You Don’t need the crossroads to sell your Soul


I don’t really tell this story that much because I try to avoid expressing the deeper level of insanity I undoubtably possess but now, in light of the fact that emails reveal that powerful people in Washington DC and in Hillarys circle check the “other” box on the religion census, seems as good a time as any to spill the beans.

Back in the early part of June 2003 I was staying a couple of days in Memphis Tennessee for “work”. Now while there was plenty of opportunities for trouble on a weeknight in Memphis I had another brand of naughty in mind.

Memphis was about a 2 hour drive from Rosedale Mississippi where legendary Blues guitarist Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil himself, according to Legend. Johnson went down to the crossroads where highways 8 and 1 meet bringing his guitar as the host of Hell came and tuned it himself sealing the Faustian bargain.

Do such things actually occur in this world?

Well might as well find out. Besides, Fuck it, it’s a Tuesday.

I head on down and get there a quarter to midnight, which incidentally is when Satan and Santa both do their best work. I’m not gonna lie, despite expecting nothing I was more scared shitless than I’ve ever been in my life. Losing my soul was one thing, but absent a guitar the thought of having the Devil tune up my rental car which I had to give back in two days seemed like a lopsided bargain.

Nonetheless I waited. And waited some more. And started to get a little tired. At the thirty minute wait mark I decided that this was probably my most futile endeavor I’ve ever taken before.

Needless to say, No Devil.

Granted this wasn’t the first, nor the last, blind date I have ever been stood up on, but one completely within my control and entirely of my own doing.

I turned the Rent-a-Focus around and I head back to Memphis knowing I wasn’t catching some sleep until a shade before 3.

I get back to my room crash into my bed and exhausted consciousness fades into dream.

And I’m back at the crossroads.

And not alone this time.

He was about 9 feet tall and wore a nice suit and he more glided than walked and he came up on me fast. Human in appearance and more dark than black he spoke first:

“Why did you come here tonight, did you have something to prove?”

Never one to miss a turn of phrase I looked back without hesitation and said:

“Maybe I had something to say.” Shit eating grin in full effect.

“Boy…” he exclaimed as he leaned in close “you got something to learn.”

And before I have a chance to react guess who is awake in his hotel room in a cold sweat. I turn the TV on. Not because I wanted to watch TV but because I was fucking scared and don’t even try to tell me you haven’t passed out with the TV on because the background static was more comforting than the quiet of the Dark.

Well I was no worse for wear and I still had my soul.

Now My catholic upbringing teaches the devil doesn’t need to bequeath you with legendary abilities to acquire your soul, he has it from the day you’re stamped with a born on date. And honestly I can’t say I actually believe in these things, anyhow.

On the other hand what if other people do? What if those in power do?

That seems to be the case in the halls of power of Washington DC, and if you believe the more elaborate rumors the whole of the world. The Wikileaks leaking of the Podesta emails show that these occultic practices do take place.

We have a funny thing with Religion and politics in America.

Was America founded as a Christian nation?
Why has there only been one Catholic president?
What the hell is a Freemason?
And if there was some epic occultic battle behind the scenes why did the lutherans lose and the satanists win in the halls of power?

Maybe that’s the point after all. There’s other ways to lose your soul that doesn’t require an entity with cloven hooves, goatee and a pitchfork. No contract in blood. And no deals struck at the crossroads.

Maybe you’re just an intern or page in congress or some big law firm. It’s a mentor or a superior at work. Wants to invite you to a party this weekend. Can really open up opportunities in your career if you show up.

Maybe you drink a little too much. Take a few pills. Become the life of the party. Small things at first. Nothing horrendous.

It’s not really your soul you’re selling but your conscious and not a one time Faustian bargain.

Because those in power, see the compromises you make, the deals with your personal moral flexibility as a weakness to exploit and something with which to control you.

And them “magically” you start to rise.

A presidential candidate who “came out of nowhere”. A congressman suddenly worth millions of dollars from (legal) insider trading.

You have sold something for power and riches. But that comes with a downfall.

You’re Speaker of the house Denny Hastert a pedophile controlling which legislation makes it to the floor of the house.

To think the powers behind the throne can supply you with your preferred perversion if you bring certain bills to the floor and expose your secrets if you don’t. There you are, flesh and bone with the power of a Demi-God always a stones throw from condemnable damnation.

How much popular legislation never made it to the floor of the house because of Hasterts bargain with his conscious? How much unpopular legislation was?

The Devil, if he were to exist, would be envious of that power granting ability.

Maybe that’s what I had to learn when I had that dream at the crossroads: You don’t lose your souls in a fire sale, but one moral compromise at a time… 😉


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