Petr Krylov
Tarot Magic

This book discusses the branch of esotericism that deals with event programming by Tarot cards.

The book draws on the author’s many years’ experience reconstructing its theory and verifying it in practice.

In Russia, the book finds its online niche within the context of the Patience of Medici. Legend has it that the Patience of Medici is a magical practice that makes it possible to control the future.

Historical and literature sources have mentioned it under various names for hundreds of years.

Many think that they think, but few think that they think him.

And in their delusion, they’re mistaken that they think.

For only those think who think others.

Stalkerreklats

Chapter 1. Introduction to stalking

So, what is stalking?

Life is millions of options and thousands of roads.

But life is also tens of thousands of rules and limits that form its vicious circle, a maze you can’t find your way out of.

Millions of bipedal predators tear to pieces the life of a newcomer to this world, getting him to run around their panopticon like a squirrel on a wheel.

I admit there’s some truth to Russian thieves-in-law’s view that society is a sheepfold, but I disagree that their outlook is the only true one.

People living in Caucasian mountain regions traditionally value the experience of gray-haired old men more than gold. The old men know many roads and paths through ice-covered passes, rent by bottomless abysses, sharp like the razor of hate, and inapproachable and death-threatening almost all year round. The experience and skill of the elders and their knowledge of their native land guaranteed the survival of the people in the years of hardship, when enemies and adversities came upon the peaceful toilers.

The elders were reverentially called Aqsaqals.

In forest areas, where the sun itself doesn’t shed a straight ray across the ground, reflecting instead from myriads of living souls reaching out to it, the chaos of life’s wilderness can entangle the uninitiated into its thickets ever so deep until the traveler loses the strength to get back out. But even in those parts, there were those able to find, by visible signs, a way through life’s confusion and fearlessly set out into the depth of the taiga or the jungle, to return with trophies to those who loved and waited for them.

They were proudly called the Hunters.

In the heat haze of the desert, there appeared, like a mirage, the outline of someone striding like a clockwork soldier; and in a moment so short your mind hardly has time to believe it, the someone from the other world (after all, where he came from even lizards that didn’t die in two or three years did die of surprise when they tried to calculate the possibility of that event – just kidding) stood near you, giving off heat.

How had he survived in a place with neither water nor shadow for hundreds of miles around? How had he kept his sanity, hearing infinity swishing against timelessness? Exactly where had he come from and where was he going to? What was he looking for? Who had he saved, who would he save, and who would he punish?

With the respect and fear of incomprehension, people recounted his story like a legend to their children, calling him the Ranger.

And then, in leaps about one hundred yards long, branching into a tree of probabilities of what could happen next, a lightning came down, picking from the myriad scenarios for its descent the easiest and the most reliable ones – those that kept energy loss to a minimum while offering as many options for further travel as possible.

And if someone doubts that the lightning’s path was the best there could be, let them stand to be struck by it and feel, at the last moment of their life, that its power had not been wasted down the road from its birth to its death but that it had been preserved and even multiplied.

The lightning brought the surplus power from the sky down to the earth, restoring the balance.

This goes to show that stalking is not the monopoly of stalkers but the ancient art of survival and orientation, allowing you to understand the world and your place in it and to restore the world’s balance.

The stalker is the lightning of choice and the hunter of intention, the ranger of spirit, the Aksaqal of experience, and the universe itself trying to look into its own eyes to see its reflection and an understanding of itself.

Here are some features of stalking in brief:

1. Stalking is a magical practice over fifty thousand years old and a hermetic technique.

2. Unlike the many known kinds of magic, such as hypnosis, telekinesis, and pyrokinesis, stalking is not so much an outer technique as it is an inner one.

The meaning of stalking often lies in coadjusting oneself internally to the world or its individual parts. This can be done at various levels of consciousness, from physical to causal, with a variety of techniques and tools.

3. Stalking in its many facets is, in essence, the basis of magic itself, and it has never gained much notice because I do believe that there is actually no magic besides stalking in its various types and forms and that all kinds of magic known today are nothing more than schools slapping their labels on it.

4. Stalking is, first and foremost, the art of understanding the world and its goals and of knowing how to open a long, effective dialogue with the world seen as a part of stalking that serves its purposes.

Similarly, a cell learns how to enter into a dialogue with the whole body. And the cell that has mastered the art becomes a nerve cell of the world – a stalker.

Chapter 2. How a magician becomes a stalker

To give you an example, I will describe, in a tongue-in-cheek yet frank presentation, the actual way of a magician evolving into a stalker.

Needless to say, the evolution takes years…

And, as a rule, more than one life…

…and not everyone undergoes that evolution, for the not-yet-strong body of the young, self-assured magician is not up to digesting all jokes of magic…

…But let’s not talk about sad things…

So, here’s the evolution of magicians – sure nuff, with fast forwards.

As someone with some experience in spell-casting (something of a practitioner), I can tell you for sure. Imagine, as an example, that you’re a magician and she, a princess, not just your average princess buta princess head over heels in love with you.

1. Spells are cast any old way. Whatever the old farts say is tripe; they don’t know jack about magicand don’t let others know… Hold on… Lemme get it done in a sec… OOOOOONE

…tswooo…

…freeeee… Geez what was that?

…

come to think of it, how do princesses likethe pockmarked?

need to put a spell on a dazzlingprincess who enchants all… okay not all I mean that princess there… okay not dazzling but still enchanting… hell she’s got some teeth left, right? maybe a dental appointment would…

2. Those who survived step 1 would be well-advised to rhyme their spells so that they come over the target like sea waves – and by the way, the rhythm law on the tablet says the same. While that doesn’t diminish the backlash, it makes it more pleasant and habitual: the backlash doesn’t tear you in halves like a capelin but comes down on you pleasantly, making you get down on the pentacle, and what’s more, the pattern left on the walls is much more beautiful than that you get from step 1…

Geez, I do need to use rhymes… Here’s some poetry all right… love… even the cat is trying to snuggle up… the princess is smiling… smiling… but she’s smiling at the wrong one like the fool she is… better throw in something stronger… there you go… get ‘er with the iambic pentameter…

That’s right… Wooooow… isn’t that great… What’s the end of that line?

Princess? No that doesn’t rhyme. Too late, how come I didn’t notice it didn’t rhyme? If I say something now that doesn’t rhyme, it’s gonna teeeeeeaaaaaaaaar ya in halves like a capeline! Gotta say something that rhymes right now… What’d I say?

Ooooops… That wasn’t me… God help me… I swear on my ass! Too late…

3. This is for those who tried to practice (as true theorists) both step 1 and step 2 and, cussing and swaying on their feet, said “Hell, somebody shoulda given me a warning. They don’t make these pants anymore – what am I gonna wear now?”

It’s worth giving a gentle reminder that putting a spell based on your own power is a little exhausting and that nobody does it that way anymore, except maybe when they’re in battle and all staffs and wands are already gone but the enemy in your rifle sight keeps coming out the woodwork, a situation you can’t describe without cussing.

And, as a matter of fact, in magic academies you can hear people on the sidelines say that everything good is done not by the magician but on behalf of their astral roof (or their astral basement if their design preferences lie that way).

And, scratching their noggins, still smoking from steps 1 and 2, they leaf rapidly through a catalogue of astral roofs, basements, and oh so tiny mezzanines.

Those still in a position to stay in position pick what they want and then (feeling something bad about to come up after they practiced yelling the name of the roof and put on their least favorite pants and, come to think of it, slippers) proceed to step… proceed…

4. Well, they don’t anymore – they used to but… boy does it drag you all over the pentacle!

Those who said it couldn’t get any worse than step 3 are SNOT-NOSED KIDS!

It’s quite another thing under the astral roof: when it comes crushing down on you, once and for all,

you understand you not only realized but are dead sure now that, hell, even though you were wrong about step 2 and – especially so – step 1, you were saying all those things about… which step was it? Well, go find it yourselves – I’m just fine as I am, lying here on the blood-soaked mat like a meat pancake…

When you’re boxing with the floor, the ceiling, and the asphalt (what’s the asphalt doing here? whatever, never mind), you begin to suspect vaguely that you forgot something – something is missing, but there’s nothing you can do so you move on to step

5. But the body takes its toll. The bastard wants to live so you understand that you ain’t never gonna drivethat clunker again… or almost never. And even if you do jump in, you won’t jump out – the earth punches hard when it hits your face.

Perhaps you’ll lie down instead… And why did they hang me out to dry?

We’re a team here, right? Why am I the only one on the grind?

Look how many slackers we have – c’mon, get your ass in gear (don’t go over the top with foul language; after all, we’re making a spell for the posterity – what do you think they will make of it?)

Lay ‘em here…

They look just fine lying here. Not moving a muscle! They’re real pros, looking alive the way they do. Their pictures oughta be in the textbooknext to “Where it is thin, there it breaks.”

After twenty or so passes (you were dying to cast a love-spell on the princess of a shabby empire; everyone was – at least when they were still alive), it occurs to you that, just to be on the safe side, you should back up each system component and stabilize the channel, starting, while the going is good, with some three courp… I mean, magicians.

…………………

Hurray, at least some folks survived the spell-casting.

True, half the mountain range is gone after all, and the island sits at a tilt, but what does matter is that the princess is in love… yes, with everybody at once, but that’s just a trifling side effect.

But now we can move on to step…

…Boy, I still remember how to count!

6. If you think about it – thinking is something you need to do at step 6—the clay tablets say the same… written.. I mean carved… two thousand years ago before AD… before people came along… dragons… those that were left …because they didn’t get enough training and couldn’t fly to otherworlds…

Hell, I’m so confused.

Never mind, you get the idea. Why make an apple when there’s plenty around?

Just make sure it’s the right time and the right

place… There’s a princess crossing the road… dig those legs, right in front of a speeding truck, and here I come, on my white dra… I mean, white hor…

turns out I’m a paramedic in white… no, it’s too late to be a paramedic, the princess will never be the same now that she’s just a heap of bones… white, white – white what? Got it – a Mercedes. I wedged it in with a flourish between the truck and her, now she’s indebted to me till the day she days, but what does she owe me? We’re talking five years here, no less. No, it’s not a rape, guardian angels are supposed to…

All right, a white truck. I swung the wheel with all might, directing the truck to a wall, a white one… that’s why the truck is white… but the princess… it’s all love… mission complete… and there’s no backlash to speak of, although the truck thinks otherwise… but hey, who’s asking the truck?

After you practice step 6, changing the princess about a dozen times, step 7 logically follows.

7. Stay away from spell-casting – there’s a bunch of princesses out there, and at least one of them is yours… especially if you…

or she is your …basically, it’s all the same – all you have to do is give one of her sidesa polish…

That’s how magicians get to be stalkers.

At least, those of them who survive, of course.

The key difference between magicians as we know them and stalkers is that stalkers don’t reinvent the wheel or break through the tunnel of probabilities but take the existing paths and upward streams to go, with the greatest of ease, to the place the world needs them to be at the moment, playing the part the world needs them to play.

…And the Traveler has enough roles and scenes…

Chapter 3. Don’t youget smart with me – show mewith your finger where it is

Just kidding… Here’s one you might know

The Arctic Ocean… The weather is windy, snowy, and the sky hangs cloudy 100 yards above. A Chukchi man bobs in a kayak on the lead-colored waves. He sits hunched up over the water, fishing for something that has no compass to migrate to Sochi or Turkey.

All of a sudden, the water gets all rough and bubbling, and a US submarine comes up and swings a hatch open. The captain climbs out, wearing a black coat, produces a phrasebook, and starts saying “I’m a second-rank captain, and who are you?” in the dialects of Extreme North peoples. The Chukchi squints at him shortsightedly and, trying in vain to lift his head up, something he’d never done because he’d never had to, looks at him askance like a regular Russian pop singer and asks him, in perfect English, the same question geologists ask when someone comes upon them on the third day of their search for oil in bottle crates.

“What the f – do you want, soldier?”

The captain replies, bewildered, trying to speak English as well as the Chukchi, “Would Sir Chukchi be so kind as to tell me the way to God-blessed America?”

The Chukchi says, “Course south-southeast, 250 miles, and be careful with those jars near the shore.” The flabbergasted captain gloomily climbs down into the hatch and vanishes out of sight. The Chukchi keeps right on fishing for something that had gotten too hot in the tropics and, if the horoscopes can be trusted, returned to cool down to make a good snack for your beer.

The water gets bubbling and foaming again, and a Russian submarine comes up, swaying heavily.

A boatswain climbs out on all fours, feeling no pain, and shouts down the hatch, “C’mon, thaz not a problem – we donneed no compass ta figure it out! We ‘ad two liters o’ spirit that woulda gone to waste otherwise!” Then he looks at the Eskimo and, trying to focus his eyes on him, cries in a hoarse bass voice, “Hey, Chukchi, which way do we take to Murmansk?” The Chukchi replies, “South-west-west, 560 kilometers, but be careful not to tip that submarine over when you go down.” And the boatswain yells at him angrily, “Doncha get smart with me, you snip – show me with ya finger where it is!”

So, what’s stalking at a glance?

It’s evening… Yet another Hero, as crazy about reading fantasy novels as all morons and losers are, staggers back to his little cozy den in the five-story condo he likes so much, to fall into anabiosis until the pure, good, and just event – the publication of a new remake that depicts him as the Great and Powerful throughout – happens.

In the meantime, the powers of darkness in the persons of a budding criminal nicknamed Lisper (sentenced for rowdy behavior to three years suspended) and a couple of other young and gifted good-for-nothings, stopped by the condo’s entrance hall, looking for something soft and pliant to train their adolescent psyche.

Scenarios:

1. Hero didn’t spot Lisper until he was all in Hero’s face. Hero’s right hand hurriedly went searching for the mouse and hurriedly clicked the left button that wasn’t there, and the absence of a screen sight to aim through made talking to these people a tad harder for the powerful magician.

The day’s last thing saved on the hard drive was a blurry, dirty 50 Hz palm closing the world shut before turning it upside down. So he couldn’t see the young yet promising judo champion who ran up the stairs behind him and confidently set about knotting the young and gifted good-for-nothings into a macramé pattern.

2. Hero got so blown away he slipped and dropped all his fantasy books at the entrance door. While he picked them up, a young yet promising champion boxer named Gavrila burst into the hall, ran up the stairs, and tripped over Lisper. A short, if informative, discussion followed.

Over the course of that discussion, the advantage of the left hook over bluff and thief-argot bluff was elucidated. Gavrila helped Lisper get better at lisping by giving him an unassuming professional kick in the teeth.

Drenched in cold sweat and stepping with disgust over the bloody spit and puke, Hero ran fast to his den to leave it all behind by diving into the second level of the book about Him, the Great.

3. Hero went home, sweating gallons.

All day long, signs kept shouting to him that a white furry beastie would be coming for him soon. The world’s hints were getting more insistent by the hour – the cats squealed by his ear louder and the passersby, saying something seemingly irrelevant, looked at him more and more meaningfully, making the matrix bulge so much they seemed out to pounce out of the RAM at him.

The last sign was the scrap of a newspaper he saw at the condo’s entrance door, with the headline “Gazprom Gives Last Warning to Ukraine,” torn so that only the words “last warning” remained visible.

“I wonder what Castaneda would have said about that,” Hero thought, squatting with his feet on the bench at the entrance door.

The answer came as usual in the form of the young yet gifted good-for-nothings, headed by Lisper, cussing and yawping heartily, slagging off Gavrila, the young yet promising champ of you’re-in-deep-shit do, who had brushed past into the hall while Hero pondered the “to be or not to be” of his situation.

4. Offscreen voice: Hero was asleep but he knew that in five minutes he’d wake up in his bed, remembering all he’d been dreaming about. That’s why today he let the champ of what-did-you-say-it-was and Gavrila enter the hall first.

5. “And thith thime we’ll leth the king of spades come firthst, come firtht,” Hero mumbled malignantly under his breath, lisping as the result of his last encounter with Lisper, getting deeper into his role of the local lunatic, as he looked after Gavrila, who had no idea he was about to meet Lisper in a way that would be fateful for Hero, hurrying in to meet Lisper all the same…

6. “Let the Kings of Swords come first please,” Hero thought calmly, looking Gavrila in the eye, exchanging meaningless phrases with him before Gavrila rushed, in a businesslike manner, to smash Lisper’s face in as any patience card was supposed to do.

7. “Nnnoooo, I don’t like the way the cards have fallen,” Hero thought, and he jumbled his cards laid out to show Gavrila give Lisper’s head a kick with his strong foot, freeing the condo once and for all from that bold-faced asshole. And, all things considered, Lisper wasn’t worth laying out a patience for.

Gavrila, on the other hand, was a cool guy, ready to beat the hell out of Lisper for the asking. Svetka from apartment 54, however, didn’t see what she was missing, the hoity-toity fool.

Better lay out a patience for the two. So that they could move in together and live happily. Then there’d be more descent people living in the condo in some – teen years, by the way.

For those in doubt, here’s the classification in brief:

1. Stalking version zero.

2. Unconscious stalking, or where the guardian angel strikes is your home.

3. “Ooooww enemies, they shut me in, that’s an ambush, how d’ya like that, bro?” Semiconscious stalking that often transforms smoothly into madhouse stalking, directed by the kind and sympathetic men in white coats.

4. Stalking by a dream-seer… or, to be precise, a stalker’s dreams… maybe… or dream stalking… or in-stalking dreaming… or perhaps in-dream stalking… Damned if I can get my head around those dreams without a panel of stalkers to help me out…

5. Stalking by a not-yet card sharp who already cheats a little with cards… and events…

6. Stalking by a stalker, or so he thinks…

7. “It’s high time the stalker became a stalker,” the world thought…

Chapter 4. The name is bluff james bluff

So, what’s a stalker under a magnifying glass?

Take necromancers, for instance. A necromancer needs no description since you can imagine them easily, surrounded by the dead they evoked from their graves, howling terribly, jealous of everyone around over the necromancer and out to tear down anyone whodoesn’t have a life insurance policy.

Or, say, vampires – they’re no rocket science as you can’t mistake them for anyone else. At least, before you die.

The bogatyr’s distinguishing feature is, say, his strength. The magician’s, the ability to do magic. The witch’s, to do witchcraft. The sorcerer’s, to do sorcery.

But what’s a stalker and what does a stalker do anyway?

Those who’ve read the previous chapters may have noticed that any event has lots of potential scenarios. And, strange as it may seem, any scenario has an end, happy or otherwise. And if you look at some five scenarios, it turns out that despite the many possible combinations, they each have a distinguishing feature, the possibility of a happy ending that somehow keeps plummeting terrifyingly as you go.

And the possibility of finding yourself ten feet under tends toward one hundred percent in any scenario. If the scenario is not something you might see in a kids’ comic, coming instead from the hard, true life, then the happy end vanishes out of sight almost as fast as you can say soulfully, “We’re screwed.”

At this point, any more or less able mathematician will remember the extreme cases of dangerous and unhealthy occupations such as Agent 007 or Indiana Jones. Everyone is after him, and what they want to do to the scapego – … I mean, the hero clearly interferes with the patient’s health and sleep. And the most interesting thing here is that even if you follow the Indian movie tradition of shooting away from a six-chambered gun, they shoot too – as a rule, in multishot fire mode, coming at you from every side like Black Friday shoppers.

Vampires have it easy in situations of that kind: just feast on a couple of people, wreak havoc, and fly away on the wings of night. But what is the simple Bluff supposed to do?

Strange as it may seem, this doesn’t worry him in the least – he just keeps going, safe and sound and nothing daunted, from episode to episode. Maybe just a little exhausted by yet another nymphomaniac. How does he do that? How come he’s got it made, with the likes of Halle Berry at his side while your toasts just keep landing butter side down?

That’s the way things happen in the movies, I hear you say. But someone wins the national lottery! Or becomes the president or – isn’t that scary – the president’s wife.

And if you look closely at what Bluff does in the movie, you’ll notice a characteristic detail: he’s never late, the fucker. Always just in the nick of time… As soon as the security officer looks away for a second to think about the meaning of life, Bluff shows up out of the blue and, to take advantage of the security officer’s temporary helplessness and save Bluff’s bullets for the other 149 security officers, clouts him right on the head – there you go, your soul is floating up to hea – … I mean hell, of course.

As soon as the pretty lady feels an attack of female dizziness coming on, Bluff is right there to help as if he had seen it coming all along, the bastard.

That’s just the way he is – no sooner do you stop to take a yawn than he’s there to take care of things. Even Homer sometimes nods – when the day of villainy is done, the villains need a minute’s rest, too. Bluff shamelessly takes advantage of that respite, and the next thing you know, his shameless face looks into your eyes and says insolently, “The name is Bluff. James Bluff.”

What an asshole, right?

But the most interesting thing is that he takes his one-in-a-million chance as an accuracy on par with the Swiss time-pieces and invariably moves on from episode to episode, maneuvering deftly in the machine-gun fire and sliding between the pretty legs in those rare moments when they’re loose and defenseless.

Or take Next, starring Nicolas Cage.

In that movie, Nic is able to tell the future in all of three minutes, and the spell is long enough for him to bend his head low and lift it back up as necessary.And he’s as deft maneuvering in the gunfire. When I first saw him I thought, All right, Bluff is back from another plastic surgery. You see, their tricks looked too much alike, and they contrived to knock the enemy all over the place without as much as shooting a gun.

It logically follows that if Nic doesn’t brandish a gun in Next and Bluff isn’t a frequent shooter either, then their main weapon is knowing how to be in the right place at the right time, smiling their bulletproof, white-teeth cover-boy smiles at the bullets coming their way…

Maybe that’s what gets the bullets blinded – or how else can you explain that they miss the target all the time?

To put it scientifically for all of you nerds out there, the high probability of success in a situation where the probability of survival is negligently low is guaranteed for these individuals by either congenital or acquired ability to synchronously interact with aggressive agents, thereby allowing the individuals to attain their goals and use their capabilities in the most optimal manner possible.

Anybody get that?

That’s what the distinguishing feature of stalking is – the absolute synchronization with the world and the use of power, aggression, and weapons kept to a minimum.

A poem – by Guberman, I think – comes to mind.

I had a friend who fed himself to lice

Mending his rags as old as life

Cut out Creation’s likeness nice

And hunted God… without a knife

Chapter 5. Look what the cat coughed up…

What does it mean to be in the right place at the right time?

In the nerdy parlance of overly smart mathematicians, this means having the right space and time coordinates at a given moment.

That is, F (x, y, z, t) = f (t), where f (t) is that tricky function essential to success and to the feeling of deep mental satisfaction.

Anybody get that?

To put it simply, here’s an example: Say a cat runs across the road, escaping the cars prone to hit her any second.

Three things have always amazed me:

1. As a rule, the cat runs without looking around, instead looking steadily at some point ahead.

2. But if it stops and takes a look around, the cat is bound to be run over.

3. A simple yet amazing fact: a car drives through the spot where the cat was a second ago, but the cat is already not there.

Here, the following analogies offer themselves:

1. A person crossing the road of life looks at a point ahead of them like the cat. They can only see their ultimate goal and trot toward it.

This sort of obsession is a distinguishing trait of so-called ambitious people. That is, those who achieve success, for it is ambitious people that do.

There’s a certain secret to it, and in fact it’s a property of human consciousness. You can look at thousands of things, but you can only see those that your eyes search for, and once you see them, you just keep on looking at them. That’s as simple as that, and everyone knows it, but…

…Duck hunters know a funny thing: a duck shot while flying falls into the grass, and as the duck falls, the hunter mechanically follows its path with his eyes. Every hunter sees the spot the duck has fallen onto and then goes there to pick it up, but they won’t find it unless they look steadily at the spot as they approach it.

But if they only remember the spot approximately and go searching for the duck on the just assumption that their six to eight pounds of brains guarantee locating a lousy duck in the grass, ninety-nine percent of them will never find it, dead or not dead.

Why do they find no duck? The duck can’t have crawled away to heaven, right?

2. If you look away from your initial goal and start to have your doubts when you’re half way there, you’re not likely to succeed – remember what happens to the cat when it freezes in front of the speeding car.

But the overwhelming majority of people doubt things all the time. THINGS… AND PEOPLE… but why?

There’s a good saying that cowards die many times before their deaths.

And if you ask women, who in fact stand behind the natural selection of homo sapience males, what a “cool” man is, they’ll give you thousands of answers, but each will be sure to mention confidence.

Confident is an antonym for tentative. Women believe that a man can be anything – a sadist, a murderer, a bastard, a pauper – and still be attractive to them. But strip a man of his confidence, and no woman will ever look his way.

The instinct of selecting a potential mate unerringly tells a woman that a male lacking confidence will achieve nothing – he has no prospects.

Hero, the laughing stock of the neighborhood, can only be a hero for a girl who’s a laughing stock herself. People of this kind never make it unless they’re characters in a book, a drug for losers. In real life, someone who is confident scares predators away with their confidence alone.

That’s why little kids (and professional dog trainers) can, without an ounce of fear, approach a big mean dog to pet it (unless the dog is chained up). Their absolute faith and fearlessness don’t provoke the dog to bite them.

“If you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move.” Let me just add that faith is not a thought nor kung fu theory but the special state that stalkers learn first, a real feeling as opposed to mumbling, “I do believe, I do believe, I do!”

To those with extrasensory perception skills, one can simply say that energy is perception, the twenty-second Tarot trump (the Fool), the dude with a bindle, looking up to the sky to see his way up there, not down on Earth.

This Arcanum is the beginning and the end of Tarot studies.

It is this Arcanum that describes stalking on Earth.

And it is its energy and the perception of it that yield faith and all the resulting consequences, including the blinding bulletproof white-teeth smile.

“Fools get all the luck,” as the Russians say.

And that’s quite true.

They sure do!

By the way, in the runes, this Arcanum corresponds to Raidho.

Chapter 6. What’s it mean… ormagic gray, white, and speckled reddish-black pink

We’re getting closer and closer to the secret stalking techniques. The ones that let you control the future with your strict yet definitely just hand. But first let me give you a little preface. Don’t worry – just five or so lectures more and you’ll be right in the swing of all things stalking. How would you like a symphony without an overture? You wouldn’t have the luxury of running half an hour late or the time to go to the snack bar or preen yourself in the mirror.

So, before we get down to the nitty-gritty of stalking, we need to understand which kind of magic stalking is. Here’s an interesting thing, though: we’ve yet to see a clear classification of magic as such. This leaves us the one option of sorting out the mess that is the existing magical literature. First of all, I have to say that magic is the work of the worm, or the superlarva, that lives in everyone’s spine. The worm is called Kundalini. All the tricks of magic are his doing (or “their” if the magician belongs to several religions). Every magician’s (medium’s, sorcerer’s, witch’s – you name them) Kundalini works out through chakras and the colors corresponding to them.

Here are the basic colors of an awakened Kundalini (and the colors of magic and chakras involved):

Red – through the first chakra, Muladhara, the center of health and power (making you able to, say, lift a 1,000 lb weight).Berserkers, knights, and other murderers of minors.

Orange – through the second chakra, Svadhisthana, the center of sexuality, emotions, perception, and speed. It enables you to hear the grass grow, run faster than the wind, and live out your most time-consuming sexual fantasies. E.g., witches, sorceresses, ninjas, and tantrics.

Yellow (not to be confused with golden) – through the third chakra, Manipura, the center of clear thought and guidance. E.g., hypnosis, telepathy, control of animate and inanimate nature. E.g., yogis, chan buddhists, conjurers, and hypnotists.

Green – through the fourth chakra, Anahata, the center of love, unity, and holiness, used for spellcraft and transformation. E.g., spellcasters, sorcerers, saints, and mediums.

Light blue – through the fifth chakra, Vishuddha, the center of chaos and order as well as of chance, used for fortune telling and prophecy and to control the future and fate. E.g., fortune tellers, stalkers, soothsayers, and prophets.

Blue – through the sixth chakra, Ajna, the seat of pure magic. E.g., magic and prophecy.

White – through the seventh chakra, Sahasrara, which connects us with the universe and the divine. E.g., yoga, holiness, and insanity.

There are also mixed kinds of magic; for example, rainbow magic – taking place when several Kundalinis are at work all at once or at several levels – such as the rainbow magic of sorcerers, Christians, and spellcasters.

There’s also the magic of necromancy, which is generally mist silver.

The magic that opens into hell worlds is, as a rule, black or dirty gray.

The magic that opens into heaven worlds is, as a rule, goldish.

But pure color is quite rare, and the color of a specific ritual is actually a bunch of colors as when you invoke someone dead to spark hatred between a married couple.

All this presents the evident conclusion that stalking relates to the magic of chaos and order, the magic that rests on the Vishuddhi chakra. This kind of magic controls, and allows you to sense, cause-and-effect relationships. For instance, with it you can feel which slot machine you can win on at a particular moment or who will live to become great and who will shortly become a corpse. Furthermore, those proficient in stalking can even control events. How strong their influence is depends on the individual talent and abilities of the stalker at the given time and on how large the entity is that they’re dealing with. Controlling a kid’s toy is one thing, and controlling Mount Fuji with a print by an unknown hero is quite another.

To practice stalking, you should preferably have your Vishuddhi or Ajna as pure and charged up as possible, keeping in mind that there are deeds that can clog them, causing them to be blocked. Things like lies, blasphemy, broken oaths and promises, and adultery close these chakras, making stalking impossible. The obvious hallmarks of stalking skill is truthfulness and the ability to “caw.” As well as knowing how to pray (in a way that works). An extreme case is the stalking of intention – all that you don’t want comes along “of its own accord” with no prayers said.

There are also special techniques for beefing up and developing your stalking abilities, even from scratch. These techniques are closely connected with Tarot cards and their use. I will discuss them much later in this book. Because first of all, before we flaunt it, we need to understand what the stalker’s hands hold, lest the decent public leave us both armless and unarmed before you can say Jack Robinson.

Chapter 7. Whos witches the tracks, or what causal magic is

The previous chapter poked at things with a stick, as is customary in Russia, to explain that stalking is a branch of magic based on the Vishuddhi chakra. This type of magic appreciably differs from the stereotype of magic as we know it, so we should look at this in more detail.

Take a love spell, for example. As a rule, it works at the level of Svadhisthana, the second chakra.

Easy-peasy, as the saying goes. Take a larva and throw it at a picture of whoever it is you want to put a love spell on. This gets the mechanism unleashed: as the larva is ravenous and has no way out, it will tickle the target’s privates until Patient No. 1 comes running to Patient No. 2 to the satisfaction of everyone concerned, including the larva.

This kind of magic takes place at the level of emotions and astral interactions, taking as little as a couple of hours to produce the desired effect. But your astral plane continuously changes, taking, as a rule, less than forty days to renew completely. That’s why, unless you use Voodoo dolls, most such love spells crumble down in a month or two, though clients rarely complain (by that time, the hots will have dwindled to the vanishing point).

And the funniest thing is that under certain conditions (fistfight, war, heroism), the process runs naturally in a similar way …almost… but who can spot the difference these days?

Things are quite different with the fifth chakra, Vishuddha – it works causally. The causal level is significantly different. A love spell at this level works something like this.

1. Patient No. 1 is not doing great – say, their beloved dog has fallen sick, and they hold the dog dear as the only creature who loves and values them, bringing them deep mental and sexual gratification and a salary paid in euros.

2. It so happens that the only way to get the dog back on track is to have it healed by the One and Only, a veritable Bond, James Bond.

3. All he has to do is wave his big, kind hand, for he… you know the rest.

4. And the story would see a happy ending but the darn dog (at this point, unlike other types of magic, causal magic churns out new scenarios of “if… then,” since the previous cause is now used up and not recycled), now fully recovered from the disease, turns out to be pregnant (or goes missing or gets kidnapped by the Criminals as the unique descendant of the dog bred by the legendary… add salt, sugar, and species to taste).

5. And, strange though it may seem, help can only come from him as he happens to be into canine obstetrics, working exclusively with the dogs he operated on, or to know someone he went to school with who works at a detective agency, and it’s a sheer coincidence that today he’s having those Criminals over for his birthday party, and they promised they’d give him a dog for a gift…

6. When the whole thing turns full circle three or four times, the patients take to staying overnight at each other’s houses, sharing beds, to spare themselves the trouble of coming over, or start to thrash violently in the trap of Karma, viciously tearing off their bodies everything sticking to them. Those too stubborn and stupid end up with their heads ripped off (basically, they don’t need those useless things anyway).

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