Thursday, November 13, 2014

Florida Nether Lands

      My name is Michael Rexmoor, and I bind demons.  It is more than a job, this process of binding which I accomplish.  Much more.  It is my purpose.  Many would say it was thrust upon me, this purpose, and for lack of any better explanation that is so.  The incantation in 1770 which ultimately caused me to be born and live here now was recited/incited by the most powerful magician the world has ever known,  and there is no undoing it because certain very special circumstances, as well as the formulae, had to happen before I could be called forth;  almost unique circumstances, and as recited by Master Jefferson, before the fire on the Altar Of God, they did happen exactly so, and really, there is no way out now.


     I am much more than preordained.  I am created, and I am self-improving.  An energy expenditure of high order which erupted here, a sort of opening to another world, I am a portal to another world while here in this world, for as long as the flesh lives, as long as the connection can be maintained.   In many ways, so are you.   In many ways what you are is a matter of perspective.  How long is your conscious view?  Everyone is going through radical change now, and I am responsible for that too, but it is hidden well,  I am hidden well, as I go about my primary purpose, which, again, is binding demons on this planet, although many of the demons do not originate on this planet.  Much more about that later.

     Yes, these are strange times indeed.  The obscene world of flesh in your face 24-7.   The collective snout shoved into its own waste.  And here I am.   Eternal Hostility toward any form of tyranny over the mind of Man.  Embodied.  Look on your scrip, your money, it is all there, the whole tawdry story.   This is an indelicate world at any time, and now more than ever.  

     So this is not a beautiful thing, my binding of demons, although to me it is a very real type of art;  an art whose main attribute is measured via the illusion of time.  How long will the demon remain bound as the planet goes about its traverse?  How many days, weeks, years, many thousands of times around the sun, how many millenia?

     That is the core of my art, and sometimes I get to decorate it all pretty, so others like me will know it for what it is after I am gone, but that is not primary for me.  I don't really care if anyone ever sees my work, its not the point.  Like a carving made in wood, then burned: that is the way I actually prefer it to look.  Invisible.  It is enough that my work, my art, occurred.  Unlike the burnt wood whose only by products are heat and ash and odor, the event of my binding leaves a lasting impression.  It is a building, versus a destruction.  Demons destroy.   I bind them so they cannot do damage for a certain amount of time.  For as long as the energy which I am able to summon at any given time holds them.   It is complex.  I imbue with my presence.  Very complex.  I will try to make certain things more clear as I proceed with this latest accounting of my activities.
     Sometimes my confrontations with the demons are positively spectacular, and I am sure that is how I will die one day -- I will feel disappointed if that is not the case -- but not today.  Sometime much later is fine.  As far later as possible, I mean.  Most times, though,  my bindings simply entail detection of the demon, then construction of a physical sculpture, a talisman, to capture and bind the demon until the talisman itself is destroyed.  This is a manipulation of the multiverse, and certain characteristics of it which have not been made readily  available due largely to ignorance, or more correctly loss, stark loss, but that is a story for another day. 

     Suffice to say the world is big, and includes much much more than just the planet.  The planet, to paraphrase a writer of this time period, is just the peep-hole.  I fear I may be muddying the waters even more now, so I will carry on and let the events explain themselves.



          Tampa once again.  Back from a 10 year gig in New Mexico, which was a learning gig more than anything.  I come through Tampa regularly as the decades transpire, there are many demons here, some very old, older than the planet.  This time through Tampa most people think I am one of the many homeless people.  In truth I live in a van behind a wood shop which has some storage,  a bunk, electricity and computers.  It works.  I will one day find myself back out west, but for now, Tampa Florida America is where I reside. 

     There are some very positive aspects too, like the nice weather in winter, and the oranges and certain ancient fossils of very rare kind.  The pursuit of these fossils and things like them allow me to travel and learn and serve my purpose all at once, nice.  It wasn't always like this though.   Not by a long shot.  For many years I surfed the death wave like most others, continuously flirting with the specter of death and then death in true physical form, staring me in the face, and never understanding, but always learning.    Finally, epiphany.

     It is either that or death for people like me.  And here we are.

     For the most part Demons are nether dwellers, they like the dark and damp,  and Florida is really nothing but a shell over vast caverns filled with water in varying degrees.  As the aquifer is dried up through the technology of environmental modification, Monsantos much vaunted chemtrail/active-auroral tech, there are many more caverns just below ground  and these places can be home to many visitors which, for the most part, will forever remain unnoticed.  If not actually benign, they are not malignant in the strictest sense.   Occasionally though they escape or are ejected from below ground  (Can you say sinkholes?) and these spirits, the demons, then grow amongst people, infecting them like a mental disease. 

     Its easy to see sometimes if you look for it.

     When I found the demon in Mango I saw it first, then learned of its work later.  It increasingly over time gave some men the wrong ideas about children.  There was an outbreak ever so often of pedophilia in Mango.  Very high profile cases involving prison terms and clergymen.  The demon somehow was let loose after a massive train wreck in that town before it was even a town, back when  it was a railroad stop only.  There were never any mangoes grown there in Mango, it is a word which evolved from an event concerning a regular passenger on the train.  At this stop this man would always get off, go.  It was the stop where the Man Go, literally, which became Man-go, Mango, Florida.

     For the record, this entire narrative, this story, is totally and entirely true, some of the names have been changed is all, but not many.  This is a true story.  All of it, whether you can fathom anything like that or not.  This is an accounting.  Not a story at all, really.

     When I first saw the demon in Mango Florida I was out walking and there was no one else around.  It was playing light games at daybreak and I caught a glimpse of it perfectly as it used the mist to form an image of itself, manifesting, unworried of detection because most demons have never seen or met a human who can perceive them.  I stopped in my tracks and did the big gulp because its always very disconcerting when you see something like this.  There was also a barely perceptible though somewhat annoying sound which I finally realized was being made by my pants flapping as my legs shook.   I got away fast and immediately began the treatment to bind the demon.

      This demon was man shaped but giant and super muscular with horns and tusks and some kind of armor which looked alive, like millions of live worms all over it.  I noted the place and returned there at regular interval.   I was able to bind that demon with repititious incantation and stones.  I even learned its name before the binding, which is kind of like a cement to the talismans energy by which the demon is made powerless, inert.  

As already stated, it truly is complex. 

     The worst demon I met in Tampa during my most recent stay was at a fossil bed in the bay near a large sulfur spring just south of Ballast Point.  I never did get its name even though I became what I consider to be much too acquainted with it during a time period of almost 3 years. As with many demons which reside near bodies of water, this was something like a miasma, and large, but never showing any form.   The first time out at this site in the water I could feel something, an odd almost subliminal pulsing of some sort, though there was an eerie quiet about, broken only by the noises I made as I did my collecting. 

    Slush chop rattle shake....specimens were washed off and deposited in a floating basket I towed along on a rope.  I also wore a weight belt, and usually waded through about three feet of water, using the mask only when necessary.  There was an odd shimmering in the quality of the air for some reason, a kind of watery background illusion, like a gauze across reality, just below the level of perception.  I knew immediately I was destined to meet and fight with this demon on the point.  

    There is no other way, it truly is my purpose. The best I can hope for is to win.  I better win, is all I have to say.  When you are called to this it brings you up a little, to a higher plane, there is much clarity and also pain.  Both exaltation and death are always near.  Always near.  You see things differently, don't really care about the same appearances as other people.


     I began skin diving for ancient coral specimens a long time ago.  It was one of the healthier activities I was engaged in way back when, during the time I surfed the death wave.  In truth if I had not been as active as I was in  my youth, if I had been overweight for any length of time, or lethargic, it probably would have been the death of me, so things work out or they don't and this time they did.  Have so far. K?

     I collect in this area because there are silicified specimens of miocene corals like no where else in the world. The Tampa Formation.  There are a number of coral species which only manifest at this small spot on the earth, and are unknown elsewhere.  Species like Acropora tampaensis, named after Tampa, or Favites yborensis, reflecting Ybor City, or even Montastrea davisina first found around Davis Island; these all exhibit well the rarity of the geology at this locale on the Gadsen Peninsula, today known as South Tampa. 

     Also in south Tampa resides Macill AFB, and it is down at the far end of the peninsula, where the base marina is now, that the first loading docks and piers were built for the overland route to the mouth of the Hillsborough river, where the site of Americas Fort George Mercer Brooke existed.  In the early days most people used that overland route from Gadsen Point because thats as far in as boats of any size could travel, Tampa Bay was notoriously shallow in most places during earlier times. Bahia De Espiritu Santos, Bay of the Holy Spirit it was called then.  There was never any quiet like that anywhere else in the world ever; the early Spanish explorers remarked on it reverently among themselves, and really it spooked them good.

     Modern South Tampa has seen fit to divide itself up into two groups, the nogs and the sogs.  They are names based on geography, abbreviations for North Of Gandy, and South Of Gandy.  Gandy is a main East and West across the Gadsen peninsula down by Macdill, which is near Ballast Point as well.  Ballast Point Park has a long history, and today is made up nice for kids and their parents to come and picnic at the bay and fish off the pier, and play on the swingsets and what have you.   At one time it was called Jules Verne Park because the author used the location a his point of debarkation in the fanciful yet still ahead of its time "From The Earth To The Moon".  There is a boat ramp there now, too.

     I had made quite a few trips out collecting to the site on the point, it had somehow got missed over the years and I was having a lot of fun. Coral has been collected heavily for as long as there have been people in Tampa, and a lot of the Bays material is gone now, because it was accessible.  Most of the coral retrieved now days  is due to some sort of dredging project in the bay or near by Ballast Point.  My little spot had the nicest oranges and caramels and blacks and yellows I have ever seen, and also was super representive of the various species, with perhaps a new one or two as my studies continue with the finds.

     The sun was usually shining, and some days there were porpoises.  The site was directly under a flight path for Macdills big birds, as is most of south Tampa really, depending on the wind, and almost every time out I saw many jets flying, big and small.  I was finding lots of killer stuff, specimens like no one has ever seen before, and in greater quantity than my wildest imaginings. I had to be careful not to sink my little canoe.  And then it happened.  I'd been having a few odd dreams of late, something about three, a mark of some kind but couldn't get anything coherent in meaning from it. I was moving along at my usual pace when a large ray rose from the bottom right in front of me, and I strode to the left to miss it.  They can inflict a nasty wound.  In doing so though my left foot struck a rock just so as it came down hard, through the sole of the sneaker I was wearing, and caused a stone bruise which I eventually had to go to the doctor and get a brace for in order to make it heal. Pain for a year.  Not only that, I fell into the water and felt live oyster shells bite the palm of my right hand, and as I drew it out of the water there was blood, from three punctures perfectly spaced like a pyramid of dots on my inner hand.

     Not only had I been hurt, I had been marked, and it got worse.  I stopped collecting for that day and never made it back.  Maybe someday. 

   I returned to the yard where my camper is parked and where the many good dogs roam about. I like dogs a lot, almost as much  as I like cats.  I have one cat, an orange tabby, they are good buddies all, and sometimes I can see things because of them that I wouldn't have otherwise.   That too is another story.

     I took care to clean up the very odd looking punctures on my hand, and also took time examining my foot after I got my shoes off.  Walking barefooted over to my find bag I dumped it out and began hosing the fossils off.  There was a big fossil coral with several fingers interlaced together right on top.  Coral has growing patterns and you become familiar with them over time, this was Porites floridaeprima, a big nice clear specimen, except when I picked it up I grabbed it upside down, and the visage that stared out from another dimension at me was like being struck in the head with a blunt object. 

     It was the demons head in stone.  Deep set hollow eyes, beak-like mouth, intertwining tubes for hair like snakes, creating a stark mask of humorous malignance which I promptly dropped on my bare right foot.


     The Demon had marked me with three.  And now hurt me in three.  I was in deep deep deep doo-doo-doo.  Even before I knew any of it had happened.  Most people would never know.  And then they just die, at the age of 35 or whatever, and it was not circumstance that killed them, or not in the strictest sense: they had help: they had direction.  There are many many people like that, and some of the worst are the so-called holy ones.  Some like the possession and even invite it.  Stay as far away from those people as you can, they are being eaten by something and it can find you too, through them.

     I set the demons head upon the furnace, my personal altar of fire where I work my metals, and I began a year of exhaustive fighting.  Fighting for my life.  Many odd things happened during this time, but it was basically a dance of high order and intricacy.  This demon was able to use me to manifest physically and to free itself, to vectorize at least.  It is not possible to describe here in words how bad this was.  Grave danger and then some.

     This demon was able to passively influence all other life around it, like an electricity of evil in the air, seeping into things.  Even the plants which began to show odd retardations, but mostly the animals, like the dogs, and birds or whatever happened to be handy.  I started having trouble with rats, big brown wharf rats breaking in like they were intent, and I guess they were.  One night a gigantic one was hit perfectly square in his head with one of the large traps I set, and when he stopped thumping I went and retrieved the trap and deposited the carcass on top of the burn barrels pile.  About 15 minutes later I went by the burn barrel and the thing was gone.  Not good.  The next morning the dead rat with bloody head which had somehow come back to life was perched on a shelf looking down at me as I slept.  Zombie rats.  Have you ever heard of such things?

     Again, all true, this is a true story.

     Things just kept going bad and I was getting beaten physically, mentally, and spiritually from many angles.  I always leave Tampa bruised and bloody, missing teeth, someday I won't have to come back here anymore.  But for now I fight their demons for them because they are incapable themselves, maybe one day light will spread from that.  Maybe one day their demons will finally be bound.

     A day came at the end of the fall season, it had a certain feel to it.  I had some silver I had saved and I had located it just the day before and put it in a handy place.  It was time. I cleaned the furnace and secreted the demons head somewhere it would not be found and if it was it might not be recognized.  I Went to find the silver and it was no longer where I had put it.  It is possible one of the dogs got it, the new pup picks up everything.  Perhaps the new pup had help too.  Things were set, and I had other lesser metals that would work.  Had to work.  I began with the lead.

     I melted three large vats of scrap lead I had collected out of the soil with metal detectors and poured them into ingot molds and scrap food cans.  It was on the third pour that one of the cans melted through, and the lead went into the dirt around the furnace.  I thought it was odd that only one can would burn through like that, and at the end.  I went about setting the fire again and looked into the bottom of the can which had burned through.  It was a perfect silhouette of a dog with ears perked up, laying down at rest, a happy dog.

     It was a seal.

     You don't get many seals.  The dance was over.  I was free.  My years work and the sacrifices made had paid off.  I'd won again, but was in a bad state of repair for it, and no aid locally, just surveillance and lies, thats Tampa.  For now.  It was time to get back to the desert again, heal.

     I hid this seal in plain sight, and anyone noticing the resemblance to a reclining canine might remark on it, but would not actually get it.  When everything was all done, there were two antique but usable battery terminals left over from my melt, my pay.  There is magical power in talisman electric. 

     I felt it was a very good thing and I will use them right away.