the hit

Of things I know nowt about, there are plenty.

This session, we tried psychometry.

We struggled, it felt, for the longest time.

Of things I know nowt about, and all that jazz…

I wrote the word castle. Not that I cast the word into the ether using my voice, you understand. Nervous. Lacking in confidence.

Castle. The word sat, forlornly, amongst a few other random collections of

Eventually, hating the silence, I asked my exercise partner a question.

“Do the words castle, castlellated, or even battlements mean anything to you?”

“Hmm, not really,” came the reply.

See, I am a scribe. I write, occasionally. My fiction interrupts the ongoing
narrative of ‘things I know nowt about.’

Faltering. Uncomfortable. Stalled. Our exercise, finally, not stilted but moribund, seemingly.

“I will draw something,” I joked, before considering, ‘of things I know nowt
about,’ are things to draw.

Seconds elapsed. Dragged up from the depths of nowhere, I drew a comedy cartoon ghost. All white sheet and roughly cut eye holes.

The lady opposite me smiled and spoke. Our silence broken by a childlike
drawing of a spectre.

“I still have the picture,” she said. “I will dig it out, let me write
that on my hand so I don’t forget to evidence this hit.”

Struggling no more, my partner for the session told of a time she had visited a castle with friends and family. That day, she continued, she had felt a presence and taken a photograph of a room soon vacated. That photograph, later viewed, detailed a veiled form.

Invisible. The matrix. Inviolate. Of things we know nowt about…

The implicate order, rarely, a busted flush.

And, a hit, my first, courtesy of the word castle, casually written, and a simple, wretched drawing of a wraith.

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