PHOTOCOPY
OF
A TYPEWRITTEN
AND
UNPUBLISHED
MANUSCRIPT
BY
L. A. FALORIO
entitled
'MOVING IN DARKNESS'
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On the title page there is an orignal penned inscript:
'For Jack
Love
Linda
Pittsburgh 1980'
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Linda Falorio -
Linda Falorio is an artist and writer best known for her creation of the occult best seller, The Shadow Tarot, a Major Arcana tarot deck designed as an exploratory tool for delving into those areas of the psyche that find their reflection in the Collective Unconscious and the Archetypal Shadow. The artist is also known for her magickal altar-pieces and portraits, and for interpreting personal symbols and dreams on canvas. A member of the Women's Magickal Art Coalition, Linda presented Magickal Realism, a one-woman show of magickal and esoteric art, she has shown her paintings at The WestGate Gallery in New Orleans, and has participated in group-shows of art by women. Linda has long been a teacher of occult and metaphysical subjects, including astrology, tarot, palmistry, and magick, and has presented lectures and performance art, most notably at StarWood, and the Summer Hawk festival.
Linda's work has been published in magazines and journals world-wide, including StarFire, SKOOB Occult Review, Rose & Quill, MEZLIM, AHA (AbraHadAbra), Circle Network News, Congress of Astrological Organizations Journal, Thee Kali Circle, and NOX Anthology: Dark Doctrines. Lost Souls, a collection of short stories, was published as a project of the Esoteric Order of Dagon, and "Orgasm Magick" appears in Donald Michael Kraig's Modern Sex Magick. Descended from a long line of wise women and traditional healers, Linda holds a Masters degree in clinical psychology from the University of Miami, is a certified hypnotherapist, and web-mistress of AnandaZone!
She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with her long time magickal partner, Fred Fowler.
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MANUSCRIPT IS PLASTIC BOUND
WITH
ACETATE COVER
***************
It was spring when we got the word. Late May, I think. The company was transferring Dad from San Francisco, back East to Monongahela. Mom shrieked when she heard, then cried until she settled down to just not talking. But that was cool, because me and Billy had our own problems.
We really dug California. Everything was happening there. It was the best place in the world. So when they told us we had to move to this no-where place, we were peeved. I mean, we couldn't see how they dared pull such a rotten trick!
Our friends all felt sorry for us, it was pathetic. You'd have thought we were being exiled to Siberia. I still cringe when I remember the last party that they threw.
My friend No-Eyes brought back black crepe-paper left over from Halloween and draped it all around the gameroom. Then they moved the empty cedar chest downstairs and stuffed a dummy inside, dressed in my old clothes.
Looking at that dummy, dressed in my ragged white T-shirt and black pegged pants, with it's lifeless hands folded across a rat-tailed comb and a pack of cigarettes, really gave me the creeps. Even then, before the thing with Annie. Before any of it.
I would have guessed it was a warning. Some kind of premenition. But I never believed in that sort of thing. Not then, anyway. And monster movies never scared me. Not even "Village of the Damned."
So I laughed it off, played it cool and acted like the whole thing was a riot.
Then some of the guys sneaked booze in to make it a real Irish Wake. They'd given some money to a wino down on Skid Row and he bought two bottles of the cheapest blackberry brandy that he could find. It was sweet and awful, but it got us drunk as hell.
I puked all night after that, hanging my poor head over the side of the bed into a cake pan while the whole room pitched and rolled. That's the last thing I remember about California.
The next thing I knew, all our things were packed and shipped and we were on the road. Billy had to take a leak at
every exit, so it took us nearly three hours to get to Sacramento. Finally, Dad got exasperated and made him do it in a Coke bottle. That took all the fun out, so Billy didn't have to go much after that.
Dad was in a hurry. Said we had to make it in a week. So we didn't get to see anything good, like the Grand Canyon, or the Anasasi Cliff Dwellings. He just stuck to the most boring two-lane roads, insisting that we count white-faced steers and oil wells and every other thing that he could think of.
By the second day, we just sat and stared with nothing left to say.And the worst part was, I couldn't manage to sneak a single cigarette.
It was on the trip that Billy started crossing all his fingers like he does. Some kid showed him it in school. He wouldn't say, but I think he did it as a kind of supersticious protection from the giant semi's that bounced by us with a roar and whirl of dust, sucking the car so dangerously close, Dad had to fight to keep us on the road.
At first, Billy didn't need to cross his fingers very often. But by the time we hit Ohio, he had to do it all the time. Two or three semi's travelling together would whiz by us one right after the other. Kenworths and Macks, with chrome pipes and fancy sleepers in the back. Then poor Billy would scramble onto the floor between our legs. Guess he didn't like the highway much.
But I didn't mind it. In fact, I envied the truckers who rolled by, so independent and free, riding high above us in their cabs. I imagined it must be like ridging on top of the world.
I was sorry when we crossed the Mississippi near Kansas City. I knew the trip would have to end.
Pensylvania isn't much different than Ohio. Green and kind of boring, but not quite as flat. I wasn't much impressed. I would have stayed in California if they'd asked me. But they never did.
Mom perked up when we hit Pensylvania. She finally started talking again, about how she thoughht she'd plant a rose garden. I think Dad missed the mountains, though he never would have sais it. Dad never said much about anything that I remember. Unless it was to yell............................
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216 pages
EACH PAGE INDIVIDUALLY NUMBERED
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