A Story Of A Writer ------------------- She was lying in his bed, but a powerful loneliness fell over Poe. After he walked out of the room, there was a feeling of dread. The definite separation was inevitable. "What if I could just see the future somehow, and just know if it all works out." He put a piece of paper on the kitchen table of the Allan's house. (Moldavia) And he wrote, "No .." As the first tone, to divine his new idea. He stared at the word. Then he wrote the next. "Yes." He scratched his head. "I don't understand what is happening." My strategem is perfect, he thought. I bet I can see the future somehow. Ouji boards haven't been invented yet, but I know what they are. He wrote, "Oh Earthly Shrine" and then scribbled out the words. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and left the kitchen, and walked outside. Elmira was upstairs. His virginity gone, he felt fresh, but strangely dead inside. "I want to know the future" he was staring up at the moon. The moon refracted a light, and an image was shown in his mind. He saw himself in uniform -- a uniform of some kind .. in space. "Love. Love. Love." "Oh." Then he went back inside. He wrote the first "actual line" to Tamerlane, which was Oh horror of the moving hand Which only move the mind understands And then he wrote the next line, erasing the first two, for the sake of mystery. After the poem was written, Poe was "intervened with" he said, to himself. "By himself." He told people. And the angel was still inside of him, staring at him from the small plain room. Sitting at a table, he saw a figure who looked like himself, with a pad of paper, writing the same poem -- at the same time. He seemed very secluded. He was drinking tea, and was very high in his mind. Poe was very high in his mind, too. He leaned back, smoking herb as he leaned against the wall of the barn. (Out of his father's pipe). "Cool .." He thought. "Cool. What a 'cool' word." And he laughed. He looked up. "I knew I would get that." I see a name .. It is Lee. Or "See." I am going to be an officer. Then a major .. What if I was a general..? Images of bullets flying, and a bearded face. It didn't look like him. He didn't understand why he looked so different, if it was him .. or the other one, who lay in futurity. "Am I crossed with myself..?" "I wonder what this war .. or battle is." "You are not sure..?" The voice spoke. "I am you. Trust me." The person in the room said. "I helped you write that poem. I was informing you, with symbols. You should have gotten the part about tones of the body." "I got the part about the I-Ching. I have a copy of that book." He answered the voice, and breathed out a breath of smoke. "Yes. You'll be a general. That guy is you." He thought about Elmira for a moment, and then started walking. He started walking through the grass, and into a field, past the other barn. He kept walking, and walking. "You will be a general some day." The voice said. "Am I being recruited..?" "No." "Your path in life is already set." "I don't understand." Poe stood in the empty field, living the end of his poem. He felt what he had to do. He looked up at the sun and cried, knowing the heartbreak that lie ahead. "I have so much work to do." At the office, the next day, the recruitment officer asked how old he was. Poe lied as soon as he could think of a good number. 19, he said. "My name is Edgar." "What is your last name..?" "Edgar A. Perry is my full name." "So you would 'like' to join West Point..?" "Yes." On the boat, Poe looked back, and saw Elmira in his head, still lying in the bed. He left without telling anyone a word. He kept sailing without wonder, for a moment, and stared at the floorboards of the boat. When he got to school, the first thing he did was draw a large sigil on the wall. At West Point, Poe was thought of to be as old as he said he was. He had cigarettes for the trip. And Brandy. He didn't care what it meant to him. John Allan was going to curse his relationship, and "I need to learn how to defend myself." His thoughts of being a lawyer still lingering, he was stated by the ranking officers to be a "masterful shot" with a gun, and a "pinpoint sharp-shooter" and made an officer very quickly. Before Poe got expelled from West Point and became a writer, he was said to have "appeared naked at Roll-Call" -- with a very sexual desire in his heart to offend people. When this failed, he put a chopped-off chicken-head on his own head, and wore it around, shaking people's hands, and telling them he was trying a new style. They didn't like this as much, and Poe was home soon. He looked at the world, when he returned, and was about 18. All of the letters to Elmira were intercepted and ignored. John seemed to be in a bitter distaste toward his surrogate son. And Poe just looked in his eyes, and said, "I'm good with a gun." "What a fine skill to have achieved. Do you have love..?" "Yes. I have love." "I have love for myself. I have love for the future." They didn't argue really. It was mostly just a sense of bitterness people feel, when someone young matures fast, out of his own wish. His own wish ............ Later in life, though the "voice of the angel" said "I might not talk to you for another twenty years." Poe waited. At the end of it all, he stared across his own desk, and saw Tamerlane, the "writing angel." He was 36. He cried, and was so happy to see him. They looked more similar now. He had the same look in his eyes. The angel affirmed him. Poe had just won a libel case, and beat Thomas Dunne English in a case about a book written to defame him. He stood up for himself in court, and acted as his own lawyer, on a subject about a drunk writer, called "The Doom Of The Drinker" by Thomas Dunne English, describing a deranged writer. He walked home with about $400 from the court-case, which amounts to more than over a good $1,000 in our modern-day standards. "I knew I'd beat him. He's a foolish writer. He can't write like us." Remember .. How he used to say, "We" feel this way. Or, "We" feel that way. About something..? Judging from a universal mind, Poe couldn't help but feel confused sometimes. He made a pact with himself -- though in the future, he was more of a devil than he thought. He was only talking to himself that day, but was hopeful for the future anyway. He drank the rest of his tiny bottle of gin, threw it into the street, and walked into the house, to find Virginia in bed, to whom he made dinner for, and they lived like "kings" (his words) for at least two months. "Remember, Sissy." "This is our life." "We created this life." "This is our house." "And no one can take ourselves away from ourselves."