The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

You've probably seen something to the affect of



A

AB

ABR

ABRA

ABRAC

ABRACA

ABRACAD

ABRACADA

ABRACADAB

ABRACADABR

ABRACADABRA





Pretty cool and interesting how it can make that pattern. Some say this gives it magical quality- but....



RACECAR

AACECAA

CCCECCC

EEEEEEE

CCCECCC

AACECAA

RACECAR





If you'd notice- this seemingly everyday very un-magical word has a much more interesting phoenitic property.



The words ABRACADABRA and RACECAR are both very unique words. RACECAR however, has a much more significant meaning to modern culture, and I found a few interesting things in it's patterns.



1. RACECAR+RACECAR+RACECAR+RACECAR = Jesus???



Notice if you arrange the word RACECAR in a rectangle with RACECAR on all the outer edges (as I did above) The "E's" make a cross shaped pattern in the design. "E" could stand for our christian word Emmanuel (God with us). the Cross shaped pattern and the word Emmanuel

show that the interesting properties of the "Magic" word RACECAR actually come from the Christian savior Jesus!



2. ABRACADABRA

BBRACAD BB

RRRACA R R

AAAACA A A

CCCCCA C C

AAAAAA A A

D D D

A A A

B B B

R RR

ABRACADABRA



... As you can see- it just won't work. Try it for yourself!



Please contacty me with further findings, comments, or questions.

I AM MAKING ABSOLUTLY NO ATTEMPT TO PREDICT HER DEATH! - (Whew... now that I got that off my chest...)



The Obituary of J.K. Rowling (NOT really!)

I wrote it for a school assignment. This is not to be taken literally by any means. It is based on fact, but JKR is NOT DEAD- nor is this an attempt to deadify her.





Joanne “J. K.” Rowling,

57, of Southern London, born at

Yate near ChippingSodbury in

the year 1965, died Friday, Jan.

17, 2022, at 11:42 P.M., due to

lung cancer. She was the eldest

daughter of the late Peter and

Anne Rowling, as well

as the mother of three children. She enjoyed gardening,

and in her spare time she was a voracious reader. She is

perhaps best remembered for writing the globally

successful Harry Potter children’s book series. A

graduate of Wyedean Comprehensive School, and later

merited an honorary degree from Exeter University.

Funeral services will be held at the Slate Memorial Funeral Home, and the adjacent chapel.

Service will be heard Wednesday, Jan. 28 at 9:30 AM and 5:00 PM. And on Thursday, Jan. 29 at 10:00. Send your condolences to: Joannewasloved@SlateWeb.net.



(The e-mail is fake)

From the story To Kill A Mockingbird- One character that really touched me.



The Secret Friend



A song of glad tidings, joy, and comfort lifts the spirit when a mockingbird pours forth its timeless tune. From within, soft and gentle hands reach out to caress the child inside every person who is longing to spring to life. The mystifying and reclusive Arthur Radley is the song of the mockingbird wrought in human flesh and bone. An angel of compassion in a dark world, his simple bravery transcends the deep chasms of racist hate that blackens the glow of childhood for one little child named Jean Louise Finch. A secret friend always watching, hidden among the shadows, Arthur sees a world of fear and doubt that might never have pierced the walls of his seclusion. His humble existence, compassion for all life, and courage in the face of danger goes almost unnoticed by the outside world too dark to see the beauty in this mockingbird’s song.

Black man or white, everyone is only as good as himself when all lights go out. In a shadow world it is easy to see who is honest and who is deceitful. Perhaps this realization incited Arthur to look toward a life lived better under the shadow of truth in darkness, away from the burning evil of a prejudiced light. He doesn’t want to be the hero or the town favorite, only freedom from the cold chains of hate that keep locking down on the world he watches. The only outsiders Arthur can relate to are children, blind to color and unaffected by the desensitization of society.

Looking out of his world Arthur sees three small children at play- a simple, rewarding,

and effortless occupation in which adults seldom indulge. Deep within he wishes to be once again in that youthful state of bliss in nothing, which brings smiles without a reason and leaves no room for burdensome fears. Through the thin glass on his window he can visualize everything still good in the world, yet it always seems so distant as if to be never touched again. Children may be the savior of Arthur Radley, for without the innocence inside them what else would he live for?

Though local legend treated him as a phantom, Arthur was in fact more human than the unfeeling fool Bob Ewell who judged men by the color of their skin. Ewell even sank low enough to attempt the destruction of all the good Arthur ever saw- his children. Bob’s cowardly act set Arthur’s blood ablaze. How dare the brutal ruffian attack these beautiful innocent mockingbirds! That Halloween Arthur stained his angel white hands with Ewell’s polluted blood, and there he was thrust into the limelight without a place to hide. He wanted more than ever to become a part of the children’s life, but he would never be ready for the hate and betrayal of racist adults.

What could he do now that his heart was ripped apart? How could he decide which bleeding piece to run after? The two worlds of Arthur Radley came crashing together that night, and he knew he would break while trying to survive as part of both. Never again to see the light, the hope, or the laughter of the children he used to belong to, Arthur withdrew to the recesses of his trusted shadow. He did not see all the pains in the outside, but he saw enough to spare his beloved friends the scandal of his presence. The man who was never afraid to be who he really was and still remains to be, the secret friend in an unseen world- Boo Radley.

My Dad- My millitary hero.



Inside Each Goodbye



In the warm dark morning I watched his tiny car pull away silently; for the first time there was nothing I could do. My heart was shaking because I couldn’t imagine life without his guarding presence to protect our family. When my father Jeffrey Alan Hite drove out of the high school parking lot for his camp in Iraq, I was terrified and helpless. It finally hit me that my hero, my stronghold, my dad, might never return.

I never knew it could be so difficult to let someone you love put themselves in danger. The selfless service my father displays is a beautiful testimony to his dedication toward the safety and happiness of every American citizen. There is no brave man more cherished than one who dedicates his existence to the well-being of others. Someone who helps a child saves the world a little at a time.

Continually looking out for us in every little way, Jeff is the man who forges on when the going gets tough. He’s the one who can always tell whether “Clean your room” or “Don’t stay out to late” is the appropriate phrase. Paying the bills, helping with math homework, and cooking dinner are few of his latest hobbies. It takes someone really hard core to listen to me practice singing harmony the first few times over.

At first glance he can be identified as the faithful father due to the little bags under his eyes, his tired smile, and his radiated kindness to those who depend on him. He is never too far away to care, and that knowledge helps his children sleep soundly even when he is away. The whisper of his heart is there to say goodnight even when his voice would never be heard. When I was little I waited in the hall for him to come home from work, and now when I meet him after school he takes the weary thoughts of life away.

Inside each goodbye is a new beginning, because now I know that he’s leaving to make the world a better place for all of us. That knowledge keeps us strong in the face of danger, when nothing else seems right. Standing in his shoes, just to say goodby to the family must take a very special kind of heroism.

Glossalalia Theory: The universal language that is used by the angels and can be understood by everyone is in fact "music" - our poor english description of it.



Supports: I have yet to hear of a culture without any music. Music communicates feelings, speeds, temperatures, seasons, actions, intents, and so much more! The way the angels speak it though is without a throat, therefore the vibrations creating the song are quite "high" and diffucult for the majority of people to hear. Our vocal music is a flawed human way of emulating glossalalia. To speak it perfectly, one would need to be able to sing with their entire heart and soul- and emit it out of themselves. Even the deaf can feel vibrations caused by music- this was demonstrated plainly in the late life of Bethoven. Thus concludes my theory.



In recent times, I will try to find a way to learn glossalalian. it won't be easy- probably harder than latin- but it's possible.



My pattern:

SEVEN



Speeds (how fast-slow)

Emotions (Sad, happy, angry, calm, scared etc...)

Verbs (Actions being performed)

Energies (volume)

Nouns (Descriptions, who in people.)



Present tense

Past tense

Future tense