Greetings and welcome, dear citizens of Elysium. You are listening to Elysium Public Radio. I am your host, asteria Blackwell, and this is Stories from the Lost Library. Now, before we begin, we always start with a warning, and, yes, I realize the irony, for in the golden days we would always start with an honored prayer to the muses for a memorable tale. But in these modern times, warnings have replaced prayers and our lawyers are insistent. So take this warning as our opening prayer.
Asteria Blackwell:This library, these stories, this missive, this community is a safe and sacred space. Keep all swords, daggers, poison, ignorance and hate to yourself, for they have no place here. We are all seeking peace and softness. There will be no tolerance for hateful words and comments, general rudeness, patriarchal and colonialist attitudes and those afflicted with the disorder of having their mouth be larger than their brains. There is no guarantee every story here will be a happy one. In fact, some will be downright awful, or the muses forbid boring. But what you consider boring and awful may not be to someone else. That is the nature of storytelling. Not every story is for you. I am high priestess of these hallowed halls. I am king of this space. My word is law, and the law is that all are welcome here, and I truly mean all, every gender, every race, every background and every inclination. If you cannot abide by my laws, then please go roll in the mud with the rest of the pigs somewhere else. As for the rest of us, welcome. You were meant to find your way here. Welcome back everyone. It's so good to meet you in this space once more.
Asteria Blackwell:I must say the city of Elysium has seen a dramatic upturn in new faces recently. I believe some are that large gaggle of archaeologists who took a wrong turn in the tomb of an early dynasty, pharaoh, but others seem to have found their way here on their own, which is wonderful. We love showing off our great city, but most of us have been here so long we've forgotten just how confusing it can be when you first set foot in Elysium. For example, there is this pleasant young man named Greg who visited me at the front desk asking for books on how Elysium came to be the way that it is, and he was hoping to sort it out because he's been trying to give directions to the Uber Eats driver and his food keeps getting lost. So for Greg and the rest of our new neighbors, dead or undead, I thought I would take this opportunity to discuss our history and the importance of understanding ley lines.
Asteria Blackwell:Now most people understand that humans and animals can become ghosts, and that's just a given of life. But not everyone realizes that cities and even countries can become ghosts too. I mean, take the great but doomed city of Troy, for example. It was very well known by all accounts and it even had a very well-received book written about its downfall, and it also had very famous people living within its walls. Yet when it died by siege from the Greeks, troy fell into the underworld where it lives on as a ghostly shade, even as the archaeologists dig up its bones in the living world thousands of years later. Of course, atlantis is our most famous ghostly continent, arguably lost after a massive earthquake. In the underworld include El Dorado, hominoptera, herculaneum, pompeii, detroit and, of course, half of Elysium, the dead half at least.
Asteria Blackwell:Elysium is a very odd place. I think we can all agree on that. I mean, it's not very common to have a town that exists half in the underworld and half in the living world. That living world half tends to wander. Some of you may stumble across Elysium floating off the Mediterranean coast, while others may see it parked off the western coast of Australia and I've heard on good authority it was spotted outside of Buffalo, new York, in 1987.
Asteria Blackwell:But really the key is that anywhere ley lines exist, you have a chance of stumbling upon Elysium. And I just realized I forgot to tell you what ley lines are. Some of you into the woo-woo new, agey stuff probably already know, but if you do not, I tend to think of them as rivers of energy that crisscross the globe and where they intersect you typically find great monuments such as the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Now you might think that having half of your town in the underworld would seem quite noticeable, but really it's not that bad. Yes, we have a distinct shift where the wind blows one way and then you might cross the street and it blows another. It's typically more cloudy on the underworld side, but we do have spectacular night skies with plenty of opportunities to catch the aurora borealis. There are some zones that are kind of half and half, almost like a dead zone, where life exists but never really takes off too well, and those areas get used for things like cemeteries, industrial parks, mattress stores and parking lots. Due to these ley lines, all sorts of supernatural beings tend to find their way here, whether the living half of the town likes it or not.
Asteria Blackwell:Yet despite everything that's happened, elysium does hold itself in quite high regards for a number of things, such as upholding antiquated traditions and keeping the streets free of riffraff, and having the gosh darned best apple festival within a thousand miles, despite what that dump in the Garden of Eden claims. So, friends, that's the background of Elysium. We're always at a crossroads. We are the crossroads. Many deals are struck here and many gods and wandering souls wind up on these streets, swept up in the eddies of the lane lines. And according to our young and hip university liaison, Cassie, she states that all of the Uber Eats drivers are members of the same fraternity and you must put a cheap six-pack of beer on your porch or outside your door so they can hone in on your exact location. It seems the boys who frequent fraternities have a sixth sense for finding the cheapest beer possible.
Asteria Blackwell:Dear listeners, I want to thank those of you who came to the library or reached out to discuss rebuilding Karen's broken raft. I'm afraid the consensus was that it's too far beyond repair. Karen and I remained at our impasse for a long while, I will say. The town council rejected the idea of funding and building a large ferry as a replacement, for it would have required a property tax hike in Elysium, and the gods know that that would never pass. I mean to be fair, the River Acheron and the River Styx aren't even in our tax district. But a hero has come to our rescue.
Asteria Blackwell:Dave Riggle from Dave's RV and Boat Sales on South Lombard Street has saved the day. Dave brought forth the idea for Charon to upgrade to something with a motor called I believe it was called a pontoon boat. Yes, that's it, a pontoon boat, and I think this is a quite novel and practical idea. But it did take Dave a few days to convince Charon of the same. But really it just makes sense that dedicated old ferry had given as much life as it could. But according to Dave, pontoon boats can haul more souls across the river at a much faster pace. It also has a built-in stereo system and a leather captain's chair which I understand Caron has really taken a liking to. It also apparently lends itself well to the sport of water skiing, and for an extra gold coin some brave souls are choosing to jet into the afterlife on a pair of silver string skis.
Asteria Blackwell:Cassie and I spotted Charon sporting board shorts and sunglasses the other day cruising up and down the other day cruising up and down the sacred river behind the library with Dave learning how to maneuver his new ride. The pontoon is bright cherry, metallic red, and everyone in town can hear him blasting Sweet Home, alabama. It seems he is quite pleased with this new upgrade, and even ones such as Caron can change with the times. The old fairy who had given his life for this job has received a proper burial. I located a quiet, cool grove in the open air section of our library and the old king can once again watch the stars swirl overhead and he is content at last.
Asteria Blackwell:Finreir, the great wolf of the north, came to the Ambrosia cafe the other day and he is looking much happier and healthier than I've seen him in a long time. He had a great appetite and ate six dog biscuits while we shared coffee. It seems that his father, loki, has not shown up, but there was an elderly aunt who came by, brushed out all of the mats from his fur, cooked him breakfast and she ended up staying a few weeks cleaning up his home and planting flowers. He said she always shows up when he's in a bad place and I'm glad he has this person in his life. I just wish his father would have bothered to come see him. But Finrear is doing well and thanks everyone for their calls and cards of support, and he apologizes once again for eating the sun.
Asteria Blackwell:The organizers of the upcoming City Dionysia have announced that all submissions for the Playwriting Festival must be received by the end of the month, or before the end of the full moon if you don't use a human calendar. They have also announced they're waiving the fee for any women submitting to the women's portion of the competition in a gesture of solidarity. And remember, no one will be fed to the lions this time if you lose. I must say I don't understand how waiving a fee shows solidarity. If they wanted to accomplish that, they'd let the women enter the full festival without separation. But what do I know? I'm just a woman, apparently. And as for the lion, that's nice but it doesn't do old Actaeus Polaris any good, since he was last year's main course. But Cassie and I are happy to proofread anyone's submission.
Asteria Blackwell:We've already started seeing many prospective writers camping out in the library. Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe spend more time making out than writing, but it seems to be working for them. We've also had a strange middle-aged woman come in the other day who pulled out what seemed to be handwritten copies of the Odyssey and the Iliad and then a large pot of ink and she started writing. She wrote for 12 hours straight and had four of Phryne's magical stay-awake concoctions and she wrote like a woman possessed. It was rather fascinating.
Asteria Blackwell:And now a word from our new sponsor, dave Riggle, from Dave's RV and Boat Sales on South Lombard Street. Dave's RV and Boat Sales can help you get into the adventure of your dreams. Whether you need a workhorse of a boat, like our great friend Karen, or whether you just want a little traveling caravan, he's got you covered. They know every bit of water and land between here and the Sargasso Sea and they will always help you see all of it. So come on down today. He's got new and used boats, pontoons, jet skis, fishing boats, byrooms, clipper ships, galleons, dhows, nars, paddle boats, paddle steamers and cruisers, just to name a few. Thank you, dave, and thank you again for all of you've done to help our friend Karen.
Asteria Blackwell:Big Midge's oracles have been brought to you by Dave's RV and Boat Sales and remember, if you wish to submit a question for Big Midge. Email her at oracle at assyriablackwellcom. Oracle number one. Dear Big Midge, where are the male oracles? And, for that matter, whatever happened to Apollo, the god who used to whisper prophecies to the Pythia at Delphi? No offense, but your oracles could really use some work. Maybe you should reach out to him and see if he might help you out.
Asteria Blackwell:Sincerely, Just Saying, dear, just Saying. Of course, not all oracles are women. Not all oracles are even human. If you looked at the world around you for more than a second, do you really think the seashells on the beach Just hold echoes of ocean waves? No, they are oracles of their own kind, spilling secrets of the lost souls in the depths, secrets of the lost souls in the depths, secrets of the deep seas and secrets of the old gods who still rule below the waves. And as for Apollo, he was an opportunist, a god using a natural gift to further along his hobby of raping those he took a liking to. He's not welcome here and, for the record, the voice that whispers to me will not be mansplained, so it will never speak to men. Most of you are utterly exhausting and, frankly, I avoid speaking to you as well.
Asteria Blackwell:Oracle number two, dear Big Midge, number two. Dear Big Midge, if a man who became a werewolf on the full moon were to go out into outer space, would he be a werewolf 24 hours a day because the moon would always be full. Or is it still just a once a month thing? Sincerely Werewolf Astronaut Quandaries. Werewolf Astronaut Quandaries. Dear Werewolf Astronaut Quandaries, you would be a werewolf full-time. So if you are space-bound and also sensitive to the full moon, please plan accordingly. Oracle number three Note this querent asked for their question not to be published, so we are only putting out the answer.
Asteria Blackwell:Dear Anonymous, I know why you came here. Yes, you were searching for the means to tell a story, a siren call that will not let you rest. But what if, I told you, you must be careful with the one that holds? You told you, you must be careful with the one that holds you. I understand how intriguing it sounds now with this story of oracles and magic, but you must be careful, as careful as witches are on a full moon, for an oracle story may change your life. An oracle spoken worms into you and takes hold and grows into something much larger. You must say a prayer to the muses for your safe journey through those pages. You must sing loudly for the sake of your own soul, for anything less will swallow you whole. Thank you for the oracles, big Midge, great advice as always, and please give a big hand to my familiar who is voicing her love of Big Midge as well.
Asteria Blackwell:And now for the weather, which Dave Riggle informs me is not so great for boating at the moment. We have a heavy bank of fog coming in on the heels of the blood red moon. The fog will cover everything in an endless mist. It has just woken up from a long winter hibernation, so this fog is a hungry one, ravenous, really. The reports are saying the fog has been reported to be feasting on memories. So if you have things you'd like to forget, maybe now is the time for a little midnight walkabout. Or if you have things you'd like to keep, then close your windows and cover your head. The fog is expected to depart in a few days and after rainbows and auroras are expected to return to our skies. Thank you, dave, for sponsoring today's weather.
Asteria Blackwell:We have an update to one of the community support groups that I was asked to share with everyone. The newest support group, which was for those whose life has been wrecked by a Greek god was overwhelmed with attendance. There was a line out of the door at the community center and the organizers did not realize there were so many of you in need of help. So for this week's meeting, it will now be held at the university's conference center. There are multiple rooms set up so that everyone can have a good conversation, and I believe some therapists and witches will be on hand to help everyone process. I'm really glad to hear this. We've had a need for eons, and also the organizers of the Olympics and the City Dionysia Festival have announced that the amphitheater is now closed so that rehearsals and preparations may start for the festivals, and the main square is about to close so that vendors can come in and get ready for the start of this wonderful event. Tickets are going fast, so please be sure to get yours soon.
Asteria Blackwell:Okay, dear friends, it's time for a tale, if you will. A few weeks ago, when we were experiencing an influx of souls fleeing the endless laundry of the Catholic Church, a woman came in and offered to help with supplies, funds, living quarters and pretty much anything that anyone would need who was trying to start a new life. Her name is Agnes and, in addition to offering safe haven for rebellious nuns. Agnes has lent her time and expertise to the library and I am most grateful. She's fixed the air conditioner in the front entryway and solved that incessant squeak coming from the top hinge of the main doors. Right now she's outside building something I'm not quite sure what, but I hear a lot of saws and hammering and I expect that it will be nothing less than extraordinary Friends.
Asteria Blackwell:Agnes and I have become quite good friends over the past few weeks. She keeps to herself most of the time, so I expect that not many of you have crossed paths with her, but please, for a moment, close your eyes and humor me. I want you to picture a woman, built solid like a house, wearing a worn black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees, no matter the weather. She has black nails to go along with her black jacket, short, spiky hair with a white streak down the side and, of course, the heavy leather boots that she so fondly calls her shit-carrers. Agnes is nothing if not blunt, and some of you with thinner skin may find her abrasive, but nothing she says is untrue. Agnes shared her story with me after a wonderful night involving a lot of wine and mead, and with the stream of fleeing nuns finding their way to us, I knew right away that there were many souls who needed to hear this story. So, with her permission, here is Agnes's story.
Asteria Blackwell:I was raised in a Catholic church. Literally when I was a couple of years old, someone had left me on the front steps of Our Lady of Eternal Sorrows in Bumfuck. Indiana Didn't really have any social services offices around at that time, so everyone just kind of shrugged and left me in the care of the nuns and then proceeded to forget about me. My birth certificate actually says my name is Sister Agnes, because the idiot who typed it got distracted by his lunch and missed it, and of course there's no way to correct it without endless paperwork that I don't have and can't access, which is ironic. Actually, the nuns named me after Saint Agnes, who was a teenage girl who said no to marrying a man, and so her father and the suitors killed her by dragging her naked through the streets, trying to burn her at the stake and then just resorting to lopping her head off. Of course, as all things go with the church, they felt bad about it after she was dead, so they made her a saint, as if that would cleanse the sins of how they had treated her without having to feel too bad about it. Oh, she's with God now they would say Well, bullshit, she wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for your ego and your dick Christ. That's the whole fucking problem with the church. Everyone is so damned focused on what happens after you die that no one takes the time to become a decent human being while they're alive.
Asteria Blackwell:I grew up surrounded by women like this, watching them, day in and day out, be the most hateful beings I have ever encountered. They took pleasure in whacking me with rulers when I couldn't remember multiplication tables, or when I accidentally broke a glass washing dishes tables, or when I accidentally broke a glass washing dishes, or for anything really. I watched them spend all of their time saying all of these flowery bullshit prayers and then turn to me and say the harshest shit like you're a sinner, you're going to hell. You need to pray for your soul. You're going to burn in purgatory for an eternity. You know all that warm, fuzzy, feeling crap in purgatory for an eternity. You know all that warm, fuzzy, feeling crap. I didn't know anything different, not until they had to send me to the local school for an education I didn't know there was a world outside of those walls, and so I believed them.
Asteria Blackwell:When they told me I was a piece of shit human being, I tried to do all of the steps they wanted, like get baptized and take communion and spell out all of your sins and all of that jazz. But like any multi-level marketing scheme, there are a lot of promises but minimal results for the effort. There was a lot of oh well, you haven't prayed enough. You haven't taken orders to be a nun, but you just haven't confessed enough. You haven't taken orders to be a nun, but you just haven't confessed enough. There was always some bullshit of needing to be more and do more.
Asteria Blackwell:So I worked harder, thinking that if I kept doing what they asked, I'd finally be cleansed or whatever they were wanting, and the gaping hole in my chest would heal up. If I just did everything right or did it hard enough, or erased everything of who I was, then that happiness might kick in. Spoiler alert it never kicked in. They told me to pray to the saints, who were then supposed to pray on my behalf to God for some boon or some help in an area, but none of those saints ever really spoke to me. They were all too far removed, too dead, too dusty to make any difference in my life.
Asteria Blackwell:I never found any kind of a God in that church. I sure found a lot of hate, though, even though everyone kept telling me it was a place of joy and peace. I found death, with corpses hanging from crosses and everyone drinking his blood, like a vampire, while telling me it would bring me life and forgiveness. It just tasted like stale crackers and grape juice. You know, I've never met a true vampire in real life that I'm aware of, but I sure as shit know that the church is one. It's a 2,000-year-old vampire bleeding the world dry and leaving nothing but destruction in its path. Feed on your fear, your anger, your hatred. Let us suck the life out of you while giving you our blood in return so that you become one of us. You are beholden to us. I fucking hated that place.
Asteria Blackwell:Every week, priests would come in and take our confessions, because apparently women aren't approved to handle shit like that. They'd line us up and tell us don't leave anything out. We want every scrap, every bite. It won't count unless you tell us everything. Those fucks always creeped me out.
Asteria Blackwell:Father Peter was the one in the confessional and he was always the hungriest, fattest asshole I had ever met in my life, both for food and for sins. He told anyone willing or unwilling to listen that this was his favorite part of the job to help wash away the sins of the faithful. I always wondered who he confessed to, or even if he bothered to confess at all. He certainly never tried to hide his sins. Father Peter was notorious for his wandering hands on young nuns and his weekly poker nights with the sheriff.
Asteria Blackwell:For years I stepped into that confessional over and over and let Father Peter pin me open like a bug on a specimen board so that he could use his so-called connection to the almighty to peer inside. He and his fat fingers moved organs around, dug into intestines, searched for every hint of a secret, a sin, searching for the things he could use to make you hate yourself. To make you hate yourself. Oh, but don't worry, dear my dear child, I shall wash you clean, he would say, while asking for more. Well, I never felt clean after leaving that confessional. I felt worse.
Asteria Blackwell:That damned room always reeked of unwashed robes and Father Peter's greasy hands. I could not get out of that place fast enough, and I always had to get outside to work with my hands, usually in the garden or, if it was too cold, down to the laundry room, so the boiling water and steam would wash away Father Peter's cleansing. Father Peter never bothered to cleanse his sins, I am sure of that. Every day I had to sit in those pews and stare at that bleeding crucifix hanging over the altar and wonder when God would ever show up for himself To ask forgiveness for all of his sins. When would he be brave enough to confess To all of the blood spilled and lives destroyed in the name of this religion, a religion that has never been satisfied with what you offered, a religion that always wants more and more and more? Who could ever wash the sins of an absent God? Well, luckily I never have to worry about that, because one day, while I was washing everyone's dirty underwear, I died and was saved by none other than St David Bowie.
Asteria Blackwell:Yeah, I know how it sounds, trust me, I like to call it the Immaculate Reception, because I was elbow deep in a washing machine trying to fix it and then my contraband radio fell off the shelf and into the water, with me fried the ever-loving shit out of me. I got knocked to the floor, ended up with this damn white streak in my hair and I was certain I was dead, because, when I opened my eyes, david fucking bowie was standing at my smoking a cigarette and looking at me. Oh Agnes, you poor thing, what the fuck are you still doing here? And well, frankly, that was a damn good question. You can leave, you know, just get up and walk out and never come back. You can become someone else.
Asteria Blackwell:Of course, as he said this, his outfits rotated through Ziggy Stardust to Aladdin Sane and the Thin White Duke, and I kind of got the point. You can go, make your own saints, make your own religion. You don't need salvation, you need to live your life. There are more like you than you'll ever know, and in fact, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. He stepped aside and there was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She was wearing, of all things, jeans and a t-shirt, and converse, sneakers and a wide, sharp smile.
Asteria Blackwell:Agnes Saint David Bowie said this is Lilith, or, as she likes to call herself, our lady of done with your eternal bullshit. And I'll tell you right now. None of the saints ever spoke to me much before then. But this, my friends, this is a saint I can really get behind. Lilith reached out her hands and you bet your ass I took it. I walked right out of that fucking vampire's nest and dripping wet robes and into the sunlight with her, and I don't regret a damn second of it.
Asteria Blackwell:I like to think of it as a do-it-yourself excommunication the best decision I've ever made. My heart breaks for all of those, like Saint Agnes, who have been killed or cast out or demonized in the name of the church. Lilith has helped me see that we can create a new world, find new saints to follow and new gods worthy of worship. Your mileage may vary, but since I've left that damn vampire, I've never been told to hate anyone or dig around for sins or to give money to fund wars and opulence. That was never deserved.
Asteria Blackwell:If there's anyone out there who wants to leave that filth and hears this, reach out. However you can, I'll offer up a route for your own do-it-yourself excommunication. I won't ask for a penny. I'm not interested in your sins and I'll never promise you eternal salvation. Your life will be yours again and you can live it as you wish, without the need of permission or forgiveness from anyone. Thank you so much, agnes, for allowing us to share your story. I'm thrilled you were able to escape and create a life that you love living and, as I have mentioned in the past, if you get a message to me or come by the library, I will help you in any way I can. You can email me at asteria at asteriablackwellcom. That's our show for now. Join us next time when we'll have more on the upcoming City Dionysia Festival, and I can't wait to see the productions this year. Remember you can also send in your questions from Big Mitch at oracle at asteriablackwellcom.
Asteria Blackwell:This has been a production of Elysium Public Radio. My name is Asteria Blackwell and this is Stories from the Lost Library. This has been a production of Elysium Public Radio and Sandy Lynn Studio. Our music is written and performed by Scott Buckley. Today's story was written and narrated by Sandy Lynn. Follow us on Instagram and TikTok under the handle Asteria Blackwell For more information on the show or to obtain a library card for the Lost Library of Elysium, or perhaps to join our mystery cult. Then find us on Substack at.