Growing up, our kitchen was a battlefield. The signal to batten down the hatches? Dad’s lunch pail, landing with the force of righteous thunder on the chipped counter. That clanging thermos had more authority than the President. “This is my house,” he’d declare, chest out, sweat still fresh on his brow. “I pay the bills. I’m the boss.�… Read More

By Roy Dawson Earth Angel Master Magical HealerThey sat in quiet rooms with polished floors and windowless walls. The lights didn’t flicker there. The coffee was hot, the air cold, and the voices low. They didn’t shout. They didn’t argue. They didn’t have to. That’s how control works—it’s quiet.They called it business. But it was neve… Read More