competition and fair-play and why beings/specters would be seen/felt/heard by my spirit, even since I was very young and a babe-immigrant to the Western world. During this writer's venture, I continued to see specters/beings, and I started to think (now) that I was somehow inheriting some special metaphysics 'duty' to link traffic/transit with the fears/arts of Earth-crossing consciousness, even if only for hospitality-readings for light and darkness (wow).

LADY OF THE LAKE: You can hear me, can't ya?
ME: I surely can, right inside this 'ghost-hotel' from Hell, strange Lady!

LADY OF THE LAKE: Do you understand the Rationalism of your education/examinations?

ME: I surely do, Lady; for bureaucracy's an art; and I'm a Second-Sense writer (ok).

LADY OF THE LAKE: Okay, I'd like you write about me, as if I'm not magic, but ghostly!

ME: I surely will, and for that my Lady, perchance you'll grant me some art-image bureau?

LADY OF THE LAKE: Fine, writer; seek some 'perfect' soft-image, the my Lake's doubted.

ME: Fine...for book-dialysis (fine!).

GOBLIN-GIRL: You can see me, you little curious grown-adult writer-man of this hotel?

ME: Yes, and I'd imagine you want me to write about how/why you resemble a spidey.

GOBLIN-GIRL: You're onto a marvelous secret for your bureau-lens of superstition.

ME: Perchance you'd like a story of your raven-hair as facilitative of swimming/Olympics?

GOBLIN-GIRL: That's a creative image...even if only for a 'spice' of Earth's deformities.

ME: Sure...why not...for bureaucracy-lines to Heaven (ha).

Like I said, I've been seeing/hearing 'specters' all my life, from ghosts and apparitions of sounds/feeling/encounters in the house I lived in as a post-immigration babe (City of Brotherly Love), to demons in a college-library, to faeries in the forests, to angels in the atmosphere, to strange folkloric 'goblins' and ladies, and as a grown-adult, writing about these encounters with a more 'defined' gusto for clarity, I wonder if I've become a Selfie-culture 'diplomat' for lines of dialysis-consciousness (for all!).

Upon completion of my writer's-desk 'view' at this hostel-station (online), I shall make 'toast' of the micro-miracle with a world-exchange 'reflection' culinary-treat soft/zesty (Indian) luchi-bread thanksgiving-diner plate chat(s) and think about the incomplete-lines of American Homeland 'culture' that inform my self-image as a 'messenger' of all that's simply...delicates.