“Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind
Memories, sweetened through the ages just like wine
Quiet thought come floating down
And settle softly to the ground
Like golden autumn leaves around my feet
I touched them and they burst apart with sweet memories”
So sang Elvis Presley years ago. Elvis had memories. Grigori Rasputin had memories. The guy in the car next you probably has memories. You have memories. Yes, even The Purging Lutheran has memories. But memories of what? I have memories of puppies, flowers, lyrics to Jethro Tull’s album, Thick As A Brick, today’s lunch (a ham sandwich with a dab of German mustard wrapped in a tortilla – Sehr guter, Herr Frankenstein!), and copper pennies. What I do not have a memory of is the long purple and black machine pictured above. Yes, it is a vacuumer of some sort, I recognize that. My Sweet Rib is responsible for this somehow. I really cannot go on about today’s purge unless I make up a story about it. But that would be w-rong!
“When a corrupting spirit is expelled from someone, it drifts along through the desert looking for an oasis, some unsuspecting soul it can bedevil. When it doesn’t find anyone, it says, ‘I’ll go back to my old haunt.’ On return, it finds the person swept and dusted, but vacant. It then runs out and rounds up seven other spirits dirtier than itself and they all move in, whooping it up. That person ends up far worse than if he’d never gotten cleaned up in the first place.”