[[[ P O R T A L G U N]]]

Return to starr Michael Roberts all karma and pain he has caused, his energy, demons and ü negative forces back onto him; may his destruction. Be bound to him and only him, his damage me negative painful satanic actions be. Bound and binded to him and only him; for he shall not any longer harm himself, others, or his son “So mote it be” Amen. The coughing had stopped for awhile but had suddenly returned, as if I had done something wrong—but it only seemed that the more I paid attention to myself and my health, improving my life and my habits, this energy followed, as if trying to keep or return me to the Hell from which I had been born, raised, and married into— only to overcome by luck if anything, albeit strength and wit; the cycle of abuse was still the ever present cycle—and the more I read about the psychological mindset of a psychopath, the more I had come to realize my own pitiful narssism, as if it had become a contagious burden— which I had tried to thrwart at every angle, of course—but as it appeared, most of being a typical person was conversing, about if not mindless things like the weather, then about oneself—and especially since I had done my very best to be soully a musician, I had been in the habit of upselling myself, which for the most part I hated anyway; However, some achievements and talents I really did take such pride in that sometimes I felt that there were only so many things that I could say, that I was often repeating myself, or even worse—speaking from some kind of scripted dialogue, which didn't seem much but a stones throw away from the surreal and bizzare unreality that I had been in; things each day seemed more and more like a movie, the night before culminating in an entire plethora of new discoveries—both about myself, and my apparent self-made external world. I knew that my return to Equinox would in some way be a catch—the recently-increased initiation fee which I accredited to the prolonged disability from joining, however worth the wait had doubled— jumping from something like $250, to $500 in what seemed overnight, though it had been already almost eight months since I had rejoined—and nearly seven in New York alone, though the time had flown despite its absolutely dreadful happenings, not yet having any fun at all in the city besides very brief moments of euphoria—no, instead I had been shown a first-hand look at the broken system, the broken economy, and the broken people of the world first-handedly, fighting tooth-and-nail to stay well—which had been an incredible fight in itself, in addition to the growing number of actual physical fights and altercations I myself never thought would become of my growing years—but New Yorkers, it seemed—especially and particularly the poor and black ones—liked to fight, and I was learning well to protect myself and defend, both in wit and might. But, especially as of lately, I had grown tired, depressed—and especially very hungry, my food supply dwindled to that of simply whatever I could get my hands on from the local food pantries, and I was learning very well that ‘poor people food' and ‘fat people food' were more commonly than not the same things. The grocery stores in the area were allowed to mark up everything in order to compete with each other in greed, in the poverty-stricken neighborhood of Ozone Park, which lived up to its name exceedingly, filled with trash, and heavy with the exhaust of every imaginable industrial machine imaginable, from automobiles to airplanes and beyond—it was an overall disgusting place to be, and with the coming times the reality had set in that I was just as likely broken as those around me in some way—but in understanding how, I would often also want and need to understand why—an answer only God would give me. Just a couple days before, I had woken up seemingly into a fairytale— I had been again in the habit for some r