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Poe Hawkins
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THE LAST ALCHEMIST is the first novel of POE HAWKINS, revealing the alchemy of life–What actually shapes the circumstances that we experience day after day.
THE LAST ALCHEMIST is the first novel of POE HAWKINS, revealing the alchemy of life–What actually shapes the circumstances that we experience day after day.

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You, who are reading this, are a bodiless, weightless immortal mind playing the game of limitation. The fact is you are projecting your individual beliefs into the collective manifestation you call life. But know this, even the seeming separate community (village, town, city, country) you share with others only exists because you all share enough similar beliefs that define your agreed upon projection. You may visit other seeming different collective projections (villages, towns, cities, countries) but you will not be comfortable in any projection whose collective beliefs differ radically from the ones that constitute your dream. In short, no two people are living in the exact same world, though you may share enough similar beliefs for joining others in a family dream, a corporate dream, a university or college dream, a military dream, a political party dream and so on...

To continue reading, click below now:
http://www.thelastalchemistnovel.com/the-earth-from-the-alchemists-cosmic-viewpoint/
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"The Last Alchemist" is a novel of suspense, wry humor, and the paranormal. It involves a priest who has lost his faith in God, a Hollywood actor on the verge of stardom, a young lady in search of life’s meaning, an old detective (who is both cunning and senile), and an alchemist who has been alive since the ninth century, living in stolen bodies down through the centuries.
The chance meetings of these characters and their subsequent relationships result in mayhem, lust, murder, love, and transcendental magic. You will be shocked over and over again as you try to anticipate what will happen next in this wonderfully twisted story about people trying to hold on to their views of reality.
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It was the day of the “Best Man” contest, a polite title for a day of individual death fights in which peasants would be pitted against trained soldiers (wannabe knights). I was inwardly seething because Father was missing at sunup, doubling the work- load for me when I should have been practicing with the short-sword and mace. I was still reminiscing last night, when Emily had snuggled me (No, we only shared a kiss and she was off).The seething subsided, along with a ton of fear, when father appeared mid-morning and handed me a metal cup completely sealed in wax. I immediately asked the big question on my mind. “How quickly does this Widow venom kill, once it enters the blood?”

To see more, read the blog now:
http://www.thelastalchemistnovel.com/bitch-bite/
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In the spring of my fifteenth year I got to see Emily twice each week, when she would arrive at the stables for a ride with her father. With each visit she would stand closer to me while I saddled their horses. The presence of her in riding apparel, a dress with frilly lace leggings beneath, ignited heart pounding fantasies in my mind. It wasn’t that there was a shortage of girls to bed among the peasants, but they were dirty faced creatures with matted hair, and none of them was as beautiful as my Emily. She smelled like lilacs. She alone inspired me to take up a regiment of bi-weekly bathing at the river. It was my grandfather who centuries before created soap, back then an odd gray mound of matter, concocted of pine sap, tallow, and ashes.Though I believed that Emily fancied me, there was nothing I could do to approach her, while under the watchful eye of her father, Lord Fleming. Then one time, while I was preparing their mounts, Lord Fleming stepped into one of the stalls to pee and Emily leaned over and whispered in my ears, “The Contest of the Knights is in twenty one days. You could win a post among the manor guards.” That’s all she said before the lord returned and they rode off.

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I was fifteen years old and bonkers-in-love with Emily, the Lord’s youngest daughter. I only saw her rarely when she went riding with her father. She was so trim, so beautiful, with big brown, doe eyes, and long blond hair. While saddling their horses she always looked at me, standing so close I could smell her perfumed body over the stench of the stable. One day my father saw me holding the calf of her leg too long when I helped her to mount. As they rode off my father, Wilford, cracked me over the head with a board, snarling, “Keep up that cheap feel shit and Lord Fleming will have your head on a spike in his courtyard!” Then father sat me down and let me in on his greatest secret, he was two hundred and sixty four years old. “You jest,” said I, “You look to be no more than twenty five!”

To read more, visit the blog below:
http://www.thelastalchemistnovel.com/longevity/
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Those interested in becoming #alchemists should start with simple #magik, like transforming a negative emotion to a positive one.
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