Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Two Out of Three

OKAY, LAST ONE I PROMISE:

LOL, THE THING IS, I KNOW WHEN PEOPLE READ THIS SITE / MY ENTRIES THEY PROBABLY THINK "WTF IS THIS CRAZY BITCH ON?" (POT, MOSTLY, BTW, WITH A DAILY DOSE OF OMEPRAZOLE TO KEEP MY STOMACH FROM TURNING INTO AN ACID PIT) BUT IT -ALL MAKES PERFECT, AMAZING SENSE TO ME-.

...EXCEPT FOR WHATEVER THE FUCK I'M QUOTING ABOVE.

I HAVE FUCKING NO CLUE AS TO WHAT I WAS ON, WHAT THE FUCK I WAS TALKING ABOUT, OR EVEN THE YEAR IT TOOK PLACE. (LOL! APRIL FOOLS? JESUS.)

(TWO OUT OF THREE AIN'T BAD?)

Recipe for a Handjob

I was thumbing through some of my old notes and came across this passage and couldn't help but LOL AT MYSELF (because my PAST SELF still manages to amuse my CURRENT and FUTURE SELF):

LORD, I STILL HAVE THAT BOTTLE OF PERFUME AND BOTTLE OF SALT -SOMEWHERE-. (I THINK IT'S IN THE NEGRO'S DRAWER WHICH MEANS IT COULD LITERALLY BE -ANYWHERE IN THIS UNIVERSE- KNOWING HOW THAT MESS LOOKS.)

(IF HE THINKS HE AIN'T GOING TO CLEAN UP THAT MESS WHEN HE COMES HOME HIS DISTINCTLY BLACK, BONY ASS HAS ANOTHER THING COMING. <- THERE ARE PROS AND CONS LIVING WITH AN ANAL WHITE WOMAN WHO HATES CLUTTER, AND HE KNOWS IT. <- LOL @ THE SO MANY JOKES THERE.)

Practice Round

From some livejournal entry written back in 2007:

"Saw the doctor; was prescribed another 40 penicillin pills. (*FACE*) I've had two doses, so far, but the right tonsil's ballooned up anyway, which means Italics will have to be on a TonsilWatch07 to make sure it doesn't go green in the next 24 hours. I go through phases of being depressed ("OH WOE, WHY ME...AGAIN?") and phases of being zen ("EVERYTHING FOR A REASON!")."

While I appreciate that my hospital stay was a necessity - and I'm forever grateful that the test was bestowed upon my ass - I'd like to be able to be in a place where I can start applying what I've learned. Home is safe and is sanctuary, so, for me, it's the world outside this little square called "home" where I interact with a non-familiar environment (and the people within) to try and use what I've (hopefully) learned."

That, apparently, was the practice round...I just didn't know it at the time.

Mars Goes Direct

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 Feb. 1st, 2008.

Less than 48 hours into Mars being direct I called my father-in-law a "fucking cunt" (I actually shouted "IT'S NOT THE BOTTLE, IT'S THE FUCKING PRINCIPLE YOU CUNT!") after an argument broke out last night. (Italics's father threw away something of mine without even asking (it was part of Italics's anniversay gift I was making by hand), and when I pointed out to him that the item belonged to me, I was keeping it, and to not throw away things I leave sitting on the window sill of the kitchen sink things quickly unraveled.)

Italics's mother reacted like I shot John F Kennedy. Apparently no one's ever called her husband "a fucking cunt" before in his life (IT WOULD BE A V. SCIENTIFIC, FACTUAL OBSERVATION) so this was a big deal. SO BIG, IN FACT, SHE PARTIALLY GOT PHYSICAL WITH ME AS IF SHE WAS HIS BODYGUARD. (I tried to shout something after him, but she physically blocked my route with arms extended while frantically trying to close the door of the room he was in.)

Not only was I crazy pissed because Italics's father had/has decided he is the sole arbiter of the value and meaning of items to other people (this is the same man who threw away ashes of letters and cards I had written my mother during the first year of her death (I saved them and burned them on the eve of her first anniversary so I could spread them, with her ashes, over rolling Scottish cliffs and into the sea); I very nearly added her ashes to the bowl, I'm so relieved that I didn't because I don't know what I would've done after waking up to see that the bowl of ashes I had left on my altar were gone and the bowl they had previously been sitting in was sitting next to the kitchen sink, clean and dry. ) but I'm also pissed that because I was the one who raised my voice and called someone a name (I WAS CALLING IT LIKE IT IS, OKAY?) I'm the one who's at fault. Not the guy who continually touches/breaks/ruins my personal possessions, not the guy who THROWS AWAY MY THINGS WITHOUT ASKING, but me, because I'm a woman who lost her cool and screamed. (THIS GENDER THING IS SO UNFAIR AT TIMES. SRSLY.)

These sort of altercations wouldn't happen if my father-in-law could keep in mind one of these two things:

1.) Don't touch other people's things.

2.) Don't throw out other people's things without asking.

But all of that gets lost because I got overly emotional when I was told that the item he threw away, which belonged to me, had no intrinsic value because he said so. (The thing I'm most upset about is that I couldn't keep cool. KEEPING COOL IS THE WINNING HAND, AND I JUST THREW ALL OF MY CARDS ON THE TABLE. At the same time, how was I supposed to stay calm, cool, and collected when being told, effectively, that a bowl full of ashes is just a bowl full of ashes and I had no right to be upset?)

Washington Square

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 Dec. 19th, 2007.

For yesterday, Dec. 18th (write date on QoS card?):

- QoS card in walking path right outside of hotel, picked it up and tucked away with 7oS found day earlier

- Went to cathedral to light candle & pray, asked for strength, guidance, and resolve at feet of Mary (forgot to bring offering, oops!)

- Terrible indigestion when getting on bus, took two antacids & 1/2 space bar

- Noticed apple trees for first time along Glasgow highway, traffic slowed due to accident ahead, "you should probably look away" Italics joked

- Italics asked how left tonsil was (not hurting, but able to feel it), speculated if left tonsil is now MAGIC LEFT TONSIL that twinges before bad weather or something important about to happen (like old people and feet/hands aching before snow)

- Wondered/had feeling about seeing red deer (very reclusive & sacred to C), saw them at first round about, then again two more times in quick succession

- Also passed "THE RED DEER" pub (never noticed it before, new?) and semi-truck with a red deer emblem on it (3 X Red Deer = White Christmas?) within same 15-20 minute time period

- Had "spiritualpanicattack" during "Washington Square" by Chris Issak (note: written by him!), began crying when hearing "I know you're so far from home, But you know that you're never alone, I know you're so far away, Till you're home safe again I'll just pray" - remembered what prayed for, felt like immediate confirmation

- Took different route through Dundee, while contemplating church prayer & lyrics passed a hospital which reminded me of left tonsil, then realized that most important injuries (i.e., cutting off part of thumb, accidentally branding self w/crescent, damaged tonsil) were on left side, and THEN realized that "L" was just "7" in different perspective (duh)

- Speculating confirmed by bus (#13) cutting us off, while discussing signs with Italics another #13 cut in front of us, and during traffic movement passed construction site with name "GEDDES" (Ghedes) within a minute or two eventually parking next to stance 7 at the Dundee station

Probably forgotten stuff. Damn.

(Remember when at lowest, most hopeless and desolate - the universe hears, knows, and sees, especially when feeling most alone. Take comfort in the fact that It/They bend over backwards to comfort and console, not many people get such an immediate, obvious reaction. Not many people get a reaction at all.)

I Break Legs, Bring Snow

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 Nov. 22nd, 2007.

So Italics's Dad was all "OCH IT'S NAE GOWIN TA SNEW!" (<- LOLOLOLOLOL! GROUND'S KEEPER WILLY!) to me when it V. V. V. V. V. CLEARLY WAS GOING TO SNOW and I was all "I DON'T KNOW, IT'S THE RIGHT SORT OF WIND" and he was all "BUT IT'S TOO BRIGHT" and then "IT'S TOO WARM" and I was all "I DON'T KNOW, IT'S THE RIGHT SORT OF WIND" and he CLEARLY DIDN'T BELIEVE ME so I was all "I'LL SHOW THAT CRAZY OLD BASTARD!" and I marched outside with a shot of vodka and I said "BABA, LET LOOSE YOUR APRON AND BRING ME SNOW!" and, lo and behold, within two hours, just as Italics's Dad and Mom were leaving for their trip (which prevented them from having Thanksgiving with us), just as they were CROSSING THE THRESHOLD FROM THE DOOR INTO THE OUTSIDE it started snowing and I was all "OH, HEY, LOOK, I WAS RIGHT - IT'S SNOWING!" in my happy cheerful "WHAT NOW, NIGGA?" voice.

DANCE, MAGIC, DANCE!

(In return I said "T'BEAH YEAST-TEH, BABA!" when I left her a turkey wing and a homemade crescent butter roll out in the snow on the patio's ledge . (<- LOL! A+ HAPPENING, UNINTENTIONAL LUNAR CRESCENT CAKE OFFERING! A+++! I IZ TEH BEST @ MAGIC!))

Certain Shade of Gray

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 Nov. 22nd, 2007.

I woke up this morning, looked outside, and thought "it could snow today" and that secret, silent hope has been something that partially carried me through the M bomb situation.

It's that certain wind, that certain shade of gray, and the way the clouds roll off the hills and slowly creep across the sky. Snowsnowsnowsnow. It'd be perfect, and magical, and special-wonderful if it snowed today. It'd be like all of the best Thanksgivings I ever had, rolled into one day, even with my funny feeling throat (it's gotten drier and rougher; a cold is definitely eminent).

I hope She washes Her plaids today. I wonder if She'll listen to me if I tug on the edges of Her apron...?

Hot Topic Lame

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 Oct. 15th, 2007.

There are times when I'm embarrassed that I hear "voices"; it immediately groups me into a category that I don't belong in and really fucking despise. (i.e., people who hear "voices" of fictional characters from movies, TV shows, or books they like, or actors they find sexy. These are the people who are most vocal about hearing "voices" and insist that the "voices" keep them company and encourage them to do things on daily basis, something I can relate to on a very, very, very, very, very superficial level...very.)

The more ZOMGOUTRAGEOUSMYVOICESARESOBADBUTILOVETHEM! stories I hear, the more embarrassed and ashamed I get because the average person doesn't have the inclination to assess each instance or story or conversation or whatever on a case by case basis. To the average person there's no difference between me and the person who insisted that a fictional character from an indie horror movie convinced her to buy a bottle of Baileys even when it wasn't on the shopping list (<- true story!).

So I've learned to button it because the average, ordinary person doesn't want to hear my excuses ("You're crazy, weird, and Hot Topic lame.") and the average, "voice" hearing/believing person doesn't want to consider my explanation ("VOICES ARE INHERENTLY MAGIC, OKAY? DON'T TRY AND TELL ME OTHERWISE!"). Here's the thing about voices (at least for me) - 90% of the time (if not more) it's my subconscious. I totally embrace the notion, and by doing so I don't feel it diminishes the "magic" aspect to me at all.

- I HEAR VOICES THAT HELP GUIDE ME TOWARDS A BETTER LIFE! (<- Magic!)

- I HEAR VOICES THAT HELP GUIDE ME TOWARDS A BETTER LIFE, AND I KNOW ALMOST ALL OF THE TIME IT'S ACTUALLY MY SUBCONSCIOUS SELF BRIEFLY INFLUENCING MY CONSCIOUS SELF! (<- Not magic!)

I think a lot of people who say they're practicing magic, or hear voices, would be vehemently against considering there was something more internal going on with the people who are genuinely getting nudges from what feels like an external source. Chalking it up to "IT'S ALL IN THE MIND!" sort've takes away the mystery and magic, I guess. And if they don't have that to proudly label themselves to stand out from the crowd then they don't have anything, you know?

After coming to the realization that it's me talking to me I felt empowered. I felt...Christ, I don't know...complete. I don't have to go crawling to an external source for help or comfort or a sense of well-being, I have all of that already inside of me. I know most of the people who happily situate themselves in the category I'm trying to break out of would argue that there's nothing MAGIC about that. (Like being able to consciously connect with a part of yourself that you're not supposed to without any help couldn't be construed as MAGIC in any sense.)

If MAGIC is all about manipulating the world around you using your will you'd think that people would be more willing to embrace the idea of the subconscious influencing the conscious since they've already agreed/stated/accepted that MAGIC is a reaction of using said will. If you've laid your foundations internally (or said you have), why do you need to outsource?

Fat Bastard

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 Oct. 11th, 2007.

MERCURY RETROGRADE CAME EARLY. THE DVD PLAYER BROKE, THE SHOWER BROKE, THE TOILET BROKE, AND, UH, MY LUNGS/CHEST/SINUSES BROKE. (IT'S GANESHA'S FAULT! WE HAVE ANGERED THE MIGHTY GANESHA A FEW WEEKS AGO AND NOW I NEED TO MAKE HIM SOME CARROT HALWA AND COCONUT SOMETHINGOROTHER. GANESHA, YOU FAT BASTARD, STOP SITTING ON STUFF AND BREAKING IT! <- ESPECIALLY MY LUNGS.)

Kitten, PLZ!

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 Sept. 24th, 2007.

Chippy's requested a bike for Christmas. (Fuck if I know!) When I told him I wasn't exactly sure if that was possible he then asked IF HE COULD HAVE A KITTEN INSTEAD, PLEASE. (No, for real SERIOUS! I'M NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP, OKAY? AND EVEN IF I AM IT'S WAY DEEP IN MY SUBCONSCIOUS AND IT'S BEING MADE UP FOR A VERY IMPORTANT REASON...OR SOMETHING.)

I managed to talk him down from a kitten to a big red ball, but by the time I did that Italics was already scheming about getting him a bike so it seems like he might get one of those BIG WHEELER bikes second hand, and I thought about getting him one of those battery powered kittens (IF NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING HE'LL JUST THINK IT'S ALIVE, SO EVERYONE -BE QUIET-!) that moves around in a choppy, robotic way that you've probably almost tripped over when shopping because TOY STORES LOVE TO PUT OUT FREE-MOVING SHIT LIKE THAT IN THE OPENING OF THE STORE TO CAUSE MASS CHAOS AND PANIC.

All of that and a ball. A BIG RED BALL. (He's been going on about a "red ball" for AGES now and I haven't been able to decode the mystery yet. (A lot of things he says to me that leaves a giant question mark can be traced WAY, WAY BACK when he was alive and kicking it as L, but it takes a few weeks for me to remember and when I do I immediately go "OH SHIT, I REMEMBER NOW! HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO REMEMBER THAT, CHIPPY?" and he's always "LOL**! CHIPPY REMEMBERS!".))

* NOTE TO SELF: LOLOLOL! WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO TYPE SOMETHING ABOUT TRAINING AN ENTITY THAT I MIGHT'VE CREATED JUST BY WILL AN EMPTY CINNAMON BOTTLE SUDDENLY FELL OVER ON MY DESK WITHOUT ANY REASON AT ALL. OKAYOKAYOKAY, SHEESH. "TRAINING AN ENTITY THAT I -DIDN'T- CREATE AND WAS ALREADY IN EXISTENCE LONG BEFORE I WAS BORN-ED", OKAY? ...OKAY?

** I KNOW IT ISN'T EXACTLY RESPONSIBLE TO LET YOUR DEMONIC ENTITIES GO ON THE INTERNET OR GIVE THEM BIG WHEELS AS CHRISTMAS GIFTS SO YOU CAN TEACH THEM HOW TO RIDE A BIKE OR REINFORCE THAT FARTS JOKES -ARE FUNNY- EVEN IF PEOPLE PRETEND OTHERWISE OR LET THEM PICK UP JOKES AND PHRASES AND WORDS THAT YOU USE SO IT'S INCORPORATED INTO THEIR DAILY VOCABULARY, BUT GODDAMN IF IT ISN'T FUNNY HEARING AN ANCIENT ENTITY THAT REPRESENTS DEATH, DESTRUCTION, PLAGUE, AND CHAOS GO "LOL, WOMAN, LOL!" IN HIS CUTE ANIMAL-LIKE VOICE (<- FROM THE MUPPETS. SERIOUSLY! CHIPPY -SERIOUSLY- SOUNDS LIKE ANIMAL!).

Get Ya Burners Out

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 Sept. 24th, 2007.

Red admiral flew into kitchen round 3AM when cooking Mabon dinner. (LOL, BURNT SELF...AGAIN! THIS TIME ON GOOSE FAT! LOL @ ALWAYS BURNING SELF WHEN COOKING "RITUAL" FOOD!) Called Italics into kitchen to help catch butterfly to release, spent 5 minutes chasing around, butterfly kept landing on rising heart/chain bread. Every time tried to usher butterfly out open door it turned around and came fluttering back into kitchen and onto bread.

PS: CHAMILLIONAIRE RHYMING "NIGGER" WITH "LIVER"? A+++! SNAPS TO CHAMILLIONAIRE! (LOL, "YOUR FACE IS THE MONA LISA, YOUR ASS THE MASTER PIECE!", LOL!)

Giri

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 Sept. 20th, 2007.

Wandered into the kitchen and found the book below sitting on the table. When I picked it up it opened to page 89 and my attention was immediately drawn to this passage (the first one on the page):

HAGAKURE (Book of the Samurai)
Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Translated by William Scott Wilson

Lord Naoshige once said, "There is nothing felt quite so deeply as giri*. There are times when someone like a cousin dies and it is not a matter of shedding tears. But we may hear of someone who lived fifty or a hundred years ago, of whom we know nothing and who has no family ties with us whatsoever, and yet from a sense of giri* shed tears."

giri: a debt of gratitude, duty, justice, obligation, a sense of honor

Spice hallucination last night =
Putting hair up in traditional Slavic braids before going into "battle" (dressed as The Black Rabbit in Russian incarnation); clash and acceptance of ancient versus modern, and woman versus man. (i.e., Never forget the power of woman; within femininity is strength. Go into battle as a woman, as what you are. (Be "beautiful" in your bravery, be something to be worshiped - a woman who can be a woman and yet be a man in any circumstance is something that is feared and respected.) What might appear as gender weakness during war is strength; a full embrace of who and what you are, and within that acceptance a balance of both sides which grants understanding, insight, and power above the imbalanced.) <- Think about it more, you know what you want to say but you can't articulate it 100% just yet.

Spice hallucination earlier in the day =
Sex during twilight; just enough ambient light from outside to make out shapes in the dark room. Can make out Italics's basic shape, but can't make out features. Partially hidden in shadows skin absorbs color of long-sleeve t-shirt until Italics blue skinned. Red cobra w/ fangs exposed (the Cobra Command logo) comes alive and jumps out of his chest, fanning hood wide open while I straddle Italics from above. "OH SHIT," I think, "I'M HAVING SEX WITH SHIVA!" Felt completely sober during second of realization, like having a long, lucid moment in important dream.

Perfect Storm

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 Sept. 21st, 2007.

Showed off unintentional sigil to Italics last night (*), and took spoonful of cough syrup before bed to sleep uninterrupted. Chippy asked for bone while settling down to sleep, talked him down from bone to raw hide treat, but decided, at last second, he wanted chocolate. Shared w/Papa but gave him the silver one (kept gold one for himself). Got praised for sharing, seemed very happy.

Can't remember full details of dream, or any sort of lead-in or explanation to why Italics, Chippy, and I were on triangular (TRIANGLE! MAGIC SHAPE! SHAPE OF FIRE & MASCULINITY! (SHAPE ALSO HEAVILY FEATURED IN SIGIL!)) warship in the middle of ocean. "Perfect storm" storming, all three on deck in middle of huge ship. Gigantic waves crash into massive boat rocking everything. Lightening illuminates otherwise pitch black sky, able to see massive maelstrom heading directly towards. (WHIRLPOOL? OH, GOD, HERE WE GO...) Frozen petrified panic. Bury face deep into Chippy's fur, ask, beg, plead, demand he take control of boat and navigate to safety. (CAPTAIN CHIPPY, LOLOLOLOLOL!) Crush dog toy to body and half will and half wish triangular warship to skim very edges of whirlpool, brave enough to look up just as boat sails through or past swirling vortex.

(Already identified possibility of "fire" (triangle) as "male" and "water" (ocean) as "feminine". Symbolic of balance needed in life? Ocean represents aspect of uncontrollable emotion that can't be navigated? Warning not to be swallowed (Aries/fire/consciousness) by overemotional aspect of life (Pisces/water/emotional unconsciousness)?

"In Scotland, the Cailleach is a blue-faced hag and represents the three months of winter. Her reign is broken by the appearance of Brigit at Imbolc. At Beltaine, the Cailleach hides her staff underneath a holly bush. In the game of Sibyl, which is very similar to the game of Snakes and Ladders that children play today, the Cailleach was the Dragon. This game was played on a seasonal basis and demonstrated the battle which was fought between the Cailleach Bheara and Brigit."

LOL!

(*) FROM LJ ACCOUNT: IT IS MY BELIEF THAT I HAVE V. V. V. RECENTLY CREATED (SEPT. 19TH, 2007) MY FIRST MAGIC SIGIL, EVER, BY ACCIDENT. (<- AND IT LOOKS COOL COOL COOL, AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME! (OKAY, SO I THINK IT LOOKS COOL AND R SEEMED TO LIKE IT THEREFORE IT HAS TO BE "COOL COOL COOL, AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME" TO SOME DEGREE, RIGHT?)) I <3 THESE LITTLE MAGIC "OOPS!" and "LOLS!".

Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat

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 31st, 2008.

I'VE HEARD THINGS ABOUT SPITTING IN/ON GRAVES, AND JUMPING OVER GRAVES, BUT I'VE NEVER HEARD ANYTHING ABOUT PISSING IN/ON GRAVES, ESPECIALLY THE OPEN, EMPTY KIND, SO I THINK, SUPERSTITIONWISE, I SHOULD BE A-OKAY. (ESPECIALLY SINCE, AFTERWARDS, I THREW IN MY PANTIES AS AN OFFERING. (OKAY, OKAY, SO THEY WERE MY STAINED -PERIOD PANTIES-, BUT THE GRAVE WILL TAKE WHAT IT CAN GET AND I'VE LEARNED FROM THIS EXPERIENCE THAT YOU SHOULD ALWAYS WEAR NICE, CLEAN UNDERWEAR JUST IN CASE YOU EITHER A.) WIND UP IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM OR B.) ARE CONFRONTED BY AN OPEN GRAVE IN A CEMETERY DESPERATE TO BE MARKED AS YOUR TERRITORY.))

I OWN A GRAVE.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

...

...

...

...AWESOME.

(OF COURSE I WENT IN THE RUINED CHURCH BEFOREHAND AND THEN GOT CRAZY EXCITED WHEN I SAW THERE WAS -AN OPEN FUCKING GRAVE- IN THE NEW SECTION OF THE CEMETERY SO I DRANK A THIRD OF A BOTTLE OF WATER AND HOPPED AROUND ALL CRAZY LIKE JUST TO, YOU KNOW, WAKE THE BLADDER UP AND THEN I WAS ALL "ARE THEY COMING OUT OKAY?" BECAUSE HOW COULD I NOT GET ITALICS TO TAKE A PICTURE OF ME, FEET PLANTED ON GREEN PLANKS, STRADDLING AN OPEN HOLE THAT SEEMED ABOUT 10 FEET DEEP, TAKING A PISS? (YEAH, I KNOW, AND I KNOW THAT YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW ALL OF THE THINGS THAT MAKE THIS WONDERFULLY LOLERIFIC AND I ALSO KNOW THAT MOST OF YOU GUYS WILL BE DRAWING A COMPLETE BLANK AS TO WHY PISSING ON ANYTHING IS LOL WORTHY IN THE FIRST PLACE BUT THIS IS A VERY, UH, EVOLVED JOKE YEARS IN THE MAKING SO YOU'RE JUST GOING TO HAVE TO TRUST ME ON THIS.))

(ALL I COULD KEEP THINKING WAS "OH, LORD, HOW AM I GOING TO SPIN THIS IF SOMEONE CATCHES AN EYEFUL OF THIS?" AND, ALSO, "OKAY, NOW DON'T LAUGH AND LOSE YOUR CONCENTRATION AND -FALL IN-!" WHILE STEADYING MYSELF ON THE PICKET "FENCE" BARELY COVERING THE OPENING OF THE HOLE.)

(HOW QUICK CAN I KICK OFF MY SHOES, PEEL OFF MY JEANS, SQUIRM OUT OF MY PANTIES, AND THEN HOP BACK INTO MY JEANS, FIX MY SOCKS, AND JAM MY SHOES BACK ON IN A CEMETERY AROUND 8 PM ON A SATURDAY NIGHT? PRETTY QUICK.)

(I ALSO MANAGED TO SCRAPE SOME DIRT FROM INSIDE HOLE BENEATH THE WOODEN PLANKS, SO NOW I HAVE GRAVEYARD DIRT FROM THE ACTUAL EMPTY SPACE OF A GRAVE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GOING TO USE IT FOR, BUT I'M SURE IT'LL COME TO ME.)

(I REALLY, REALLY HOPE IT'S SOME GUY GETTING BURIED IN THERE OTHERWISE THE PANTIES THING MIGHT BE A BUST.)

(WELCOME TO MY PERSONAL BRAND OF MAGIC TMI.)

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.)

My Best Friend

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.

ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS IN THE WORLD INVOLVES PEOPLE WHO GO AROUND TELLING EVERYONE WHO'LL LISTEN HOW OPEN MINDED THEY ARE AND HOW THEY'RE CONSTANTLY THINKING OUT OF THE BOX BUT AS IT TURNS OUT THEIR SUPERNATURAL SPECTRUM OF TOLERANCE AND ACCEPTANCE IS LIMITED TO A VERY NARROW VIEW OF HOW THEY SEE THE WORLD (WHICH IS, UNSURPRISINGLY, UNDENIABLY RIGHT).

(ONCE ON SOME DISCUSSION OR THREAD OR SOMETHING SOMEONE WAS BEING ALL ANTI-DRUGS FROM A -PAGAN- PERSPECTIVE AND SHE CLAIMED TO BE A -PRIESTESS OF APOLLO- AND I NEVER REALLY ASKED HOW SHE CAME TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT THE ORIGINAL PRIESTESSES OVER AT DELPHI USED TO SIT OVER CRACKS IN THE EARTH WHERE THE SULFURIC FUMES WOULD KEEP THEM HIGH (I HEARD THAT IT WAS NITROUS AND I AM SO NOT SURPRISE BECAUSE NITROUS TRULY IS A COSMIC CONNECTOR) SO THEY COULD SPEAK THE WORDS OF THE GODS TO VISITORS.

OH, THERE'S A LOT MORE WHERE THIS IS COMING FROM, BUT I'LL SPARE YOU...FOR NOW.)

ALSO, LET ME MAKE IT VERY, VERY CLEAR - WHEN YOU PICK ON DRUGS (AND WHEN I MEAN "DRUGS" I PRIMARILY MEAN POT, AND MUSHROOMS, AND ALL OF THOSE NATURAL ENTHEOGENS INDIGENOUS PEOPLE HAVE BEEN USING FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS) AND HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT AND HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO EXPERIENCE WHATSOEVER YOU'RE PICKING ON MY BEST FRIEND WHO I KNOW REALLY, REALLY WELL WHO HAS DONE EVERYTHING FROM MAKING SEX INCREDIBLE TO HELPING ME BEAT CHRONIC DEPRESSION TO MAKING ME A BETTER, MORE COMPLETE PERSON. (<- I WOULDN'T SAY IT CURED MY AUTISM, BUT IT FINALLY HELPED ME FIND THE HEAD SPACE NEEDED TO BE INTROSPECTIVE. AND IF THE ABILITY TO -THINK- ABOUT THINGS (I.E., MYSELF AND THE WORLD AND MY RELATIONSHIP WITH MYSELF AND THE WORD) IN DEPTH HADN'T COME ALONG I WOULD STILL BE THE SAME EMOTIONALLY STUNTED BEING I WAS FOR MOST OF MY LIFE.)

IN CONCLUSION, PLEASE CONSIDER EXPANDING THAT BOX VIEW OF YOURS BEFORE PREACHING "THE MORE YOU KNOW" LINES FROM SOME LAME ASS AFTER SCHOOL PROGRAM YOU SAW AS A KID IN THE 80S, OKAY? (ISN'T IT FUNNY HOW WITH DRUGS EVERYONE CAN BE AN AUTHORITY - ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE ZERO EXPERIENCE? I CAN'T THINK OF MANY OTHER TOPICS IN THE WORLD THAT HAVE SO MANY FUCKING EXPERTS WITH PHDS, BUT HAVE NO FIELD WORK OR CREDITS OR DEGREES TO SHOW FOR IT.)

Darkness Suits Me Well

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 10th, 2008.

Internet LOL! Quiz: Which Goddess lurks in your soul?
My Results: Hecate

You hold more power in your little finger than most do in their entire being! Hecate is perhaps the most selective of all deities who inhabit the souls of mortals. Being the goddess of the crossroads, Cosmic Knowledge, and of course witches and magic she can’t be bothered by residing in the souls of the mundane. She often chooses those who practice the craft of the old ways and those who harbor deep mystical secrets that must be kept close. Your soul is old, perhaps having been present at the birth of the cosmos in some form or another. Your ability to comprehend the necessity of death and it’s beauty have awakened a connection to the underworld, where Hecate has been known to reign and you relish this otherworldly bond. Darkness suits you well, as many of the best secrets of the cosmos can be found there.

THIS WAS SO EXPECTED THAT THE RESULTS ARE -ANTI-CLIMACTIC-. (<- IT'S BECAUSE I SAID I'D KEEP BODY PARTS IN JARS, RIGHT? ...RIGHT?) (ALSO I LIKE THE SUN, OKAYTHNX. <- I'M ON -VACATION- IN THIS HEMISPHERE RIGHT NOW, "DARKNESS", OKAY? SCHEDULE YOURSELF IN SOMETIME AFTER OCTOBER 31ST. SEE THE OLD MAN FOR BOOKINGS, THE OTHER ONE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE. <- LOL, I'M JUST -ASSUMING- HE CAN READ AND WRITE. <- I'D TOTALLY TAKE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL EXCEPT I JUST GOT UP AND AM NOT NEARLY HIGH ENOUGH TO ENGAGE A MASK IN A COMICALLY RACIST THEMED GAME OF VERBAL TAG THAT ENDS ON AN UNAPOLOGETICALLY (AND V. V. V. UNSUBTLE) SEXUAL NOTE.

DINNER WAS SO FANTASTIC LAST NIGHT THAT I THINK I STILL NEED SOME TIME TO COMPOSE MYSELF.

ALSO, BEEBEE IS DOING TERRIFIC, BUT DOESN'T HAVE A ROOMMATE YET BECAUSE THE ONE PLACE WE GET ALL OF OUR RATS - THEY'RE MORE...ANIMAL-SY, AND LESS PET STORE-SY AT THE GARDEN CENTRE - WON'T BE GETTING ANY FRESH STOCK UNTIL WEDNESDAY. THANKFULLY SHE IS TOO DISTRACTED BY SPACE PIRACY TO LET DEPRESSION SINK IN. GO, BEEBEE!

SPEAKING OF THINGS THAT BEGIN WITH "BEE" - BEES CONTINUE TO INVADE MY HOME. WTF, BEES, I LOVE YOU, BUT, REALLY, WTF? (THERE WAS ONE THAT HUNG AROUND FOR NEARLY 12 HOURS. FOR SERIOUS - 12 HOURS. AND WHEN I FINALLY KICKED ITS ASS OUTSIDE IT SPENT ANOTHER SEVERAL HOURS TRYING TO GET BACK IN -THROUGH A TINY VENT IN THE WINDOW-.)

I'M SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING STOCKPILING JARS OF HONEY. FOR MONTHS I FORGET, AND THEN I REMEMBER, AND THEN I WANT TO THROW UP AS THE PESSIMIST IN ME SAYS: "THIS IS BIBLICAL, THIS IS HUGE, THIS IS LIKE WHEN THE EPA GUY FLIPS THE SWITCH OF THE ECTO-CONTAINMENT UNIT IN GHOSTBUSTERS!" IT'S TOO DEPRESSING; I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT. (36%? GAH.)

Breaking Glass

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 6th, 2008.

Three pieces of glass have broken over the past three days, all, somehow, connected to me (i.e., either I dropped it, or it broke in the dishwasher after I was the one who did the dishes). THIS CANNAE BE GOOD. (Or it's really, really good. Well, the green one wasn't supposed to be good. (i.e., "If green glass is broken, bitter disappointment will be your lot." - OH NO! BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT! LIKE, ONE OF THE (FEW) PIECES OF YOUR BELOVED GREEN DEPRESSION GLASS THAT YOU INHERITED FROM YOUR MOTHER BREAKING IN THE DISHWASHER BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT? HEAVY.))

Famous Grouse

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 April 8th, 2008 (although the events that took place pre-date the writing; actual date of said events would have been during the 2008 Easter Wedding holiday).

(ALSO IT'S SNOWING AGAIN AND I THINK THIS IS PRETTY MUCH MY FAULT BECAUSE AT THE BEGINNING OF WINTER I GOT IT IN MY MIND TO LEARN HOW TO MAKE IT SNOW SO I GOT ALL BUDDY-BUDDY WITH THE INDIGENOUS WINTER HAG AND BECAUSE SHE'S SORT'VE AN ASPECT OF THE RUSSIAN SEX'N'DEATH GODDESS THAT GOVERNS ME I LEFT AN OFFERING OF A SHOT OF VODKA AND A CRUST OF BREAD EVERY FUCKING TIME IT SNOWED AND LAST MONTH I WAS ALL "I AM A DUMB ASS BECAUSE THE WINTER HAG HERE IS SCOTTISH AND NOT ACTUALLY RUSSIAN WHICH MEANS SHE WOULD PROBABLY PREFER WHISKEY TO VODKA" SO I WENT AND GOT HER A SMALLISH BOTTLE OF "FAMOUS GROUSE" TO LEAVE INSTEAD OF VODKA AND EVER SINCE THEN IT HAS BEEN SNOWING -EVERYWHERE- AND -EVERYONE- IS COMPLAINING AND I'M ALL "OH DEAR, I DID WONDER WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I CONTINUED TO LEAVE OFFERINGS THAT ARE ADDICTIVE SUBSTANCES AND NOW I KNOW." BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT -THIS- "PAGAN/WITCH" DEBATES IN HER MIND (I.E., "IS IT MORALLY ETHICAL TO LEAVE ADDICTIVE SUBSTANCES AS OFFERINGS KNOWING THAT THEY'RE ADDICTIVE AND A SERIOUS ADDICT WILL DO SOME SERIOUS THINGS FOR A QUICK FIX?") SINCE THE ENTIRE LOVE SPELLS VERSUS MORALITY THING IS SO WAY OVER MY HEAD PHILOSOPHICALLY. <- SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED TO ADMIT WHEN YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR INTELLECTUAL DEPTH.)

(SO, UH, SORRY ABOUT THE SNOW, YOU GUYS, BUT I THINK SHE'S SET ON FINISHING THE BOTTLE OF WHISKEY.)

(PPS: THERE'S LIKE 2/3 LEFT.)

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).)

Big Heap Happy Day

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 April 27th, 2008.

I HAVE A CROW SKULL WITH ATTACHED AND DETACHED BEAK. I HAVE A CROW TALON. I HAVE VARIOUS CROW BONES, INCLUDING A PRISTINE WISHBONE FULLY INTACT. I ALSO HAVE A BAG OF CEMETERY DIRT THAT ISN'T ACTUAL CEMETERY DIRT BUT IS IN THE SENSE THAT IT WAS THE DIRT BEING DUG -OUT- OF THE CEMETERY IN ORDER TO MAKE A GRAVE. WHEN I SHOVED A PLASTIC BAG COVERED HAND INTO THE DIRT PILE I PULLED OUT A PERFECTLY POLISHED ONYX COLORED STONE. (I HAVE NO IDEA. SRSLY. THIS HAS BEEN GEMSTONE POLISHED FO SURE, OR SOMETHING.)

CLEARLY BIG HEAP HAPPY DAY. (HAPPY ORTHODOX EASTER! AND THE END OF PASSOVER, I BELIEVE!)

(ONE OF THESE DAYS I'LL TAKE A PICTURE FOR Y'ALL SO YOU CAN SEE ALL OF THE SUN BLEACHED BONES THAT LITTER OUR YARD. MAYBE NEXT YEAR I'LL GET AROUND TO GINGERBREAD PROOFING OUR HOUSE WITH CANDY ACCENTS, UNTIL THEN LARGE CARCASSES OF QUESTIONABLE ANIMALS (GOOSE, ACTUALLY) AND BONES WILL HAVE TO SCREAM "WITCH HOUSE!" TO NEIGHBORS AND PASSERSBY.)

ALSO, IT IS TIME TO STEAL A PAIR OF GLOVES THAT BELONG TO MY FATHER-IN-LAW. I'VE THREATENED THAT ONE DAY I'D BIND HIS HANDS, AND THAT DAY HAS FINALLY COME. (YEE HAW.)

For Whom the Bell Tolls

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 April 3rd, 2008 (although the events that took place pre-date the writing; actual date of said events would have been April 2nd, 2008 (i.e., 2008 Easter Wedding)).

LOLOLOLOL! WAIT, BEFORE I FORGET BECAUSE I NEED TO TAKE A SHOWER --

-- YOU KNOW THAT CITY IN WISCONSIN WHERE THAT CHURCH EXPLODED A FEW HOURS BACK (NEWS ARTICLE LINK HERE!)? THAT'S THE HOMETOWN OF MY EX-BOYFRIEND; THE GUY WHO I WAS "INVOLVED" WITH BEFORE ITALICS. (It was one of those rites of passage affairs that happened when I was 14 or 15. One of those embarrassing, eye-rolling "OH, WOW, YOU TOUCHING MY NIPPLES IS SO -NOT- EROTIC AT ALL...HOW DISAPPOINTING...FOR ME." affairs that really shouldn't have any weight in my life at all if it weren't for the fact I hooked up with Italics almost immediately after and we've been ever together since.)

...

...

...

...

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!

(Why is this so wonderfully LOLERIFIC? ALL OF THIS HAPPENED ON THE DAY ITALICS AND I RENEWED OUR WEDDING VOWS. (I LIKE TO THINK OF IT AS A "LOL!" WEDDING GIFT FROM THE UNIVERSE.))

Click thumbnail for larger image.

"On April 2, 2008, a gas line exploded just west of downtown, destroying the First Baptist Church on West Wisconsin Avenue. The church, which was first built in 1910, was completely destroyed, except for the frame of its bell tower. The cause of the explosion is unknown, but utility work was being done on Wisconsin Avenue in preparation for reconstruction of the street's entire length through downtown."

AWESOME.

A Job Well Done

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 March 27th, 2008.

WEDDINGALTARFINALLYDONE.

ETA (APPROXIMATELY ONE MONTH LATER): LOLOLOL! DATE OF DEATH FOR THE NEW GRAVE @ CEMETERY COINCIDES WITH THE DATE OF THE 2008 WEDDING ALTAR BEING OFFICIALLY "DONE"! LOLOLOL!)

New Traditions

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 19th, 2007.

SO IN A FIT OF PURE, CONCENTRATED GENIUS THAT IS BIOLOGICALLY AND METAPHYSICALLY UNIQUE TO ME I DECIDED THAT WE WILL NOT, IN FACT, BE CELEBRATING THE SAME OLD CHRISTMAS THAT BOTH THE HUSBAND AND I HAVE EXPERIENCED IN OUR 54 YEARS COMBINED (A HALF A CENTURY AND I STILL HAVE TO EXTEND BOTH MY LEFT AND RIGHT HAND TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN THE TWO DIRECTIONS), BUT DAZH BOH WHICH IS DIZZINGLY UNFAMILIAR AND THUS STILL VIRGIN AND NEW AND WAITING TO BE DEFILED WITH MODERN INTERPRETATIONS OF ANCIENT CUSTOMS AND CEREMONY WHICH WILL BE SIGNED, STAMPED, AND SEALED WITH INSANE AMOUNTS OF HENNESSEY CHOCOLATE EGGNOG (I CAN'T EVEN DO EGGNOG -RIGHT-) AND POT. (ON SECOND THOUGHT, I RETRACT MY POT STATEMENT AS I REMEMBER THAT MY VERY ANCIENT SARMATIAN ANCESTORS ENJOYED TOKING THEMSELVES, SO THE INTRODUCTION OF POT TO THE FESTIVE SLAVIC PAGAN SEASON IS ALREADY SOMEWHAT OF A COSSACK CLICHE. (TARAS BULBA FTW!))

AND TO COMMEMORATE MY DESCENT INTO DAZH BOH MADNESS -

(OKAY, FIRST OF ALL IT IS A-OKAY TO SUCCUMB TO FESTIVE MADNESS IF IT'S A -NEW VERSION- OF FESTIVE MADNESS BECAUSE, CLEARLY, CHRISTIAN FESTIVE MADNESS IS 100% DIFFERENT THAN PAGAN FESTIVE MADNESS AND SECONDLY I AM A WOMAN WHO IS INVOLVED IN SOME FORM OF FESTIVE MADNESS AND THEREFORE MY OVARIES AND FALLOPIAN TUBES AND UTERINE LINING WILL NOT ALLOW ME TO BE IMMUNE TO FESTIVE MADNESS BECAUSE ESTROGEN DOESN'T CARE ABOUT THE NAME, AGE, OR ETHNICITY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER IN QUESTION IT JUST CARES ABOUT EVERYTHING THAT YOU, AS A WOMAN, ARE DOING AND HOW EVERYONE IS EITHER GETTING IN THE WAY OR TAKING THINGS FOR GRANTED OR RUINING THE VERY PERFECT CHRISTMAS-VIRGIN BIRTH-WINTER SOLSTICE CELEBRATION YOU HAVE PREPARED ESPECIALLY FOR THEM (THE UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS!).)

- WE HAVE AGREED TO BREAK OVER FIFTY YEARS OF FAMILY TRADITIONS (MY FAMILY'S TRADITION OF EATING ROAST GOOSE ON CHRISTMAS DAY TOTALLY TRUMPS ITALICS'S FAMILY'S TRADITION OF EATING A UNDERCOOKED TURKEY WITH RAW SAUSAGE STUFFING, BUT ITALICS'S FAMILY TRADITION OF NOT HAVING A MOTHER WHO THROWS THE FESTIVE ROASTED BIRD AT HER CHILDREN WHILE TELLING THEM THAT THEY RUINED HER LIFE JUST BEFORE RACING OUT THE DOOR, SOBBING, WITH CAR KEYS IN HANDS TO DISAPPEAR FOR SEVERAL HOURS WITHOUT ANY SORT OF WORD OR CONTACT AT ALL SORT'VE TRUMPS MY FAMILY'S ANNUAL TRADITION) IN ORDER TO CREATE OUR OWN SPECIAL NON-FAMILY TRADITIONS.

FURTHERMORE WE WILL NOT, IN FACT, BE OBSERVING SVIATA VECHERIA ON SVIATA VECHERIA BUT ON THE FIRST DAY OF DAZH BOH WHICH GIVES ME APPROXIMATELY 72 HOURS TO CREATE 12 TRADITIONAL UKRAINIAN DISHES FROM SCRATCH BECAUSE THINGS LIKE BORSHT AND HOLUBSTI AND KAPUSTA AND VARENYKY JUST FLY OFF THE GROCERY SHELVES THIS TIME OF YEAR AND YOU'RE LUCKY IF YOU CAN EVEN MANAGE TO FIND A JAR OF READY MADE KUTIA LET ALONE A TRADITIONAL BRAIDED KOLACH BY DECEMBER 20TH. (YOUR ARTERIES DON'T EVEN WANT TO KNOW HOW MUCH SOUR CREAM, BUTTER, BACON FAT, AND RAW POTATOES I WILL NEED FOR THIS SLAVIC-SAMARITAN EFFORT.)

...AND (BECAUSE THERE'S ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS AN "AND") I NEED TO MAKE IT SNOW FOR THE 25TH. (I DON'T KNOW WHICH IS HARDER - MAKING IT SNOW OR MAKING VARENYKYS BY HAND. (I'M GOING WITH THE LATER, IN THIS CASE, AND IF YOU'VE EVER MADE VARKENYKYS (AKA PIEROGIS) BY HAND YOU, TOO, WOULD HAVE ALL THE SCIENTIFIC DATA NEEDED TO MAKE SUCH A BOLD SCIENTIFIC STATEMENT.))

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.

Nine of Wands

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 November 14th, 2007 (although the events that took place pre-date the writing; actual date of said events would have been October, 2007 (i.e., during our Halloween vacation break)).

So there was this Saturday before Halloween, just before midnight, where I found myself gloriously stoned and in my Ghede thong, absently flipping through a tarot deck as Dr. John played in the background.

Papa and I sat, face to face (face to skull?), and in-between his sweet nothings, in-between long stretches of time where music sank past flesh and muscle and tissue into bone, when we were lost together in a haze of cigar smoke and incense I asked him to skin-walk with me to show me something I needed to know. With hand within hand five cards were pulled, but I only remember one, and it hasn't left me since it was first turned.

When the music stopped and the last of the cigar smoldered away I was left cross-legged on a leather couch in front of a smiling plastic skull. Still somewhat cloudy headed (and with a thong riding up to a totally unsexy degree) I sat and stared at the last card of the triplet, not entirely sure if the birdman wearing a top hat* (bird = blackbird = papa's birds, top hat = well, uh, top hat, and the vines growing up and around the wands on his back = papa's cherry bomb chili plants trained up wooden poles) could see the two thorned clubs that were lying on the ground as he walked past.

So I asked Italics because I couldn't tell if he was AWARE that there were two batons still on the ground, or if he had dropped them and just left them, or if he had walked past completely obvious that there were two more identical wands just waiting to be picked up. He said it didn't matter, but I didn't understand. And I didn't understand for a while, even though the card stayed fresh in my mind, even though I sat for days and days and days trying to understand why it didn't matter.

And then, while ponderingconsideringcontemplating, I got my first "oh, hey, are you okay?" email, but because I was so busy I didn't have a chance to reply. Then another one appeared, and then a livejournal comment sneaked into my inbox followed by another, and another, and another, and another. And all the while I thought "I can't believe anyone even noticed I wasn't around in the first place..." as notifications began to pile up, and, try as I did, I just didn't have the time to sit down and reply with some sort of answer, even though I already had it in the forefront of my mind.

It doesn't matter whether Mr. Birdman Wearing A Top Hat knows (or doesn't know) there are two more wands still strewn on the ground, all that matters is that Mr. Birdman Wearing A Top Hat is totally aware, and totally conscious of the fact that he's carrying all that he can manage. He might've seen them them walking past, or he might've walked right past them without knowing, he might even be thinking about looking over his shoulders and back at the pair while engaging in a brief moment of second thought, but the important thing is he's knowledgeable of his current personal limits.

So if you emailed, or commented, or even thought "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO HER?" the answer is "9 of Wands", and I thank you V. V. V. much for your care and concern, but even more for the fact that despite not being around and in everyone's face you still remembered that I exist. XOXO.

* Bosch Tarot, 9 of Wands