How do you reconcile the normal world with the paranormal?

You either freak out and go gaga or just play it cool.

Quiet down girls, I said.


The wife of the magician, if that’s what they are called, would let out little girl giggles every time I put my finger to my lips and let out a low but resonating shhhhhhhhh.

Was I stealing the show? It looked like it. When you manufacture your own reality, it’s easier to cover.

It was the balance an old cut-throat blade on a pin trick and making it move with non magnetic materail.

I was sold.

It was stagecraft at it’s best. Nothing was manufactured.It was just the props working against earthly laws. Even if it was a trick, I was sold on it.

How could it be a trick?

Later, I tried the magnet against the non-magnetic objects. After the fourth attempt, the magnet attached onto the black stone.

Maybe I had the same powers as the magician. This wasn’t supposed to happen but I’m glad it did. Persistence pays off. But something weird was going on that was beyond scientific explanation.

Why ruin a good thing with science. It would take out the majority of the occultists who make their hard earned cash on the unexplainable.

The kris, or dagger, only moves if there’s a ghost in the object that’s teased in front of it. In the cases I witnessed, it was a ring, a lump of rock and even a headscarf.

It was a neat trick.

I even went further and showed Ali a Thai tattoo on my back.

‘I think someone has a voodoo doll of me and is constantly putting pins into me.’

‘I’ll pull that fucker out,’ he said and showed me his intention by grabbing something from my back and then blowing it away to oblivion.

He then got a ring with a rock on it called Borneo red.

‘You wear this,’ he said, ‘soon bad spell gone.’

But he wasn’t finished. He put the ring in a glass of water, said a few prayers then told me to drink the water and put on the ring.

‘Only take it off when you got the toilet or when you are fornicating.’

I paid a small donation for his services.

But I”m back onto my private masseuse, who is trying to knead out the evil spirits that may reside in my Thai tattoo. Gotta cover all bases, right?

‘I’m not a woman,’ said Ariff. Good point.

There should be a rule, I told him, keep French out of the English language.

‘It’s just as bad as Dutch,’said Ariff, ‘ a language only spoken by tulip eaters.’

I couldn’t agree with him more.




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