Report #1
Samasin Yard observing.

	“I'm going to save the internet from itself,” I say as we enter the abandoned house; my brother and I, to investigate cult-related activities.  Save it from what and how I have not figured out yet.

	The hovel that we have entered is dark and trashed, whatever furniture was in here is tumbled all over the place, thrown willy-nilly, the brown carpeting littered with pieces of paper and cardboard.  I realize though that there is a pattern, moreover I realize what is littering the carpet.  It is the new album by Metallica, vinyl record, cardboard slip-sleeve which is white with silver stencilling—reminiscent of the cover to the Beatles 'Let It Be' album except that has the pictures of the members of Metallica, delicate paper liner notes that are translucent as tissue paper.  It is a controversial album, there is a lot of devil imagery, pictures of demons from the Lemegeddon, woodcut images of Baphomet.  The songs and lyrics are all magical incantations one of which stands out to me:  Signs of the Sun and Wind.

	They have cut the album apart, clippings of songs and lyrics, pictures of Baphomet, Orobas, Stolas and Furfur mix freely with images of Lars Ulric and James Hetfield in silver and white stills.  All arranged in a circle upon the brown carpet.  The contents are surprisingly white for the album, white and silver-grey, you'd think that a heavy metal band would go with black artwork for their album.  In the centre of the ring of paper and cardboard and shattered vinyl is a sigil drawn on a piece of paper:

O
o-------o

o-------o
O

	“What does it mean?” Adam asks from behind me.
	“It represents the planets,” I answer, “The top one is the sun, the upper right is that of mars and the bottom one is Saturn.”  I realize of course that their is one missing and it should represent the moon.

	I head to the garage.  The walls in here are painted black, as is the floor, the garage door is painted white.  There is a rusted out hulk of a vehicle, old, ancient, can not make out the model of it.  Something small and white is crouched on the floor near it.  It is a lop-eared rabbit.  I hunker down and put out my right hand toward it, trying to coax it to me.  It comes over readily enough and even climbs up into my lap.  It is there that it starts writhing, I stroke its fur to calm it down, but its movements continue.  It is sexual in nature, the rabbit is grinding on me, I find that my hand pets it all the way down its small body and underneath.  My pinky finds its anus and slips right in.  The rabbit writhes and chirps loudly—but does not make any attempts to get away or stop its own movements.
Report #2
Samasin Yard observing.

	The Asian market is crowded, filthy, noisy, full of people and strange smells.  Old women with grey hair and moles try to sell me fried noodles out of large aluminum woks, while frail old men with only a few teeth and baggy ill-fitting clothes try to sell me fish.  It is interesting to note that there are no bathrooms here, the facilities have been boarded up with the theory that if no one is going in there the market will save money.  This is an important detail in this investigation.

	I am tailing a young Taiwanese kid by the name of Clup, he is in his early twenties, black shoulder length hair, wearing a tattered jean jacket and black jeans.  He is a writer and sometimes artist, psychedelic stuff inspired by the likes of Pynchon and Ginsberg.  Once dabbled in cocaine, but his heart couldn't take it, so now he sticks to pot and the occasional mushroom.  He is perusing the market, looking for a bathroom.

	An old, kindly janitor standing in a dim alcove with his mop and bucket waves Clup over, knowing what he is after.  He tells him the following:  “The bathrooms are boarded up, but they are easy to get into.”  With that the janitor points to a side hallway with less of a crowd.  Going down this hallway Clup comes to a  door covered with a piece of plywood.  The plywood is easily shifted to one side and the boy enters into a well lit bathroom.

	There are no doors on any of the stalls in here.  In each of the stalls is an old homeless man sleeping on the toilet, fully dressed in either green or brown rags, bearded with iron grey hair.  Across the counter another homeless man sleeps.  Clup regards the situation for a few moments before choosing a stall and climbing in with the occupant, to settle down for a long sleep.

	I push the plywood aside and exit the washroom, heading back to my brother's flat.  Adam's place is a sty, the yellow carpet littered with debris, every surface cluttered with dishes, garbage and knick-knacks.  Adam sits upon an off white couch, wearing a flat-cap.  He is bearded, black and thick, reminds me of Bluto from Pop-Eye.  He tells me something cryptic, “A dentist pulled my back molar once.  After that my teeth started to fall out.  They started to drift in my gums because of the vacant space.”

	I head to a door that is boarded up with plywood.  I push it aside and enter into my brother's bathroom.  It is decorated in pink and white paint and most of the plumbing has been removed.  The landlord thinks that this will save him money in the long run.  I climb into the bathtub, settle in and fall asleep.
Report #3
Samasin Yard observing.

	I live in a vast wooden cabin out in the centre of a lake.  It is continually under construction, there are no correct angles, no rhyme or reason to the length, proportion or dimensions of the rooms.  As I enter I find my father up on a ladder fastening a length of 6x6 railing to the wall using large bolts and screws which will be visible to all who enter.  The railing is uneven and centred in the middle of the wall.  He says, “Where have you been?  There is painting to be done.”

	My sister who is holding the ladder steady takes up the protest, “Yeah when are you going to do some of this work?  We're not doing it for you!”

	I move on.  There are about twelve young guys who share this cabin with me, all dressed in fursuits, some of real artistic quality and some whose suits look to be made out of carpeting.  The ring leader of this group is a brown bear, all the fursuits seem to be based on designs by Panda Paco, meaning they are cute and cartoony and very young.  Mostly these boys fool around on their beds, playing video games, chatting online, until the bear gets them together to go out and protest on the streets.  Imagine a bunch of cute, furry animals taking to the streets to protest poverty, sexual equality and the like.  I keep them around because they also clean my cabin and do some occasional painting.

	Down a long corridor of white walls and black wood flooring I find a pair of supermodels, twins I believe as they are both tall, white, with jet-black hair whip straight running down their back.  Both are dressed in a one piece mini-skirt/low-cut top that is black in colour.  I have noticed that they have swept the floor and I ask if they could continue in the rest of the house.  Their answer is a haughty “No.”  One of them pipes up, “What are we?  Your slaves?”

	Night falls and I am alone in the cabin, sitting by a window that is low enough that I can peer into the surrounding water.  There are red candles floating, drifting upon it's surface, whose treated wicks reignite if they get wet.  This is a good thing as there are several rednecks nearby who are throwing firecrackers and other explosives into the water and whooping and hollering as they blow up, causing the candles to gently bob up and down.  Their flames go out and then slowly come back, growing in power.  Vaguely I wonder if they are laced with magnesium or perhaps sodium.  It is peaceful to sit by this window and watch the candles and the drifting water, the golden twilight darkness beyond.  One could drift off to sleep here.
Report #4
Samasin Yard observing.

	Small spaceships are scrambled to thwart an invading alien force to earth.  I am in a single man cockpit observing the action as three of the fursuiters that I live with face off with a large blue and purple ship.  The ship looks like a single tier Mayan temple with a stair case running up the centre  The three fursuiters are a raccoon, a fox and a border collie.  There is little action and in a short time I find myself aboard the raccoon's ship for a debriefing.

	His ship looks like the interior of a house, baby blue walls and white trim, living room, bedroom, a flight of stairs with wooden banister leading to the second floor.  Raccoon takes off his fursuit to reveal a young man with shoulder length black hair dressed in baby blue t-shirt and jeans.  He announces that he is going to clear the methane from the ship's tanks to which the border collie becomes all excited.

	“Can you save me some?  It's been a couple years since I've cooked up a batch of crystal meth!” the border collie says.

	“Sure,” says our host and he removes part of the drywall from the hallway to reveal a glowing neon space filled with plastic and tubes.  He produces a drawer full of ice, a glass flask and runs a glass tube from within the wall into the flask.  This I conclude is to condense the methane for the others use.  He and I retire to his bedroom and leave the others to their task.

	He sits on the bed, I on the floor and we discuss nothing in particular.  At about this time the border collie comes in with a vacuum cleaner and is frantically running it across the floor, before heading out into the hallway and up the stairs.  He is high as a kite and I point out to my host that the vacuum is not even plugged in.

	The border collie is then back in the bedroom, pulling out a ride-on firetruck from beneath the bed, donning a firefighter's helmets and scootching throughout the house/ship, propelling the truck forward with his feet.  Then there was peace.

	After a time my host and I became worried for the other fursuiter and decide to track him down.  We find him passed out and asleep on a brown couch.  I am relieved that he is asleep and has not had an overdose on the crystal meth that he had cooked up.

Report #5
Samasin Yard observing.

	Bright clear day, the sky is a faded baby blue, the land is flat and green with grass, cut in the middle by a brown dirt road.  On the side of this road wearing an orange robe is a Hari Krishna with bald head, Asian features, skin a bronze colour—an older woman who waves at us as we pass by in the bus calling out, “Hari-Hari!”

	The bus is packed full of Asian people, middle aged or older.  The driver has stopped to pick up a new passenger:  A middle aged Chinese woman with short cropped black hair and wearing a blue coat over a black dress.  She doesn't have the correct change and the driver now gets out of his seat, moves to the back of the bus to where she is and begins to show her what five dollar bills look like.  She still doesn't have the correct change.

	It is night time in Twin Peaks, the dockyard is lit in heavy blues and purples and full of black shadows as Benjamin Horn steals onto the scene with his brother in tow.  They have caught David Bowie's character and at this moment only his head is sticking up out of the slats of the wooden dock.  The brothers Horn have a large white funnel which they are feeding into Bowie's mouth, ready to pour something into it.  David Lynch arrives on the scene with Dr. Hayward following in.  They prevent the Horns from doing what they are planning.

	I turn to my brother, we are in his apartment, “It's a shame, David Bowie was supposed to have a large role in this season of Twin Peaks before he died of cancer.”  Adam is uninterested.

	Twin Peaks again, the Black Lodge, one of Donna's sisters have become the newest victim on this show and is explaining to David Lynch that she wishes to leave the Lodge but Laura has prevented that.  We see Laura Palmer in shadowy profile back lit in purples and violet cupping her palms about her mouth and blowing into them.  A stream of black smoke appears to flow out of her and into the air.  Donna's sister explains, “She took in all the darkness and blew it out, scattering it into the air.  The darkness is what gives us a body outside the lodge.”

	Adam has been working on a report while this has been going on and tells me to look at the bottom of this sheet of paper.  “The two words at the bottom of the sheet, check it out.”

	The report states:

LEVIATHAN			NUNNERY

Report #6
Samasin Yard observing.

	Sitting in the sun on a cloudless day, blue sky above, flat green land ahead of me.  I am holding a single sheet of paper in my hand, a report.  As I sit and enjoy the sun upon me I think about how I am single and alone.  There is no emotion attached to the thought, it seems to be information.

	 I have painted the interior of my house baby pink, much to the consternation of my mother who hates the colour choices that I have made.  I lead her into the next room that I will be painting and with a sense of mischief tell her that this will be the cola room.  I explain, “I'm going to paint each of these walls in the colours of a can of cola.  This will be Pepsi, this will be Coke, this is going to be root beer orange and brown and this is going to be RC cola.”

	The mere mention of RC cola brings to mind the Aluminum flavoured pop that plagued my childhood for a time.  My mother scoffs at the idea and heads out of the room.  Eventually it is painted in true blue with over lapping shade of darker and lighter blues in a sort of 'bubble' effect.

	The candy room is a sty.  Its a long room with a central wooden table laden with candy, chocolate, chips and popcorn.  Wooden benches serve as seating for the members of my family.  There is an old, tattered green recliner that is being ignored in one corner of the room.  Candy and popcorn is everywhere and a group of kittens are making off with some of it, or playing with it in the manner that kittens do.  There is squabbling between my sister and my mother, it turns out that my sister has a Kit Kat bar that she has unwrapped and my mother has snapped off two of the chocolate sticks for herself.  Angrily my sister unwraps another Kit Kat to add to the one that she already has.  The sight of all this candy is making me ill.

	Night time, I am walking a gloomy, shadow-filled path outside of a sagging farmhouse.  I am standing at the ancient wooden railings of a fence and waving to the pair of farmers, a husband and wife, who are sitting on the dark porch.  They wave back in a friendly manner.  Ahead on the path that I am walking, strange hybrid animals part cat and part rabbit hop among the overgrown grass.

	Day time, the sun is bright in the sky as I sit beside the road on the flat landscape and holding a piece of paper in my hand.  It is a report.  I think how I am still single.
Report #7
Samasin Yard observing.

	Halloween has come and I am trying to paint my face to be that of a zombie and although the makeup job looks pretty good, I am not happy with it.  I'm going to have to go to Shopper's Drug Mart to get some real makeup artists to help me.  The outside of the store is decorated for Halloween:  A single, large styrofoam skull three feet high and two across is centred among a crowd of potted Ficus trees and Spanish Moss.  The skulls eyes are bleeding bright red rivulets, but it has a friendly grin.  To the untrained eye there appears to be no store here at all, but if you walk behind the trees you come across the glass door.

	Two women greet me, they are pretty and dark haired, they ask what I need.  I explain, “I'm trying to look like a zombie.  I need prosthetic to make my cheekbones and eye sockets stand out more.  Perhaps something to enhance my chin as well.”  I'm still wearing the black, green and brown makeup that I started with.  The two women seem excited about the idea and have me sit in a dentist's chair while they start sculpting the prosthetic out of wax.  I am told to lay limp for the next five minutes as movement will spoil the work until it sets.  Time drags on.  I'm sure that an hour passes and my face itches, I touch it, rub my face against my shoulder, wrecking the prototype prosthetic.  It's alright, I pick up a tube of spirit gum and a cheap tray of Halloween makeup to fix any damage.

	Stepping out from the trees I find that my nephews Kai and Noah are trick or treating—they love my zombie makeup.  I exit the mall and out onto a glacial waste.  It is twilight, everything appears in shades of blue and off white.  Ahead is a massive wall of ice.

	“Zombies have been seen roaming about,” Adam says to me from behind.

	“Yeah, I know.  Come on,” I say and tighten up my parka.

	Ahead is a circular seal on the ground marked with geometric runes, made of some sort of black metal.  I tell Adam that if we go in there we will be attacked by a hoard of zombies.  I made that mistake a few days ago.  Atop this seal are about sixteen computer sprites depicting various cartoon animals—exotic ones like hippos, rhinos and zebra in unnatural cartoon colours.  They are dancing as sprites do when they are waiting for the players to arrive.  Before I can say anything, Adam zaps all of them with a laser weapon and they vanish.

	A message appears on my computer screen.  It is from a friend of mine named Ace Allen and it reads, “Look what I did!”  A piece of digital artwork appears depicting an anthropomorphic red fox with black tiger stripes, laying nude and seductive on a beach blanket.  I is a really nice piece of art.

	“What do you think?” Ace asks.  He is now sitting in my vacated computer chair as I am standing up and examining the computer screen.

	“Very nice,” I say.

	“He is a hybrid of Zapher and Feldon,” Ace tells me proudly.

	I frown slightly, “I'm not sure that I approve of that.  I'm not going to like where this is going.”

	“I'm thinking that he can be placed in the government somewhere to keep an eye on things,” Ace explains, “Feldon is a telepath, so he would be able to spot trouble.”

	“Feldon is also a powerful mind-controller.  If he is placed anywhere within a few miles of a political figure he could theoretically take over the government.  That is why all the major political figures in the world have an implant at the base of their skull—too prevent mind-control.”

Report #8
Samasin Yard observing.

	My brother is playing video games, some sort of fighting game to be exact.  On either side of a checker-board ring are the characters that you can choose.  He is playing a strange conglomeration of Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas dressed as Freddy Kruegar of A Nightmare on Elm Street.

	“I have unlocked the smile that you can put on people's faces,” Adam tells me and demonstrates by giving the Jack character an exaggerated and rather horrifying grin.  There seems to be a glitch to the game, when the character is smiling like that it's head morphs occasionally into that of a Dragonfly's head.  I leave Adam to his game, I have a seminar to attend.

	The seminar is about children who neglect and abuse their toys.  According to the researcher involved these children are likely to grow up as sociopaths, much how abusing an animal as a child is an indication of the same.  The children are no more than four years old and they abandon their toys every chance they get, a few wilfully destroy them.  None of this is my concern, the real reason I am here is because a killer has been targeting children just like this.  He is a shape-changer and wields a large knife.

	I see a scene of Jabba the Hutt standing in his throne room with eight arms and six heads, burning braziers on either side of him.  The killer is invisible and waiting.  The guards change and the killer in turn becomes one of them and takes a position next to Jabba.  He then strikes and Jabba's head is now on the floor.

	Our killer has a magic map of white paper.  Whenever a child is abusing it's toys a green dot appears at its location and he heads there to take care of it.  Today though he is worried, the green dot he is staring at is shrinking and turning red.  He's never seen this before, could it be the child is interested in her toys?

	A vast yard with a single tall tree, everything is lost in a fog that has rolled in.  A little girl of four appears out of the fog.  She is blond with blue eyes, wearing a blue dress covered over by a yellow raincoat.  Behind her, abandoned is a red rubber ball, it is following her about ten feet away.  She doesn't care.

	From behind a model airplane steps Jack Skellington in a Kruegar hat and shirt, large blade in hand.  He makes his way toward the child.  Then a woman in skin-tight ninja outfit appears and with a double spin of her own blade kills Jack before any harm can come to the child.

	“That was impressive,” I say.

	“I can show you the slow motion,” Adam says and manipulates the controller.  We see the woman with dark hair leap in, the first arch of her blade breaks the knife Jack is holding, the second passes through him.
Report #9
Samasin Yard observing.

	Heavy set woman approaches me, she has long auburn hair that tumbles in waves about her shoulders and a gnomish kind of face.  She has just purchased three Magic the Gathering cards, but isn't sure if she has just gotten ripped off or not.  She hands me the three cards which are sleeved in plastic and I look at what she has:  A Savannah, a Taiga and an Underground Sea, all three are white bordered and most likely from the Revised set.

	“How much did you pay for these?” I ask.

	“Twelve dollars,” she replies.  I am suddenly mad.  The Savannah alone would fetch at least $100.00 if not more and that says nothing for the Underground Sea.  I take the cards back into the comic shop to find out about the error.  Behind the check-out counter is a lone guy with glasses, who asks me how I'm doing.

	“I think you made an error about the price of these cards,” I say and am frustrated because I've just gone through them again and discovered that the cards have changed.  They are now a Savannah, a Taiga and a Volcanic Island.

	He takes the cards from my hand and shuffles through them and says that everything appears to be in order.  The cards are handed back, except that they are no longer the cards that I had but sealed packs of Magic the Gathering Unlimited.  Each booster pack features a picture of one of the dual lands.  Bitter, I exit the shop and hand the packs back to the woman and storm off without further explanation.

	Watching the movie Star Wars.  Can't seem to follow the plot because it seems that this version is actually a mix of Empire Strikes Back and Rogue One.  I feel as though everything is messed up.

Report #10
Samasin Yard observing.

	There is some argument between my mother and I as to which Best Buy to go into.  We are in a mall parking lot and there are three yellow signs in various directions, all of which are the same store.  Adam and I head into one of these that consist of a single check out enclosed by three racks of junk, mostly action figures.  I'm examining a werewolf figure while Adam buys popcorn from the cashier.

	A massive tree monster similar to Groot, but black in colour is raging outside the mall.  We see him from the overpass that we are standing at.  The monster tree is standing by a swiftly moving river. I spot a gnarled and twisted log by the water and tell Adam to, “Distract him.”

	Avoiding the monster's flailing limbs, I push the log into the water and whisper an incantation over it.  The log becomes a great black octopus, whose tentacles lash out and grab the tree monster.  It drags the monster into the river with it and the two of them disappear beneath the surface.

	I have bought a small standing table at the mall and I've situated it in the centre of my living room.  It is black, made of wood and looks more like a table lamp than a table proper.  This is due to its tapering conical surface, ornately carved with tiny designs.  Atop this table I have placed a statue of a werewolf that has seen better days.  It appears to have been repaired multiple times with hot-glue.  

	An ugly man is peering in through the window, red haired, stubbly beard and skin which is creased and pock-marked, looking for me.  He's about to leave when I tap on the window at him and wave him in.  I've invited him over for sex.  I come to the door and let him in, he is dressed in a grey jumpsuit and is wearing tall black boots and a pair of black gloves.  As I'm about to close the door when a young Asian kid, attractive with shoulder length black hair and similarly attired to the ugly man dodges in as well.  I had made a date with him as well and didn't think he'd show.

	“Uh-oh, threesome,” I grin.

	It is not to be, they both notice the table and are circling it with hands raised as if they feel something.  The ugly man says to me, “What have you sensed from this table?”

	“I feel the presence of an old woman from it,” I answer.

	The Asian kid touches the werewolf and it falls apart at the glued joints.  I am not surprised nor angry as I watch him struggle to put it back together.  Doing so, the top of the werewolf's head is now missing and the Asian kid tells me, “Now the candle will actually light.”

	Evidently the werewolf statue is actually a candle.

Report #11
Samasin Yard observing.

	Driving a panel van in the middle of winter, the roads are white and slippery, treacherous for driving.  I pull over next to a house that is standing above all of this on thick timber beams.  I have pulled into a circular court, I hop out into the snow and wade hip-deep through it.  Beneath the snow I discover hockey equipment:  Goalie mask, pads, a hockey net.  I push through the snowbank and out onto the road where I can walk.

	The sound of obnoxious laughter and comments draws my attention to three men.  The first of these is a man in his 50s, absolutely massive in stature, almost 7 feet tall; obese, bald and wearing glasses.  His complexion is pasty white and he is wearing the outer covering of a mattress.  The next man is in his 30s, bald, fat; with a dark, cropped beard and bushy eyebrows.  He wears a blue t-shirt and jeans.  The final 'man' is merely a teenager, dark-haired and fat, wearing the same clothes as his father.  The obese man is pretending to have a heart attack, clutching his chest through the mattress skin, before falling to his knees and finally flat on his face.  The others think that this is a riot and laugh and mimic his movements.

	These three plan on opening a sex shop.  I duck inside while they make asses of themselves.  The shop is dark and empty, cluttered with wire racks that have not been set up yet.  Laying against the wall is a large piece of plywood they intend to use as a door, they have written a riddle of sorts upon it:

A handful of rubber plumbers rings has been sloppily glued to the door, in red letters a question is painted:  “What circular object do men buy the most?”

	I reach out my hand to take a psychometric reading of their intentions.  The answer is supposed to be “Cock Ring.”

	Beneath this another question next to a ring of glue where something had been stuck to the door but removed:  “What circular object do women buy the most?”  Once again I trace my hand over the glue and words to find the answer that they wanted.  “Condoms,” I answer.

	Back home I am sleeping on a bare mattress that has been laid on the floor, the house is looking much improved.  The door opens and someone enters:  It is my uncle Lester, followed in by a medium sized dog that is orange in colour with orange eyes, it excitedly sniffs around.

	Lester says something but I'm not sure what it is, “I'm back from vacation?”  The word vacation was definitely a part of the comment.  I note this because Lester has been dead for eleven years as of this writing and anything said by the dead should be noted.
Report #12
Samasin Yard observing.

	“We take the blurry and see the truth,” so says Samasin Yard.

	A gamer convention has been set up in the parking lot of an outdoor market.  Its a bright and beautiful day for it.  Samasin is asked by Adam and Ted if he will be the GM for a game of Vampire the Masquerade.  Samasin agrees and stipulates that the game is going to be played with four four-side dice.  Adam and Ted will play Brujah vampires.

	Meanwhile my mother and aunt Gladys are shopping at the market, pushing a flatbed laden with folding chairs and case of soda pop.  That appears to be the only thing that the market sells.  Mother is overjoyed to tell me that the cases of pop only cost four dollars a piece and tries to convince me to buy a few cases.  I'm trying to cut back on the soda, so I decline.

	A homeless man then tries to take a piece of a casserole that is perched on top of the case of soda and folding chairs.  It appears to be in an aluminum tray and is made of cheese, elbow noodles and red peppers.

	Viewing a cozy, round room, darkly lit but filled with fun furnishings like bean-bag chairs and a round bed with black and white covers, old-school record player and several vinyl disks laying on the floor.  It is the room of Death (Neil Gaiman's version) and she is leaning up against the bed playing with a tiny white mouse.

	“She is like a reverse of King Midas, everything gold she touches turns to dross,” says Desire from beside me before sneaking off down the dark corridor.  What is Desire up to?

	The white mouse is now male and anthro; Death has become desirous of the boy-mouse and has become male, the two have gay sex on the bed, with Death as the top.  The mouse-boy seems to enjoy it quite a bit.  Pondering the situation I wonder if Death realized that this is Desire's doing and is trying to thwart the plan by becoming male?  It does not work, the mouse-boy conceives a child, another white mouse who is grown up and standing before Desire, who appraises him.  This mouse is dressed in mime clothes and wears a bowler hat and I realize that it is the mouse from the comic Magician's Village by Kaja Blackley.  The mouse is inspired by Alex of the movie version of  A Clockwork Orange, of that I have little doubt.
Report #13
Samasin Yard observing.

	It should be noted that during the night I kept feeling something fooling around with the covers about my left shoulder.  When I turned over in my half-sleep, the sensation proceeded to go around to the other side of my bed and continue playing with the blanket about my shoulder.

	Sitting on the floor in front of my living room window I hear a voice from behind me say, “We are here to save your soul!”

	Turning around I begin to head to the front doorway, when I chance upon a boy laying face down on the floor between my coffee table and couch.  “What are you doing in my house?” I demand—being greeted with that 'save your soul' thing has put me into a bad mood.  The boy gets up and quickly heads to the door where his father is standing.

	“Oh, we're sorry, we were looking for the former occupant.  He owes us money,” the father says.

	“Get out,” is my reply.

	Father and son struggle to pick up a large refrigerator-box full of fireplace logs, the kind that are manufactured out of pressed sawdust.  I note that the kid is wearing a baseball outfit of blue and white.  These two are now trying to get the box through a walled off foyer and banging into the drywall which is painted a powder blue, after which they have to struggle up a flight of stairs that lead off into the dark.
Report #14
Samasin Yard observing:

	The arena is dark, almost pitch-black, there is no audience that I can discern.  The wrestling ring in the middle is also black, with black ropes, perhaps its the spotlights above that allows us to make it out among the rest of the darkness.

	Its a wrestling match between brightly coloured fursuiters and pro-wrestlers.  Lots of grappling, lots of throwing, lots of running back and forth.  I turn to my brother and make a comment, “They never seem to use tables and chairs anymore in wrestling.”

	Adam comments dryly, “Too many people were getting hurt.”

	I shuffle paperwork that I've been working on.  I feel as though I've missed something important.
Report #15
Samasin Yard observing.

	Captured by the Chinese army, I am lead with a group of young boys all about the age of twelve into a prison cell.  Once the door is closed and we are standing there in the gloom, one of the boys, a kid with sandy-blonde hair looking right out of Oliver Twist points to a sizable hole in the ceiling.  This is our means of escape.  The boys go up first and I follow afterwards.

	The tunnel is composed of a yellow/brown stone, roughly hewed which winds up and down, left and right.  There are red flags clustered together fan-like that we have to push through to get to the end of this tunnel.  The passage opens out onto light, I step out first to make sure the coast is clear.  We come out of some panelling on a stair, with an ornate blue and white banister.  There are guards with machine guns and green fatigues waiting, but if I step out and face to the right they will not notice me.

	This escape is repeated three times, until I decide for some reason to face to the left.  At this point I am halted by the soldiers in the green fatigues, who turn out to be from the British Army.  The Brigadier steps forward and says, “Well, well, if it isn't the famous Samasin Yard.”

	He eyes the rifle that I am carrying and makes further comment, “I expected you to have a bigger gun than that!”  He then demonstrates by holding his hands near his crotch and pretending to fire off some imagined automatic cannon.  It would have to be thirty-six inches long and five around, the way he's going on.

	Getting the sexual innuendo of it all, I give my trade-mark comment in a smarmy, British accent,  “Oh my!” 
Report #16
Samasin Yard observing.

	Late evening and I am straightening patio stones in the back yard, attending to vines that hang down from somewhere and attend to a single tree in the yard.  This tree is dead.  A tall, thin tree that is silver-grey in colour, devoid of bark and of leaves, but it has many branches.

	I am watching Youtube.  The Youtuber Robbaz is playing Sims 3 again—he has turned King into a humanoid donkey and has attached a wrecking ball to the groin of one of the others.  Antics ensue, one of which being that the donkey is grinding bananas in a meat-grinder and is subsequently pulled in.  Game Over.

	The students are gathering in my backyard about the dead tree and some have even climbed its branches.  They are filling out college applications and student loan forms, discussing what they will be taking in college.  Seems that all of them are applying to become lawyers.  One couple in particular has drawn my attention, a pair of black kids, a girl and a boy.  She is furious over something, possibly that someone has stolen her loan, how is she supposed to become a lawyer when, “I'm going to kill the nigga that stole my money!”

	Her companion is thoughtful and more laid back.  He is trying to calm her down, they will find out who did this and get the money back.  She is inconsolable however and matters get worse as the foulness that is spewing from her mouth causes someone to throw food at her.  Some kind of oatmeal or thick soup splashes through her long, braided hair and onto her black jacket and shirt.  She is astounded, raging.

	I go back to the antics of Robbaz.  The Sims have all become mice which means they have become powerful.  They are getting into mischief involving food and food fights.
Report #17
Samasin Yard observing.

	I am worried, even scared as we enter into the long abandoned laboratory.  Within is still lit after all these years by neon-white light panels, but the lab itself has become a veritable jungle with thick vines, ferns and leaves obscuring everything.  The foliage is a bright, healthy green.  Intertwined in all of this are thick white strands of spider webbing.  We push through, for I am accompanied by deputy Andy from Twin Peaks and a number of scientists in lab coats.

	Afraid.  We are searching for a package, the cause of the abandoning of this laboratory.  Within is a xenomorph.  These fools do not realize how unstoppable these things are—but I do, I've encountered them before.

	The parcel is located hanging by a thick strand of spider's web.  It is square and flat, no bigger than a human hand.  Someone behind me mentions, “That's the egg!  We've found it.”  The parcel is well wrapped with brown butchers-paper and packing tape.  Andy steps forward and pulls out his pocket knife, about to cut into the parcel at the behest of the scientists.  This is why he is here, he is too stupid to realize what he's about to do—I however am not.

	“Wait!” I call out and Andy pauses, “If he cuts into that package he's going to lose his hand and probably his lower torso.  The acid is too powerful.”  The scientists confer, it turns out that each of them works with a specific gemstone:  Sapphire, Diamond and Onyx.  They debate with each other which of these will resist the acid the best and eventually it is decided that Andy will have a shield barrier of Sapphire and a bowl made of Onyx to catch the acid.

	Now behind a crystalline-blue barrier of glass, Andy takes out his pocket knife and cuts the package.  Yellow/white fluid squirts out and is caught in the bowl and I see the knuckles of a facehugger beneath the paper.  It seems dead, but I am terrified because I know that Onyx bowl will not contain the acid for very long.

	Night time and we've taken a road trip.  My friend Ted is driving and my brother is accompanying.  We've stopped for the night at a hunting lodge with great latticed windows and racks upon racks of commemorative plates depicting such people and things as Princess Diana, dogs, pastoral settings and the like.  The place is gloomy and lit only from the ambient light coming through the windows.  A shot rings out, a window shatters and a plate explodes into fragments.  I hit the ground and stay low.  One of the hunters is firing his rifle into the lodge from outside, aiming at the plates!  Another shot and another plate shatters.

	We drive to the mall, it is a huge white edifice about three city blocks long, probably a dozen floors high, lit with flood lights and neon tubes.  Within we window shop.  I am looking for a key-fob that depicts Pepe LePew.

	Adam takes me to one side and says, “I think we're lost.  Ted doesn't know where he's going.”  I agree with my brother and soon we are once again at the hunting lodge with its windows and plates.  They have stopped firing upon the building, but we all sleep on the floor just in case.
Report #18
Samasin Yard observing.

	The office where I work is a large open space enclosed by red brick walls and lined with low cubicles of silver-grey.  I am filing away paperwork based on my investigations into a drug ring.  The office erupts into a commotion of panic and deployment of agents.  I get a vision of the 12th Doctor regenerating into a young boy with a long bowl cut, his blond hair is almost as white as his skin.

	I head over to the two Doctors, Tennant and Smith, Doctors 11 and 12 respectively.  Tennant is dropping grenades down a hole in the floor which leads out onto the street below.  There are men down there hiding behind vans, armed with rifles.

	Smith says to me, “Did you hear?  I'm going to regenerate.”

	“Yes I did, Mushroom head,” I chuckle, both Doctors look at me confused, “You're about to become a boy with a bad haircut.  Mushroom head.”

	Tennant and Smith race off to confront whoever is outside.  I stand there looking down the hole as a bald man with a black moustache comes over and begins to drop the remaining grenades down the hole.  He picks up a black box with wires hanging from it.  “What's this?”

	“I have no idea, but it's probably dangerous, that Doctor is evil,” I answer, referring to Tennant.  The bald guy tosses the box down the hole and I head out onto the street.

	We hunker down with a couple older ladies and Tennant—he is watching the men play with the black box, I ask him what it is.  Tennant explains, “It's a portal, but with an accelerator—makes you move faster.”

	There is a neon blue light coming from the box, a flat circular portal opens and the person with the box is now jumping from point to point with fantastic speed.  Turns out we've been fighting Cyclops of the X-Men this whole time.  I quip that he's wearing a View-Master on his face.

	Gloomy depths of the ocean, beneath an iceberg, everything is in shades of dark blue, lightening up to a ghostly luminescent blue.  Ted and I are sitting in a white van, I'm working on a computer while he discusses where we should go and eat.

	“I could go for a burger,” I tell him, I shuffle about my paperwork and find some green coupons. It is decided to go to the Denny's.
Report #19
Samasin Yard observing.

	A market place, crowded with people from the middle east and cluttered with merchandise of all kinds.  It is shabby and dirty, veritable wall of people and junk.  I am here to interview an Indian woman called Sharama Preshda.  She is in her mid-to-late fifties, wearing glasses, black haired.  Face is plump, deeply lined and she has a mole or two.  She is wearing an orange robe.  Sharama has recently been a guest speaker of some sort and I ask her about this.

	“I am proud to have been given an opportunity to speak about woman's rights and of the joys of birth.  I don't like speaking in Arabic, it does not have the words that I want to use.  Our two races do not get along.”

	I look about her stall, composed of wooden shelving cluttered with spices, incense, candles and the like.  There are placards written in Arabic and in Sanskrit.

	I agree with her saying that I barely have the words in English to describe what I wish talk about.  I then turn to the subject of birth and ask the question, “How would you describe the fluids of birth?”

	She answers, “Vinegar.”

	“And what of the fluids of life?” I ask.

	She answers, “Water.”

	She reaches up to one of her shelves and pulls down a large, cylindrical glass jar which is filled with vinegar.  My attention is drawn to a large flat cardboard box that has been laying on the ground.  I pick at the edges until the box opens up and I look within:  There are circular carpets of various colours.
Report #20
Samasin Yard observing.

	Throwing stones at a beehive that has been built in the corner of a dimly lit ruin of a house.  This is perhaps a dusty garage, ages old.

	The dirt parking lot of my favourite haunt, The Friendship Rotary Park, where I take my walks, meditate and do rituals.  There are a couple of dentist chairs set up on the parking lot, two women are painting faces today.  I volunteer for a face paint—make me look like a zombie.  They apply a base coat of black pitch to my face, which they apply with a mop, dabbing at my face with it.  Finally they apply a great smear of red.

	I head to my favourite part of the park, a lone path that has what I have dubbed the Altar Stone, which is just a sizable, moss-covered rock with a flat surface.  I notice immediately that the path has changed:  Someone has cleaned it up, removed trees and underbrush, widened it out.  The path is still covered in yellow and brown leaves and there are still smaller plants, but not the tangle I am used to.  People on bikes ride by on a side path, ahead I see some women walking by a large river that I have never seen before.

	I come to the point where the altar stone should be, but it is gone and so are the trees that surrounded it.  Instead there is a section of old wall here, formerly an electrical panel box judging by the wires that are still poking out of it.  Another path leads forward to the large river, I decide to take a look.

	The water meanders in a straight line pass what appears to be the half sunken ruins of a bungalow, it is hard to tell because although vaguely house-shaped it is also lumpy like stone and covered over by green moss.  Part of the roof overhangs the river and at the edge I spy a woman in a long white dress and large white sunhat looking at the waters.

	Heading back out to the dirt parking lot I find three wooden what-not tables, stained black and upon these are droplet bottles of alcohol.  I decide to take the make-up off my face and pick up one of the bottles:  This one has the Canadian Conservative Party logo on it.  There other the Liberals.  I use the Conservative one, both bottles are the same, so it doesn't matter.  I wipe off the make-up using a tiny sponge and the alcohol.
Report #21
Samasin Yard observing.

	We are watching the movie Twilight because I have heard rumours that Gef the talking mongoose is featured in it.  Patterson has dropped a hint a couple times that something is living in the walls.  The big reveal is at the end when a claymation mongoose races down the stairs being chased by a black cat.

	I have in front of me a collection of my short stories and novels that I'm shuffling through, Ted is there telling me that I don't push far enough in my works.  He refers to my art as mediocre.  The comment hurts.  “Let's go out to eat,” he says.

	There is a pub in a mall that people are lined up to get into, not because its a popular place but because the door is jammed.  Its a black door in an alcove and Ted approaches it with his enormous bulk and gives it a solid nudge, the door opens and the crowd files in.  It's a nice dark lounging area, circular in shape with couches and small tables, a bar stands opposite the doors.  There is darts and a big screen television.  The waitresses who are decked out in black lace dresses and veils covering their faces; sort of like a cross between goth and the old west, comment that the bar was going to close due to lack of customers.  Ted's actions may have saved the business.

	I throw darts as the bad news comes in.  The cook went home sick, there is no food in the pub.  Everyone gets up from the couches and files away toward the doors and the girls in the veils close up shop.

	Standing at a jewellery counter, two guys are looking at an emerald ring that I have taken out of the glass case.  It is about $200.00, but these two are haggling, producing strange mathematics, increasing the price of the ring but discounting it by percentages.  A savings of $25 is the outcome, but I think that I'm being had so I decide to put the ring away and close up shop.

	I head home along a cliff covered in long grass overlooking the sea.  There is a ditch ahead with a small white shed.  My home is underneath the shed.  I startle something in the long grass, which plunges into the sea below and then a number of somethings follow after.  An Asian couple, man and woman (she has really long black hair) giggle and watch.  A group of penguins in what appear to be scuba suits with scientific equipment attached come waddling back up the cliff, a smaller one comes over to me and affectionately nuzzles my chest.

	The Asian woman giggles and comments that “The penguin likes you.”  As she says this her husband takes pictures.  The penguins are an escaped bunch and have been squatting under the shed as well.  The Asian couple take me to meet other squatters, there are a dozen of them in all, we are in a nice cabin with hardwood panelling on the walls.  The couple who live here are white, a bald tattoo artist and his wife.  The tattoo artist is carving intricate shapes and art into the wood panelling, beautiful baroque patterns and pop-art, golden wood and black patina.

	The Asian woman points out that, “Wherever he squats, the property value goes up!”
Report #22
Samasin Yard observing.

	A vast shopping complex, walking the long corridors with my father, when he decides to wander off on his own, it's all for the best—I have work to do.  I make my way to a lonely part of the mall and seeing as I haven't seen much in the way of people that is saying something.  I spot my target, a lone gentleman wearing all black, nondescript, white male.  I draw my gun and put a bullet into the back of his head, he falls over without sound, without reaction.

	Assassination completed.  Unfortunately I now know that my fate too is sealed after doing this.  Nothing to do but go home to bed and jerk off.  A single, thick and chunky shot of cum erupts from my glans as I lay naked upon my back.  Something is very off about this, the colour looks more yellow/green, I wonder if I have an infection.

	Meeting Scott and Jon in the basement of the gaming store.  We are going to play Warhammer 40K.  Scott should have his Sisters of Battle and I'm not certain what Jon will bring.  My black case is filled with Skaven, I'll be using the Ratskin rules for them.  The problem is that these two players are not Scott and Jon, they are strangers and one of them is playing Tyrannids and the other Genestealer Cult.  I feel embarrassed as they ask me to play, because I have the wrong figures, the wrong rules—I make up a lame excuse that I've forgotten part of my army and instead sit back and watch them play.

	There is a strange toy on the table next to me.  It is a figure of the Grim Reaper, looks solid black and is wearing a cloth cloak of black material.  I lift the black material and find that the figure beneath is made of styrofoam and that there is a sticky note attached to it's face.  The note reminds me of the assassination I've completed:

TIMES UP.
YOU ARE NEXT.
Report #23
Samasin Yard observing.

	Working at the post office, dressed in the blue outfit of a mailman.  There is a crowd of us hanging out on the outer dock.  Filthy concrete, dirty wooden skids and rusting metal make up the ambient decor.  There is a pop machine, I am trying to get a drink out of it, but it dispenses a bottle of rum instead.

	“Oh, that is for walk 10,” one of the mailmen says, “but he's off this week.”

	“I'll take it to his case,” I reply.

	The mailmen work at 'cases' which is like a wooden table with three walls of pigeon holes that the letters and magazines are slipped into.  Working at case 10 is a young Chinese girl with reddish-brown hair.  I hand her the bottle of rum and tell her it is for the mailman that owns this case.  She thanks me.  It is then I notice that she has some cardboard and styrofoam by her desk.

	“May I have those?” I ask.

	She seems unsure, “I am saving those for someone else.”  After some discussion about it, she lets me take the cardboard and styrofoam, I have a plan to build something out of these—however I'm to keep it a secret because these materials were meant for someone else.  I start by gluing the styrofoam tray (it has several spaces in it, was obviously used for packing small items like batteries or a cellphone) to the cardboard.  Next I take black spray-paint and start colouring it black.  However the styrofoam begins to dissolve and the cardboard becomes soggy and warped and in the end all I have is a mess.

	My kitchen is also a mess, there is a family of four trying to cook something on my stove and they have the food all over the stove, walls and floor.  The mother is a big fat woman with hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, giving her that strange bald look.  She complains at me that the stove isn't working and that there is no food.  She storms off and takes two family members with her, leaving her older son in the kitchen with me.  He still wants to try and make something out of the mess, which includes fried chicken, tomato sauce and lettuce.  He gathers it up with one of my silver spoons and tosses the mess into the oven.  I scold him for using my silverware in that manner.

	Driving around some part of Mexico in a white van with my brother.  All the buildings in this town are small and squat and made with or coloured terracotta.  The buildings are no more than three stories high and the apartments can hold little more than three people.  You can see clearly through the plate glass windows at the denizens within.

	We watch as a party of people climb out of a top story window, clamber against the terracotta walls walking on a thin ledge, to another window on the other side of the building.  They are laughing at the stunt.  One woman, larger in size and weight and wearing a royal-blue dress almost falls to her death before climbing through the second window.

	A filthy apartment that my brother is renting from a friend of his, the grey walls are pitted and marked from years of abuse.  My brother is sitting in a crib without mattress and looking at a box of porn saying, “My friend leaves this shit here for me to get rid of.  He is into some disgusting things.”

	I am laying on the floor as he speaks, I am into some disgusting things.  Right now I am looking at the wooden slats that make up the frame of the crib and thinking, “I can slip my dick between those...”  I fantasize about that, working my dick in between those slats, when a cute guy comes in and sits his ass over the slats that I'm humping.

	If only Adam would leave for a bit.  He calls me sick instead.  I am so randy at the moment, I just want him to leave.  It is not to be—for Alison; one of the postal workers that I work with, enters the room with a vacuum.  She asks if I have seen the newspaper today and I shake my head.
Report #24
Samasin Yard observing.

	A winters day, deep snow on my lawn and ice floes out on the water, the sky is light grey and white with clouds.  There is a red haired woman standing in the snow, wearing an emerald green full length coat and a white sunhat.  She is photographing the water as it drifts by.  I exit my house to speak with her.

	“Is this the sea?” she asks.

	“No, this is a lagoon,” and I point out the low rocky mountains that encircle the water, “It is a shame that you are not on the other side of the water, the view is better from over there.  You can see the falls.”

	I point toward my house which sits on the edge of a low cliff and the large swell of water that indicates that it is spilling over the edge of the cliff.  Her Irish Setter bounds over in a red streak and plays in the deep snow.

	Role playing with a bunch of cartoon robots and horses, the robots look like the ones from the DC comic Metal Men and the horses look suspiciously like the ones from an online comic called CATastrophy.  The game is robots vs horses, the horses are all German Nazi's speaking in very bad German accents and the robots are allies trying to rescue the girl, who looks like Daisy from Super Mario.

	Racing through corridors and trying to avoid the Nazi soldiers, the lead robot has taken to impersonating Hitler and it seems to work.  Afterwards we are all gathered on my lawn in the sunlight of a spring afternoon.  We are ribbing one of the robots called Griegor, his head looks like a fire hydrant with glasses, Griegor is something of a pervert and is speaking in a bad German accent:

	“Ach, I love ze large ladies with the big boobies.  I pay a large sum of money to zem zo I can lift zem over my head!”

	Everyone is laughing and then my nephew Kai shows up and asks a question, “Will Griegor and Anson ever have kids?”  Both Griegor and Anson are male, there is more laughing and Griegor heads into my house.  

	Anson, a grey cartoon horse, muscular but shy and obviously embarrassed by the question answers, “No.  We can't.”

	I turn my head and shout toward the house, “Did you hear that Griegor?  Anson doesn't want your kids!  I think you should come over here and kick his ass!”
Report #25
Samasin Yard observing.

	Sitting around with Ted discussing '70s sci-fi while I handle an action figure in my hands.  I describe the character to Ted as some kind of heroic science fiction pimp.  Really it looks like a blocky green humanoid, with some impressive detailing considering it's age, reminds me of the space suits from the movie Alien.  It has similar arm and leg joints to vintage Star Wars figures.

	On the TV is Automan, a superhero who can mimic cars.  Right now he is 'driving' about on a roller coaster rail, and what I mean by this is that the actor is laying face down with his arms out at his sides 'grasping' the rails and moving about them.  All of this done in the fashion that only blue screens can provide.  In fact as we watch, the stock footage of the roller coaster becomes out of sync with the actor so that he is temporarily flying through the air.  He then collides with a car, going through the windshield with terrific force, demolishing the car.  Automan is alright though because he is indestructible.

	This inspires us to do some guerrilla filming of our own.  We are out in an auto junkyard full of brown, rusted out cars, old ones too '50s and '60s maybe older.  Ted is dressed in an outlandish getup that includes gas-mask, elbow pads, knee pads, some kind of chest armour they would use in football and a skateboard that he is using as a shield.  Ted is sparing with someone else who I think is Ace Allen and he is dressed completely in black and holding a rifle as I film.  This is the only sequence that we manage before the police come and try to arrest us for trespassing. 
Final Report
Samasin Yard observing:

	I am nestled comfortably in a foetal position within a hollowed out tree trunk that is actually composed of white cushions.  Before me are ten white packets containing the pills that I will need to cure this sore throat that has been preventing me getting any kind of real sleep.  They are fanned out before me, each neat little packet has something written on it in black, but I can't tell what they say.

	The tree trunk of cushions is in a forest of ten trees, but they are not trees at all but white sheets standing straight up as if draped over the trees, though there is no shape beneath to tell if this is true or not.  The grass is green and neatly cut, brown in places but it just adds to the charm.  The sun is out, all is bright and clear.

	I feel secure, happy and safe.

	I am calm.

	Ace Allen appears next to a set of black dressers, I think he was searching for something beneath and has cut himself on his hand.  I produce my oak wand and point the Yoni end toward him, “Make an offering to the cup?” I ask.

	He understands that I want his blood to be dripped into the carved indentation of the Yoni and he obliges with a few big drops of his blood.