Later that night, on Friday, October 18, 1996, Toby Jay activated the classic Oak station and tuned into Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way,” which soon segued into The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues,” the combination of which signaled that it was time to head to Willie’s Saloon to usher in the Cowboys’ Diamond Anniversary with a few spirited brews.

 

 

When he opened the old pioneer door, the place was packed and all the waitresses were dressed in black. “Jeez, it’s like some sorta feminine mystique conspiracy around here,” he sensed in jest, while suspecting that this black-clad observation was further proof that the Diamond Anniversary was, indeed, sympathetic to the inscrutable ways of sisterhood.

But then, shortly after Toby Jay purchased a Bud longneck, he spotted David and Jeffrey on the far west side of the bar as the old Wurlitzer jukebox was blaring Waylon Jennings’ heartfelt “Luchenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love).”

Jeffrey was belligerently fucked-up drunk, while David was his usual reposed self. “Jeff and I are patiently waiting for the main table,” David moaned, as he took an elongated gulp from his Samuel Adams lager.

Moments later, Toby Jay turned around just in time to see, from a distance of twenty feet or so, the eight ball on the main table sink into the left side pocket. In fact, the female half of a fairly attractive rodeo-style couple, who appeared to be playing for the sheer goof-off fun of it all, began to jump up and down, shouting, “I won, I won…Oh my God, I won!”

“Finally,” David muttered.

“Rackem’ up!” roared Jeffrey, who then downed another shot of Jägermeister right as the gentle strum of Waylon Jennings’ guitar merged into Johnny Cash’s knee-slapping “Jackson.”

Fortunately, Jeffrey’s girlfriend Molly, who was also dressed in all black, scored Toby Jay a prime seat at the bar where she was sitting. Since she, at one point, began to fondle his beaded hippie-gypsy necklace, telling him how much she liked his taste in clothes, he couldn’t help but wonder, “Is Molly coming on to me, or is she just being overly friendly?”

“So where did you go to school,” asked Molly, who, come find out, was on scholarship at Oklahoma State University, pursuing a career in biochemistry.

In response, Toby Jay explained that he had majored in both philosophy and economics at Oklahoma University in the process of attaining his Bachelor’s degree in 1990. “Then naturally,” he continued, “I entered grad school to pursue my true passion – that being philosophy. So, I eventually received my Master’s at OU two years later in ‘92. After that, I began working on my PhD.”

Toby Jay then turned a bit nostalgic and, at one point, confessed, “Looking back, some of the most meaningful moments of my life occurred while teaching introductory courses at OU.”

“So you’re a real wise guy,” said Molly, taking a quick sip of fresh draft from her festive red Solo Cup.

“Nah, not really,” Toby Jay responded, forlornly. In fact, he then informed Molly that, after considerable soul-searching, he eventually decided to drop out of the PhD. program, citing the myopia that often inflicts academic modes of inquiry as the primary cause. “No doubt, analytic philosophy has its virtues,” he attempted to explain, “but it can also be very stagnate and sterile and ultimately very stifling. I just felt I needed to get a bit of intellectual fresh air, so to speak. I really needed to open myself up to a new range of possibilities…new schools of thought…new conceptual paradigms…new ways to interpret my life.”

“So what are you up to now?” Molly inquired. “Do you still teach?”

“Nah…I wish, though,” Toby Jay responded, somewhat dejectedly. But then he proceeded to inform Molly that he was currently in the process of penning an autobiographical novel in the form of a majical diary. “Hopefully, in the end,” he concluded, “my book will demonstrate, amongst many other things, the gross inadequacy of analytic philosophy.”

“Gee Jay, that sounds like quite an undertaking,” Molly responded, rather dauntingly. She then paused to take another sumptuous sip, but immediately inquired, “So I’m curious, what exactly is this book of yours all about, anyway?” Quickly, she added, “I’m assuming, since it takes the form of a diary, it’s basically a memoir…or telling your life story?”

“Well, yeah, for the most part,” said Toby Jay, hesitantly.

“For the most part?” Molly asked. “What do you mean by ‘for the most part?’”

“Well, things are a bit more complicated than…”

“Like complicated how…how complicated?”

“Actually, very complicated. Probably too complicated…”

“Now Jay, you know you’re vastly underestimating my amazing mental prowess,” said Molly, taking yet another quick sip, only this time wearing a wry, almost omniscient, smile.

“OK then,” Toby Jay acquiesced. “I’ll try be as succinct as possible, but it won’t be easy.”

“Shoot,” said Molly, sporting a simple grin.

In turn, Toby Jay immediately readjusted himself, took a hearty swig from his Bud, and began by saying, “Really, almost everything of any real significance in my diary can ultimately be traced to my discovery of Jungian psychology.”

“Jung,” Molly quickly interrupted, “isn’t he the guy who coined the term synchronicity? The collective unconscious guy?”

“Yep, that’s him,” Toby Jay buoyantly replied, as he proceeded to take another hearty swig. “See,” he continued, “shortly after I dropped out of the doctoral program, all this really strange shit started to happen to me. Now, of course, I don’t have the time to explain to you all the details surrounding these bizarre events; and yet, virtually all of these events involved, in one way or another, the rather slippery notion – time. Somehow, someway, time always seemed to be at the center of the strangeness. Continually, I began to experience all sorts of weird coincidences. Day in and day out, these so-called ‘coincidences’ began to mount, one upon the other, into a multi-layered, hyper-meaningful, complex matrix. Eventually, I became convinced that in order to truly understand what was happening in my life, to fully grasp the true meaning of my life, I had to quest for a deeper, more expansive understanding of time,” Toby Jay explained, passionately, pausing to take a drink. “So it was then,” he continued, “fresh out of grad school, equipped with all the rigorous tools that analytic philosophy had to offer, I, quite literally, went off the academic grid, so to speak, in search of a better, richer understanding of time.”

“Interesting…that’s really interesting,” said Molly, who then, perhaps due to the gravity of the conversation, somewhat sheepishly reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights. “Sorry, it’s a guilty pleasure,” she said, “I only smoke when I’m out drinking socially.” She then, rather hastily, as if she felt as though they couldn’t continue the current conversation fast enough, flicked her Bic and proceeded to take a visibly satisfying drag.

“So,” Molly continued, only now in a slightly sultry voice, “I’m guessing this is where Jung comes in?”

“Correct,” Toby Jay replied. “Almost everything in the diary, in some sense or another, is directly or indirectly related or perceived or interpreted through the lens of Jungian psychology. So much so, in fact, that in the book, I chose to name this present year – The Year of Mysterious Synchronicity.”

“Wow, cool,” Molly replied, as she took another satisfying drag.

“However,” Toby Jay continued in a tone of obvious caution, slightly squinting his eyes, “I had no idea, whatsoever, as to what sort of spiraling, cosmically interconnected Jungian rabbit hole I had actually entered. In fact, I’m still traveling through this rabbit hole right now, as we speak.”

Instantly, as if she had received a tiny shock, Molly’s entire body slightly flinched. And yet, she remained speechless, staring deep into Toby Jay’s dangerous, burning-blue eyes.

“Before I knew it,” Toby Jay continued, “I found myself deeply immersed in the study of ancient archetypes, which, in turn, morphed into an academic obsession with all things celestial, especially the various interpretations of the zodiac, particularly my sign Sagittarius, as well as my greatest nemesis, Cancer.”

Again, only this time, at the mere utterance of the word cancer, Molly, ever so slightly, flinched. Enthralled, she continued to peer deep into Toby Jay’s eyes.

“Furthermore,” Toby Jay continued without breaking verbal stride, “my quest for cosmic self-discovery, and this overriding interest in astrological symbols, in turn, entailed a corresponding knowledge of numerology.”

Suddenly, Molly’s eyes widened with wonder.

“Unexpectedly though, in the process of attempting to connect all the esoteric dots, I eventually realized that there was this really bizarre, but nonetheless undeniable, connection between numerology and conspiracy theory.”

With the mere mention of the word conspiracy, Molly’s eyes danced with intrigue.

“Just think about James Bond. What automatically pops into your head?”

“007,” said Molly in the tone of a loyal co-conspirator.

“Precisely,” said Toby Jay emphatically. “Now this Bond reference may seem simple and silly, but I’m telling you, there’s simply no way you can separate the numerology from the conspiracy. In fact, this is partly the reason why I’ve chosen not to write under my mundane name, but instead under a pseudonym.”

“Gee, I wonder what that might be?” Molly gleamed, glancing to the ceiling as though there was a galaxy of stars.

“It’s actually pretty cool.”

Indeed, it was then that Toby Jay took a big gulp of beer, stood up briefly to fetch from atop the bar, a flyer for the band Red Dirt Rangers, and then asked the busty, vampy waitress, who was standing nearby, for a pen.

“Here ya go sweetheart,” said the waitress.

“Hey, while you’re at it,” Toby Jay asked politely, “can you please grab me another Bud?”

“Sure thang, sweetie. Comin’ right up.”

So then, with pen in hand, Toby Jay flipped the flyer over and quickly, yet nonetheless decisively, scripted in full flare, (NASA rockets and druid numerology included) his majical pen name.

“Here ya go honey,” the waitress said, handing him his second beer of the night.

“Thank ya, ma’am,” Toby Jay nodded like a true gentleman, leaving a crisp two-dollar tip. He then took a huge chug, and sat back down at the bar with Molly, who appeared to be radiating with great expectations.

“The anticipation is positively killing me,” she said, not entirely kiddingly.

“OK…ready?” Toby Jay asked in the manner of a frisky George Clooney.

“Ready,” Molly smiled.

Consequently, it was then that Toby Jay flipped the flyer over to reveal his secret, occultist identity.

 

“Jesus, Jay,” Molly muttered in disbelief. She then began to stare deep into the majical inscription. “Christ, what exactly is that?”

“Well, it’s not a that, it’s a who. In short, it’s me…only I’m cloaked in the sacred symbology of all things profoundly esoteric,” Toby Jay tried to explain. Then, as Molly continued to stare into the majical inscription, he suggested, “You might, metaphorically speaking, think of it as a personified spiritual or cosmic shield of sorts.”

“So it is a that,” quickly Molly inferred.

“Well, I did say personified.”

“But a shield, nonetheless?”

“Correct.”

“Then it is a that!”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I insist,” said Molly playfully. She then, briefly, paused to take another look at the majical inscription. “So what possessed you?” she asked in a tone of pleasant puzzlement.

“Nothing, really. It wasn’t of my own doing.”

“What? Now I’m really confused. I thought this was supposed to be your alter-ego.”

“It is.”

“Then surely, you played a part?”

“Not really.”

“Care to explain?”

In turn, Toby Jay simply shrugged, and said, “Well, you probably won’t believe it. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. It’s pretty Twilight Zone-ish.”

“Try me,” Molly said, zealously.

“OK then, but again, you won’t believe me,” Toby Jay said in forewarning, chugging back a big gulp of brew. “But anyhow,” he continued, “earlier this year, I think around mid-June, I was sitting at my desk, reading books on numerology and conspiracy theory, when I suddenly realized that I couldn’t rightfully write under my own mundane name; that I had to write under an alias of sorts. So, for the remainder of the summer, deep in the back of my mind, I was trying to come up with the perfect nom de plume. Then, one night in late August, as I was sitting at my desk, reading this book about religious symbolism, this transcendent conduit of a voice suddenly spoke to me. Amazingly, right then, out of thin air, it was revealed to me that my rightful name was Otto Blaast.”

“Freaky,” Molly replied, intriguingly. “So you believe in voices, do you?”

“Certainly…and witchcraft as well.”

“So that’s why you said nothing was really of your own doing? Instead, this shield, or whatever I should call it, was given to you by some higher power?”

“As crazy as that may sound, yes…that’s exactly what happened. I was informed, directed…spoken to by a higher source.”

“Now, for the sixty-four thousand dollar question,” Molly mused, as she paused to savor another drag. “What exactly is this higher power?”

“For that, you’re gonna need a half pack of cigarettes and at least three more beers,” Toby Jay jested.

“It’s that interesting, eh?”

“I think so.”

“Please elaborate, Mr. Blaast.”

“Well then,” Toby Jay proceeded to explain, “this rather serpentine explanation ultimately begins back in grad school. Turns out, I couldn’t have written the book, if I hadn’t acquired the requisite concepts, if I hadn’t been thinking about these issues for quite some time. Ya see, I took this class in grad school called Metaphorical Theology, in which we studied the idea of god, almost exclusively, by way of metaphor. In the process, I began to develop an aversion to the generic term ‘god.’ To me, it had become almost bastardized; that is, so many things, so many opposing interpretations, seemed to fall under this one, singular place-holder, this thing we all call – god.

“OK,” Molly replied in a tone that said, “please, continue…”

“Now, over the last couple of years, due to all these bizarre events – synchronicities as I like to call them – I’ve come to believe that the concept of god, properly understood, necessarily involves the notion of active information. In fact, to anyone who would listen, I began to espouse the doctrine, ‘God is active information.’ Indeed, this became my main mantra, my first guiding theological posit or principle…again, ‘God is active information.’”

“Fascinating,” Molly marveled at the notion.

“Now, flashback to that mysterious August night, to when I was spoken to by the higher source or power, and informed that I was to assume the alias, Otto Blaast. See, for the longest time, I struggled with how exactly to connect the appropriate dots, how exactly to put all the puzzle pieces together in order to form a coherent, theological perspective. On the one hand, I had this view that god was not only, in essence, active information, but was also the creator of the space-time continuum. On the other hand, I had this direct encounter with this rich, inner voice. Now I felt it was important not to conflate the two; important to not commit what might turn out, in the end, to be a classic category mistake. Surely, this primordially creative, generative god of mine was not identical to the voice I’ve been alluding to. Yet, no doubt, it seemed to me that there was an obvious, intimate connection between the two. Eventually, I came to refer to the creative force of this cosmic equation as the Great Generator, and the corresponding informative vessel as the Great Voice.”

“All right,” Molly replied. “But I fail to see how Otto Blaast fits into to all this.”

“Well, I gather you’ve heard all about what Christians refer to as the Sacred Trinity?”

“Of course. Both of my parents are devout Irish Catholics. In fact, I attended private Catholic school my entire life, until I landed my scholarship here at OSU.”

“So you know all about the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit?”

“Yep, all about it. Even though, to be perfectly honest, I’ve never really completely understood the Trinity. It’s actually very hard to explain, right?”

“Agreed,” Toby Jay nodded in affirmation. “How, for instance, are these three, supposedly distinct, entities actually only One? Good luck with that ontological account,” he quipped, pausing to take a quick swig. “But to cut to the chase,” he continued, “you can think of my theological apparatus as just a heavily borrowed, but nonetheless new take on the original Christian conception of the Holy Trinity.”

“How so?” Molly inquired, squinting her eyes, as if she was struggling to understand.

“Well, within my theological framework, God the Father is replaced by the Great Generator, whereas the Holy Ghost is replaced by what I call the Great Voice.”

“Now Jay, don’t tell me…” Molly said incredulously, as though she suddenly sensed the presence of a New Age snake oil salesman.

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re the Son of God…that Christ, at least within this theological system of yours, has been replaced by Blaast.”

“Dang, you’re good…you’re really good. In fact, tomorrow I’m gonna talk to the Dean and have him triple that stipend of yours,” Toby Jay replied, facetiously. “But honestly,” he conceded, “I must admit I’m less than overjoyed about this. I’m not altogether comfortable with this implication, myself.”

 

 

Very earnestly, Molly peered deep into Toby Jay’s dangerous eyes and said, “If we’re going to continue this conversation, I’m definitely going to need another beer. Besides, I really need to use the girls’ room. So, hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

“OK, cool. Sounds good to me.”

Consequently, for the first time that night, Toby Jay found himself sitting solo at the bar. In doing so, he turned his bar stool around, facing the main pool table, and watched Jeffery smash the break, sinking a whopping four balls in the process.

Not long thereafter, David approached the bar to buy another Sam Adams.

“Looks like Jeff’s really on a roll,” noted Toby Jay.

“Yeah, the guy’s on fucking fire…absolutely unbeatable. I don’t think he’s missed a single shot all night, and he’s already on his third or fourth round. A real Willie Mosconi that guy is,” David muttered, as he knocked back a big gulp of lager.

But then, shortly after David moseyed back to his stool near the main table, a ludicrously cute college girl, sporting slightly darker than lavender hair and cheerleader-like pigtails, casually sauntered by. Impressively, she was wearing a vintage Jimi Hendrix Are You Experienced? T-shirt, perfectly tattered Levi’s jeans, and a purple pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers. With a long string of love beads draped around her neck, she appeared to be the archetypal New Age hippie chick.

Tempted to introduce himself, instead Toby Jay viewed her from afar, knowing that nothing could possibly come of it, since he was sworn to celibacy for the entire year. This did not, however, prevent him from fantasying privately in his own mind, while watching the hippie chick socialize with a vivacious pack of party people, most notably with a tall, thin, hipster dude, who was a dead-ringer for Jackson Browne, only wearing a big, round pair of T.S. Elliot-like glasses.

As a result, Toby Jay began to wonder what the chances were that this hippie chick, unlike the many he had previously laid, had a nicely manicured vagina. Indeed, this was the essential paradox: on the one hand, even more than the sporto or nerdy type, Toby Jay preferred the hippie chick prototype; yet, on the other hand, this usually entailed gross, hairy pussy. So, hippie chick was great in theory, at a distance, for enlightening geopolitical conversation and rock n roll camaraderie, but once she slipped her panties off, it was Puke City. She was, sexually speaking, utterly undesirable.

And since Toby Jay began to intuit from afar that this hippie chick was probably no different than all the rest, he soon turned his attention to a female he sensed would better fulfill his vaginal criteria. In fact, he would have bet the farm that this particular female was completely shaved, or at least had a tidy landing strip, or perhaps better yet, the proverbial pervert patch; that little patch of hair some girls leave two to three inches from the top of the vulva. Visually, this female checked all the boxes for indications of “a well-kept pussy”; that is to say, she had nicely styled hair in the fashion of Jennifer Aniston, pink immaculately manicured nails, and her makeup had been very tastefully applied. Most of all, though, she had a smile and corresponding glint in her eye that said she not only probably possessed a smooth vaginal surface, but was probably perfectly willing to perform anal. And as far as Toby Jay was concerned, this particular combination constituted a kind of sexual Holy Grail.

 

.   .   .

 

But then, a bit sooner than expected, Molly returned. “I’m back,” she said, holding a fresh draft beer, reaching for another cigarette.

“Hey, before we continue,” Toby Jay remarked, “I really want to thank you for having this conversation with me. To tell you the truth, I’m really a hermit at heart. And lately, I’ve tried to model my life after the ancient alchemists, who were extremely reclusive. Tonight, in fact, is the first time I’ve ventured outside my house in months. Believe it or not, you’re the first person I’ve discussed this stuff with. So, in all seriousness, thanks for hearing me out…thanks for taking the time to listen to all these crazy-ass theories of mine.”

“Oh no, it’s my pleasure,” said Molly. “It’s not every night I can come to Willie’s and sit down at the bar and have a nice chat with the Son of God himself,” she teased with a dimpled, irresistible grin, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a young Natalie Wood – that nose, those eyes, those lips, that impossibly adorable smile.

“Cute…very cute,” said Toby Jay dryly. “But seriously, to pick up where we left off, I feel like I really need to explain myself…this whole Otto Blaast aspect of my mission.”

“OK, let’s hear it,” Molly said, as she took a long, satisfying drag.

“Well, I know you’ll probably think this is really lame, not to mention entirely too complicated, but have you ever heard of string theory?”

“Funny you should ask,” Molly said in a tone that suggested the word ‘synchronicity’ instantly popped into her mind. “It just so happens that my favorite uncle, Earnest, actually teaches physics at the University of Texas. During summer breaks, one of my favorite things to do was sit in on his lectures. He’s a real kick-in-the-pants. He always performed these incredibly fascinating experiments; the most amazing things would happen right before my very eyes. And, believe it or not, one of his pet interests was string theory. Actually, his lectures on string theory were probably my favorite. Yet, a lot like the Trinity, I’m not really sure I understood things entirely. As I recall, string theory is some pretty abstract stuff.”

“Abstract, indeed,” Toby Jay replied. “But from the sound of it, you probably know as much as I do.”

“I seriously doubt that. I just know the basics, really. I’m certainly no expert on the matter. But yeah, I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp of the essentials.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“OK then,” Molly gladly acquiesced. She then paused to take a quick sip and another deep drag. “As I understand things, string theory was created to resolve a crisis in theoretical physics. On the one hand, you have Einstein’s baby, the Theory of Relativity, which works really well on the macro level, like explaining space-travel and the rotation of the planets. Yet, on the other hand, you have quantum theory, which was designed to explain the bizarre behavior of tiny, sub-atomic particles. But unfortunately, these two theories are fundamentally at odds with one another, thus the crisis. So far so good?” Molly inquired.

“So far, so good” Toby Jay responded, supportively.

“Now, as I recall,” Molly continued, somewhat hesitantly, “the source of this dispute had something to do with faster-than-light signaling, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Precisely,” Toby Jay ardently affirmed. “Actually, Einstein referred to this quantum phenomena as `spooky’ action-at-a-distance; it was this sort of thing that gave Einstein nightmares. Of course, nothing can travel faster than the speed of light…or so Einstein professed. And yet, in various experimental settings, this spooky signaling has actually been confirmed or verified as a natural fact. So, what gives?” Toby Jay provoked. 

Immediately, Molly inquired, “Isn’t this weird signaling also referred to as ‘quantum entanglement?’”

“Well, not really. Technically speaking, quantum entanglement doesn’t necessarily imply faster-than-light signaling. So here, it’s probably best just to stick to the spooky stuff.”

“OK, back to the spooky stuff,” Molly agreed, as she paused for a quick drag. 

“So,” she continued, “due to this spooky sub-atomic signaling, a crisis naturally emerged. I mean, you can’t have two giant theories that are, at root, incompatible, at least where the speed of light is concerned. So, in order to reconcile these two theories, scientists set out in search of the TOE, otherwise known as the Theory of Everything, which, as I recall, is generally regarded as the Holy Grail in modern, contemporary physics. Correct?”

“Correct,” Toby Jay affirmed.

In turn, Molly continued, “Now here, if I’m not mistaken, it’s thought that if someone could somehow harmonize the macro world with the micro world; you know, reconcile the Theory of Relativity with quantum mechanics, they would have, in effect, explained virtually everything. Right?” again Molly inquired.

“Right,” Toby Jay replied. Then, in his best faux-hick voice, he added facetiously, “Boy howdy, sounds like your old uncle Earnest really learned ya well.”

In turn, Molly just chuckled and continued by saying, “So eventually, in order to create this grand, unified theory, scientists started to appeal to the idea of superstrings; the physical universe is, in essence, comprised of nothing but these tiny little strings. And though this may strike some as absurd, string theory is actually founded upon an elegant mathematical system, which is proving to be remarkably consistent with the real world. Correct?” Molly, once again, inquired.

“Perfectly,” Toby Jay responded, rather resoundingly, thinking to himself, “Man, Molly might just be the most impressive person I’ve met since grad school.”

“But, as my uncle Earnest would warn, despite all this hope for profitable or unifying explanations, new problems emerged.” At this point, Molly paused to take another drag. “Unfortunately,” she continued, “I don’t remember all these problems. However, I do recall that there was this really weird consequence…that in order to make the mathematics work, scientists were forced to assume the existence of numerous, entirely unseen, dimensions. As I recall, things began with a ten-dimensional schema, but eventually ballooned all the way up to a twenty-dimensional theory. Am I remembering this correctly?” asked Molly.

“Yes, absolutely,” Toby Jay affirmed, vehemently. “In fact, this is precisely why I brought up string theory in the first place. It’s this issue of added dimensions that’s at the very heart of my justification of the Otto Blaast aspect of my mission.”

“Hmm…how so?” Molly mused, as she took a quick sip.

“Well, let’s recap. In the quest for a unified theory, scientists found promise in string theory, largely due to certain mathematical symmetries. Yet, the cost of this apparent symmetry was the rather undesirable – anti-Occam’s Razor – postulation of a multitude of highly speculative dimensions. In other words, there’s an obvious unappealing price to be paid for this apparent harmony; this being the rather extravagant and ultimately undesirable postulation of a whole host of counter-empirical entities or dimensions,” said Toby Jay, who then paused to take an elongated gulp.

“Yeah, well, I really don’t see where you’re going with this,” said Molly, quizzically.

“Well, to cut to the chase, given my theoretical framework, Otto Blaast is a lot like those added dimensions. Or, in other words, Otto Blaast is, in some ways, an undesirable aspect that, nonetheless, helps to harmonize or unify other related aspects or concerns. In order to complete my new-fangled conception of the Trinity, Otto Blaast was a necessary, yet obviously uneasy, consequence of previous theological commitments; these being, of course, the Great Generator and the Great Voice. Again, neither Otto Blaast nor the added dimensions are ideally desirable; yet they’re necessary to harmonize all things concerned – to create conceptual cohesion.”

“Yeah…OK…I think I sorta get it now,” Molly replied. “Given your prior theological framework, it makes sense to infer that the name that was bestowed upon you was meant to complete the Trinity. Otto Blaast as the completion of the Trinity…pretty good, right? In fact, you might want to quote me on that someday,” said Molly, teasingly.

“Indeed, I will,” Toby Jay replied. “In fact, the way this conversation is going, I reckon I’ll be quoting you on several accounts.”

“Really?” Molly replied, earnestly.

“Really.”

“Truly, it would be an honor, Mr. Blaast.” She then stood up, took a quick sip, and suggested, “How about I put a few coins in the jukebox?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Got any requests?”

“Well, I doubt this jukebox has “Bennie and the Jets” or “Levon,” which is what I’d really like to hear right now. So, barring that, how ‘bout some Dwight Yoakum, preferably “Guitars, Cadillacs” and something from The Dead, like “Friend of the Devil.””

“OK, comin’ right up.”

 

.   .   .

 

Soon, Molly returned. Immediately, she suggested, “Hey, I noticed that there was a booth in the back. How ‘bout I go tell Jeff where I’ll be, and we’ll meet up in the back?”

“That’s fine by me,” replied Toby Jay, who then decided to purchase yet another Bud longneck.

Afterwards, as Molly suggested, Toby Jay promptly headed to the back of the bar. Sure enough, in the very back, there was a singularly open black leather booth.

When Molly returned, she effortlessly slid into the booth and proceeded to take a savory sip of beer. She then confessed, “I’ve got to admit, Jay, this whole Otto Blaast thing is really starting to grow on me. It just seems like there is so much symbolism built into this one name or thing,” she said with emphasis, as she paused to take a drag. “I mean, there’s all these meanings spinning around in my mind.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Toby Jay, enthusiastically. “I’m actually very curious as to how your interpretations might mesh with mine.”

“Well, when I first saw the signature, I automatically thought – Big Bang! But then, I flashed back to my childhood, back to when I used to stay up on Christmas Eve and watch midnight mass at The Vatican. I already told you I went to Catholic school, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I was always mesmerized by all the adornments surrounding the Pope. Everything was either circular or in the shape of a cross, much like your Otto Blaast signature. I mean, there are three T’s and two O’s. Correct?”

“That’s very observant of you,” said Toby Jay.

It was then that Molly treated herself to another sip and drag. She then continued by saying, “But you have to admit, this whole Otto Blaast thing has a certain profane aspect to it as well.”

“Profane…like how, exactly?” Toby Jay inquired.

“Like masturbation for one. I mean, Otto Blaast sounds like some sort of alpha-male porn star from Blade Runner. Heck man, it’s the best futuristic porn name ever!”

Naturally, Toby Jay busted out in laughter. But, of course, he was not about to reveal to Molly how spot-on her interpretation really was. That is, he was not about to share his perennial obsession with pornography, nor inform her that he was actually an aficionado. So instead, he addressed what appeared to be the obvious oddity here, namely Molly herself, who looked so impossibly young, and yet was so amazingly bright and well-informed.

“I know it’s not proper to ask a lady how old she is,” said Toby Jay sheepishly. “But you look entirely too young to be having this conversation.”

“I know,” said Molly. “I get that all the time.” She then went on to give a very brief summary of the past four to five years of her life, which began with the somewhat startling fact that she had actually tested out of high school at the age of fifteen and now was currently a sophomore at OSU.

“So I’m nineteen,” Molly finally confessed.

“So how the hell did you get in here?”

“Fake ID.”

“Oh great, so I’m a witness to a juvenile crime,” Toby Jay jested. He then paused to take a big swig. But, immediately thereafter, he playfully remarked, “So if I’m a real wise guy, then that must make you a genuine smarty-pants.”

“Actually, you’ll never believe this, but my uncle Earnest nicknamed me, Mollymath, as a play on the word polymath.”

“Nope, I believe you, all right.”

Molly then went on to reveal that she was an official member of Mensa International and that she was once one of the top-ranked junior chess players in America. She also mentioned that she had received offers from Stanford and Cal Berkeley, but felt it wise to remain relatively close to her home base in Austin, Texas.

“I wanted to get out and experience the world, go on the road, on a journey, but just not so far from home,” Molly explained. “After all, I had just turned sixteen…just got my driver’s license, you know. But I have to admit, it didn’t hurt that OSU offered to pay for absolutely everything. So far, school wise at least, I haven’t had to pay a dime.”

“Wow, sweet deal. Indeed, that’s very, very impressive.”

“Yeah, I count my blessings,” said Molly, who then paused to take a robust drink from her red Solo Cup. She then continued by saying, “You know, it strikes me as strange that we’ve been talking about this book of yours for some time now, and I don’t even know what the heck it’s called. Wouldn’t supposed that’s top-secret, esoteric information as well?” slyly Molly smiled.

“Actually, it kinda is,” Toby Jay said with a straight face. “In fact, the story behind the title is just as bizarre, if not more so, as the story behind my alias.”

“Not the Great Voice again?”

“Yep, the Great Voice again. Only this time, the circumstances were far more strange and mysterious. At least when my alias was revealed, it was something I had been thinking about. The title, on the other hand, came to me completely out of the blue, two years prior to my actual undertaking the book. So, in this case, there was zero context.”

“Whoa, that is strange,” said Molly, taking a quick drag.

“Well, I’ll never forget the day,” Toby Jay tried to explain. “It was November of ’94, right around Thanksgiving, when suddenly, as I was sprawled out on the sofa, watching MTV, the Great Voice spoke and informed me that I was to write a book in the coming years, and that the title of this book was to be Gold Connections.”

Immediately, Molly remarked, “That’s a really cool name. It sounds very dignified. Again, I’m reminded of The Vatican. Have you ever noticed that all those circles and crosses I was referring to earlier are almost always gold? To me, gold is very noble…the very pillar of human civilization, actually.”

“Gee, thanks. I love your interpretation. That’s very kind of you.”

“So tell me,” Molly inquired, “what’s your interpretation?”

“There’s not enough time in the day…or in this case, night.”

“Oh, come on, just use a little Occam’s Razor.”

“Well, if I gave you the whole story, I’m sure, afterwards, you’d want to take a razor to Occam’s Razor,” said Toby Jay, who then proceeded to take a big chug of Bud. “But OK, if you insist,” he continued, “I’ll try to make it brief.”

“First, as for the word gold, it actually took me quite some time to figure things out, though the meanings were right there under my nose the entire time. Yet, it took time to develop the proper context in which to make these rather obvious implications clearly evident. But, like most things significant, the realization came to me all at once. In a flash, I finally realized the obvious, that is, there are literally three words that are part and parcel of the word – gold; three very powerful words at that. Of course, you’ve got ‘go’ and ‘old’ and ‘god.’ Which now, in retrospect, is mind-blowingly appropriate, given that a big part of my book deals with resurrecting old gods, like Jupiter and Zeus. So, aside from God is active information, I now had another motto, ‘Go old gods!’”

Immediately, Molly busted out in laughter. “Sounds like you’re a cheerleader for all those lost, largely forgotten deities of yore.”

“I’d certainly like to think so,” Toby Jay replied, knocking back a big chug, as John Prine’s soulful “Angel From Montgomery” was blaring in the background. He then continued by saying, “Now, as for the word connections, it has a much more modern, contemporary connotation. It’s really one of the new catchwords of the Computer Age. Just recently, almost everyone has acquired their own personal computer; people are now connecting with one another all across the world. So the term connections, little did I know at the time, is actually the perfect contemporary compliment to the much more ancient implications of the term gold. Now, in retrospect, I’ve finally come to realize, after pondering over this for quite some time, that the title of the book was meant to fuse the ancient with the new-fangled; to create a grand synthesis of all things young and old, where the sign of Sagittarius is trending on AOL and the mythology of Zeus is zooming through the circuitry of Apple computers.”

“You know, this is at least the second time you’ve mentioned the sign Sagittarius. So, would I be correct in assuming that your birth sign is going to play an important role in this tale of Jungian inspired self-discovery?” Molly inquired.

“Absolutely. In fact, the sign Sagittarius is at the very heart of my work. Symbolically, it’s arguably the richest, most complex, and compelling sign in the zodiac.”

“Well, both of my older brothers are Sags. So, I know all about you guys – the good, the bad, and the ugly,” Molly chuckled.

“Pardon me?” Toby Jay quickly countered, incredulously. “For your information, there are no ugly aspects. Even our negative traits tend to be somewhat endearing.”

“Hmm…since when has being a foolish, gluttonous, bigot ever been endearing?”

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of being extremely blunt…opinionated…self-righteous…and over-the-top extravagant.”

“That’s the merely bad, not so much the ugly,” said Molly. “But I have to give it to you Sags,” she said in consolation, “you guys are the quintessential philosophers. You guys also tend to be very generous, not to mention naturally athletic and optimistic. But if I had to sum up you Sags in two words, they’d probably be ‘expansive’ and ‘freedom-loving.’ From what I’ve read, it’s next to impossible to get a centaur to walk down the aisle. Shoot, you guys give an entirely new meaning to the phrase, ‘Don’t fence me in,’” again Molly chuckled, as Willie Nelson’s anthem “On the Road Again” was now roaring from the old Wurlitzer.

“Well, that much is certainly true,” replied Toby Jay, pausing to take another big chug of Bud. “But enough about me,” he continued, “I’m curious, what’s your sign?”

“Aquarius.”

“Hmm…turns out, I know all about you as well. So I reckon it’s my turn to offer a pointed critique?”

“I guess,” said Molly, reluctantly. “But can you make it quick? I’d really like to get back to this blasphemous book of yours.”

“Certainly,” Toby Jay replied, as he knocked back another big swig. “Shall I start with the good, the bad, or the ugly?”

“The bad. And for brevity’s sake, you can just skip over the ugly, if you don’t mind?”

“Well then, as for the merely bad, you Aquarians tend to be decidedly deviant, even downright subversive. Furthermore, you tend to embody a curious blend of aloofness and insubordination.”

“So,” quickly Molly inquired, “are you suggesting I become a politician or spy?”

Of course, Toby Jay couldn’t help but bust out in laughter. “Actually,” he responded, “the way things are trending nowadays, combining biochemistry with espionage might not be such a bad idea.” But he then continued, “However, on the positive flip-side, you Aquarians also tend to be very progressive, futuristic and naturally apt to become trailblazers where modern invention is concerned. Did you know Thomas Edison was an Aquarian?”

“I did not,” Molly replied. “But I probably should have, since Edison is one of my uncle’s favorite historical figures.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Toby Jay inquired. “But your uncle Earnest wouldn’t happen to be a huge, old-school Star Trek fan?”

“Actually, he’s a big fan of both. But yeah, you’re probably right. He probably favors the old-school stuff over The Next Generation,” said Molly, as she stopped to take a quick sip. “I’m curious, why did you ask?”

“Aw, just tryin’ to put my intellectual intuitions to the test, that’s all,” said Toby Jay, dismissively.

“So I’m curious,” said Molly, who then paused to take a deep, satisfying drag. “What brought a guy like you to a town like Stillwater?” She then quickly added, “I bet that’s a real doozy of a story,” as she downed her very last sip.

“Yeah, it’s a real humdinger, all right,” said Toby Jay stoically.

“Well then, I’m definitely going to need another beer.”

“OK, but this one’s on me.”

“Oh no, you really don’t have to…”

“I insist,” Toby Jay averred. “Are you kidding? You’re like the brightest person I’ve ever met, not to mention this is, by far, the best, most cathartic conversation I’ve had in years. So yeah, from here on out, the drinks are on me.” He then asked, “So what kinda draft?”

“Coors Light.”

“OK, Coors Light it is.”

So Toby Jay slid out from the black booth, then said, “Hold the fort down, I’ll be back in a flash,” and promptly headed straight to the bar.

“What would you like, sweetheart?” asked the busty, vampy waitress.

“I’ll take another Bud longneck. But this time, can you please get me a Coors Light draft as well?”

“You bet, sweetie,” the waitress said with a wink.

 

.   .   .

 

“Watch it…it’s pretty full,” warned Toby Jay, as he handed Molly a red Solo Cup filled to the brim with still sudsy draft.

“Gee, thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Then, wasting no time, Molly said, “So let’s hear this doozy story of yours,” while savoring her first taste of fresh draft.

“OK, buckle up,” Toby Jay warned, knocking back a big chug of Bud. He then continued by saying, “There were basically two factors that led me to Stillwater…the first being the current real estate market. Ya see, I came into a very large sum of money from an insurance settlement, and, of course, I wanted to invest my money wisely. Now, at the time, the real estate market in Norman was super inflated. Otherwise, I’d probably be in Norman right now. But it just so happened that the market was perfect for me, here in Stillwater. So I sank the bulk of my money into two properties; a very small house, and a very large house. In fact, my large property, you’ve probably already seen before.” He then turned to the west side of the bar and said, “Just up the street from here, at the top of Washington Street, you’ve probably seen the big two-story house with the sign out front – Westing Manor?”

“No way, you really own that?” Molly asked, disbelievingly.

“Yep, sure do.”

“Boy, that must have been quite the settlement, eh?”

“Yeah, but I was actually awarded over twice as much,” bitterly Toby Jay replied, as he knocked back another big gulp. “Turns out,” he continued, “the old crooked fart of a judge refused to let the jury’s verdict stand. So, the insurance company attempted to wait me out, hoping I would die in the process, but they eventually settled like eight years later.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what…?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” quickly Toby Jay anticipated. “I was hit by a drunk driver and broke my C-5 vertebrae. Here,” he pointed out, “can you see the bullet-hole-like scars on my forehead?”

“Oh my God,” Molly reacted rather dramatically. “Looks like they put you in one of those awful halo braces?”

 

(Click Here to View Case)

“Halo brace, indeed,” said Toby Jay stoically. “Actually, it was pretty gross. I could barely get around. But the worst part was that I couldn’t take a shower, so when they eventually took the brace off, there was layer after layer of old rotten, dead skin.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Molly said sympathetically. “That must have been extremely traumatic.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not one to throw a pity party,” said Toby Jay, as he choked back another big chug. “Actually, I feel very blessed to have survived such a violent crash, without any notable deficits. And to tell you the truth, I’ve always been uncomfortable talking about my own suffering. I guess I’m a pick-yourself-up-by-your-boot-straps kinda guy.”

“That’s admirable enough,” said Molly, who then took a quick sip and promptly asked, “So then, what’s the second factor?”

“Oh boy, this is where things get truly bizarre,” Toby Jay confessed. “Believe it or not, the second guiding factor was the SPI station. In fact, the SPI lies at the very heart of my mission. If it weren’t for SPI radio, I might very well have landed elsewhere.”

 

“How so?” asked Molly, looking rather perplexed.

“Again, this is where things get pretty weird. And I’m really not sure I can do things justice. I’m reasonably sure I’ll sound like some sort of kooky tin-foil-hat quack. But if you really want to know…”

“Of course I want to know,” quickly Molly said, as she tilted her head back to take a deeper than normal drag.

“Well, as I recall, everything really began when I returned home from seeing Guided by Voices in Dallas. Strangely, shortly after my return, tons of insanely weird shit started to happen to me. Now, of course, I couldn’t begin to recount all these bizarre events. However, looking back, there is one happening that always immediately comes to mind,” Toby Jay paused for a quick sip. “This happening,” he continued, “occurred when I was living in Edmond on historic University Street. Still to this day, I can, very vividly, recall the SPI station was airing the late night CD of the Week program, which this particular week was featuring The Jesus and Mary Chain’s Psychocandy. Now I can’t remember which specific song was playing at the time of this happening, but Psychocandy was nonetheless blaring through my windows and my front door, which was wide open,” Toby Jay dramatically gestured. “So, I decided to step outside, onto the concrete steps, right outside my apartment, just to sorta chill and enjoy some cool night air. Now, mind you, at the time, I was on this ultra-high, having just seen GbV in Dallas. So you’ll just have to trust me here, I was on this completely indescribable spiritual plane,” Toby Jay tried to explain, pausing to take an especially deep drink. “Anyway, the stage is set…I’m chilling outside my apartment, looking north toward Stillwater, staring into this red traffic light on University Street, when suddenly, at the instant I felt myself merge with my immediate surroundings and my own perception seemed to actually penetrate directly into this red light, everything blacked out! I shit you not, Molly, the entire street just blacked out. In fact, to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I immediately ran inside and asked my girlfriend at the time, Isabelle, to come outside and verify that University Street was, in fact, blacked out. Sure enough, she confirmed that the traffic lights were, indeed, blacked out.”

“Holy crap,” Molly gasped. “This sounds like something straight out of a Philip K. Dick novel. You know, where the distinction between mind and matter is unsettlingly blurred?”

“Yeah, I know,” Toby Jay responded. “No doubt, this was a truly definitive moment in my life. In fact, I felt as if I had been directly spoken to in this astonishingly profound, yet completely mysterious way. From that moment on, I found myself under the spell of the SPI. And now, looking back, I realize that my mission was actually being guided by the SPI, all along. However, it wasn’t until I purchased the small house I referred to earlier that everything, including this life-altering blackout, finally came together and began to make perfect sense.”

“Hmm…how so?” Molly inquired.

“Remember that Jungian rabbit hole I mentioned earlier?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I’m about to take you – as a guest, of course – through this rabbit hole, right now.”

“Why do I feel like I should be very afraid?”

“Well, I did say guest, did I not?”

“Yes, you did. But these things…these rabbit holes tend to have residual effects, do they not?”

“Indeed they do. So perhaps…”

“Not a chance,” quickly Molly countered, “I’ve come this far…I’m not about to turn back now,” as she proceeded to take a decidedly long drag.

“OK then,” Toby Jay acquiesced. “Like I said, everything began to come together and make perfect sense, shortly after I purchased the small property, which is now my present home. Ya see, when I finally decided to sink the bulk of my money into the Stillwater real estate market, I contacted a realtor. In turn, I instructed him to find me a little one-bedroom house I could call my own, so I could save most of my money for the purchase of a much larger property, like Westing Manor. Now my realtor, who turned out to be a total godsend, was right up front with me, from the very start. In so many words, he said that this was going to be a very tall task, since there were very few one-bedroom houses in Stillwater, let alone ones that were relatively close to the campus – this being one of my few demands. However, in early March of last year, I received a call from my realtor, alerting me that a one-bedroom house, reasonably close to campus, had just hit the market. Sure enough, it was exactly what I was looking for, although admittedly the house was in pretty rough shape. Yet, with it being surrounded by all these majestic trees, I saw tons of potential. Quickly, then, I sank well over thirty thousand dollars into it, the result being a tiny, modern-day alchemically inspired digs of sorts.

 

 

Now, admittedly, I went a bit overboard, especially with the chandeliers and the custom-made window treatments. But there’s no doubt it’s one of the most captivating one-bedroom homes in America,” Toby Jay asserted emphatically, pausing for a quick drink. “However,” he continued, “shortly after I completed the renovation process, and began to settle into my new lifestyle here in Stillwater, I started to suspect something was not quite right with my neighbor across the street…this old lady, who I had previously just written off as overly eccentric. But now, no longer preoccupied by all the distractions surrounding the replacement of the roof and windows and flooring and such, I finally had the time to closely observe my neighbor. Soon, I began to suspect something rather sinister. And yet, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Continually, I struggled with these, seemingly very paranoid, suspicions of mine.”

“But there must have been something, right? Molly inquired. “I mean, this old lady had to have done something to illicit these intuitions of yours.”

“Oh yeah,” Toby Jay responded. “There were actually several things. And when taken in total, they didn’t appear to add up.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Well, for starters, she would get into her old green Oldsmobile, usually right before sunset, and rev the engine extremely loud, but never actually leave for town. After a while, I began to suspect these revving rituals of hers were being used to summon certain supernatural forces.”

“Now Jay, you have to admit, this does sound pretty kooky.”

“I know. But that’s just for starters. There’s actually a lot more.”

“OK, I’m listening.”

“Really, what first struck me as strange was this window on the south side of her home; a window clearly visible from the street. At night, this window would light up with this eerie glow of actual hellfire; this deep, menacing, yet strangely vibrant red. But weirder still, from afar, it appeared as though this window was oddly deformed or warped, like it had somehow been melted from within.”

“Creepy,” replied Molly, taking a serious drag.

“Yeah, but it gets better…or creepier shall I say,” said Toby Jay. “Ya see, one night, my curiosity got the best of me, so I crossed the street to investigate the matter. With this overwhelming sense of trepidation in my every step, I slowly, very cautiously, approached this window. Now, immediately, I became bewitched by its wrinkled, grim glow. But thankfully, I eventually snapped out of this spell, and continued my investigation. In doing so, not but ten to fifteen feet from this completely inexplicable window, I soon approached the side door that this old lady likes to use, usually right before she performs one of those ghastly revving rituals. And I shit you not, Molly, I looked up and locked onto to this Mickey Mouse sticker. No fucking joke, in the center of the upper glass portion of this side door, which was shrouded with all these long, skinny trees, there was this sticker of Mickey fucking Mouse. Of course, I instantly froze in my tracks, thinking to myself, ‘What the fuck? This lady is downright demented!’” Toby Jay dramatically explained.

 

 

“What the hell?” Molly asked, slightly dipping down to take a quick sip.

“Precisely,” Toby Jay affirmed, sensing that Molly was slowly, but surely, growing more sympathetic. “Now get this,” he continued, “with even greater trepidation, I, as silently as possible, made my way back to the garage, or bat cave, as I like to call it. Eventually, I approached the tail end of her old green Oldsmobile, which, for your information, I affectionately call the Evil Green Machine.”

 

 

“Affectionately, eh?” said Molly, rather sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, you can blame the British in me.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Townsend.”

“Yep, that’s quite British, all right. Don’t suppose you’re any relation to Pete?”

“Probably, somewhere down the line, I suppose. But to tell you the truth, I really haven’t the slightest…”

“OK, sorry for the diversion. It’s just that I have this obsession with all things British.”

“Well, join the club,” Toby Jay affirmed, taking a quick sip. “But anyhow,” he continued, “as I approached the tail end of this old green Battlelac of hers, I noticed that there was this sticker

 

stuck to the upper portion of the back windshield. Now this sticker was in a University-like font, and said “The Principia” in green and was trimmed in gold. So immediately, I’m thinking to myself, ‘What the hell? The Principia, huh?’”

“Actually,” Molly quickly replied, “that’s the name of perhaps the greatest work ever penned in the natural sciences. I’m sure you’re probably already familiar with Sir Isaac Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, right?”

“Indeed, I am. In fact, I had to digest that work very thoroughly for a philosophy of science seminar, back when I was in grad school. And I definitely agree, it’s arguably the single most important scientific treatise ever penned,” Toby Jay affirmed, pausing for another drink. “But guess what?” he provoked.

“What?”

“After doing a bit of research, I’m almost certain that this sticker is connected to this school for Christian Scientists, which was founded by this lady named Mary Morgan, back around the turn of the century.”

“So this old lady is a member of the Church of Christian Science?”

“Yup. In fact, she confessed to teaching Sunday school at the Stillwater chapter.”

“Confessed?” Molly inquired. “So you’ve actually spoken to this Principia lady?”

“Many times,” said Toby Jay, straightly. “But hold your horses, I’ll get to that a bit later. Heck, you don’t wanna ruin the story now, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“OK then,” said Toby Jay, somewhat sharply, as he proceeded to take another sip. He then, in his best mystery voice, said, “So now the plot thickens…”

“How so?”

“Well, not long after I started putting two-and-two together, I got this knock on my door. Now, mind you, it’s the Fourth of July, and I’m drinkin’ up a storm, rockin’ out to The Stones’ Some Girls, having a good old time, right. Well, I open the door, and much to my surprise, it was my ex-girlfriend, Isabelle. Out of fucking nowhere, she just shows up at my front doorstep…on the Fourth of July, nonetheless!” Toby Jay exclaimed, chugging back more brew. “Now, even though we parted on very sour terms, I was willing to put the past behind us, and try to make a real go of it; so we both agreed to give our relationship one last shot. In doing so, very quickly, we began to bond; both of us worked tirelessly, day and night, painting and refurbishing Westing Manor. As I recall, there were a lot of hot summer nights, tons of Corona beer, and just this general frolicking all about,” said Toby Jay, flailing his arms, then pausing for another quick swig.

“Anyhow, I eventually began to share with Isabelle my suspicions about this old lady. In turn, she began to investigate the matter herself; so one night she did precisely what I had done…she crossed the street in the dead of night to inspect the window, and the two stickers. And when she returned, I’ll never…ever forget her response,” said Toby Jay, who then gave a lengthy, dramatic pause as his eyes continued to burn an incendiary blue.

“Well, what did she say?”

“She suggested that we break into the house.”

“Seriously?” Molly said, shocked. “But what if you guys got caught? I mean, you could go to jail for that, right?”

“Sure could.”

“Holy crap,” Molly cried. “I think I’m going to need another beer.”

“Heck, I haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet,” said Toby Jay playfully.

Synchronously enough, at that very moment, a rather slutty-looking, yet nonetheless very helpful, waitress passed by.

“Miss,” said Toby Jay to the waitress. “Can you bring me another Bud, please, and a Coors Light draft for the little lady here?”

“Sure thing,” said the waitress with an accommodating smile. “But give me a minute,” she said in parting, “as you can see, we’re super slammed.”

“OK, no hurry.”

However, right after the waitress turned for the bar, there was a notably awkward period of silence. Indeed, it was evident that Molly had become completely captivated by this conversation, and yet at the same time, subtly shaken. She, however, was the first to break the silence.

“So did you guys break in?” very squarely Molly asked.

Get The Golden Key: Gain Access To The Ultimate Occultist Rabbit Hole – featuring Aleister Crowley, Jack Parsons, L. Ron Hubbard, and, of course, Principia herself.