Trivia. They say Native Americans, and other native people of the World, believed photographs stole their soul, the marrow of their being. It comes up a lot in clever White people films and books, when they want to show Savages and Locals as ignorant and superstitious.
Actually, it is probably more true of the early photographers themselves, breathing Mercury fumes, day in day out, in producing their metal plate dageurotypes. The toxin building up, destroying the marrow in their bones, until they quickly faded as much in Life and Strength as their pictures eventually did. Easy pickings they were.
I didn't want the souls of Heathens. And they certainly didn't matter to HIM. They were, at best, neutral. Insignificant. Immune. No, what I wanted were tortured spirits, knowing they were wasting God's gift, and doing it anyway. Idling time on ultimately fruitless tasks.
FaceBook was one of mine. Twitter, the crown and glory (and promotion!) of another Demon. So it was all to play for. My latest venture, touch screens, each tap slowly sucking the creativity out of another Soul. Each drag and pinch and pull, a fraction of syphoned spirit gone.
And reading this, dear Social Media user, then carrying on with your iOS and Ice cream Sandwich false idols, you'll shrug and nervously laugh off the shudder you feel EVERY time you tap, and all the faster you'll lose yourself. I feel a raise in Soulery is due. Promotion here I come!
Historical note: This is the final snatch of story born during a frustrated trip across Turkey. Like the other two, I had a sliver of idea from watching an old Kung Fu episode (remember David Carradine as Kwai Chow Cain?). At tje time all I could do is try to bottle a day dream in a sentence or two and try hard not to forget them. The first line prompts helped me to recall the half-baked images and make them into complete stories.
I do all sorts of things. Mostly badly. Mostly better than others. I tell stories. Occasionally, I lie.