The First Breath of Mythos
I still remember the first words my grandmother ever said, as my eyes saw the fallen world for the first time, as the blood of my mothers body still covered my bastard flesh I heard them "Welcome, my beautiful precious boy" she whispered to me as my mother lay dying from the knife in my grandmother's hand. My eyes saw the men behind her, the ones i would come to know as family, knives also bloody from the bodies of the Uncles I would never know nor care to, drop to one knee as she held me before them "My Son The King of the Gypsy Family Romanoff is dead, Long live my Grandson now Prince of the Gypsy family Romanoff, know his face, this is the one we have waited for".
You make ask dear reader how I could remember the first event of my life on this Earth, and I answer that after I tell you my story, You tell me if you could forget.
I must by neccesity begin my story before my actual birth and I tell this as it has been recalled to me by the men who actually lived it, unfortunately i cannot interject the viewpoint of my dear Grandmother Josephina, for she would never speak of it, and grew dark and brooding the few times I asked.
I must explain that my family came to the United States as immigrants from Russia, being originally from Romania and various other places as Gypsies are prone to be. They came to the States in 1935 and formed the Romanoff Family Gypsy Traveling Carnival.
My father was the head of the family being the only son of the reigning queen of the family and the deceased King. Let me explain that the terms King and Queen used in this context as they are not the same titles as you may be accustomed to, that is not much in similarity to the Queen of England, however in the gypsy family group these personas carry as much respect and power as a leader of a country could ever earn. In a Gypsy Family these entities are life and death, the spiritual and physical leaders of all members, they command both the respect and loyalty of all that follow them. A gypsy will kill and give his or her life in defense of the honor or at the word of their king or queen, there is no question, no debate that is how it simply is.
Now that I have given you some insight on the structure of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I will describe the events that led to my fated in not tragedy induced birth. Dear Reader, I do not expect you to understand or condone the actions I will describe, it cannot be expect and even more so doubted that you can be capable of such, I will simply say, you wouldn't understand, its a Gypsy Thing.
October 1944
Maryville Tn.
My family's Carnival through its many travels ended up in a small town in Tennesee in the summer month of May. There wasn't much to this town, the expected southerner genteel and the backwoods hillbillies both attended the Carnival as they are apt to do. i have found that despite the reputation (well-deserved) a Gypsy Carnival has, that many people put aside the rumor and are curious enough to attend these events, much to the business and profit of the family both by legal and illegal activities.
My father, 25 at this time was what you might call a man who enjoyed the company of many ladies, i have found in western culture that this sort of behavior is frowned upon, but I assure you that in Gypsy culture it is both condoned and expected, it is simply how things are. I will say regretfully that it was this exact behavior that lead to the events of my birth and my father's early death.
As was my father's custom in every town, he picked a young lady visiting the carnival to make the subject of his amorous intentions. She was only 16 as was his taste and after several days of smooth talking, flattery, and presentation of what she thought were precious gifts, he moved in for the act of cosumation. They were alone in one of the tents, in the act of fornication, when fate delivered my father a fatal blow. The young girl's 4 brothers stumbled upon the two of them in embrace, and when my father saw them he turned to try to talk his way out. That is when my stupid mother did the worst thing possible, She cried RAPE.
Now Dear reader, I don't know if you know what terrible things this one word could bring about in 1945, but trust one who knows, it is never a word that should be used lightly.
Despite My father's adamant words of innocence, the brothers would not listen. They took him into the nearby woods, found a tree and hung him till he was dead and simply returned to their mountain home.
Now, I don't know what you know about Gypsies, but if you know a little you know that this was not a good thing to do. To kill a gypsy King is equal to the assination of any King in the world, an extreme act of total war. And when the officials of the town discovered what had occurred this is what they rightly expected, reinforcements from knoxvile and surrounding cities were brought in to combat the expected retaliation of the Gypsy Family. Yet, it did not come, much to the shock of the town, the carnival simply packed up and moved on, simply and quietly in the night. Now those readers that have familiarity with Gypsies are probrably sitting at their desks with their eyes glassy and tongues hanging out, but don't worry your world has not gone insane, remember my story has just begun.
March 15, 1945
I still remember what it was like to live in prison, to be contained with 4 walls closing in, to know what waited for me outside those doors. My warden, Oh how I hated her, I knew even then, her sins, what crimes she had committed. And I called, into the darkness into the abyss that surrounded me for my rescuer to come free me from my cell of flesh and blood, and finally after 6 months, she did come, she came to free her blood, the flesh of the flesh of her flesh, her only grandson, the precious of her only born son.
I remember that night, oh do not doubt me, I remember. I could feel the winds of time and fate upon my spirit even then. It was cold outside of my cell, and the wind blew upon the wooden slats of the shack that housed my warden and her gaurds, those dreaded murderers and slackjaw insignificants. I was straining against my chain, against that one tether that held me fast in place, I wanted out, I wanted to see the stars that I knew were there, and wanted to taste the sweetest nectar life could offer,,,, FREEDOM.
That night they came, I could smell the sweat off their bodies and all I knew is they were my blood, my rescuers finally arrived to charge the fortress of ignorance and stupidy in which I was held. Like the darkest shadows, they crept, and I heard them, like the nightmares that have held Anglos beneath blankets in their beds for centuries, they came forward and all I felt was Joy. There was a knock on the door, a light scratching upon the window, a shallow voice that echoed through the room and my soul, a sing song whisper that brought back the fear of the old dark creatures into the mortal heart.
"From the beginning you feared us, that which lurks the night, from the earliest memory, our wrath caused your cower in the night, shiver now and know our revenge, from the heart of the deepest hell, our fury rises and sends your soul to occupy the space which it resided"
The magic that filled that room, to this day I cannot describe, the total fury and hatred and desire for vengance even I a gypsy of my grandmother's blood cannot even begin to explain or describe. I could not see anything for several minutes, for dear reader I was not yet born,,,,, but dear reader, I could feel the happenings, every slash of my brethren's knife, every slow tortuous death delivered by the hand of those I knew, had always known. The four Rom that accompanied my grandmother were familiar to my soul, my father's closest companions, longheld childhood friends. It was over soon,,,, for my Uncle's but as my bitch mother cowered in a cornered with myself chained inside her I knew her fate would not be so kind. I felt the will of my grandmother, I could see the bright light that was her soul drawing closer, I could feel the smile upon her lip, curling over her long yellowed teeth. Her smile washed over the body in which I was incased, I could feel the fear, hear my mother scream, and all I could do was laugh, deep inside her belly, that was my first laughter, my first moment of sweet enjoyment of the pain of another, she deserved it, how dare she keep me imprisoned against my will. I must be free, I must be clear of chains.
Soon thereafter I saw the fallen world for the first time, my grandmother's old hardened hands pulling me clear of the womb that would hold be prisoner. Covered with blood, I saw my Josephina's face, i knew love unyeilding once more, she cared not for her garments as she cradled me, as she held me for my knights to see. I was going home, I was returning to freedom, to those who loved me.
1945-60
I remember much of my childhood, I should, they were pleasant years, peaceful years. Before the demands of life and Fate began to take their toll upon the course of my life. My place among my family was a priviledged one, I was a Prince and from the first days I remember, I was treated as such. But, remember dear friend, that among gypsies, even those of the most respected station are expected to pull their weight, Nay my childhood was not one of priviledge, or of every need fulfilled, it was one of duty, learning what a Prince, nay man of the gypsy family Romanoff must learn.
1950
At age 5, I began my training as a thief, under the watchful eye of a cousin, I would work the crowd, meander from person to person, reaping the bounty of the pockets as a farmer reaps the bounty of his field. Crying and pretending to be lost, so concerned attendees of the carnival would have their attention on me while my compatriots moved silently among them. I will say however, we for the most part stayed away from the poor, for one reason their is very little to gain from stealing from the poor, for a second, they deserve a little enjoyment in their lives, without reaching to a pocket to buy a small gift for their child, just to find it empty. Yes dear friends, there is honor among thieves, but please do not spread this around, I wouldn't want to be the one who let the cat out of the bag.
1953
At age 8, after my progress as a thief was to my grandmother's satisfaction, I was placed among the games of the carnival. My job? you may ask, a shill, yes a shill, at the tender american age of 8 I was taught the art of the con, the subtle game that every creature on earth plays whether they know it or not. I was good at my job, while men of 18+years would try in vain to win the various games to no evail, I , a 8 year old boy would succeed with little difficulty. This in turn would spur the pride injured men to spend even more money to win the prize of such small value that was displayed to be won. And then when they would finally win the cupie doll that had cost then 5 dollars, they would gloat at me, and i would walk away as a humbled child would, smiling inside the whole time I shambled away head held low, and feel pride that for one more night, I had put more silver in the coffers of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I had justified the bread that filled my plate once again. I was a gypsy, no more no less.
1955
At the age of ten, I was given the choice of which area of learning that the family had to offer i would next embark into. Noone gave me any pressure in my decision, i had earned the right through my previous achivements to decide my next step, to place on my soul the teachings i would receive. To this day, I believe that even my grandmother did not predict my choice, which why this is amazing to me i will explain later in this story. I chose to apprentice myself to Jakob, the head of the silversmiths, i chose to learn how to bring a small amount of beauty into this world, how in a small way to leave a piece of myself behind wherever I went to be remembered by. This decision and this choice influenced my life greater than one would think, but I will let you in on this joke later on.
I learned much during my two years with Jakob, even beyond the art of silver. In my days hunched over my table, toughened and burned by the fire and the smelters ladle, I learned the delicate twists and turns that I would later apply to my greatest gift, the arcana of Fate. That too hard of an action among the artist's stool will break that piece which you have labored over, and how sometimes all a piece needs is the smallest of intervention on the crafters part to achieve the beauty and purpose that is inherent in every piece of silver, and also every man woman and child alive. It is surprising what one learns, even without realizing at the moment how important that knowledge will be at a later date. I learned to love the working of silver, the look of the ones who would purchase my wares, even if they didn't know who did the work, I felt pride in my work, greater than that of fulfilling my place in my family, even to the point of feeling fulfillment in my place in the world. Yes, dear reader, the working of silver has meant much to my life, even to the point of being responsible for my awakening as a Ascantus, yes that important, funny, yes?
1957
My 12th birthday was the same as all since the events of my birth. Why do I deem to give this event a space in this account? Simply for the reason it is as a good place as any to elaborate on some details that are important for you dear reader to be aware of.
On March 15, 1957 I awoke as on all my other birthdays, to a presence in the darkness, a smell that I knew better than the smell of grass upon a spring morning, that of my grandmother, Josephine. She stood in the haze of early daylight in our wagon, looking upon my sleeping form, waiting for me to stir. When I wake she says the same words as every birthday, "Wake, My prince, prepare for the first day of your new life, be ready, dear one for the world lies jealous of what you will become." I would rise naked as I slept and come into her arms, envelope by the comfort she brought and reply "I wake, dear grandmother, I am ready to become what I am meant to be, the world will have to understand, I will not be denied". At this point we would have breakfast, which consisted of pomegranete, rose tea, and spring honey, note this was the only day of the year we ate this meal, it was special, though simple, however I have grown to know that whether something is special is solely determined by you and you alone, so never let anyone cheapen that which you hold dear, they have no right, tell them I said so.
My grandmother would then sit me before her and give me a blessing that only she, among us could bestow, that of a master of fate, that of an ascantus Mage. Yes I said Mage, I know i have neglected to reveal this, however like I said, that is the entire reason behind this entry. I knew magic existed since my birth, I knew the ways of ritual, of the hidden nature of the world, she had never hidden it from me, she always said it was my birthright, to know of the truth, that magic exists. Also I was one of the family that could witness all of her workings without causing her the pain that disbelief could bring. Yes, at age 12 I had the knowledge of someone 3 times my own age. I had sat at the feet of my grandmother, I had listened to that which she taught me. I knew the stories, legends, myths, old wives tales that othersspend years sifting throught the mire of modern knowledge to discern. For me, there was no sifting require, I heard it untainted from someone that had heard the truths and knowledge as a child herself. Some call gypsies archaic, but I know the truth that only a gypsy can teach, that the costs of modern society far outweigh the benefits.
1957-61
It was during these years that I began to grow into manhood. It was during these years that I took on more of the responsibilities of a Prince of a gypsy family. I was no longer a student, I became a teacher, became the one that others sent their young ones to, to learn the ways of the gypsy, to learn those skills a gypsy must know. Yes, dear reader, I have taught many a thief, I have sent many a man into the night with the skill needed to rob those who possessed more than we. I ask not forgiveness for this, for I feel no forgiveness you could give would ever suffice. When my life is over, I will stand before whichever entity I meet and when I am asked for what reason I committed such sins, i shall raise my chin and proclaim "Nothing is given to a gypsy save the wind and sky, for everything else he must make his own way, I feel no shame in giving the gift of survival to another gypsy" Are these practices I continue to support this day? I will never tell, that is for me to know and for you to wonder, but you might want to make sure that kitchen door is locked from now on, you tend to forget to lock it before bed, you really should listen to your wife more often, robbers could easily get in that way, and your children's rooms aren't far from there, but then again, I am just guessing.
It was also during these years that I first tasted the fruit of love. I was 14 and she was 25 but who are you to judge? I cannot help if some women have good taste, after all a good wine is a good wine whether it is 14 or 35 years old. Sometimes I wonder what became of my first partner in love, but that causes too much pain, and really is a bad practice for someone of my profession. Truth be told, despite the many lovers I have had in my life, I never forget one of them, I never cease to wonder at times what life may have been, but then again maybe they are better off, life with an ascantus can be a little troublesom, but then again perhaps I have skipped ahead.
You make ask dear reader how I could remember the first event of my life on this Earth, and I answer that after I tell you my story, You tell me if you could forget.
I must by neccesity begin my story before my actual birth and I tell this as it has been recalled to me by the men who actually lived it, unfortunately i cannot interject the viewpoint of my dear Grandmother Josephina, for she would never speak of it, and grew dark and brooding the few times I asked.
I must explain that my family came to the United States as immigrants from Russia, being originally from Romania and various other places as Gypsies are prone to be. They came to the States in 1935 and formed the Romanoff Family Gypsy Traveling Carnival.
My father was the head of the family being the only son of the reigning queen of the family and the deceased King. Let me explain that the terms King and Queen used in this context as they are not the same titles as you may be accustomed to, that is not much in similarity to the Queen of England, however in the gypsy family group these personas carry as much respect and power as a leader of a country could ever earn. In a Gypsy Family these entities are life and death, the spiritual and physical leaders of all members, they command both the respect and loyalty of all that follow them. A gypsy will kill and give his or her life in defense of the honor or at the word of their king or queen, there is no question, no debate that is how it simply is.
Now that I have given you some insight on the structure of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I will describe the events that led to my fated in not tragedy induced birth. Dear Reader, I do not expect you to understand or condone the actions I will describe, it cannot be expect and even more so doubted that you can be capable of such, I will simply say, you wouldn't understand, its a Gypsy Thing.
October 1944
Maryville Tn.
My family's Carnival through its many travels ended up in a small town in Tennesee in the summer month of May. There wasn't much to this town, the expected southerner genteel and the backwoods hillbillies both attended the Carnival as they are apt to do. i have found that despite the reputation (well-deserved) a Gypsy Carnival has, that many people put aside the rumor and are curious enough to attend these events, much to the business and profit of the family both by legal and illegal activities.
My father, 25 at this time was what you might call a man who enjoyed the company of many ladies, i have found in western culture that this sort of behavior is frowned upon, but I assure you that in Gypsy culture it is both condoned and expected, it is simply how things are. I will say regretfully that it was this exact behavior that lead to the events of my birth and my father's early death.
As was my father's custom in every town, he picked a young lady visiting the carnival to make the subject of his amorous intentions. She was only 16 as was his taste and after several days of smooth talking, flattery, and presentation of what she thought were precious gifts, he moved in for the act of cosumation. They were alone in one of the tents, in the act of fornication, when fate delivered my father a fatal blow. The young girl's 4 brothers stumbled upon the two of them in embrace, and when my father saw them he turned to try to talk his way out. That is when my stupid mother did the worst thing possible, She cried RAPE.
Now Dear reader, I don't know if you know what terrible things this one word could bring about in 1945, but trust one who knows, it is never a word that should be used lightly.
Despite My father's adamant words of innocence, the brothers would not listen. They took him into the nearby woods, found a tree and hung him till he was dead and simply returned to their mountain home.
Now, I don't know what you know about Gypsies, but if you know a little you know that this was not a good thing to do. To kill a gypsy King is equal to the assination of any King in the world, an extreme act of total war. And when the officials of the town discovered what had occurred this is what they rightly expected, reinforcements from knoxvile and surrounding cities were brought in to combat the expected retaliation of the Gypsy Family. Yet, it did not come, much to the shock of the town, the carnival simply packed up and moved on, simply and quietly in the night. Now those readers that have familiarity with Gypsies are probrably sitting at their desks with their eyes glassy and tongues hanging out, but don't worry your world has not gone insane, remember my story has just begun.
March 15, 1945
I still remember what it was like to live in prison, to be contained with 4 walls closing in, to know what waited for me outside those doors. My warden, Oh how I hated her, I knew even then, her sins, what crimes she had committed. And I called, into the darkness into the abyss that surrounded me for my rescuer to come free me from my cell of flesh and blood, and finally after 6 months, she did come, she came to free her blood, the flesh of the flesh of her flesh, her only grandson, the precious of her only born son.
I remember that night, oh do not doubt me, I remember. I could feel the winds of time and fate upon my spirit even then. It was cold outside of my cell, and the wind blew upon the wooden slats of the shack that housed my warden and her gaurds, those dreaded murderers and slackjaw insignificants. I was straining against my chain, against that one tether that held me fast in place, I wanted out, I wanted to see the stars that I knew were there, and wanted to taste the sweetest nectar life could offer,,,, FREEDOM.
That night they came, I could smell the sweat off their bodies and all I knew is they were my blood, my rescuers finally arrived to charge the fortress of ignorance and stupidy in which I was held. Like the darkest shadows, they crept, and I heard them, like the nightmares that have held Anglos beneath blankets in their beds for centuries, they came forward and all I felt was Joy. There was a knock on the door, a light scratching upon the window, a shallow voice that echoed through the room and my soul, a sing song whisper that brought back the fear of the old dark creatures into the mortal heart.
"From the beginning you feared us, that which lurks the night, from the earliest memory, our wrath caused your cower in the night, shiver now and know our revenge, from the heart of the deepest hell, our fury rises and sends your soul to occupy the space which it resided"
The magic that filled that room, to this day I cannot describe, the total fury and hatred and desire for vengance even I a gypsy of my grandmother's blood cannot even begin to explain or describe. I could not see anything for several minutes, for dear reader I was not yet born,,,,, but dear reader, I could feel the happenings, every slash of my brethren's knife, every slow tortuous death delivered by the hand of those I knew, had always known. The four Rom that accompanied my grandmother were familiar to my soul, my father's closest companions, longheld childhood friends. It was over soon,,,, for my Uncle's but as my bitch mother cowered in a cornered with myself chained inside her I knew her fate would not be so kind. I felt the will of my grandmother, I could see the bright light that was her soul drawing closer, I could feel the smile upon her lip, curling over her long yellowed teeth. Her smile washed over the body in which I was incased, I could feel the fear, hear my mother scream, and all I could do was laugh, deep inside her belly, that was my first laughter, my first moment of sweet enjoyment of the pain of another, she deserved it, how dare she keep me imprisoned against my will. I must be free, I must be clear of chains.
Soon thereafter I saw the fallen world for the first time, my grandmother's old hardened hands pulling me clear of the womb that would hold be prisoner. Covered with blood, I saw my Josephina's face, i knew love unyeilding once more, she cared not for her garments as she cradled me, as she held me for my knights to see. I was going home, I was returning to freedom, to those who loved me.
1945-60
I remember much of my childhood, I should, they were pleasant years, peaceful years. Before the demands of life and Fate began to take their toll upon the course of my life. My place among my family was a priviledged one, I was a Prince and from the first days I remember, I was treated as such. But, remember dear friend, that among gypsies, even those of the most respected station are expected to pull their weight, Nay my childhood was not one of priviledge, or of every need fulfilled, it was one of duty, learning what a Prince, nay man of the gypsy family Romanoff must learn.
1950
At age 5, I began my training as a thief, under the watchful eye of a cousin, I would work the crowd, meander from person to person, reaping the bounty of the pockets as a farmer reaps the bounty of his field. Crying and pretending to be lost, so concerned attendees of the carnival would have their attention on me while my compatriots moved silently among them. I will say however, we for the most part stayed away from the poor, for one reason their is very little to gain from stealing from the poor, for a second, they deserve a little enjoyment in their lives, without reaching to a pocket to buy a small gift for their child, just to find it empty. Yes dear friends, there is honor among thieves, but please do not spread this around, I wouldn't want to be the one who let the cat out of the bag.
1953
At age 8, after my progress as a thief was to my grandmother's satisfaction, I was placed among the games of the carnival. My job? you may ask, a shill, yes a shill, at the tender american age of 8 I was taught the art of the con, the subtle game that every creature on earth plays whether they know it or not. I was good at my job, while men of 18+years would try in vain to win the various games to no evail, I , a 8 year old boy would succeed with little difficulty. This in turn would spur the pride injured men to spend even more money to win the prize of such small value that was displayed to be won. And then when they would finally win the cupie doll that had cost then 5 dollars, they would gloat at me, and i would walk away as a humbled child would, smiling inside the whole time I shambled away head held low, and feel pride that for one more night, I had put more silver in the coffers of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I had justified the bread that filled my plate once again. I was a gypsy, no more no less.
1955
At the age of ten, I was given the choice of which area of learning that the family had to offer i would next embark into. Noone gave me any pressure in my decision, i had earned the right through my previous achivements to decide my next step, to place on my soul the teachings i would receive. To this day, I believe that even my grandmother did not predict my choice, which why this is amazing to me i will explain later in this story. I chose to apprentice myself to Jakob, the head of the silversmiths, i chose to learn how to bring a small amount of beauty into this world, how in a small way to leave a piece of myself behind wherever I went to be remembered by. This decision and this choice influenced my life greater than one would think, but I will let you in on this joke later on.
I learned much during my two years with Jakob, even beyond the art of silver. In my days hunched over my table, toughened and burned by the fire and the smelters ladle, I learned the delicate twists and turns that I would later apply to my greatest gift, the arcana of Fate. That too hard of an action among the artist's stool will break that piece which you have labored over, and how sometimes all a piece needs is the smallest of intervention on the crafters part to achieve the beauty and purpose that is inherent in every piece of silver, and also every man woman and child alive. It is surprising what one learns, even without realizing at the moment how important that knowledge will be at a later date. I learned to love the working of silver, the look of the ones who would purchase my wares, even if they didn't know who did the work, I felt pride in my work, greater than that of fulfilling my place in my family, even to the point of feeling fulfillment in my place in the world. Yes, dear reader, the working of silver has meant much to my life, even to the point of being responsible for my awakening as a Ascantus, yes that important, funny, yes?
1957
My 12th birthday was the same as all since the events of my birth. Why do I deem to give this event a space in this account? Simply for the reason it is as a good place as any to elaborate on some details that are important for you dear reader to be aware of.
On March 15, 1957 I awoke as on all my other birthdays, to a presence in the darkness, a smell that I knew better than the smell of grass upon a spring morning, that of my grandmother, Josephine. She stood in the haze of early daylight in our wagon, looking upon my sleeping form, waiting for me to stir. When I wake she says the same words as every birthday, "Wake, My prince, prepare for the first day of your new life, be ready, dear one for the world lies jealous of what you will become." I would rise naked as I slept and come into her arms, envelope by the comfort she brought and reply "I wake, dear grandmother, I am ready to become what I am meant to be, the world will have to understand, I will not be denied". At this point we would have breakfast, which consisted of pomegranete, rose tea, and spring honey, note this was the only day of the year we ate this meal, it was special, though simple, however I have grown to know that whether something is special is solely determined by you and you alone, so never let anyone cheapen that which you hold dear, they have no right, tell them I said so.
My grandmother would then sit me before her and give me a blessing that only she, among us could bestow, that of a master of fate, that of an ascantus Mage. Yes I said Mage, I know i have neglected to reveal this, however like I said, that is the entire reason behind this entry. I knew magic existed since my birth, I knew the ways of ritual, of the hidden nature of the world, she had never hidden it from me, she always said it was my birthright, to know of the truth, that magic exists. Also I was one of the family that could witness all of her workings without causing her the pain that disbelief could bring. Yes, at age 12 I had the knowledge of someone 3 times my own age. I had sat at the feet of my grandmother, I had listened to that which she taught me. I knew the stories, legends, myths, old wives tales that othersspend years sifting throught the mire of modern knowledge to discern. For me, there was no sifting require, I heard it untainted from someone that had heard the truths and knowledge as a child herself. Some call gypsies archaic, but I know the truth that only a gypsy can teach, that the costs of modern society far outweigh the benefits.
1957-61
It was during these years that I began to grow into manhood. It was during these years that I took on more of the responsibilities of a Prince of a gypsy family. I was no longer a student, I became a teacher, became the one that others sent their young ones to, to learn the ways of the gypsy, to learn those skills a gypsy must know. Yes, dear reader, I have taught many a thief, I have sent many a man into the night with the skill needed to rob those who possessed more than we. I ask not forgiveness for this, for I feel no forgiveness you could give would ever suffice. When my life is over, I will stand before whichever entity I meet and when I am asked for what reason I committed such sins, i shall raise my chin and proclaim "Nothing is given to a gypsy save the wind and sky, for everything else he must make his own way, I feel no shame in giving the gift of survival to another gypsy" Are these practices I continue to support this day? I will never tell, that is for me to know and for you to wonder, but you might want to make sure that kitchen door is locked from now on, you tend to forget to lock it before bed, you really should listen to your wife more often, robbers could easily get in that way, and your children's rooms aren't far from there, but then again, I am just guessing.
It was also during these years that I first tasted the fruit of love. I was 14 and she was 25 but who are you to judge? I cannot help if some women have good taste, after all a good wine is a good wine whether it is 14 or 35 years old. Sometimes I wonder what became of my first partner in love, but that causes too much pain, and really is a bad practice for someone of my profession. Truth be told, despite the many lovers I have had in my life, I never forget one of them, I never cease to wonder at times what life may have been, but then again maybe they are better off, life with an ascantus can be a little troublesom, but then again perhaps I have skipped ahead.