American Boathouse Text

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Example of an american boathouse

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Black Boater Magic

He was in a boat, floating ever and ever against the tsunamis that hit the country so badly.

He was lonesome, and was looking for a woman for such a long time, without success and without perspective.

The boat shaked and trembled upon the waves of natures most brutal fight-back in the history of the united states. Not even the biography of hillary clinton could help him withstand the force of nature.

They count the days, he and his neighbour, the days until its all gone, and weanwhile, they try to have a good time.

The frog was the name of the state’s agent that had to ask about joy and workflow, societal integration and so on. He wanted to know everything, sneaked around in the man’s garden in front of the boathouse. Even the night didn’t keep him from doing that.

The boatman was overly disturbed by his presence, knowing that all he wanted, was to take away that space he was on, or augment the prize of monthly fee, in any way look for a reason to kick him out.

The states agent didn’t want to admit that he was destructive, yet he was very destructive. Weird things started to go on, since his behaviour was like black magic, and his aura was black, and even the sky turned dark when he arrived, just like in a 60’s movie.

The boater soon realized the satanic rituals of that state’s person, and was shocked, and wanting to call someone for help, but was too afraid, even if he was an american citizen, in a country where noone would judge you if some similar thing is happening to you.

He kept the secret, and that secret would soon turn his life into a nightmare.

Every night the same. Horrorfaces, Killing, and the memory of those rituals, all this together, kept him from sleeping.

That statesman had achieved what he wanted, the boater looked pale and only his bones were apparent, in the grey skin of a dying person.

He looked for help, gasping for air, tearing his body to the pharmacist, with his crutch.

He was one of the last fishermen in this region, fighting for survival. Things seemed hopeless; the magic was too strong to keep him alive he thought. In the newspaper he finally found an answer to the long awaited question of how to get back on his feet and into a normal life. A ghosthunter.

He told the man that he hadnt been sleeping for a long time, and wanted to overcome this grey dead energy he was in everytime he got in the boat.

The smell was dead bodies, the air was thick. The hunter put the flashlight in his hand, his lovely, energetic and kind hand, and let the light overdo the darkness.

There were spiders in the corners. He asked: „How long did this state persist?“ and the answer was as long as a church fair. Letting the light shine in, and the cleansing of the house and boater’s body and soul were the things to do in that moment.

He was closed in his heart chakra. The ghostman sent him to yoga, where he didn’t go, because it was another weight for him to carry around.

So he pushed and pushed him to attend a course in another, nearer location, and as the boater went there, he soon made aquaintance of a lovely woman.

What was he supposed to tell her?

He had the wish to be with someone, but not with her. He had an idea of how she should be.

He had never heard of the fact that if two persons come together, they begin to resemble each other.

He wanted to be in control of the situation, even although he had the situation just the other evening: That the situation had a certain direction, and all he could do to end a situation which wasn’t what like he wanted to be, was to leave.

The states man had destroyed his dream of a houseboat. He left. Not because of that man, but because he thought it wasn’t worthwile fighting for that dream.

He found another home, it seemed badder than what he had before, but in the end it was up to him, to move in and take place. At least he got rid of the ghost that tormented him for so long.

And finally, one day he read the newspaper: The frog died. With that, this life phase was over.

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