The old man sat, and brooded. Brief glimpses of days gone by flooded his mind, one after another in a seemingly never ending procession.  The women, the fights, the battles, the lonely dark silent nights - all paraded past eyes that could not see the present at the moment for the raging flood of the past.

Every year it happened this way, starting a few weeks before the main event. Memories came unbidden, gradually intensifying for the next few weeks until the veil, ever thinning, managed to rip open on that grand night, and all the battles were fought again, all in a single night.

It always started with the little things. The recall of the flash of a whore's wink, the laugh at a long gone joke told by a long dead comrade, the sudden sound of an angry hornet passing his ear, then gone - never really there to begin with. Only a distant visceral memory of an event that he almost didn't live long enough to remember. Gradually, the faces came over time leading up to the big night, the big fight. Moving faces in his dreams, fleeting past... then, later on, flashes of them in his waking hours, peripheral visions as they got stronger, The veil wearing thinner as the time grew nearer.

The faces... goddammit the faces! Some grinned, some sneered, some friends, some foes, some only half there, ragged edges and gaping holes completing the missing portions. Occasionally, he felt the brush of a feather against his cheek, but try as he might he could not recall whatever memory it was that spawned the sensation... yet it happened with some regularity as the time drew near.

Occasionally, he picked up a rifle and hit the woods, seeking the solace of solitude. There was no rhyme or reason  for taking the rifle, he never hunted anything, just took it along as an old comfortable companion. Sometimes he found the solace he sought, but never for long. As the day grew nearer, he'd notice fleeting glimpses of moving... things... behind the trees, hiding and exposing themselves only briefly. Fleeting ghosts of days gone by, seeking, he presumed, only to startle.

When the night came, the night of the main event, he always,  always found himself unprepared. How does one prepare for an assault by the ethereal, anyhow? His trusty rifle did him no good at all - you can't shoot the bastards again - bullets took no effect in the wispy forms, passing right through unlike the first time, the shot that created them. He didn't even bother trying any more. You couldn't grasp and grapple them, either. Solid hands simply sailed right through misty nothingness, and lord, how that nothingness laughed and cackled when they did!

Eventually, after the few weeks passed by, the veil thinning almost imperceptibly by the hour, the time came when it rent asunder... and allowed screaming hordes of former antagonists to pass through, once again able to antagonize, Swirling around him and attacking, with the old man unable to put up any defense at all against the smoky, shadowy insubstantial forms of bygone battles. Those battles were fought all over again on that night - the screams, the sight of the wounds,  the smell of blood and spilled entrails, cordite, and burning corpses, all of it as if it were fresh again, and no escape for the old man.

All he could do was endure, and endure he did, until the rising of the sun banished the specters back to where they came from. He supposed they licked their insubstantial wounds and waited for the next year, to assault him again.

On the morning after, he always had the same thoughts. Which world was really the real one? Theirs? His? Either way, he knew this, right down in his core: they might have the upper hand now, they might be able to attack against a defense that was as insubstantial to them as they were to it, but one day, ONE DAY, that old man would die too. And then, yes THEN. He'd be able to fight the bastards on their own terms, in their own world, with their own weapons...

... and he'd kick their goddamned asses all over again, once and for all!


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This has been on social media for a few days now, but I'm just now giving it some attention, now that 6 more observatories have been closed.  What's up there they don't want us to see?  Or, is there some other reason behind this? 

Can other countries use these observatories to spy on us?  Listen to the short video below and decide what you think, then let me know.

A cyber expert connected to WikiLeaks disappeared.  His Kayak was (conveniently) found in the ocean with an ID card, but his work and personal cell phones were turned on 1000 miles away.  Was he abducted and then it was staged to appear as if he drowned? 

Quote:A German triathlete reportedly ate around 100 plates of sushi in one sitting last weekend, getting himself banned from an all-you-can-eat restaurant.

Quote:According to German website The Local, bodybuilder-turned-Ironman Jaroslav Bobrowski is on an extreme diet wherein he fasts for 20 hours a day, then eats “until he is full” during the remaining four hours. On this particular night, Eater estimates “full” required about 18 pounds of sushi, for which Bobrowski paid €15.90 (about $18.50).

Quote:Bobrowski, who is a software engineer by day, was a regular of the establishment – so when the owner discreetly told him he wasn’t welcome back, he was “stunned.”

A PLANE IS ON ITS WAY TO TORONTO , WHEN A BLONDE IN ECONOMY CLASS GETS UP AND MOVES TO THE FIRST CLASS SECTION AND SITS DOWN.
THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WATCHES HER DO THIS AND ASKS TO SEE HER TICKET.
SHE THEN TELLS THE BLONDE THAT SHE PAID FOR ECONOMY CLASS AND THAT SHE WILL HAVE TO SIT IN THE BACK.
THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT GOES INTO THE COCKPIT AND TELLS THE PILOT AND THE CO-PILOT THAT THERE IS A BLONDE BIMBO SITTING IN FIRST CLASS, THAT BELONGS IN ECONOMY AND WON'T MOVE BACK TO HER SEAT.
THE CO-PILOT GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND TRIES TO EXPLAIN THAT BECAUSE SHE ONLY PAID FOR ECONOMY SHE WILL HAVE TO LEAVE AND RETURN TO HER SEAT.
THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."

THE CO-PILOT TELLS THE PILOT THAT HE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE THE POLICE WAITING WHEN THEY LAND TO ARREST THIS BLONDE WOMAN WHO WON'T LISTEN TO REASON.
THE PILOT SAYS, "YOU SAY SHE IS A BLONDE? I'LL
HANDLE THIS, I'M MARRIED TO A BLONDE. I SPEAK BLONDE."

HE GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND WHISPERS IN HER EAR, AND SHE SAYS, "OH, I'M SORRY." AND GETS UP AND GOES BACK TO HER SEAT IN ECONOMY.

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT AND CO-PILOT ARE AMAZED AND ASKED HIM WHAT HE SAID TO MAKE HER MOVE WITHOUT ANY FUSS....

"I TOLD HER, 'FIRST CLASS ISN'T GOING TO TORONTO."

OK, Spill the Beans!!

What are our wonderful rogues getting up to this weekend....?

I've already helped out at a "Batman and Moth-in" night in the woods, between taxi-ing my eldest to Rugby training.
We have a Forest School to do today...
And my boys are both Playing Rugby on Sunday.

Your turn...

Hello WIS!

Welcome to Rogue Nation.

Just Be You.

 
Gx

PS - If you need anything - just ask (we don't bite.... much! Apart from @"BIAD" .... he needs watching that one!)

Why don't you tell the rogues all about yourself? (Just make something up!! ROFL)

Even though Corey had just turned 17 years old, his parents didn’t want to leave him alone at their house while they left for an intimate weekend together. Not because they were afraid he couldn’t take care of himself, but because boys will be boys, and 17 is a very vulnerable age when it comes to such matters. And in the year 1970 it was important that 17 year old boys not become fathers too soon.

Corey would be staying with his Aunt Alice, who reminded everyone of Aunt Bee from the 1960’s t.v. hit, The Andy Griffith Show. She was a widow who lived in a rural area out in the middle of nowhere in an old 1880’s farm house that was left to her late husband by his parents. Corey was used to living closer to the city and having his friends nearby, so this would be a different type of experience for him, he just didn’t realize how different yet!

   

~~ THRILLER NIGHTS ~~



My names is Bill, Bill Burkes. I've always had a pretty boring life except for those rare moments, nightly moments that friends and I decided to call "Thriller Nights" . John, Jill, Marilyn and I had always loved keeping this 'one year event' a perpetual reminder of just how much we loved adrenaline. You see, every year, like clockwork, since as far as I can remember, we'd make October 31st a special night, a "Thriller Night". Without fail, like some sort of occult oath...October 31st would be sacred.

We'd gather at one of our houses, kick everyone else out and make sure that just the four of us would be alone to do whatever we had planned on doing. And what we planned on doing, for the last three years was playing the Ouija Board...









In 2014, we had stayed at my house. In 2015, we stayed at John's house. Last year was at Marilyn's house and this year is at Jill's. And Jill made sure it would be a special occasion. She had decorated her entrance, well, actually, she had decorated everything right up to the living room where we'd sit on the floor to play.

That area was only filled with small candles so we knew that, when the time was right, all we'd see would be seen through candlelit eyes...






The adrenaline was already kicking in...



As midnight came around, the four of us prepared the board...and a few more drinks. Well hell...drinks have always been part of the fun.

Jill would be prepping up the questions we had written down and was already sitting down, waiting for us to sober up ( lol ) and sit quietly. A small drift of air made all of our arm hair raise...the time had come.

"Spirit...are you there?" Jill asked.

The planchette started to move, straight up.

"Yes" is where it landed.

THAT was darn quick ! I guess that years of experience could be at play here...

So we asked our questions and everything was nice and dandy, just like the years before, and it got kinda same old, same old pretty fast, if you know what I mean......but then, out of nowhere, Jill asked a different kind of question...

"Can you MANIFEST yourself?"

You could hear a pin drop. All of our senses were on high alert. The planchette didn't move. Another draft came around, gracefully getting all of the candle flames to slowly dance an hypnotic swirl of furious blood pumping...

And then a fricken' book came flying out of the bookshelf on the left side of the room and landed right beside the board. I. SHIT. YOU. NOT.

Everyone jumped to their feet, Jill running for the light switch while everyone else started blowing out the candles in a hurry.

That was it. Call it a night. We'd have to consider doing it again next year, with new...challenges...

I'm up for it. I'm game.

After all, I can do this. I just need more experience. Seems like yesterday.


But it's only been since December 2014...











Wanna bet I'll throw that book even further, next year ?


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