Thats right Wooooow isnt that great Whats the end of that line?
Princess? No that doesnt rhyme. Too late, how come I didnt notice it didnt rhyme? If I say something now that doesnt rhyme, its gonna teeeeeeaaaaaaaaar ya in halves like a capeline! Gotta say something that rhymes right now Whatd I say?
Ooooops That wasnt me God help me I swear on my ass! Too late
3. This is for those who tried to practice (as true theorists) both step 1 and step 2 and, cussing and swaying on their feet, said Hell, somebody shoulda given me a warning. They dont make these pants anymore what am I gonna wear now?
Its worth giving a gentle reminder that putting a spell based on your own power is a little exhausting and that nobody does it that way anymore, except maybe when theyre in battle and all staffs and wands are already gone but the enemy in your rifle sight keeps coming out the woodwork, a situation you cant describe without cussing.
And, as a matter of fact, in magic academies you can hear people on the sidelines say that everything good is done not by the magician but on behalf of their astral roof (or their astral basement if their design preferences lie that way).
And, scratching their noggins, still smoking from steps 1 and 2, they leaf rapidly through a catalogue of astral roofs, basements, and oh so tiny mezzanines.
Those still in a position to stay in position pick what they want and then (feeling something bad about to come up after they practiced yelling the name of the roof and put on their least favorite pants and, come to think of it, slippers) proceed to step proceed
4. Well, they dont anymore they used to but boy does it drag you all over the pentacle!
Those who said it couldnt get any worse than step 3 are SNOT-NOSED KIDS!
Its quite another thing under the astral roof: when it comes crushing down on you, once and for all,
you understand you not only realized but are dead sure now that, hell, even though you were wrong about step 2 and especially so step 1, you were saying all those things about which step was it? Well, go find it yourselves Im just fine as I am, lying here on the blood-soaked mat like a meat pancake
When youre boxing with the floor, the ceiling, and the asphalt (whats the asphalt doing here? whatever, never mind), you begin to suspect vaguely that you forgot something something is missing, but theres nothing you can do so you move on to step
5. But the body takes its toll. The bastard wants to live so you understand that you aint never gonna drivethat clunker again or almost never. And even if you do jump in, you wont jump out the earth punches hard when it hits your face.
Perhaps youll lie down instead And why did they hang me out to dry?
Were a team here, right? Why am I the only one on the grind?
Look how many slackers we have cmon, get your ass in gear (dont go over the top with foul language; after all, were making a spell for the posterity what do you think they will make of it?)
Lay em here
They look just fine lying here. Not moving a muscle! Theyre real pros, looking alive the way they do. Their pictures oughta be in the textbooknext to Where it is thin, there it breaks.
After twenty or so passes (you were dying to cast a love-spell on the princess of a shabby empire; everyone was at least when they were still alive), it occurs to you that, just to be on the safe side, you should back up each system component and stabilize the channel, starting, while the going is good, with some three courp I mean, magicians.
Hurray, at least some folks survived the spell-casting.
True, half the mountain range is gone after all, and the island sits at a tilt, but what does matter is that the princess is in love yes, with everybody at once, but thats just a trifling side effect.
But now we can move on to step
Boy, I still remember how to count!
6. If you think about it thinking is something you need to do at step 6the clay tablets say the same written.. I mean carved two thousand years ago before AD before people came along dragons those that were left because they didnt get enough training and couldnt fly to otherworlds
Hell, Im so confused.
Never mind, you get the idea. Why make an apple when theres plenty around?
Just make sure its the right time and the right
place Theres a princess crossing the road dig those legs, right in front of a speeding truck, and here I come, on my white dra I mean, white hor
turns out Im a paramedic in white no, its too late to be a paramedic, the princess will never be the same now that shes just a heap of bones white, white white what? Got it a Mercedes. I wedged it in with a flourish between the truck and her, now shes indebted to me till the day she days, but what does she owe me? Were talking five years here, no less. No, its not a rape, guardian angels are supposed to
All right, a white truck. I swung the wheel with all might, directing the truck to a wall, a white one thats why the truck is white but the princess its all love mission complete and theres no backlash to speak of, although the truck thinks otherwise but hey, whos asking the truck?
After you practice step 6, changing the princess about a dozen times, step 7 logically follows.
7. Stay away from spell-casting theres a bunch of princesses out there, and at least one of them is yours especially if you
or she is your basically, its all the same all you have to do is give one of her sidesa polish
Thats how magicians get to be stalkers.
At least, those of them who survive, of course.
The key difference between magicians as we know them and stalkers is that stalkers dont reinvent the wheel or break through the tunnel of probabilities but take the existing paths and upward streams to go, with the greatest of ease, to the place the world needs them to be at the moment, playing the part the world needs them to play.
And the Traveler has enough roles and scenes
Chapter 3. Dont youget smart with me show mewith your finger where it is
Just kidding Heres one you might know
The Arctic Ocean The weather is windy, snowy, and the sky hangs cloudy 100 yards above. A Chukchi man bobs in a kayak on the lead-colored waves. He sits hunched up over the water, fishing for something that has no compass to migrate to Sochi or Turkey.
All of a sudden, the water gets all rough and bubbling, and a US submarine comes up and swings a hatch open. The captain climbs out, wearing a black coat, produces a phrasebook, and starts saying Im a second-rank captain, and who are you? in the dialects of Extreme North peoples. The Chukchi squints at him shortsightedly and, trying in vain to lift his head up, something hed never done because hed never had to, looks at him askance like a regular Russian pop singer and asks him, in perfect English, the same question geologists ask when someone comes upon them on the third day of their search for oil in bottle crates.
What the f do you want, soldier?
The captain replies, bewildered, trying to speak English as well as the Chukchi, Would Sir Chukchi be so kind as to tell me the way to God-blessed America?
The Chukchi says, Course south-southeast, 250 miles, and be careful with those jars near the shore. The flabbergasted captain gloomily climbs down into the hatch and vanishes out of sight. The Chukchi keeps right on fishing for something that had gotten too hot in the tropics and, if the horoscopes can be trusted, returned to cool down to make a good snack for your beer.
The water gets bubbling and foaming again, and a Russian submarine comes up, swaying heavily.
A boatswain climbs out on all fours, feeling no pain, and shouts down the hatch, Cmon, thaz not a problem we donneed no compass ta figure it out! We ad two liters o spirit that woulda gone to waste otherwise! Then he looks at the Eskimo and, trying to focus his eyes on him, cries in a hoarse bass voice, Hey, Chukchi, which way do we take to Murmansk? The Chukchi replies, South-west-west, 560 kilometers, but be careful not to tip that submarine over when you go down. And the boatswain yells at him angrily, Doncha get smart with me, you snip show me with ya finger where it is!