I am going to share something with all of you as an experiment in
creative power object manifestation.

Little Buddy needed to go downtown to grab some phials from the head
shop for the oil he made from the '06 Raven harvest. I gave him a ride.
He's still waiting payment for a contract he and buddy did for the BC
Natural History Museum, and his 68 Chevy WooWoo 350 small block (not the
one I gave him, old 'Puppy' the heavy prospecting 4x4; she's on propane)
is a little heavy on gas...

anyway.
We're in the head shop.
and I'm looking for a toke stone. which is kinda odd, because Willy the
gold magnet makes tokestones out in Sooke there... gad!! gotta stay on
topic here..

Anyway, this little brass hammer in the display catches my eye.
And the clerk is happy to whip it out and knock it down, lo and behold,
the thing is a pipe! And- it has the insert I can use as a toke stone!!
I usually don't smoke a pipe, but it's nice to have one for those
special moments..

It's solid brass, and heavy and durable enough to serve as a tack hammer
as well as being belt clip capable with a mini carbiner right on the
leatherman multitool bag. (the same carbiner I use for spare keys and
hair ties...)

And to top it off, it's only like, $10. I can't buy a bleeding brass
hammer for that price, let alone a tokestone! Stupid tokestones were
like $12!!

snach.

and I'm wearing this thing on my belt at work. and the stem cap serving
as a handle pommel (with the key-ring) unscrews from the stem/handle
while I'm dropping a trailer in Haggard's Yard at the mill in Port
Albernie, and the fucker's like gone. I get up the hump with my heavy
load to the brake check, and I've got no weight on my belt when I hop
out to check the trailer bogie before going down the bad assed hill and
through Cathedral Grove. (tree top blow down on the road last night...
very windy through there at the end of the lake) damn thing is ghone.
I've got a little pommel on my tool belt hanging by the lonely keyring.

Damn!

So the next night is soaking wet.
And the night after is so foggy I've killed my spotlight scanning for
dear bambie on the way up to PortA. I DO NOT like bouncing bambie. I am
a vegetarian, and I get *really* *really* upset when things die by my hand.

So I'm thinking: those Haggard boys are sure to see the flashing bright
brass in the daylight while they are hostling trailers for the day
shift, that bugger's gone. I am like _SO_ retentive. I absolutely
obsessively hate loosing things. I am stupidly careful. It's a general
distrust I have for reality, as you might have surmised from some of my
other writings. I've a sharp lookout for hyperspace gremlins- even in my
sleep.

Last night I check the ground where the rotting palette pile marked the
spot I had dropped that trailer. Blast Mi Branes! there it was under a
broken plank in the grass at the edge of the yard. Little freakin
Distroid. I wrenched those fittings tight with my leatherman pliers and
on my belt now it stays.

and I'm telling no one what happened.
except you, just imagine it.
and the majic glints
like sparks in the night.