The Smell of Truth

The Gonzo Journals

January 15th, 2023

I’m currently sitting in the banquet hall of a giant Mason’s building in downtown Little Rock, Arkansas. Decades of being a paranormal investigator have taught me one thing: trust your feelings. Right now, I’m feeling cold and on edge.

I don’t know much about the Masons because I never bothered studying too deeply into their origins. I remember reading about how some of them were bounty hunters long ago, slaughtering countless numbers of Pagans for not bowing to the same God. As a Pagan, whether in truth or legend only, I find this disgusting.

When I was in the Army, a lot of black soldiers spoke in whispers about the organization and it was an honor to be one. They had secret handshakes and greetings for just about every situation imaginable. They took a ton of pride in their membership and who was I to tarnish such prestige?

Things got weird when I got out of the Army and moved back to “the blackest land, the whitest people” confines of Greenville, Texas. Well, weirder than normal. Hell, it was downright racist!

A man with the Sheriff’s department asked if I’d like to be a Mason. I told him that I thought it was a blacks-only organization and he hit the ceiling! He said that the “black Masons” were a fake organization and in no way associated with his prestigious community of wacky old white men.

Then, I told him I was a Pagan and wouldn’t fit in. Being burned at the stake is not on my bucket list. He replied that religious affiliation is no longer a prerequisite for membership and that I could just keep it a secret. That’s not how I roll.

Why would I want to deny my own beliefs to become a part of something born of hate and carried on through modern racism? Even if the whole organization doesn’t adhere to the ethics of the man who attempted to recruit me, they still managed to accept him as one of their own. It’s not like he hid who he was as an individual.

In the end, I’m way too liberal and peaceful to be accepted openly within their ranks. Also, I’m entirely too “sensitive” to be wandering the hate-filled halls of an institution whose stone is probably held together on a molecular level by blood and tragic secrets. Sometimes, I’m not a fan of my heritage.

Finally, why are you so loose with your convictions to associate with one of the very people you would have slaughtered centuries ago? I hate flip-floppers. Pick a lane and fucking drive there!

Peace?