Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Nasty Ass Tobacco Spit

ADD "WART" TO THE LIST OF AFFLICTING GIFTS I'VE LOVINGLY BESTOWED UPON MY FATHER-IN-LAW. (I TOLD YOU WITCH'S SPIT IS VENOMOUS.) (LOLOLOLOL! NASTY ASS TOBACCO SPIT. OH, PAPA, YOU DO MAKE ME LOL, <3!)

Bean Nighe

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Not all of us have to die in childbirth.

She Spits, She Scores

My father-in-law? He never learns. (And now he's walking in slippers filled with graveyard dirt and his daughter-in-law's fury. <- OH, I WAS SO ANGRY I HAD TO SPIT -FIVE TIMES- BEFORE FUCKING HITTING THE SHOE.)

I've been growing tobacco, from seed, for Papa. Since Imbolc (LOOOOOOOOOOOOOL, I KNOW, I KNOW! I THOUGHT IT WAS AN -APPROPRIATE- TIME!) I've tended to his plants, and when they got hardy enough to withstand the "greenhouse" (where Mr. Awesome, my father-in-law, keeps his plants and trees) they were transported outside.

Since mid-May my/our/his plants have been happily growing without any interference - ANY INTERFERENCE UNTIL YESTERDAY WHEN I FOUND ONE OF MY THREE CONTAINERS SITTING OUT-THE-FUCKING SIDE, EXPOSED TO THE ELEMENTS AND MUCH COLDER AIR (WE'VE ALREADY EXPERIENCED FROST AND SNOW IN THIS REGION OF SCOTLAND), WITH THE TIP OF ONE OF THE PLANTS INEXPLICABLY CUT OFF.

If I hadn't gone outside to make an offering to ANCESTORS, FRIENDS, and HELPERS I would've never seen the container - THE CONTAINER WITH MY ONCE SUPER HUGE TOBACCO PLANT WHICH I WAS HOPING TO GET SEEDS FROM (BUT NOT ANYMORE SINCE HE CUT OFF THE FLOWERS THAT WOULD'VE PRODUCED THE SEEDS) - sitting on the patio because it's not like he ASKED ME IF HE COULD DO IT or even INFORMED ME OF WHAT HE HAD DONE. I was livid, and then so frustrated that all I could do was cry because there's nothing I CAN DO.

The plants? They'll either survive or they won't. I can't do anything about that now. The tip of the plant with the flowers for seed? Cut off. I also can't do anything about that now. Complain, shout, threaten, or demand an apology or at least an explanation as to why he was still touching and breaking and killing and ruining my things after being told so many times for over seven fucking years not to touch my things (or, at least, JUST ASK ME BEFORE YOU TOUCH MY THINGS)?

Or why a near seventy year old man can't seem to remember the one simple thing I ask from him (i.e., PLEASE ASK ME BEFORE YOU TOUCH OR THROW OUT ANYTHING THAT'S MINE.)? (One, simple thing that EVEN A CHILD WITH LEARNING DIFFICULTIES CAN UNDERSTAND.) Or why, when I confront him after he's threw away part of an Anniversary gift I was working on for Italics, or my mother's ashes, or -

- actually, let's not even start with the "ORs". In fact, I'm totally done with this entry before my blood pressure rises any more and I find myself screaming at five in the fucking morning because one of the hardest fucking things I've ever had to deal with in my entire fucking life is living with someone who has told me, face on, that they will decide the inherit value of an object on -my- behalf and will act accordingly without consulting me.

I am completely, hopelessly bound in a situation where there is someone else in my life who doesn't have to live at the standard he expects everyone else to live at, and that it's easier - for the entire family - to let him act out and ruin other people's lives because it's -less tense and stressful- than to reprimand him for things like THROWING AWAY ASHES THAT BELONGED TO YOUR FUCKING MOTHER.

HEY, YOU KNOW WHAT'S WORSE THAN HAVING ASHES THAT BELONGED TO YOUR MOTHER GET THROWN AWAY? THE PERSON WHO DID IT NEVER APOLOGIZING TO YOU FOR IT, EVEN THOUGH THEY WERE TOLD WHAT THEY HAD DONE. (IT'S BEEN FOUR YEARS NOW, MR. AWESOME, AND MY MOTHER AND I ARE STILL WAITING.)

(YEAH. -THAT'S- WHAT I LIVE WITH, AND HE'S FUCKING LUCKY THAT I DIDN'T ASK FOR HIS BALLS BECAUSE -I ALMOST ALWAYS GET WHAT I FUCKING WANT-. <- AND HE, MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD, SHOULD KNOW THAT BY NOW.)

The Great Temptation

Sometimes Mr. Awesome just leaves things sitting out. Like sweaty socks, mangy underwear, and, my personal favorite, a cup of coffee that sits uncovered, untouched (SUPPOSEDLY) on the kitchen counter for 12+ hours.

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(IT'S ALMOST LIKE HE DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ITALIAN WITCHCRAFT, OR A BASTARDIZED VERSION OF VOODOO, OR HOODOO, OR VODOUN OR WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT WHEN YOU USE GRAVEYARD DIRT FOR NOT SO NICE THINGS. (His loss, right?) IT'S ALMOST LIKE HE'S -DELIBERATELY TEMPTING ME- OUT IN THE FUCKING OPEN.)

You don't even want to know what I did with his suspiciously stained unmentionables during the 25 day summer vacation. (Oh, no, honey, I did. By hand. Suspicious stains and all. On THE fucking day they came hone.) (<- The hand that cleans the streaks out of y-fronts, is the hand that rules the house. And, also, your balls. THANKS FOR THAT, MR. FATHER-IN-LAW!)

(But if you DO want to know then you're in luck. Because I have a story.)

(...and some pictures.)

(So stay tuned.)

Sharp Shooter

The following post ventures into "OLD NOTES" territory. In this particular case it's a copy and paste job from an old livejournal entry from May 23rd, 2008.

OH HEY REMEMBER A MONTH OR SO AGO I SAID THAT I MALICIOUSLY KNOTTED A PAIR OF MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S SOCKS TOGETHER FOR A BIT OF MAGIC FUN (SEE JOURNAL ENTRY PAYMENT, PUNISHMENT, & PROMISES)? WITHIN THE PAST WEEK (OR TWO?) ITALICS'S MOTHER TOLD HIM (WHO, IN TURN, TOLD ME) THAT ITALICS'S FATHER HAS DEVELOPED SOME GANGLION CYSTS IN HIS HANDS/FINGERS MAKING THE WORK HE'S DOING (I.E., GARDENING ON A RENTED PLOT OF LAND) EXCEPTIONALLY DIFFICULT AND PAINFUL.

...LULZ. (I KNOW, I KNOW, ANKLES/FEET AREN'T HANGS/FINGERS BUT YOU KNOW HOW MAGIC IS - IT'LL DO AS IT WILLS (<- ANYONE? ANYONE? OKAY, SO MAYBE NOT EVERYONE HAS THE SCRIPT MEMORIZED FROM THE MOVIE). IN OTHER WORDS - I SHOULDN'T BE GIVING SPECIFICS TO THE UNIVERSE WHEN MAKING A REQUEST BECAUSE I'M THE LAST PERSON WHO CAN APPRECIATE HOW IT MIGHT ADVERSELY AFFECT ME OR THE SITUATION. BEST LEAVING THAT SORT'VE SHIT OPEN ENDED BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE KNOWS BESTEST.)

ETA: AND IT'S NOT EVEN SO MUCH THAT HE HAS THE CYSTS, BECAUSE THEY'RE THE PRODUCT OF OVER-GARDENING. IT'S THE FACT THAT HE GOT THEM - AND TO MY KNOWLEDGE HE'S NEVER HAD THEM BEFORE - DURING A TIME WHEN HE -CAN'T STOP WORK- BECAUSE HE NEEDS TO MOVE ALL OF HIS SHIT OFF THE LAND ASAP SINCE THEY'RE NO LONGER RENTING TO HIM.

I AM MOSTLY LULZING OVER THE TOTAL DISCOMFORT AND INCONVENIENCE OF IT ALL AND HOW HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. AND, ALSO, HOW IT DOESN'T AFFECT ME, ITALICS, OR OUR HOME LIFE IN ANY WAY. (<- THE FEET/ANKLE THING LAST YEAR WAS SUPER SPECTACULAR, BUT IT DID END UP LAYING US UP FOR A FEW MONTHS. THEN AGAIN, THAT WAS SORT'VE NECESSARY SO I COULD SEE, FIRST HAND, THE REPERCUSSIVE SHOCK WAVES OF SUCH ACTIONS, AND MADE ME APPRECIATE ALL THE MORE WHY I HAVE TO BE VERY CAREFUL WITH THE GUN I'M SHOOTING.)

Payment, Punishment, & Promises

The following post ventures into "OLD NOTES" territory. In this particular case it's a copy and paste job from an old livejournal entry from May 3rd, 2008.

- Lost one of Ma's depression plates today. (AND HERE YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING CAREFUL BY CLEANING THEM IN THE DISHWASHER.)

- Used it in Hezbollah/Beltane altar (SEE PICTURE HERE), smaller succulent plant sat on it. (MAKE NOTE OF "GREEN" WHICH HAS BEEN THE PREVAILING COLOR OF THIS YEAR.) Situated on "my" side of altar; where earth was offered (as opposed to Italics's seeds) and Tawaret stood (as opposed to Sobek).

- Not sure if break is payment, punishment, or a promise of better things to come. (TIED ITALICS'S FATHERS SOCKS TOGETHER AT ANKLES TO TRIP HIM UP YESTERDAY, GOADED CHIPPY INTO MAKING HIM STUMBLE.)

- Pulled THIS CARD directly after after asking WTF IS GOING ON. (EVERYTHING IS OBVIOUS; BUT REMEMBER WHEN YOU TURN IT TO THE SIDE THE BLACK AND WHITE SHADING BECOME PILLARS ALA HIGH PRIESTESS CARD.)

- Feeling soulless and tired. Monthly tarotscope pulled out JUDGMENT for soul/being; got JUDGMENT REVERSED last week when pulling a few cards. (I.E., SUN (R), JUDGMENT (R), QUEEN OF WANDS, NINE OF WANDS (R).)

Hey, Hey, Mama Lion...

The following post ventures into "OLD NOTES" territory. In this particular case it's a copy and paste job from an old livejournal entry from December 4th, 2007 (although the events that took place pre-date the writing; actual date of said events would have been late November, 2007 (i.e., during Thanksgiving)).

On Thanksgiving morning I was a vindictive bitch and sprinkled Fet Ghede (07!) Dirt in my brother-in-law's shoes while he slept. (DO NOT PISS OFF SOMEONE WHO COLLECTS BLOOD CLOTS, DIRT, AND DEAD INSECTS, OKAY?) It wasn't enough; it wasn't immediate, and I didn't get a sense of closure. So I went back and spat on his shoes. Both of them. And I felt A+ satisfied and Papa was all "LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!" but also "BABY GIRL, THIS NIGGA AIN'T NEVER GONNA PISS YOUR ASS OFF!". (<- That's because he knows I'll show him the door AND THERE AIN'T NO HOMEMADE CORNBREAD SITTING ON THE DOORSTEP FOR HIM.)

(He's very supportive of my WITCH INSTINCTS but takes a step back when I'm a-cursin' or a-hexin' because he's a V. smart man who understands YOU DON'T GET IN THE WAY OF AN ANGRY WOMAN, ESPECIALLY AN ANGRY WOMAN WHO CAN BREAK LEGS AND BRING SNOW. <- Thus proven and cemented by a conversation Italics and I had regarding his father's medical misfortunes when I told him how Papa sort've becomes passive and very "YES DEAR, NO DEAR, OF COURSE DEAR" when I get all MAGIC STROPPY and Italics was "NO SHIT, WHO WANTS THEIR LEGS BROKEN? I DON'T!" and there was much LOLOLOLOLOLing on my part because two of the most important male figures in my life HAVE COME TOGETHER TO THROW UP THEIR HANDS WITH A "WHOA!" (<- THEY STILL SPINNIN', NIGGA!) AT SOME OF THE COINCIDENTAL THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED JUST AFTER I ANNOUNCED I WAS GOING TO MAKE SOMETHING HAPPEN THEREFORE MAKING EVERYTHING UNDENIABLY SCIENTIFIC.)

Before the Ghede gang were informally invoked for ANGRY WOMAN revenge there was THE SHANGO MAN. Now Papa be all MODERN and HUMAN so ignoring his presence is HARDER than noticing it. (Y'ALL, I GOT A LARGER-THAN-LIFE, STEREOTYPICAL BLACK MAN LIVING WITH ME, OKAY? I'VE WATCHED ENOUGH MAURY TO UNDERSTAND A FEW THINGS: 1) LIE DETECTORS DON'T LIE (DARLIN', IF YOU NEED TO DRAG HIS ASS TO THE MAURY SHOW FOR A LIE DETECTOR TEST HE'S CHEATED), 2) THE BABY CAN -STILL BE YOURS- EVEN IF IT "DON'T LOOK NOTHIN' LIKE ME!", AND 3) THEY ALL PLAYAZ (OR AT LEAST THEY ALL THINK THEY ARE). <- I'm not actually sure how #1 and #2 figure into things, but they're somehow relevant. SOMEHOW.)

TSM is Papa's opposite, and either is V. content to co-inhabit quietly, or is somewhat silenced by Papa's perpetual trash talkin' presence. (THIS MAY SEEM A BIT SHOCKING (MORE SHOCKING THAN THE FACT THAT I'M A 27 YEAR OLD WHITE WOMAN WHO OPENLY ADMITS TO USING THE WORD "NIGGA/NIGGER" (<- I HATE THE A. I HATE IT. I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT BECAUSE IT SOUNDS SO FUCKING -FAKE- COMING FROM ME BECAUSE PAPA WANTS TO HEAR -THE REAL THING- AND BECAUSE I AM WHAT I AM I'M NOT -ALLOWED- TO SAY -THE REAL THING- SO WHENEVER I SAY THE -FAKE VERSION- YOU CAN TOTALLY, TOTALLY TELL THAT I'M THINKING ABOUT THE -REAL VERSION-.) AND THAT I'M A-OKAY IN CELEBRATING ETHNIC STEREOTYPES!) BUT PAPA DOES, IN FACT, ENJOY STEALING THE SHOW. OFTEN. AND GOD FUCKING FORBID ANYTHING MALE (OTHER THAN HIM OR ITALICS, OF COURSE) GET INVOLVED BECAUSE THE SECOND A THIRD PARTY DICK ARRIVES ON THE SCENE IT BECOMES -WAR- AND I'M THE ONE GETTING BOMBARDED WITH "BABY GIRL, WHY YOU TALKIN' TO THAT NEGRO CAT? YOU KNOW HE DON'T UNDERSTAND NOTHIN' COMIN' OUTTA YOUR MOUTH! HE ALL...OOGA BOOGA IN SHIT!" AND "BABY GIRL, WHY YOU WASTIN' THAT PERFECTLY GOOD PIECE OF LIVER ON THAT UNGRATEFUL NIGGER?" AND ALL I CAN DO IS ROLL MY EYES INTO THE BACK OF MY SKULL AND REMIND MYSELF THAT I SHOULD BE -REALLY, REALLY HONORED- THAT PAPA GHEDE IS SO DEVOTED TO MY SPIRITUAL AND MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL AND PHYSICAL WELL-BEING THAT HE IS EVER-FLOWING WITH WISDOM AND GUIDANCE, ESPECIALLY WHEN I'M BENDING OVER WHILE VACUUMING AND MY GHETTO ASS IS SALUTING THE AIR. HAR HAR.)

I met TSM during one of my very first MDMA trips. While standing over a container pouring out ribbons of copal smoke I had a series of hallucinations, and in each split second "vision" my outfit was V. V. similar (in ancient Egypt it was a white dress and green headdress as I walked on flames, and in ancient Britain it was a white dress and green headdress (again), although this time I was more aware that the headdress was a crown of oak leaves - whatever that means (X2 with "green headdress" in ancient Egypt - I GUESS THIS IS SHIT I SHOULD'VE LOOKED UP ALREADY)) except for the last one which found me standing at the top of a South American ziggurat in the mountains. So there I was, bare feet firmly planted on chiseled stone, standing in what I think was a temple and being very aware of my "priestess" status, looking across a grassy courtyard (more like a field pitch) towards a parallel ziggurat.

I don't remember what I was thinking, or what I was doing. It was one of those weird lost-in-non-thoughts moments, when you stare and observe and feel REALLY, REALLY AWARE yet a part of you still feels a million miles away. The thing that broke that disconnection/connection was a large black jungle cat at my side. (ZOMG, I KNOW, HOW WONDERFULLY LLEWELLYN FANTASY, RIGHT?) One second I was 100% absorbed in this non-thought while staring at an overly familiar Super Mario Brothers 3 World 2 pyramid, and the next I'm back in reality, wearing a white dress and super bold, blood red feathers in my hair (RED JUNGLE BIRDS? ALL I CAME UP WITH WAS "MACAW".) as my pet Jaguar/Panther/Black Leopard/Whatever stands by my side. (AND NOT EVEN ALL NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC COOL WITH TEETH FLASHING AND EARS PINNED BACK AND HISSING AND CLAWS EXTENDED, JUST, YOU KNOW, STANDING THERE, QUIET, SILENT, CALM, AND PROTECTIVE.)

Eventually BUT FOR REAL reality trickled in and after a long second or two I was just me - just me in a dim family room hovering over a bowl of V. fragrant incense. No more green headdresses, no more white dresses, no more red feathers in my hair, ziggurats, flames, grassy courtyards, or high priestess imagery that spanned several civilizations over thousands of years. The only thing that remained was my sleek, black jungle cat who (awkward tense shift approaching!) never says anything but stands there, quietly, silently, calmly, and protectively. (Further SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN by the fact TSM adopted a wee stuffed Scottish lamb (THE SHANGO LAMB!) around Easter this year, which doesn't seem like a big deal at all until, ZOMG, you take in account that I spiritually identify with the concept of goat/lamb/ram/sheep SO IT IS V. V. V. OBVIOUS TO ME WHAT HIS JOB IS IN THIS HOUSE.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is - EVERYTHING HAS ITS OWN UNIQUE KINK. (I, uh, think that's what I'm trying to say?) Papa is loud and obnoxious and big and really, really likes to put on a show, which is all in-keeping with how he's generally received in the voodoo/voudon belief system. TSM manifested differently for me, for whatever reason (but still decided to identify himself as "Shango", but that's another long-winded story that y'all probably don't want to hear because if you're like ME these sorts of "OH, HEY YOU GUYS! LOOK AT HOW SPIRITUALLY AWESOME I AM! I SHALL EVEN CAPSLOCK EVERYTHING FOR YOU SO -YOU HAVE TO EAT IT LIKE UNSWEETENED OATMEAL-! HAH! HAH HAH HAH HAH!" entries just piss me the fuck off), and I'm just rolling with it. (i.e., Chango/Shango in voodoo/voudon tradition, to me, isn't entirely different from Papa with his love of woman, vices, and confrontation. But the Shango I know and live with is a 180 from the caricature portrayed, down to preferring blue as his offering color instead of the widely accepted red. (THAT MAKES HIM A CRYPT, I BELIEVE! <- LOL!))

SO, ANYWAY, BACK TO THE STORY I WAS TELLING BEFORE I WENT OFF ON A 6-7 PARAGRAPH TANGENT THAT SEEMED V. V. V. IMPORTANT TO WRITE OUT AT THE TIME. (JESUS H. CHRIST HELP THE WORLD SHOULD I EVER GET MOTIVATED ENOUGH TO PUBLISH MY OWN SILVER RAVENWOLF BRAND OF MAGIC MANUALS! <- LOL! UNLIKELY! HIS DAD DISLIKES US ENOUGH TO MENTION US SEVERAL TIMES IN THE BIBLE! WHY DO YOU HATE CAKE SO MUCH, GOD, WHY?)

Thanksgiving Eve found me in a sullen state with an uninvited guest spending the night (I had Thanksgiving worked into a schedule, people! AN ACTUAL, HONEST TO GOD SCHEDULE WHICH WORKED A+ PERFECT AWESOME UNTIL MY GODDAMN BROTHER-IN-LAW DECIDED TO THROW A SPANNER IN THE WORKS!), and as I crawled all demoralized into bed I caught THE SHANGO MAN'S indignant expression (the, uh, stuffed animal version of him). And THEN I had one of those MEMORY FLASHES where YOU REMEMBER SOMETHING, BUT NOT ALL OF IT, BUT THE GIST OF IT IS ENOUGH TO BE HELPFUL DUE TO ITS GENERAL VAGUENESS AND AMBIGUITY THAT CAN BE BUILT UPON CREATIVELY and it happened to be "VOODOO BLEND - BLACK CAT - BLACK CATS THROW SMALL INCONVENIENT HEXES".

And when THAT happened I thought "I WONDER IF SHANGO MAN WOULD BE UP TO MAKING SOME SHANGO MAN MISCHIEF FOR ME?" and I got SLAPPED HARD with an image of my sleek, black jungle cat darting in front of M's feet while walking and tripping him up. To that I was all "LOLOLOLOLOLOL! YES! EXACTLY!" and I THEN got SLAPPED HARD AGAIN with an image of TSM, in stuffed cat form, sitting in front of a steaming turkey leg. HOW COULD I RESIST THE OFFER? (GOOD...TRADE.)

The morning after I was in a piss-poor mood. Without even really thinking about it I grabbed my baby jar of FET GHEDE DIRT and HEXED IT, HEXED IT REALLY GOOD and spouted something about FEET NOT CROSSING THIS THRESHOLD WITHOUT MY SAY and then came back to SPIT ON THE SHOES to seal the deal, totally forgetting that the previous night M'S LEGS/FEET WERE ALREADY IN PLAY THANKS TO THE SHANGO MAN.

I WOULD SAY THAT THE DIRT WENT DOWN INTO THE SHOES BETWEEN 9:30-10:00 AM. By 11:30 AM I already had my first result - M missed his train by 3 minutes and was then forced to sit in a cold, open train station for 45 minutes for the next one which, no doubt, helped screw up the rest of his day. (SMALL INCONVENIENCE, ANYONE?) I had totally, totally forgotten about this hex because, you know, OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND (I'm really volatile emotionally - I explode like you wouldn't believe, V. quickly scary-like, and then after the Pompeii explosion I'm cool once again and forget all about it), until YESTERDAY.

See, the first thing I did after carving the turkey on Thanksgiving was remove THE ENTIRE LEG OFF THIS 14-18 BEAST and take it outside to THE SHANGO TREE. (Another long story!) SO THERE I WAS, SICK, WEARING A STRING BIKINI & MINI-SKIRT & A COOKING APRON WITH ARMS OF LOCAL SCOTTISH FAMILIES, TRAMPLING OUT IN THE COLD (I HAD MADE IT SNOW EARLIER, REMEMBER?) WITH 1/5 OF A ROASTED TURKEY, FORCING THIS SUPER HUGE TURKEY LEG BETWEEN A WOODEN FENCE AND SOME ROCKS SO NEIGHBORHOOD CATS COULDN'T MAKE OFF WITH IT ON THANKSGIVING'S TWILIGHT.

I had 100% forgotten about this incident until two nights ago when I took some leftover mashed potatoes to THE SHANGO TREE and saw the leg bone, clean as a whistle, sitting perfectly poised on fluffy Scottish moss, at the very base of the tree (one or two feet away from the crevice I had hidden it in). Whatever ate it did so WITH MEDICAL PRECISION and then simply left the huge leg bone BETWEEN THE SHANGO TREE'S BASE AND THE DEAD CROW DIRT CONTAINER. (<- Okay, I'm not saying that it's SPECIAL CRAZY MAGIC that the leg got eaten, because, dude, that's the entire point, what I am doing is LOLing at how WHATEVER ATE IT DIDN'T BOTHER TAKING IT OUT OF THE YARD and WHATEVER ATE IT DIDN'T BOTHER TAKING IT OUT OF THE YARD BUT POSITIONED IT PERFECTLY, IN OBVIOUS SIGHT, SO YOU WOULDN'T HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO SEE WHAT WAS LEFT OF THE SUPER SECRET OFFERINGS!)

I LOLed when I saw what the flash of white was in the darkness, and then I LOLed when I brought it in, and LOLed some more when I retold the story to Italics, and then we LOLed together and speculated what else has happened that we don't know about. (IF THERE WAS AN INCONSPICUOUS WAY TO CALL SOMEONE YOU HEXED AND GO ALL "SO, RIGHT...HI! YOU HAVEN'T BEEN HAVING, YOU KNOW, SOME IRRITATING OR UNFORTUNATE EVENTS HAPPEN TO YOU RECENTLY, HAVE YOU?" I'D BE SO ON THE PHONE THIS SECOND, OKAY?)

...AND IN CONCLUSION, BECAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS ENTRY IS-WAS-IS GOING, OTHER THAN A SUPER SPECIAL HOMAGE TO THE SHANGO MAN (IT HAPPENS TO BE CHANGO'S/SHANGO'S FEAST DAY TODAY!), THAT IS PRETTY MUCH THE STORY.