mysticism – Page 12 – A Piece, of the Sky

Sam in the House

Fessy plays the game as well as a sack of rocks. He’s ‘OK’ with Tyler, but wants to get rid of Scottie, one of the last few people in Foutte’s alliance, besides Hay.

Fessy is after Brett and Scottie, the competitors for Hay’s heart. He’s not playing for the $500K. He is playing strictly with his heart. Fessy is ready to let Tyler get away, for another week. At this rate, Tyler is never going to be voted out anytime soon. He’s never been in any real danger.

Scottie’s going home Thursday. I am calling it now. Kaitlyn got rid of Swaggy. Hay let RS go home during her HOH. Fessy is going to take out Scottie, for personal reasons (Scottie’s crush on Hay).

Scottie is still the best thing to ever happen to Foutte. He needs to win the veto and save himself from Foutte’s stupidity. Kaitlyn’s spirit animals are still haunting the house and taking revenge on Foutte, by allowing them to fight each other and destroy one another.

Fessy is going home, the week after the next. Foutte is all going to join each other, one after the other, in the jury house.

Fessy also repeated the great Foutte tradition of making bad strategic decisions from the HOH bathroom, like Hay’s wine-fueled bath tub pitch to Tyler, to use the veto on Rockstar.

Stop with the backdooring; just put people up straightaway.

Foutte wins competitions – but not the ones that matter; Tyler has won multiple POVs, including OTEV.

Sam and Kaycee? I ‘ship’ them, more than any pairing with Sam. They were hugging each other so much, after RS left. Sam returned to her first love.

Brett almost killed Sam, with some seeds she was allergic to, in a dinner he made for her. If that’s not a sign, from the universe, that they shouldn’t be together, I don’t know what is.

Sam was the only vote to save Bay, but this week, suddenly, like the crocodile tears of Hay and Fessy, last week, Sam supposedly ‘just wanted to vote with the house.’ Future HGs should retire this tired excuse forever. As I’ve said before, YOU make your own majority, YOU accumulate your own numbers.

It’s like Rule #3 of the 48 Laws of Power: never tell anyone that you like them. Conceal your true intentions. Bad move Sam. Brett is not the one for her! Sam needs a nurturer and Brett will not be able to deal with Sam’s level of uniqueness.

Sam is the kind of person, who can survive on her own, but she needs just one person, who gets her – one person who is ‘her person.’ Bay is gone, so is RS; so now, Sam’s ‘person’ is Brett, of all people.

The level of commitment, that Sam requires, is too much for Brett to handle. He won’t have the mental bandwidth to cater to Sam. Then she will be hurt and take the whole issue very hard, since Sam already has self-esteem issues. Angela may be traditionally hot, but Sam is the beautiful girl-next-door. I don’t know why she can’t see that in herself and be more confident.

Foutte is committed to the ‘fairness’ of Rockstar, or people like Fessy, being ‘a man of his word.’ No one in Foutte is intellectually dumb. But street smarts would teach Foutte that the only thing that really matters is power – who has the numbers, who has the majority.

Words mean nothing without actions. Pinky promises are made to be broken, at one’s first convenience. Just ask Tyler. “The 48 Laws of Power,” “The Prince,” and “The Art of War” should be required reading for all HGs, before they enter the BB house.

Rockstar is not legendary, in any sense of the word. The only HG that I am excited to see in Celebrity Big Brother, Survivor and such, is Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn is a Legend.

sip that Tea

Alli met Jeff on a bustling, hot, sticky night in New York, at the Blue Fin restaurant in Times Square. She was eating a few bar peanuts before Jeff arrived. Jeff was a djinn, specifically an afrit.

No one would have been able to tell, unless they were looking for the signs: the deep, ruddy color of Jeff’s tawny hair, the slight, maroon shade in his otherwise brown eyes. On closer inspection, his fingernails tapered into sharper points, than normal, and his teeth, beyond the front ones, seemed to be all canines.

Alli knew these details already and rose up to hug him, when he appeared, like a whirlwind coming through the door, all swirling overcoat and long, dark blue scarf.

“You look just like Aro said you would,” Alli exclaimed, “You look great!”

“So do you,” Jeff, the afrit, answered humbly, “It’s an honor to be able to meet the new Sky Avatar.”

Embarrassed, Alli waved the compliment off, “What are you having?”

They ordered a large set of California rolls to share, and a couple of glasses of Chablis.

“Where have you been recently?” Alli asked, before using the chopsticks to pop a sushi piece, with avocado, into her mouth.

“I am staying in the Yale Club, not too far from here,” Jeff mused, dipping his roll, in a minute dish of soy sauce, “You are right: I do look windswept. I have been jumping all over the Near East – Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey, Dubai, the Empty Quarter – what one might call ‘the Bible Lands.’ Old World deserts.”

“Your passport must have a ton of stamps on it,” Alli observed, as she dipped her roll in the smidgeon dash of wasabi, on her plate.

“Yes, I am originally from Bristol,” Jeff explained, “but I’ve bounced around for most of my life: India, Tanzania, you name it.”

“‘Jeff’ isn’t your real name, is it?” Alli commiserated, in a lower voice.

“No,” he confided, picking up a delicate sliver of sashimi, “The moment before a djinn is born, The One whispers his or her true name into one ear.”

“No one else can know that name, except trusted folks, because that name, can be used to bind you, correct?” Alli whispered.

Jeff nodded, eating another roll. He chewed thoughtfully and then continued, “Humans don’t know their true name, which, to me, is rather dangerous. Someone could call you and you would come hither, and you wouldn’t even know that you were being called.”

“It’s quite odd, indeed,” Alli agreed, “Aro says now that I know I am an Atevar, my true name will come back to me.”

“Yes, it will,” Jeff seconded, “and when it does – I can’t be too dramatic on this – guard it with your life.”

“Naming takes on a whole new importance, doesn’t it?” Alli looked up.

“Djinn have half a dozen different names at any given time. For example, ‘Jeff’ is the name only you will call me by, the moniker only you will know me by,” Jeff further explicated, “This is not a slight; it can happen even with long-running relationships. Did Aro tell you the real reason I am moving around so much?”

“No,” Alli shook her head.

“My ‘Reginald’ up and left, late last year. Just left,” Jeff growled, “The engagement didn’t matter or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Alli murmured, taken aback. She set her chopsticks down.

“Don’t be, don’t be,” Jeff squeezed her shoulder, “‘Reginald,’ huh? Not ‘Reggie,’ just ‘Reginald.’ Very stiff, isn’t it? I should have known from the start.” He smiled, despite himself.

Alli turned around, on her stool, facing him front-on, “I recently broke up with someone too, someone who reminded me of an old flame, who was never coming back. I have grieved and mourned on my own, tried to not let my new girlfriend, Page, see.”

Jeff gave a rueful smirk, “We’re not too different, you and me? Aren’t you glad Aro introduced us?”

They raised their glasses and clinked them. Beyond the crowded restaurant and the storefront glass, taxi cabs whizzed by in the blue evening, throwing up jets of water, torn from puddles, left by the afternoon rain.