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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Calgary
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A sunny, albeit brisk day off, walking through Kensington, I pop into new age shop on 10th to look at the crystals (much like the crystals I should have found with my daughter last year, did find, but she hadn't the patience to dig them up. *sigh*). And I discover this:
This is without a doubt the most brilliant piece of bullshit I have ever seen. To reiterate the certificate in plain text:
Certificate of Authenticity
Live's Treasures Kauai
Certifies the Authenticity of this
Monatomic Andara Crystal
with Resonant Scalar Holo-Dynamic
Lemurian Codex Encoding
and Enhanced Light Activation by
∅m "not mark"
January 2013
Below find an image of the certificate, surrounded by the "Monatomic Andara Crystal's":
Now Kensington has a few of these shops and more than a bit of a woo-woo going on, there's the Homo-Luminous window across from Pulcinella, and another couple of rock shops, but this, well, for today anyways this takes the cake. The crystals, they appear to be large fused pieces of glass, looking it up they are purportedly of Volcanic origin (Rainbow Volcanoes, doubtless), I'm gullible, for sure, but this is taking it too far...each "crystal" priced per gram, an average piece on the table would sell for more than $100.
Searching the internet (I wasn't aware that Lemuria had been found, thought it was a myth, apparently not...lol)
"The Lemurian people lived on this earth in ancient times, and worked extensively with crystals.It seems that some sort of immense misfortune overcame the Lemurian people before they disappeared from the earth.
The impressions that many folk get of the people of Lemuria, is of gentle innocent people who deeply loved the earth.
It is believed that those who lived during the time of ancient Lemuria were highly spiritual beings.
These crystals are important as it is believed that they left messages within the stones for us.
These stones seem to have been programmed before they were placed into the ground."
I am definitely in the wrong business...why find diamonds when you can simply exploit the gullible, naive and simple minded with new age frippery like this? A color printer, a few stock certificates, invent or pillage history for appropriately remote locations (Atlantis, anyone?) and I'm set.
Now seriously folks. I'm not going to give away too much here, there are rules, after all, but if you would be a Witch or a Wizard there are no store-bought solutions. A store-bought wand or spell possesses about as much magic as a stick tied to a rock, and you've just wasted a whole lot of your hard earned cash. If you would practice magic you must find the ingredients yourself, this is the first and most important phase. This is where the magic begins. The second is to observe the appropriate ritual in the finding; be it a twig or a rock or a piece of a dead animal, the ritual might include an observance to the time (full moons are popular, as are moonless nights), as well as other details and attentions (fasting, diet, purity, etc). And from here you're on your own...
Unless, of course, you're handy with a shovel and a gold-pan, in which I case I'll consider offering you an apprenticeship...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Calgary
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Before and between shifts I sort the concentrates from the field trips, a million possibilities. The two locations in SE Ab, very different rocks, the one site yields perhaps a handful of concentrates, the other, easily 4, the second location too proves infinitely richer in possibilities, more of the clearer stones that might be, more garnets, each location has the fish scales (There's actually a fish scale horizon in AB, artifact of the several meteorite impacts/extinctions).
Looking at these stones, through a LED powered 20X loop, there's an infinitude of possibilities, it's a kaleidoscope, madness, this, trying to tweeze out all the diamond-maybe's and maybe-nots, a big stone a mm wide, shards and splinters of garnet, it's a sort of zen relaxation, but uneconomical (and messy), in the end I'll find some vaseline, try and pan them over it, perhaps try sorting them with a vibrating table, soak them in the acid, there's all sorts of possibilities here, Ballas diamonds (from the meteorites), macles, bort diamonds, miss nothing, a stray shotgun pellet, vivid flashes of pale pink and deep red, occasional green chromites, amazing how the gravels change over short distances...
I'd buy a USB microscope, love to show you, maybe you'd understand what I was up against, but having to deal again with Canada Post is one more obstacle than I need. Maybe when all the mail's in...
And in the 10 days since the last trip I've sorted them plenty enough, time to start planning another, there's only a few weeks of autumn left, and still hundreds, thousands of places left to check...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Calgary
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"You worthless, acid-sucking piece of illiterate shit! Don’t ever send this kind of brain-damaged swill in here again. If I had the time, I’d come out there and drive a fucking wooden stake into your forehead. Why don’t you get a job, germ? Maybe delivering advertising handouts door to door, or taking tickets for a wax museum. You drab South Bend cocksuckers are all the same; like those dope-addled dingbats at the Rolling Stone office. I’d like to kill those bastards for sending me your piece … and I’d just as soon kill you, too. Jam this morbid drivel up your ass where your readership will better appreciate it."
Hunter S. Thompson's prepared form rejection letter - following his success with "Fear and Loathing", he found himself with a pile of unsolicited poetry submissions. He prepared this form letter for Rolling Stone to send out with those articles it deemed unworthy...
Via Futility Closet
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Calgary
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It's about time. 6 years now of house-sitting, roommates, basement suites in the farthest-flung suburbs, time now to find a place of my own.
In part precipitated by a roommate who lived in his own house of death, and the realization that I had scourged myself enough, that this was not a place to move creatively forward, or build relationships, or bring a child, and so at his encouragement I begin to look for a place to live. A place of my own.
When last I rented an apartment - 10 years ago - a 2 bedroom in Sunalta cost me around $700. a month. I know I'm not going to get anything in that price range, but I give it a try. Nope. And so I gradually increase my searches until I'm in the $1100, $1200 range. Rentfaster is the site, I make a few calls, send out emails, if your willing to pay the rent it shouldn't be a problem.
The first person I get hold of is Dean, small apartment in a walkup in lower Mt. Royal, he yells at me over the phone:
-"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!!!"
-"I'm enquiring about the apartment you had listed for rent..."
"CALL ME BACK IN AN HOUR, I'M IN A MEETING".
And he hangs up.
I call him back in an hour, "WHAT DO YOU WANT!" he screams again, louder, I mention the apartment, "IT'S RENTED!" he shouts, click, end of call. Scratch that one off the list.
Next a character suite above shops in Inglewood, laminate floors, view over 9th avenue, combination shower and urinal, no bath. I can't do, even at the relatively bargain priced $1000 per month.
Another call, this to a landlord in Bridgeland, she's friendly enough over the phone, asks me where i work, what I do, then asks me if I smoke. "Not indoors" I assure her, she begins to holler down the phone: "I SAID NO SMOKERS! DIDN'T YOU READ THE AD? I SAID DEFINITELY NO SMOKERS! NO SMOKERS!!!!" I attempt to explain that I don't smoke indoors, but she's not hearing it, hangs up.
Things are starting to look a little tougher...
A 300 square foot basement in Kensington, $800 a month, the landlady asks if I smoke, I explain, again, not on the property, not indoors, still the damage is done and the applications is formally thrown into the garbage as soon as I leave.
A lot of these places advertise as "Mature buildings, no one under 18", that doesn't help me, I have a daughter. And they discriminate against smokers, even if you don't smoke on the property. I've heard all the landlord stories, nightmare tenants, but it's beginning to seem there are a lot of nightmare landlords out there as well.
I've pretty much contacted everyone on rent faster, many simply didn't return calls or emails, from here I begin to check a few of the property management sites, one has a couple, I make appointments. A 60 year old landlady, 3 story walkup, Lower Mt. Royal off 17th Ave, she's hooked to oxygen in her apartment, standing at the door and telling me where to find the room, it takes a while, she gives me directions and that chats me up for a bit, soap operas playing on the TV, standing at her door, it takes me a few minutes before I realize that she's going a bit beyond the standard landlord spiel, she's chatting me up, awkward. The apartment is OK, and she assures me she can take the tubes off at any time, they just help...
Next apartment, Bankview. It's a keeper, immediately vacant, but I'll have to fill in forms, front my deposit, it's urgent, now, as all my belongings are in the car, heaps of clothes, junk, and I want immediate occupancy, but Ill have to wait, it's Tuesday before finally I can move in...
Now begins the process of finding the rudiments I'll need to survive, chairs, kitchen table, forage in the locker for those objects of inspiration and necessity, but - finally - 6 years on, a place of my own. And not a bad view, if I say so myself...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Calgary
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In the distance there are the extinct cones of Volcanoes. We've watched the movies in the interpretive center, they could go off again at any time. It's 8:00 AM in South Central Idaho, July 22, 2008. We're outside of Craters of the Moon National Monument, trying to hitch a ride to Arco, and already the day is getting hot. Cars are few and far between, and we must present an odd sight by the side of the road, a motley crew with a heap of camping gear and luggage. Every few minutes a car comes by, some look, others look and look away, trying not to catch our eyes. The girl, 7 years old, is comfortable on a heap of bags, her pink souvenir hat with the Junior Range Badge she got yesterday, playing her Gameboy, the boy, 11, is eager to stick his thumb out at every passing car, I have to screen them, tell him when enough is enough, it's an adventure. But none are stopping. Through the sage brush and across a short stretch of lava there's the tourist information and warden station, we're getting thirsty, but dare not send anyone for a drink, from experience the moment one goes to get a drink someone will stop, someone in a rush, and we're only 20 miles from Arco and we don't want that someone to get impatient and leave us, we must be here, all of us, together, when they stop.
The heat is shimmering on the road.