Well I thought I was on break from the blog, but duty calls and I answer.
Seems some old friends of Keith Raniere were visiting and wanted to go through the old neighborhood. You know the Cult Compound on Flintlock in Halfmoon. I’m always happy to oblige. So we packed up the car with my wife and with a special blast from Keith’s past sitting in the front seat, we went to NXIVM sacred territory.
Driving through the nondescript streets of a dull Halfmoon subdivision suddenly…
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dirty old man, and one tiny female reindeer
There he was, a little old pervert, so ugly and mean ,
I knew in a moment it must be Raniere.
His eyes –were so hollow! His pimples how runny!
His cheeks were all yellow; he has the brain of a bunny!
His droll little mouth was angry as he reached down so low,
I though he was packing and might shoot from the snow;
The stump of a tooth was all that was left of his teeth,
And the smell of his breath encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a drawn little face and a little pot belly,
I bet his little dick is a limp piece of jelly,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
So people really fear this measly little elf?
With a glare of his eye and a twist of his head,
I saw his thick glasses and new I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but covered his head,
But I heard him exclaim, as he ran out of sight
Fuck you John Tighe, I hope you die in the night.
Really for the first time today I saw the grubby one. Not much to look at. A small guy in a shitty sweat suit, with the hoodie drawn tight against his head. I was surprised to see him and for a moment or two our eyes met and locked as we glared at each other. He had a girl with him and after exchanging looks and to the delight of my special guest we drove away.
To any of you people who think this guy is special. Take a hard look at him. He ain’t shit. A little man living in a dumpy house in a soulless subdivision in an Albany commuter town, looking over his shoulder worried that his ghosts will catch up with him.
And those ghosts will Keith. That hot breath you feel on your neck when no one’s around. Those shadows you see that quickly vanish in the mirror. That face you see looking at you from the passing car window. Ghosts Keith, ghosts.
Yes Keith the Ghosts of Christmas past.