dusty
Skilled Investigator
Hi folks,
Today whilst making another post on another thread about guitars, I recalled another rather odd event that occured when I worked in a guitar store years ago.
This branch was located in Harlow new town (Essex), and like every shop of it's kind we had a lot of regular customers. Some famous, some very talented and some down right strange. Who we all got to know to varying degrees.
One chap in particular became the source of much puzzlement to my manager and I. Re seemingly endless supply's of cash. As we knew he was unemployed and had been for many years. He was very sick looking, gaunt, palid, slightly unpleasant smelling, and overall not someone you would want to be around for too long.
The thing was, just about every week for about a year he started buying new guitars and components. Not all the most expensive stuff all the time, but within a couple of weeks he would return and trade most of it in, and then go right ahead and buy a couple more guitars and do the same thing all over again. Not so weird you might think but bare in mind this went on for about a year with someone who we all knew wasn't working. I know this is lengthy but there is a serious point.
Eventually one day when I sold him an Epiphone Sheraton and Epiphone SG I think. I asked in as tactful a way as I could, where he was getting his money from (Things were relaxed enough by then) so I didn't come across as rude. His reply was immediate, serious and as I later found out
completely true.
"People pay me to put spells on People" and "They keep coming back".
Now, as I said things were relaxed back then and I kinda probed him a bit about that, made a few mental notes and then still wanting to make a sale found that he wanted to trade last weeks guitars but had left them at home, and could I take him back to his place to pick them up, return and do the deal.
At this point I hadn't the oppurtunity to tell my manager,
who was a good mate, all the weird shit so he said yeah go do it.
Long story short.
We arrive, black front door opening to black carpeted black walled interior, throughout I might add. Lounge, I'm waiting for guitars to appear, I look around, Mein Kampf, Crowley's Magiks, SS daggers, black three peice suite, black curtains, black candles. Had enough yet?
You get the picture, I'm rattled. Guitars appear, brief chat I leave, get called back because I forget guitars and oddball. Pick up both, head back to store deal done Cheers, goodbye, then big laugh relating story to manager.
Now all that has dark dangerous and forbidding conotations, and rightly so. From what I know personally, and from what I knew of this guy and saw of his world, dabbling like that is a recipe for disaster. The physical toll on his body for instance was horrifying.
Black magic, voodoo, santaria, Crowley and the Abramelin. Whatever.
What do you guys think? Can mere words conjure, manipulate or otherwise alter what we percieve as reality, dont we all do that to some degree all the time anyway?
So that's enough now, what d'ya think about Spells?
Please,
Mark
Today whilst making another post on another thread about guitars, I recalled another rather odd event that occured when I worked in a guitar store years ago.
This branch was located in Harlow new town (Essex), and like every shop of it's kind we had a lot of regular customers. Some famous, some very talented and some down right strange. Who we all got to know to varying degrees.
One chap in particular became the source of much puzzlement to my manager and I. Re seemingly endless supply's of cash. As we knew he was unemployed and had been for many years. He was very sick looking, gaunt, palid, slightly unpleasant smelling, and overall not someone you would want to be around for too long.
The thing was, just about every week for about a year he started buying new guitars and components. Not all the most expensive stuff all the time, but within a couple of weeks he would return and trade most of it in, and then go right ahead and buy a couple more guitars and do the same thing all over again. Not so weird you might think but bare in mind this went on for about a year with someone who we all knew wasn't working. I know this is lengthy but there is a serious point.
Eventually one day when I sold him an Epiphone Sheraton and Epiphone SG I think. I asked in as tactful a way as I could, where he was getting his money from (Things were relaxed enough by then) so I didn't come across as rude. His reply was immediate, serious and as I later found out
completely true.
"People pay me to put spells on People" and "They keep coming back".
Now, as I said things were relaxed back then and I kinda probed him a bit about that, made a few mental notes and then still wanting to make a sale found that he wanted to trade last weeks guitars but had left them at home, and could I take him back to his place to pick them up, return and do the deal.
At this point I hadn't the oppurtunity to tell my manager,
who was a good mate, all the weird shit so he said yeah go do it.
Long story short.
We arrive, black front door opening to black carpeted black walled interior, throughout I might add. Lounge, I'm waiting for guitars to appear, I look around, Mein Kampf, Crowley's Magiks, SS daggers, black three peice suite, black curtains, black candles. Had enough yet?
You get the picture, I'm rattled. Guitars appear, brief chat I leave, get called back because I forget guitars and oddball. Pick up both, head back to store deal done Cheers, goodbye, then big laugh relating story to manager.
Now all that has dark dangerous and forbidding conotations, and rightly so. From what I know personally, and from what I knew of this guy and saw of his world, dabbling like that is a recipe for disaster. The physical toll on his body for instance was horrifying.
Black magic, voodoo, santaria, Crowley and the Abramelin. Whatever.
What do you guys think? Can mere words conjure, manipulate or otherwise alter what we percieve as reality, dont we all do that to some degree all the time anyway?
So that's enough now, what d'ya think about Spells?
Please,
Mark