It's just a name that means vril magick. My birth name is Thomas. As to how I became who I am, well, that's another story altogether. It really begins with a story about acceptance. Tolerance. Patience. And realization.
When I was nine months old, my mother left me in the kitchen sink to bathe. It was only for a brief moment to get my towel or something that mom left the room. In her place was a spirit apparition, a women with long black hair. She had a certain sense of envy about her, envy of my mother caring for me, I think. These entities surrounded me often enough that I can recall many occasions where I never truly felt alone.
When I was six and just about turning seven, my family moved from the United States to Saudi Arabia. It was one late afternoon in the desert when I encountered something of a different kind of spirit than I'd detected at earlier stages of my toddler life. I ventured away from our car, and over a dune or hill. Something drew me. I could hear children playing, but I could not see them. I looked out onto the horizon to behold a grand mirage of smoke or vapor on the desert, resembling water from so far a distance.
A dust devil appeared. And then another following the first one. I called out for it to turn left and right, and it did so. Then, one of the little twisters stopped as if in regarding me. It disappeared. I heard in my mind "Hey. Over here." I looked to my side and saw a colossal tower of sand spinning down the alley. I felt challenged, and so I held my ground. (As a little kid I was a real fighter type. I later mellowed out as a teen).
So, I get hit by this tower of sand and wind. My ears are plugged with sand. But it was the electric sensation which I noticed more than this. I felt a kind of surge go into me. I ran, and I heard laughter behind me.
Years later, I was visited by a dark spirit or dark angel. My house shook when my mother entered the room. The spirit was frustrated, wanting to have me for some purpose. I awakened the next day, walked out the front door and took a look at the sunny sky. I then noticed that all the vines on the hall entrance outside had a sheath of transparency about them. I tried to touch it, when I noted that my hands also had this very same aura. Everything did. It worries me at first. I thought I was hallucinating, or that my vision had changed.
When I was seventeen, ,my mother asked me to go to a new age bookstore with her. It was for fun, of course. I still didn't believe my experiences were anything more than imaginary or simply supernatural and beyond my control. Gods joke, I thought. But, we went into the store, I more reluctantly, and a book drew me over to it. I felt a sort of breeze draw me over. It was the only book of this title. I picked it up, looking at it as if it were made of gold. The title read 'Psionic Power, by Charles W. Cosimano'. Keep this book in mind for the next event.
I was eighteen, and while on a camping trip with my cousin, I was beaten and thrown into a river. The next day, I was checking myself for broken bones, when an Indian or Native American man walked up to me, and handed me a small pile of yellowed pages. He said that he tried to dry them. I asked, how it was hat he knew it was mine. To this he replied, that the book he had seen wash all down the river, and stopped at my campsite. The water brought it to my camp, he said, and so it belonged to me. Yes, the book which had washed up to my camp read 'Psionic Power', although the cover had been destroyed, and yet all the sigils of Solomon were in perfect condition, and as well the rest of the pages, quite miraculously.
Many days passed in which I reflected upon the gravity and reality of my life. So, I picked up a pen and paper, and I wrote to Charles Cosimano. He and I became mentor and student, master and apprentice for a time. We also became friends, noting that so many things we thought about alike, and at the same time, and our love for everything pizza, black shirts, and we even had the same hairstyle or lack thereof (I've always preferred to just slick it back a bit than try styling it. This is good, because my helmet messes it up anyway).
Over years I learned that I could not only send zigzag patterns of energy at winds to break trees and neighboring windows, but that I could do just about anything I put my mind to.
Thus, I became the creator of a new sect of magic called kinetic magic. Really, it is more of a philosophy than a technology. For instance, there is no reason why my kinetic magic blog should open when I log in to vrilock, but I was thinking of the former before I came back online. Thus, mysteriously kinetic magic blog UI was open. Should of been vrilock, because that is the last blog I logged into through the app. So, it isn't science. Power is the stuff dreams are made of.
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