Cards. As in tarot cards.
It's been way too long since I whipped out the ol' Rider deck, the Belgian imprint some Dianic Wiccan bookshop owner gave me back in California.
I'm good at it, actually. So good, in fact, that I've taught other folks how to do it. I've been reading cards now for more than 10 years.
Hell, don't ask me. Gave up trying to figure out the whole mystic -hidden- psychic- abilities thing a years ago. And I've only had maybe a dozen totally-off readings in a decade. There's nothing supernatural about the whole act; for some reason things just pop into my head when I'm looking at a spread.
Honestly, I'm a cynic when it comes to most paranormal shit. I've never been to a RenFest, have yet to read a single novel containing dragons, and I tend to believe that people who claim they've abducted by aliens need to share whatever they're smoking. Of course, I have a gris-gris I keep in my apartment, I whistle walking past cemeteries, and I still want to try to catch a glimpse of Oxford's legendary Phantom Rider.
So sue me. I'm a complex guy...
* * * *
I somehow managed to creep out at least a few of the more conservative fundamentalist types with my little display. An older guy apparently told one of the servers that he had to leave because he was a Baptist - Baptists aren't allowed to witness such things.
This same guy brought a Chucky doll and a noose into the bar for Halloween. The doll is still strung up by the neck, hanged from an antique bugle above the liquor.
Note to self...
Reading tarot cards for former local football heroes and other folks is an Act of the Devil.
Hanging a replica of a serial-killing toy is, however, acceptable Baptist behavior around these parts.
* * * *
A younger woman was fascinated by my apparent skill at basically interpreting symbols and somehow matching my interpretations to random folks.
She casts runes and does her own astrological charts.
She and I talked off and on for a few hours. Metaphysics, ex-fiances, and local politics.
* * * *
On a trip to the can, a drunk fratboy told me that he thought that reading cards was against God, but, well, if it gets you pussy its okay.
Yup. Nothing like the steel-willed moral fortitude of an obvious deep thinker to make one's evening. His Yoda-like wisdom was coupled with his ability to somehow piss down the front of his pants while trying to send a text message.
One phrase comes to mind...
* * * *
It's amazing what sorts of strange things one can witness here in Oxford Fucking Ohio.
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