Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Have Myself a Fucking Bath

OH, JESUS, NOW HE'S TALKING TO ME THROUGH THE INTERNET. (<- I DON'T KNOW HOW OR WHY MOVABLE TYPE CREATED A DUPLICATE ENTRY OF "OH, GOOD LORD...", IT JUST DID. I'LL SAVE THE SECOND ONE AS A LOL! REFERENCE: #1 and #2.)

I'M TOTALLY WIPING MY HANDS CLEAN OF WHATEVER THE FUCK HE'S UP TO. IN FACT, I'M GOING TO GO AND HAVE MYSELF A FUCKING BATH.

(I SHOULD PROBABLY MENTION THAT WHEN HE SAID "WE GONNA START TALKIN' AGAIN" WE WERE IN THE KITCHEN AND I WAS GETTING READY TO DUST'N'CLEAN HIS ALTAR DOLL AND THE WASHING MACHINE SUDDENLY TURNED OFF MID-CYCLE. AND THEN I GOT A WEIRD ASS STATIC SHOCK, OR SOMETHING, WHEN CARRYING THE DOLL BACK TO THE COMPUTER ROOM.)

(...THIS IS ALL BECAUSE I SHARED MY GODDAMN CINNAMON BUN COFFEE WITH HIM THIS MORNING AND GAVE HIS SORRY ASS THE LAST GINGERBREAD COOKIE, ISN'T IT?)

(OH GOOD LORD.)

My Burning Ankles of Fire

Overzealously shaved legs for Sviata Vechera. Didn't use enough olive oil; razor burns around ankles feel like sunburn. Six months from now = just after Midsummer. (An early weather prediction for summer 2010? Will I be tanned (or burned) in early July?)

Cemetery Lost-N-Found

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Whenever we walk to the local cemetery there's always something waiting to be discovered.

Sometimes it's fresh roadkill, just missing eyes. Sometimes it's a nurse's blue and white top (hanging inexplicably from a wooden post). Sometimes it's a black currant bush exploding between four graves. Sometimes it's a wheel off a toy, a broken piece of statue, a polished rock, shards of antique pottery or a discarded Jurassic Park 3-D coloring book.

(HELLO AND WELCOME TO MY JUNKYARD WITCHCRAFT WHERE EVERY RUSTY, WATERLOGGED PIECE OF TRASH THAT CROSSES MY PATH IS A PROPHETIC OMEN OF A FUTURE WAITING TO HAPPEN.)

On a recent graveyard trip - not the last visit, but the one before (an unintentional visit; we were out photographing the sunrise over the hills and lakes of dissipating mists and decided, all spur of the moment like, to pop round for a visit) - we found a black currant bush nestled between two sets of graves.

While considering the possibilities (while considering the NON-CULINARY possibilities of black currants since I HATE AND LOATHE THE TASTE OF BLACK CURRANTS DOWN TO THE VERY PIT OF MY (IM)MORTAL SOUL) we ambled around the cemetery until we were at the edges of the cremation section where I found a dusty, dirtied black bottle half sunk in Scottish summer mud.

Too far removed from the memorial plaques there was no way to connect it to its proper owner so it was gingerly tucked into my basket (I originally intended to harvest the last of the elderflowers but I got distracted, hence the rural chic basket outing) along with a broken penny we found en route to the graveyard.

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(But what should I do with it? Clean it up and give it as a gift (filled with graveyard dirt or some other witchery)? Clean it up and keep it for myself (peacocks are kind've sort've a significant spiritual animal thing for me)? Christ only knows. For now it's sitting on my nightstand altar behind my Apis Bull statue, holding the dry spray of flowers I wore in my hair on Midsummer.)

What does an American witch in Scotland carry in her Easter basket on an unplanned graveyard walk at five in the morning? The camera's tripod, a bottle of still water, an unearthed cemetery treasure, a mongoloid Pacman created out of a copper coin, her ritual shears wrapped up in their still bloody covering (I keep the kitchen scissors wrapped up in the unwashed towel I used to staunch the bleeding after I stabbed myself with the shears) and a dying buff-tailed bumblebee, quivering and shaking in its dampness as it slowly crawls off its yarrow deathbed and curls into the folds of her blood stained kitchen towel.

(It's magic, baby.)

Egg Wash

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I've just finished washing my hands and face with an egg yolk. I DON'T KNOW, DON'T ASK ME; I'M REALLY, REALLY HIGH RIGHT NOW.

(For whatever reason I "wash" my hands with ingredients when MAGIC cooking; when the egg broke crazy and the white (I DIDN'T SEE A WHITE, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE THE YOLK WAS STUCK TO THE INSIDE OF THE SHELL, WHICH IS WHY I GOT SOME ON MY FACE BECAUSE I SMELLED MY HANDS, AFTER, TO SEE IF IT WAS OFF) disappeared I had slippery, liquid gold in my hands and I thought OH SHIT! CAN'T LET THIS GET AWAY, BETTER WASH AND RUB IT ALL IN! and before I knew it I had massaged it into my hands, my forearms and my face. After striping off every gelatinous layer (LIKE AN EASTER CHICK, BABY, FRESH AND NEW AND FLUFFY AND YOUNG) with warmish water I buried my face into a starched kitchen towel catching, just for a second, a scorpion emerging from its watery home and crawling onto land underneath the light of a crescent moon.)

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(OH, LORD, IT'S GOING TO BE ONE OF //THOSE// NIGHTS, ISN'T IT?)

Accidental Altar

You know how sometimes when cleaning you throw everything you don't know what the fuck to do with in one room with the grudging acceptance that you're creating a new mess, but at least it's contained in one room that you can kind've sort've ignore?

(OH, I KNOW YOU DO. THE VERY BEST, VERY ANAL OF US DO IT. <- UH OH, I THINK I JUST SPOILED THE ANCIENT SECRET OF WOMEN'S MYSTERIES. IF THE GREAT CHTHONIC CREATRIX AND DESTRUCTORIX ASKS, IT //WASN'T ME//, OKAY? I'M ALREADY ON PROBATION FOR ONLY HALF FINISHING HIEROS GAMOS.)

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It started with Papa's incense burner. (IT ALMOST //ALWAYS// STARTS WITH PAPA, RIGHT OLD MAN? *nudge nudge, wink wink*) When roasting marrows and cooking the lamb-tomato-spices filling for dinner I thought "OH, HEY, IN-LAWS ARE GONE FOR A FEW DAYS, MIGHT AS WELL ROCK THE HOUSE WITH INCENSE AS MUCH AS I CAN" and dragged the doorstop of an incense burner through to the kitchen.

(I SLEEP WITH A MACHETE NEXT TO THE BED IN CASE WE EVER GET ATTACKED BY ZOMBIES, I SLEEP WITH THE RESIN INCENSE HOLDER NEXT TO THE BED IN CASE WE EVER GET ATTACKED BY A BURGLAR. <- BECAUSE THE LAST THING A CRIMINAL WANTS TO SEE IS THE MATRIARCH OF THE HOUSE (THE MATRIARCH WITH A V. V. V. SHORT FUSE; I AM ARIES, HEAR ME ROAR TEAR OUR YOUR THROAT WITH MY BARE TEETH), BUCK NAKED, SWINGING A HEAD SHOP BOUGHT SKULL BURNER LIKE A NEOLITHIC STONE AXE.)

Too lazy to return it to its rightful place (I'M ANAL AND LAZY, WHORE AND VIRGIN, CHILD AND OLD WOMAN; BLAME GEMINI IN MY VENUS) I dropped it off on the coffee table in the backroom.

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Later on Italics pruned our, uh, houseplants in the bathroom and left the leaves on the cutting board so I could dry them out and store them. (They aren't psychoactive, but still useful in a symbolic/representative sort've way and I've been meaning to grind up our dried leaves to add to incense and things.)

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While he was hacking away I was outside in the back doing my nudist gardening thing in the sun (I TAKE IT BACK; I WORE ONE ITEM OF CLOTHING, CAN YOU GUESS WHAT IT WAS?) moving container vegetables around (sub-arctic tomatoes went outside into the bonsai house, so I tossed their plastic coasters onto coffee table), planting newly arrived seeds (cucumbers, parsley and thyme), sweeping the patio floor with a small dust pan brush, weeding my herb containers, planting out seedlings from trays (sweet peas and sunflowers), moving acclimated trees'n'plants to get better sun and arranging everything in a visually pleasing manner.

(TRANSLATION: SYMMETRICAL, UNINTENTIONAL OUTSIDE ALTAR CONSISTING OF CONTAINER TREES, PLANTS, VEGETABLES AND FLOWERS.)

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The glass cutting board and leaves got absently moved into the backroom as I got ready for a shower (post gardening, pre-realization of how red this partial red man...er, uh...woman, red WOman really was) but before I could climb into the tub Papa began a-pattin' my shoulder to remind me that OH, HEY, YOU PROMISED ME A PIECE OF THAT HOMEMADE PIE, BABY GIRL. So, still sweaty, light-headed and covered in dirt I cut him the promised piece and left it on top of the leaves on top of the cutting board which was on top of the table.

(When I'm not making a big production of offering food to ancestors, deceased friends and relatives or our incorporeal housemates I usually leave a plate of food in the backroom which Italics and I use as our private lounge area and greenhouse. <- GARDENING, BOARD GAMES, TURNTABLE, RECORDS, BOOKS, TV AND VIDEO GAMES; I THINK EVERYTHING "VISITING" HAS SOME INTEREST COVERED. <- AS IF "FREE, HOMEMADE FOOD" WASN'T ENOUGH.)

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Once it dawned on me how badly I had been burned I bee-lined to my recently deceased aloe plant (someone - "SOMEONE" = NOT ME, NOT ITALICS, NOT MY MOTHER-IN-LAW, BUT MY FATHER-IN-LAW, MR. AWESOME, NOT TO NAME NAMES, OR ANYTHING - moved my aloe into the dark and rather than start WW III I didn't say anything or do anything and it cost me my goddamn plant) and shook out a handful of plump leaves to cut open and apply to my skin. I only needed one, so the rest got dumped on the last uncluttered corner of the table.

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Because I find straight-up aloe vera gel a little sticky I concocted a massage oil (an organic baby oil with an addition of rosehip seed oil) in my communion cup for Italics to rub me down with before applying aloe. I took my paring knife through so he could cut a small portion from a leaf rather than bruise it by breaking one off. Once anointed (LOL!) I threw the knife, used section of leaf and oil filled cup onto the (now V. familiar, no doubt) backroom coffee table.

(LOOK, THE KITCHEN'S ON THE //OTHER SIDE// OF THE HOUSE, THE BACKROOM RIGHT NEXT TO OUR BEDROOM - I'M HUMAN, AND EVEN BEING PARTIALLY DIVINE I HAVE MY HUMAN TRAPPINGS AND FAULTS TO WRESTLE WITH. <- SOMETIMES THE PARTIAL DIVINE JUST WANTS TO GET INTO BED ASAP WITH A LAPTOP TO CATCH UP ON THE DAILY SHOW AND COLBERT REPORT, OKAY? I'M A WEAK THING CONSTRAINED BY THE WEIGHT OF HUMAN EMOTIONS...OR SOMETHING, HEH HEH.)

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At day break, the morning after, I found three feathers at the foot of the mostly-practically-done outside container altar. Seeing as how I consecrated the place with an offering of flesh (sunburned) and blood (scraped my knuckles against concrete and bled onto the patio) - OLD TESTAMENT FIGURATIVE? OH WHY NOT! - I thought there was something significant about the three perfect, downy white feathers sitting on on a surface that I had sweated, bled and exerted control/energy over the day prior.

(Three white feathers - three wishes, three curses? Who knows, only time will tell. They'll get squirreled away with everything else and added to my growing collection of dehydrated animals parts (blackbird feet and wings, hedgehog skins, rabbit skulls with teeth...), rusted junk found while walking through the countryside and various graveyard dirts.)

(OH, HONEY, YES, I'M //THAT// SORT'VE WITCH - THE KIND THAT MAKES THERMITE FROM OLD FARMING EQUIPMENT. <- LOL!)

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You know how something can just appear out of NOTHING? First it wasn't there and then, by a miracle of God and ALL THAT IS HOLY ZOMG, it suddenly exists. (OKAY, OKAY, SO IN THIS INSTANCE IT WAS ROUGHLY 48 HOURS IN THE MAKING, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. <- I THINK WE'VE ALREADY ESTABLISHED THAT YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT I MEAN BY PARAGRAPH TWO.)

Before the white feathers rolled out of my palm and onto the tiled surface of the table it was just the backroom coffee table filled with "OH, GOD, I'LL JUST DEAL WITH IT //LATER//", but the second the feathers fell into a neat pile on 70s ceramic? "HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DUDE, THIS ISN'T A...HOW THE HELL DID IT...MAYBE I'M JUST SEEING THINGS FROM THIS ANGLE..."

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"...OR MAYBE I'M NOT."

(Hellooooooooooooooooooooooooooo accidental altar born from my subconscious and lack of motivation! HOW ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING TO DRINK, OR MAYBE SOME CANDLES? <- LOL!)

I'm pretty hawk-eyed about shit but, somehow, this one managed to slip beneath my radar. Now to turn this mystery around on its axis - all Rubik's Cube-style - to see if I can solve this riddle I left for myself.

Wadjet Replaces Anat

Anat had a slight mishap a few days ago (SHE GOT CAUGHT ON MY TIT, WAS KNOCKED TO THE FLOOR, AND, SUBSEQUENTLY, BROKE INTO THREE PIECES*) and a substitution had to be made to fill the vacancy - this is the SECOND time I managed to break Her in about three years. (WHY IS IT ALWAYS MY FUCKING WAR FACE?)

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(Anat's the statue between Tawaret (hippo @ left) and Sobek (crocodile @ right), and in front of the two stone jars. IF YOU'RE A CLUMSY ARIES, LIKE ME, YOU CAN TOTALLY SEE HOW EASY IT IS FOR HER TO CATCH ON THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE. IF YOU'RE A CLUMSY AND "CHESTY" ARIES, LIKE ME, YOU CAN TOTALLY SEE HOW EASY IT IS FOR HER TO CATCH ON THINGS - LIKE YOUR ARIES C/D CUPS - IN THE FIRST PLACE.)

A few years back, just before I slid into a period of depression, I knocked Anat off the altar and Her "war hand" (the hand holding the weapon, as opposed to her "defense hand" which holds the shield) snapped off. And, snapped off, it sat for months and months in a carved stone jar (WE CAN JUST PRETEND IT WAS ALABASTER) as I went further and deeper Underground, eventually losing myself in those dark internal corridors.

My magic thread back to the world? Burying a rotted egg (see WING & A PRAYER) and gluing Her fractured, battle axe raised "war hand" back to Her wrist. TRUFAX, READERS, TRUFAX. (It's always the stupid-bizarre-totally-unexpected-and-insanely-surprising-little things, right?)

(JUST FOR THE RECORD I'M NOT SAYING THAT BURYING A ROTTED EGG AND GLUING A BROKEN STATUE IS THE MAGIC VOODOO YOU NEED TO CLEAR DEPRESSION. BURYING A PETRIFIED EGG I WAS SUPPOSED TO "PLANT" A HALF-YEAR EARLIER AND FINALLY PIECING TOGETHER AN ASPECT OF MYSELF THAT I LET SIT BROKEN FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS AND MONTHS WAS THE INDICATION THAT I WAS SERIOUSLY-GENUINELY-FOR-REAL-SERIOUS READY TO ROLL OUT SOME PERSONAL CHANGES TO FIX, OR AT LEAST WORK ON, A PRETTY DESPERATE SITUATION. I WENT FROM ZERO MOTIVATION TO LESS THAN A FRACTION AND/OR PERCENTAGE POINT OF ONE BECAUSE I DID SOMETHING DIFFERENT, SOMETHING TOTALLY OUT OF ROUTINE, ONCE A DAY - LIKE BURYING AN EGG, AND REPAIRING OPEN (METAPHORICAL) WOUNDS.)

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Kadesh (earrings and all) disrupted the symmetry so She was returned to the bedroom (She stands behind my little digital alarm clock that's never gotten used as an alarm clock - WHEN YOU'RE CHRONICALLY SICK WITH A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS FOR 2+ YEARS AND ONCE WORKED AT HOME ALL SELF-EMPLOYED STYLE YOU DON'T REALLY NEED AN ALARM CLOCK), but Wadjet, the shy one, fit almost perfectly.

Wadjet normally hides between a trio of terracotta planted succulents in the backroom on top of a warped wooden table-tray-table that was once used as an altar. This is the first time "THE GREEN ONE" has come out of Her hole to sit prominently in view AND the first time She's ever socialized with our other Egyptian statues. Until recently I was using Her Royal Highness (IS THAT ALL CAPITALIZED?) to guard my things in the backroom.

(OH, IT'S A LONG STORY WHICH INVOLVES MR. AWESOME, MY FATHER-IN-LAW, AND HIS BELIEF THAT EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE - REGARDLESS OF WHAT /IT/ IS - BELONGS TO HIM. AND SINCE EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE - REGARDLESS OF WHAT /IT/ IS - BELONGS TO HIM HE'S NOT REQUIRED TO ASK OR NOTIFY OTHER MEMBERS OF THIS HOUSE WHEN HE MAKES EXECUTIVE DECISIONS ABOUT OUR THINGS, I.E., THROWING THINGS AWAY OR ALTERING STUFF TO ABSOLUTE RUIN. (LOL, WAIT, SORRY, I MEAN //HIS// STUFF!) SO, ON A WEEKLY BASIS, I TYPICALLY LOOK FORWARD TO GETTING SOMETHING BROKEN, RUINED, STOLEN, MISAPPROPRIATED, THROWN OUT OR KILLED.)

Without Her hidden presence I'm worried Mr. Awesome's OLD MAN PSYCHIC talent will come shining through and my seedlings (OR WORSE) will be forced to deal with the consequences. (WHO'S GOING TO "BITE" HIS HAND NOW THAT WADJET'S LEFT THE ROOM? BETTER FIX ANAT, STAT, AND RETURN THE SNAKE TO HER HOLE.)

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Maybe if I TRY NOT TO WORRY ABOUT IT then it WON'T BE ON MY MIND so my father-in-law's OLD MAN PSYCHIC TALENT can't get hold of the TOP SECRET INFORMATION and then SUBCONSCIOUSLY EXPLOIT THE KNOWLEDGE resulting in a V. V. V. V. BAD DAY for myself.

("TRY NOT TO WORRY ABOUT IT" - LOL, RIGHT, SUUUUUURE. BECAUSE THAT'S TOTALLY ME ONE BILLION PERCENT; THE PERSON WHO'S ALWAYS LEVELHEADED, DOESN'T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS AND NEVER WORRIES ABOUT THINGS NEEDLESSLY.)

* THREE PIECES = feet on base, whole of body and "defense hand"

APRIL FOOLS DAY

FUCKJESUSNO. DON'T FUCKING TELL ME IT'S GOING TO FUCKING SNOW ON APRIL THE FUCKING FIRST; THAT SHIT AIN'T FUNNY. (I'M SO NOT LAUGHING. NOT EVEN //SLIGHTLY//.)

Night Terror Lite

You know how sometimes children wake up in the middle of the night, inconsolable and screaming? After a feverish few minutes, they eventually settle down again, their eyelids get heavy and, as if it never happened, they drift back off into a quiet sleep? Add me to that "children" statistic you've so keenly observed.

It's been a helluva while since I woke up SCREAMING TO SAVE MY IMMORTAL SOUL WHILE CLAWING ITALICS'S ARM SO HE DIDN'T LET GO AND DROP ME INTO THE BLACK ABYSS OF UNCONSCIOUSNESS but I still, on occasion, experience night terror lite. (Instead of SCREAMING TO SAVE MY SOUL I suddenly wake up in mid-gasp, mid-movement and the next conscious thing I'm aware of is sitting straight up in bed, panting, while adrenaline courses through my body and drowns out the otherwise eerie silence and blackness of the bedroom.)

I have a general idea of what triggers them (TERRORS = NO CHEESE OR HEAVY DAIRY BEFORE BED, SLEEP PARALYSIS = NO INTENSE SHOT OF CAFFEINE AFTER A VERY LONG DAY JUST BEFORE BED), but sometimes you just can't prepare for that sort've shit because the matter is totally out of your hands. (I, uh, mean that in a more spiritual MY UNCONSCIOUS BRAIN AND POSSIBLE DIVINE INTERVENTION COLLUDING TOGETHER sense.)

Occasionally, it's obvious what set me off, but sometimes - in the more bizarre and unwarranted cases - it takes the experience to make me sit the fuck down with my LIFE PUZZLE PIECES and slowly put my previous day's activities into view to get some perspective. (Usually I find NIGHT TERROR LITE indicative of me reacting to my environment, and then the environment responding to my initial reaction.)

(EXAMPLE: I love my pot but I seriously for real DON'T LOVE the 18 hour light cycle that the plants require to produce the pot I love so much. Last year we grew for the first time and had to learn how to sleep with the grow light glowing in the bedroom closet at all hours of day (AND NIGHT). I HATED those months and prayed and prayed for the eventual release of the perpetual day so we could sleep in pitch black once again. The first night the light was officially turned off? NIGHT TERROR, AHOY!)

(EXAMPLE: I'm an anally clean person. I MEAN, CRAZY NEUROTIC YOUR MOTHER OR MOTHER-IN-LAW CANNOT TOUCH ME IN THE SLIGHTEST anally clean person. It's never, ever a good sign when shit begins collecting on special (i.e., altar-like) surfaces. After something like a fucking half year of watching my nightstand altar transform into an apocalyptic wasteland (ala ESCAPE FROM BEDROOM NIGHTSTAND) I finally cleaned up the fucking mess (see journal entry COLD MOON, 09). End result? NIGHT TERROR, AHOY!)

My recurring night terror lite complaint? "SOMETHING BLACK AND SHADOWY WAS LEANING OVER ME!" (Seriously, it's //always// that.) (You'd think since part of my life is devoted to most things SHADOWY AND BLACK that I'd, I dunno, maybe HANDLE HAVING SOMETHING SHADOW AND BLACK TRY AND INTERACT WITH ME A BIT BETTER.) It's kind've sort've like an out-of-body experience, except it's more out-of-mind (LOLOLOL, YES, THAT //EXACTLY//) when my brain's obviously working REALLY, REALLY HARD but the rest of me isn't conscious enough to take everything in but I know, deep down inside, THE JIG, IT IS UP, YO.

ANYWAY.

So I get these night terrors, but I consider them NIGHT TERROR LITE because they aren't a really big deal, and they always end up being about the same damn thing. ("ZOMGSOMETHING'SLEANINGOVERME!")

The tail end of my unconscious/conscious gasp dissolves in the still, darkened room and the only thing I hear - the only thing I FEEL - is my once racing heart suspending in painful silence. And then? And then the familiarity of it all begins trickling in. The black isn't so black, the shadows recede, the room breathes again and, even if I'm still slightly feverish and unsettled, I eventually fall back asleep finding comfort in seeing Papa's white, bony mask surface like a lifeguard's floating ring in a sea of undulating black.

For as many times I've complained about the intrusive interest of THE BLACK BEING(S) I've never actually seen anything honestly, truly corporeal. (BUT I'VE NEARLY TRIPPED OVER THEM!) They're just a smear - a streak - of displaced shadow in the most unlikely place, gone in the blink of an eye before you have a chance of second guessing yourself. (I did second guess myself, once. It moved directly behind me in the cinema foyer in the middle of the fucking day, from one shoulder to the other, and I followed it by craning my neck but only managed to catch the alias edges. At least, in that instance, Italics saw it too.)

(I did manage to disrobe an amorous visitor, once, although that instance falls under "sleep paralysis" rather than "night terror". I'd tell you the story - IT INVOLVES THE MINOTAUR...SORT'VE! - but this ramble is already treading epic proportions so I'll save the tale of my half-bull half-man lover who got a justly smack on his half-bull half-man ass for picking the fruit without asking.) (SEE? I CAN BE POLITE AND SUBTLE AND ELOQUENT AND STUFF.)

I think, if I'm reading my tea leaves and entrails right, a more direct contact was attempted. I saw a body. I saw ethnicity and clothing and shoes and, after all of these years, a face. But it wasn't a night terror where I bolted up gasping for breath and searching for Papa's mask in the swirling darkness; it was a lucid dream. And in that dream, when He leaned over me I saw His face (or one of His faces, or one of many faces) and I finally saw.

(Thinking back, now, this situation isn't too entirely different from the bull/man lover; both "revealed" themselves to me in a dream a few days later after I put my proverbial foot down with "OH HELLLLLLLLLLLLLL, NO, YOU SHOWIN' ME YOUR ASS, BOY!", both "revealed" themselves to me in the spirit of our previous meeting in a reference-y sort've way, and both played out the second meeting via a lucid dream rather than through a recurrence of either night terror or sleep paralysis.)

(I suppose, in one way, I have a better ability to interact and think on my toes in a dream than I do when under the influence of sleep paralysis and/or night terrors. SP and NT are more physical, while lucid dreams are more...explanatory, if that makes sense.)

And now that I've clued you into some of the psychological ticks my disturbed unconscious dogs me with I can finally get to the real reason why this entry was drafted in the first place - SO I COULD RECORD AN EFFING DREAM I HAD. (Everything above the short paragraphs of caps locked, fragmented sentences pertaining exclusively to my dream? JUST FOR YOUR BENEFIT.)

DRAFTED ON FEB. 23, WRITTEN UP ON MAR. 1:

LYING ON LARGE SOFA IN LOUNGE. ITALICS LYING ON LARGE SOFA IN LOUNGE, TOO. BOTH IN POSITION OF FIRST REAL MDMA TRIP; HEADS RESTING ON OPPOSITE (SOFA) ARMS AND FEET/LEGS TOUCHING IN CENTER OF COUCH. SPEAKING, TALKING, LYING AROUND.

BLACK MAN SUDDENLY APPEARS AND LEANS OVER ME. THIN, AVERAGE HEIGHT, VERY THIN ACTUALLY, MORE WESTERN-BLACK THAN AFRICAN-BLACK. ILL-FITTING CLOTHING (MODERN, BAGGY, TOO LARGE FOR THIN FRAME - HOODIE, I THINK). NO HAT, NO HEAD COVERING, BUT WEARING WHITE SNEAKERS. ABSOLUTE STRANGER, NEVER SEEN BEFORE.

BLACK MAN LEANS OVER ME INTENSELY. SAYS NOTHING. DOES NOTHING. FACES ARE ONLY INCHES APART; ME PRONE, HE STANDING AND LEANING OVER ME, IMPOSING AND INTIMIDATING. (NOT LIKE PAPA, NOT LIKE SHANGO MAN.) HIS APPEARANCE OUT OF LITERAL THIN AIR, ONE MINUTE NOT THERE, AND THEN, SUDDENLY, RIGHT IN MY FACE.

LONG SECONDS FEEL LIKE MINUTES. STILL SAYS NOTHING, BUT STARES, NOT MOVING, NOT GIVING SPACE. BLANK EXPRESSION, ALMOST ZOMBIE-LIKE. EYES GLAZED OVER AS IF CRAZY OR SICK. NO DISCERNABLE PERSONALITY OR MOTIVE, NO REAL DISPLAY OF BODY LANGUAGE OR THOUGHTS. CAN'T READ ANYTHING; FEEL LIKE RODENT TRAPPED IN SNAKE CAGE.

BEGIN TO INTERNALLY PANIC. SILENCE TOO LONG, MOTIONLESS TOO LONG. TOO MUCH LIKE MODERN ZOMBIE-MOVIE; LONG, AWFUL, SILENT MINUTE BEFORE NORMAL LOOKING HUMAN BEING GOES ZOMBIE BALLISTIC AND REVEALS TRUE FORM KILLING HELPLESS ONLOOKER. (ONLOOKER = ME.) BLACK MAN STRANGER STILL SAYS NOTHING, STILL DOES NOTHING.

SECONDS PASS FEELING LIKE HOURS. SILENCE AND MOTIONLESS DEAFENING. JUST STARES AND STARES INTENSELY WITH GLAZED EYES, BLOCKING EASIEST AND QUICKEST ESCAPE ROUTE. (WOULD HAVE TO CLIMB OVER BACK OF COUCH OR BACKWARD SOMERSAULT TO GET OUT OF POSITION. BOTH VIRTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE.)

EACH LONGHARDPAINFUL HEARTBEAT ASSURES NEXT LONGHARDPAINFUL HEARTBEAT IS WHEN HE ATTACKS. MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON COUCH TO PREVENT IMMEDIATE DEATH BY NORMAL LOOKING HUMAN BEING BUT ACTUAL MODERN ZOMBIE MONSTER. MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON COUCH TO PREVENT IMMEDIATE DEATH BY NORMAL LOOKING HUMAN BEING WHO WILL TEAR THROAT OUT AND FACE OFF IN ONE CINEMATIC SPED UP SECOND.

MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON COUCH TO NOT DIE. MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON COUCH TO NOT DIE. MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON THE COUCH TO NOT DIE. MUST...

Sitting on my figurative floor arranging my metaphorical puzzle pieces the few fragments that stand out most to me are:

1.) I was having one of my very, very rare and near non-existent "BUT I'M NOT SEXY AND ATTRACTIVE ANYMORE, SO..." moments. (We were suppose to henna my hair but I was depressed and didn't want to wake Italics up so I sat around and cried for about an hour and a half instead. (Henna hair days = 9+ hours of having it sit in my hair; the earlier on the better!))

2.) I dyed my hair Cailleach dark. (Typically I dye my hair darker around Samhain/Halloween when assuming the WINTER WHORE HAG archetype, and my hair gets dyed a lighter henna red around our Easter wedding when assuming the VIRGINAL SPRING BRIDE archetype. This past spiritual year I've been way, way off course and only got around to dying my hair Cailleach dark a few days ago, just almost verily missing the Lent deadline.)

3.) I slept uncomfortably due to having only rinsed - not washed - the dye out to deliberately leave the olive oil in to condition my hair overnight. (I sleep naked and with my long hair free, so sleeping with my hair pulled back is ZOMG TOO MUCH LIKE BEING RESTRAINED AND CHOKED ZOMG.) (If you rinse out the henna and don't wash it out immediately it super conditions your hair leaving it glossy, healthy and all Pantene Pro-V for WEEKS.)

Verdict?

Sleeping uncomfortably (itchy, sleeping on a towel on top of a pillow, feeling restrained) on top of dying my hair. (I KNOW THAT "DYING ONES HAIR" DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A BIG ENOUGH DEAL FOR THE UNIVERSE, WORLD OR WHATEVER TO REACT TO, BUT I'VE MORE OR LESS ANNOUNCED TO THE UNIVERSE, WORLD OR WHATEVER ELSE THAT DYING MY HAIR IS A //BIG FUCKING SPIRITUAL DEAL// SO WHY AM I SO SURPRISED THAT THE NIGHT I GOT AROUND TO FINALLY DOING IT - NEARLY FIVE MONTHS LATE! - SOMETHING NOTICED AND REACTED ACCORDINGLY?)

And let's not even get started on how GUILTY I FELT after waking up and feeling a little nervous and apprehensive and unsettled and every other emotion you might feel when you know you probably almost FOR REAL got killed in what felt like a modern cinematic take on the zombie genre. The "MUST GET OUT OF PRONE POSITION ON COUCH TO NOT DIE..." eventually became "OH, THAT POOR GUY, HE MUST'VE BEEN MORE SCARED THAN ME AND I REACTED SO BADLY TO HIM TRYING TO INTRODUCE/INTERACT WITH ME..." although, DUDE, the are SLIGHTLY BETTER WAYS to get acquainted with me other than silently psyching me out like that, you know?

Men. Pfft.

(LOL @ HOW THIS ENTRY ORIGINALLY WAS JUST SUPPOSE TO BE THE CAPS LOCKED DREAM SEQUENCE. OH, MS. GRAVEYARD DIRT, YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN!)

Insert Credit

NIGHT TERROR X 2. (OH, WE PLAYIN' THAT GAME AGAIN?)

Crazy But Fun

On the 11th of this month, a day after the first full moon of the year, both Mercury and Ceres go retrograde. (CERES, WUT? I KNOW, ME TOO.) It's the third phase of Cancer, and the moon enters Leo just before one in the afternoon.

(BREAK IT DOWN NOW, Y'ALL...)

OH, 2009, ALREADY MAKING THINGS INTERESTING. (PAPA SAID IT WAS GOING TO BE A "CRAZY BUT A FUN YEAR", AND I GUESS THE MAN WASN'T LYING. EXAGGERATING, PROBABLY, BUT NOT LYING.)

AND CERES?

AND, ALSO:

(OH, HEY, CERES' SIGN IS A SICKLE. <- IS A SUPER GENIUS WHO JUST NOTICED THAT.)

"THIRD PHASE OF CANCER" I'LL TAKE AS A NOD TOWARDS THE ENTIRE HERMIT/SOLITUDE THING (GOING INWARD, AHOY!). AND, LOL, LET'S NOT EVEN CONTEMPLATE THE IMPLICATIONS OF TAKING THE MOON ENTERING LEO AS THE MOON, IN TAROT CARD FORM, UNITING WITH STRENGTH.

OH, IT'S GOING TO BE "CRAZY BUT FUN", AIN'T IT PAPA?

Sources:
ArtCharts.Com
AstrologyCom.Com
Retrograde Zone

WTF?!

THEY ARE DIGGING A GRAVE IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSE. (OUR HOUSE WHICH IS HUMOROUSLY LOCATED ON ONE OF THE SIDES OF THE CROSSROAD.)

(THE ENTIRE "BURST WATER PIPE" THING WAS FUNNY UNTIL THE TINY HOLE OUTSIDE BECAME THE SIZE OF A FUCKING GRAVE.)

Divine Gift from God, or Something

Wind descended - almost out of no where - just before sunset as I was taking two more "finished" chili plants outside. (I swear to fucking Christ it feels like I'm euthanizing a pet when I take a house grown vegetable plant outside to die at the end of the season. WHEN THE FUCK DID I BECOME ONE OF THOSE NEW AGE RETARDS WHO TREATS HER PLANTS AS CONSCIOUS, SENTIENT BEINGS? LOL, WAIT, ACTUALLY, THAT GUILT FALLS IN PRETTY WELL WITH MY RECENT REDISCOVERY OF FEARING MY OWN MORTALITY.)

Italics was ill and vomited several times in the orange bucket. (Italics doesn't vomit, period.) He's my comically opposite counterpart - he has a hard time burping and throwing up due to a very narrow esophagus, I have an easy time burping and throwing up (AND, UH, SWALLOWING WIDE OBJECTS) due to a very wide esophagus.

(DON'T TELL MY LOCAL MEDICAL COMMUNITY, BUT...WE THINK I MIGHT'VE GIVEN MYSELF THE (POSSIBLE) HIATAL HERNIA WHEN I -BURPED AS LOUD AND FORCEFULLY AS I COULD- WHILE LEANING OVER. IN THAT AWESOME MOMENT OF UNSOPHISTICATED, UNLADYLIKE AMUSEMENT I THINK I ACCIDENTALLY BURPED A PART OF MY STOMACH OUT INTO MY ESOPHAGUS. BUT IF ANYONE ASKS JUST SAY "I HEARD IT WAS A DIVINE GIFT FROM GOD TO HELP HER BECOME A BETTER PERSON, OR SOMETHING". I THINK THEY SHOULD BELIEVE THAT, OR AT LEAST THINK -YOU'RE- CRAZY.)

Last of the Best

Not yet, I guess.

(I had an entire entry written here with realizations I came to early this morning while on mushrooms, but I lost it. All of it. In one gut-crushing MySQL error - that's never happened in all of my years of journaling - all of the words were gone.)

(It's okay, though. The error registered as "#2" which is significant enough for me to understand that IT'S JUST NOT TIME YET.)

(There are no flukes in this game; only unrealized opportunities and unseen messages written on the wall. You don't have to be schizophrenic, but obsessively connecting seemingly fictitious dots helps. Especially if you can do it on a daily basis.)

Paint it Black

Black death shroud thrown over Chippy. Got package today, played "dress up" with torn cloth. Chippy eventually moved to floor with Jigga. When watching TV looked over at both and noticed how black cloth became mourning shroud, and how Jigga leaned into Chippy as if both comforting each other while grieving.

(I really wished I hadn't noticed that.)

Fox and the Hound

SCOTTISH JACKALS HAVE COME TO FEED.

(I'VE ALWAYS BEEN GOOD AT PICKING UP STRAYS WITHOUT TRYING.)

She's Home

I knew She was coming; I knew it'd be any day now.

It was the bee that crawled through the window to die on the screen. (I cried. My Bee, my Beh, came home to die. And all I could do was choke up and stroke this tiny, beautiful creature through flimsy, black mesh as its light diminished. (I sat with her, though, only a foot away in my computer chair.))

Click thumbnail for larger image.

It was the two pairs of socks I had to put on before I could fall asleep. (Even with the windows closed, blankets pulled high, and a miniature closet greenhouse in the corner of the bedroom. Even when it was eight in the fucking morning, the sun had risen, and I had been curled up for over thirty minutes in bed. (Long enough to defrost, right?))

Click thumbnail for larger image.

It was finding my yellow juniper bead necklace and string of green chillies lying on the windowsill. (Papa said to hang the chillies on the window; never asked why, although Italics speculated that the greener ones tend to be more powerful. (First instance of plastic-hook-attached-to-window-via-sucker fatigue.))

Click thumbnail for larger image.

It was saying "ANY DAY NOW, I THINK" to Italics and then noticing, right after, the metallic swirls frozen across the roof of the car. It was feeling the cold bite of winter for the first time as the heat of my finger sank through the layer of ice to touch metal as I proclaimed Her homecoming.

Impressive Hernia

So I said PLEASE, GOD, SHOW ME A SIGN, SHOW ME ANY SORT OF SIGN SO I KNOW THAT IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL! (See FINAL ANSWER.) Wait, wait, I can actually copy and paste shit - LOL!- so I believe a direct quote would be:

At 1:12 AM today (the day of the full moon, the day of Harvest Moon) I found this "stat" waiting for me:

Click thumbnail for larger image.

When I traced back the search there were only nine web sites that Google even listed for "impressive hernia"; Graveyard Dirt, out of that nine, was number five. (FIVE IS A MAGIC NUMBER!) Regardless of the numbers (BECAUSE 7+1=8 AND 8 FITS -RIGHT NOW- SO THAT'S ANOTHER NUMERICAL THUMBS UP!), I think I just got my answer.

Hiatal hernia, here we come?

(OH, WAIT THAT'S MISSING SOMETHING! I WONDER WHAT IT COULD BE? OH, THAT'S RIGHT, -IMPRESSIVE-! IMPRESSIVE HIATAL HERNIA, HERE WE COME?)

OH, INTERNET, DON'T LISTEN TO WHAT THE NEO-H8ERS SAY, YOU'RE -TOTALLY- MAGIC!

Strawberry Mug

I gave the last three to the old woman. (The last nicest three.) The last overripe plum, the last three nicest strawberries, a crust of stale rye bread, and a shot of apple cider. TEH-BEH YEAST-EH, BAH-BAH. (She's old, She knows what I mean.) Her plate and glass are sitting on the back step next to the wooden chair leg that we used to beat the ice off the outside freezer two or three weeks ago.

("YOU BROUGHT THE SNOW AGAIN," ITALICS SAID, AND I SNORTED, DUMPING ANOTHER BUCKET FULL OF MELTING SLUSH ONTO THE SUMMER GRASS. THAT NIGHT THE MIST SWIRLED AROUND THE LAMPLIGHT LIKE THE EXORCIST; I CAUGHT MY FATHER-IN-LAW STARING INTO THE DENSE FOG MUMBLING "IT'LL BE FROSTY TONIGHT" TO MY MOTHER-IN-LAW. SHE LAUGHED - "DON'T BE SILLY!" - AND BROKE THE SPELL. HE DIDN'T KNOW THAT SNOW PASSED THROUGH MY HANDS EARLIER IN THE EVENING, BUT HE KNEW.)

Then there were five left, and five - as we all know! - is a magic number. So those five, naturally, went out to the hedgehogs just after I spoke to the wind and cold, just after I invited Her to eat, just after setting Her plate of overripe fruit and stale bread and booze on the back step next to the sun bleached, wooden chair leg used to shatter a layer of overgrown ice off the outside freezer way, way too long ago.

AND IMMEDIATELY FUCKING AFTER FEEDING HER STRAWBERRIES, AFTER FEEDING THE HEDGEHOG STRAWBERRIES ONE OF THE OLDEST GODDAMN COFFEE MUGS IN THE FUCKING HOUSE SLIPS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING HAND WHEN I'M DOING THE DISHES AND SHATTERS AGAINST ANOTHER COFFEE MUG ALREADY LOADED IN THE DISHWASHER.

THE DESIGN OF THE NOW BROKEN COFFEE MUG? THE DESIGN OF WHICH THERE WAS ONLY -ONE OF- THAT I EVER REMEMBERED SINCE MOVING HERE NEARLY EIGHT YEARS AGO?

STRAWBERRIES.

Rat Party

I have to save this for a (much) later LOL:

RATS ESCAPED CAGE THREE NIGHTS AGO.

HAD RAT PARTY IN COMPUTER ROOM.

HAD RAT PARTY IN TRASH CAN.

HAD RAT PARTY ON DESKS.

(ATE MORNING DOSE OF SELENIUM, KELP, AND PRESCRIPTION ANTACID.)

(ATE WALRUS'S PRAWN CRACKER TRIPOD HAT.)

(ATE PIECE OF ASS (SHAPED) BREAD.)

HAD RAT PARTY BEHIND COMPUTERS.

(ATE COMPUTER CABLES.)

(ATE EXTENSION CORD CONNECTING ALL PLUGS TO WALL.)

RAT PARTY MOVED TO EXCLUSIVE -CAGE- LOCATION.

CONTINUED RAT PARTY INDOORS, LOCKED.

HIRED CLEANERS STILL TRYING TO PICK UP PIECES.

(ONE OF TWO HIRED CLEANERS NOW HAS WORKING COMPUTER AGAIN.)

DAMN RAT PARTY.

Things to remember: August 7, 2008. Tower (literally!). All computer room altars torn down, rebuilt. 42 soul card @ bucket. Even chose "tower" from Aldi before incident.

As #33

Earlier today, when speaking about/thinking about tomorrow's appointment I pulled #33 from ma's "Soul Cards" deck. (I believe my reaction - and this is a direct quote - was "JESUS, IT'S NOT THAT BAD!".)

There's a slight discrepancy between the on-line version of the image and the printed card version of the image. For some reason all of the blue featured in the glossy card doesn't pop up on the jpg (it looks more sand blasted on-line - WHO KNOWS, MAYBE MY INTERNET EYES ARE BROKEN?).

The first thing I said/thought (not the VERY FIRST THING, mind you, because that was the "OH JESUS WTF IS THIS BLACK HOLE OF DESPAIR?!" reaction above) was "OKAY, DON'T FREAK OUT BECAUSE YOU CAN -CLEARLY SEE- THAT SHE HAS A PROTECTIVE WHITE HALO/AURA AROUND HER BODY (WHITE = GOOD COLOR, DEATH/REBIRTH) WHICH IS A V. V. V. GOOD SIGN". And then "OH, HEY, WE'RE GETTING MORE BLUE!" (in my card version there's a blue smudge streaked across her face making it seem like the indigo is staining her white skin) and that's V. V. GOOD too because BLUE AND WHITE ARE VERY SPECIAL MAGIC COLORS FOR ME and WE SHOULD BE TURNING BLUE BY NOW, ANYWAY, BECAUSE FALL IS COMING ON.

(Time to ditch the Easter bride virgin thing and do a 180. ANCIENT, PERPETUAL CYCLE OF LIFE AND DEATH AND ALL OF THAT.)

So, yeah, not bad, you just need to look at it a bit harder. (BESIDES, IT'S ONLY A HERNIA, YOU KNOW. SO, THERE'S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT BECAUSE IF IT WAS SOMETHING REALLY BAD, BAD SOMETHING REALLY BAD, BAD WOULD HAVE HAPPENED BY NOW.)

(CAN I PLEASE HAVE ANOTHER RABBIT GRIN? MAYBE ONE MORE JUST BEFORE BED?)

#33 notes:
* Atomic number of arsenic
* This number has the meaning that good will always triumph over evil.
* A significant number in modern numerology, one of the master numbers along with 11 and 22
* A normal human spine has 33 vertebrae when the bones that form the coccyx are counted individually
* The double triangle is another word for, "33."

Solar Eclipse in Leo

Yanked all of the relevant bits from an eclipse article found on AstrologyCom.Com. (OH, INTERNET, HOW IS IT POSSIBLE YOU CAN BE SO GOOD EVEN WHEN YOU'RE SO BAD?)

Eclipse in Leo
This eclipse occurs at 9°32' of Leo the Lion, conjunct Mercury the divine messenger, so, being a Friday, the party vibes will be fabulous! It awakens the nebulous cluster of The Aselli, the Asses, being closely conjunct Asellus Australis, South Asellus (a star of the Sun and Mars), which is considered less than fortunate. It is also conjunct Giansar a star of Saturn and Mars in the tail of Draco, but one which is less aggressive. This star is often symbolized by the Tarot Card "Death", which stands for the sweeping away of old things, to make room for a brand new beginning.

According to Vehlow, the Chinese gave this group of stars the name The Spirit of the Ancestors and were of the opinion that, if conjunct the Moon, they would produce peculiar experiences with the realms of the dead. Since the eclipse involves both Sun and Moon, it might be an interesting time for a séance! The Aselli are representative of the Sun and Moon, so their prominence in this figure is increased, but the need for caution, especially in travel, business and with fire is emphasized. The Aselli could be seen as fortunate in that they do represent the Lights, but their effects are not always as enjoyable as they could be!

Mars and Mercury
This eclipse does lie in the shadow of the upcoming Mars/Uranus opposition on August 6, suggesting it would be a waste of time to try and coordinate group efforts. This aspect is aggravated by the simultaneous opposition between Mercury and Neptune, which advises us not attempt anything that requires logic and clear thinking! A warning for the organizers of the Beijing Festivities: information and ideas may be illusive, intentionally deceptive, or even quite dangerous. Making a wise decision, or finding out the truth, is well-nigh impossible. It's not that good for travelling over water, photography, business transactions, or spiritual studies and activities.

Solar eclipses don't often pass over populated areas, but when they do, they appear to have significant disruptive effects on the people and nations concerned (e.g., economic or political crises, civil unrest). My colleague, Ian Thurnwald, points out that Solar Eclipses also seem either to trigger or amplify natural events in the regions they affect (e.g., severe weather, earthquakes). Whether this effect is an astrological one or not, is a moot point, though recent scientific work on the effects of the Moon on earthquakes and other terrestrial phenomena is interesting. No doubt they would hasten to deny any astrological effect! See my article on Moon Wobbles. The eclipse being in Leo means that people with Fixed signs (Aquarius; Leo; Scorpio; Taurus) featured in their birth charts are more likely to be affected. The next eclipse of the Sun will be on January 26, 2009.

Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your *INSERT NOUN*

Noticed repeating snapping/breaking patterns (AGAIN, GRR!):

- Two days ago sole gardenia bud was on floor; not sickly, not weak - somehow snapped off.

- Two days ago ornate water jug broke as Italics filled it with chargers. (FUCKING JINXED IT BY SAYING “BE CAREFUL OR GLASS WILL BREAK” JUST SECONDS BEFORE GLASS DID, IN FACT, BREAK.)

- Yesterday noticed purple flower had fallen off stem - somehow snapped off, again.

- Today noticed part of butterfly bush in back garden was somehow snapped off central body. (Wind wasn’t nearly strong enough for that sort of damage.)

PICKING UP "SNAPPED OFF" IMAGERY (IF YOU CAN SEE A PATTERN, IT'S AN EFFING PATTERN, OKAY?) BUT NOT ENTIRELY SURE OF MESSAGE. MUST PAY CLOSER ATTENTION...

The Long Walk

When Bee was younger and her Bok-Bok self I used to say to her “BOK-BOK! YOUR FACE IS SO CUTE THAT I’M GOING TO RIP IT OFF, BEE! I’M GOING TO RIP IT OFF, YES I AM! AND THEN, AFTERWARDS, I’M GOING TO BEAT IT WITH A HAMMER, BOK! WE’RE GOING TO BEAT IT WITH A HAMMER AND FLATTEN IT OUT AND MAKE IT INTO A MASK THAT I CAN WEAR LIKE MICHAEL MYERS, BEE-BEE! I’M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR FACE TO MAKE A MASK!” and she LOVED it, and would give me THAT LOOK (that satisfied and proud look you get from pets when they realize that you’re sweet talking them) and chuff and look right pleased with the attention. (WELL, HOW MANY RATS DO YOU KNOW THAT HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT THEY’RE SO CUTE THAT YOU HAD TO RESTRAIN YOURSELF FROM PEELING OFF THEIR SKIN AND WEARING IT LIKE A MASK? EXACTLY.)

It’s harder to do that now. (I tried the other day, but it wouldn’t stick.) Bee, caught somewhere between living and sleeping, is very nearly comatose now and almost too weak to breathe. Not long after Hezbollah’s death (Bee’s former roommate, aka Crazy Rat, her BFF) she went blind in one eye. I knew something was up, but couldn’t put my finger on it. (YOU KNOW HOW YOU JUST KNOW THESE THINGS WHEN YOU HAVE PETS. YOU JUST KNOW.) That uneasy feeling only became more concrete when “WOMAN, BEE SICK!” boomed (OH, WHEN YOUR SUMERIAN DEMON DOG WHO SOUNDS LIKE ANIMAL FROM THE MUPPETS DECIDES TO CONVERSE WITH YOU WHEN YOU’RE SUSPENDED IN A CONSCIOUS-BARELY CONSCIOUS-ALMOST SUBCONSCIOUS STATE YOU WILL FIND THAT HE HAS A TENDENCY TO BE ALL...BOOMY) through my flashing (HIGH, BUT NOT THAT HIGH, WHICH MADE ME PAUSE AND GO “WOW, I DIDN’T EVEN THINK I WAS HIGH ENOUGH FOR THIS SORT OF THING”) thoughts.

It was so left field, so unexpected, such a non-fucking-sequitur that I automatically knew it was one of two things – I was either really fucking high and making shit up (A PARANOID, OVERREACTING PESSIMIST EVEN SUBCONSCIOUSLY? SWEET!) or it was true, and Bee was a lot sicker than I had imagined. (At the time I had forgotten, but Italics pointed out that both she and Hezbollah had been on antibiotics for a significant time for colds they couldn’t seem to shake, but when you’re not the person administering the medication you have a tendency to sort’ve forget.) I guess, really, it sounded so fucking crazy that it could be true. And, as it turned out nearly a week later, it was true. Bee had gone blind in one eye with no explanation as to how it happened since there weren’t any wounds. The vet told Italics “it could be a brain thing” and when I heard that my stomach dropped to the floor because I knew it WAS instead of IT COULD BE and to know that we’d be back at the same place we were a month ago (with Hezbollah) and have to witness the rapid decline of our last remaining pet…Christ, we had just barely gotten over the Crazy Rat ordeal, you know?

I lost my Bok-Bok Baby (WHO, IN FACT, WAS A GREAT AND TERRIBLE SPACE PIRATE, FEARED FOR HER BRUTAL SAVAGERY AND FOR HER INEXPLICABLE LOVE OF DIRE STRAITS) when she lost her Bok-Bok spring. (It wasn’t a change in disposition or personality, she just lost that gleam that made her BOK-BOK, and it was a very sad thing to witness and realize.) In her place I got my Special Little Flower, my BEE-ZEE-BEE, my Sexy Bumblebee, my Bee. And Bee seemed happy and content, and got to live on the floor ALL OF THE TIME (no other rat we’ve ever had has had the freedom she did) and was let out of the room several times a day for a “walk” (she was allowed supervised expeditions into other areas of the house) and seemed, for the most part, not entirely bothered she was blind in one eye.

But, as the weeks went by, it became more and more obvious that it was, in fact, “a brain thing” and there was nothing we could do other than watch our BEE-ZEE-BEE fade because she’s a rat, and rats have two medical options – take antibiotics (and if they don’t work, they don’t work, the end), or go under the knife (there’s always a good chance they won’t survive the anesthetic). Bee didn’t get either, because there’s no medication for “a brain thing” and neurosurgery hasn’t really advanced in the rodent world.

Our only option with Bee was to make her as comfortable as possible, and to prepare ourselves for the inevitable – the wasting away, the loss of personality, the sleep deprivation, the constant, around-the-clock administration of antibiotics, and pain and allergy medication, the cleaning, the fussing, the preparation of special food that can be easily eaten, the worry, the grief, the angst, and, also, the burst of almost overwhelming resentment knowing that there’s a good possibility that we’ll have to euthanize something that’s become a member of our family by ourselves with our own hands.

(We use nitrous (aka laughing gas) when it’s necessary. When you’re faced with the prospect of watching a beloved pet suffocate to death in front of your own eyes – complete with self-conscious awareness which means they’re panicking while gasping and withering around, and the sounds, Jesus, the sounds they make as their lungs shut down and they can’t breathe, and the looks they give you because they know that in the past you’ve always been able to fix things for them or help them, that you’ve always, always been able to make things better and THEY KNOW THAT and THEY LOOK AT YOU WITH THOSE BEGGING, PLEADING EYES AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THEIR LIFE YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO MAKE IT BETTER OR MAKE IT STOP (EXCEPT FOR ONE THING) – you harden your heart, cling tightly to something deep, down inside of you (“I KNOW THIS IS RIGHT, I KNOW THIS IS RIGHT, I KNOW THIS IS RIGHT..”) and get on with being Death.)

So it’s harder, now, launching into the entire “BOK-BOK! YOUR FACE IS SO CUTE THAT I’M GOING TO RIP IT OFF, BEE! I’M GOING TO RIP IT OFF, YES I AM! AND THEN, AFTERWARDS, I’M GOING TO BEAT IT WITH A HAMMER, BOK! WE’RE GOING TO BEAT IT WITH A HAMMER AND FLATTEN IT OUT AND MAKE IT INTO A MASK THAT I CAN WEAR LIKE MICHAEL MYERS, BEE-BEE! I’M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR FACE TO MAKE A MASK!” thing, because reality is hitting home today (we’ve both already agreed that if she didn’t pass on her own accord today, that we would have to finally help her along) and I know the long walk from the computer room to the bedroom is going to be very long, and, inevitably, I’ll feel like I betrayed her, somehow, by ending something that’s already half-done.

(BEE, I JUST WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND, IF YOU CAN, THAT I REALLY HATE DOING THIS, AND I FEEL LIKE A PART OF ME DIES EVERY TIME WE HAVE TO “HELP” YOU GUYS. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I AM VERY ANGRY AND SAD THAT THIS HAD TO HAPPEN, AND I’M ALREADY RESENTFUL THAT YOUR TIME WITH US WAS A LOT SHORTER THAN IMAGINED. (THERE WERE SO MANY CHAPTERS LEFT TO ADD TO YOUR STORY, BEE!) AND THAT I LOVED YOU VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY MUCH, BEEBEE, AND YOU’RE THE ONLY ANIMAL I’VE SHARED MY LIFE WITH THAT GOT TO REMAIN BEING MY “BABY” LONG AFTER YOU BECAME MORBIDLY OBESE AND GROWN-UP. BEE-ZEE-BEE, PLEASE DON’T HOLD WHAT I HAVE TO DO AGAINST ME, OKAY? I’LL MAKE YOU A HOMEMADE BOWL OF GRAVY AFTER, I PROMISE.)

The other thing I heard when Chippy told me that Bee was really sick? Papa chimed in and informed me that I’m not going to be happy with what they find when I get diagnostics done. (I finally got a referral to see a specialist regarding the “condition” I’ve been living with for 15+ months, so I’m now waiting for an appointment to get all of the necessary testing done.) At the time I dismissed it, along with the Bee being sick thing, because, seriously, how fucking unfoundedly pessimistic is THAT shit? I finally had to confess about a week back to Italics (I mean, how couldn’t I after the entire Chippy premonition thing?) but followed it up with “BUT THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING, YOU KNOW? THAT COULD MEAN THAT IT’S VERY, VERY OBVIOUSLY A HERNIA (LIKE WE SAID), AND I’LL JUST GET PISSED OFF WHEN I FINALLY HAVE UNDENIABLE X-RAY PROOF TO STAPLE TO MY GP’S FUCKING FOREHEAD (HE’S NOT ENTIRELY CONVINCED IT IS BECAUSE, STATISTICALLY, I’M TOO “YOUNG”)” because, honestly? I don’t even want to think about 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.))

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).)

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!)

Your Ass High?

Sometimes, when I’m half asleep and buzzed, the Old Man starts talking like we’ve been having a conversation all day, dropping all sorts of crack pipe nonsense that makes you go “NEGRO, YOUR ASS HIGH?” (Oh snap! That’s four words! WAIT, WAIT, I’VE COME UP WITH A NEW AND IMPROVED CONFIGURATION THAT ONLY REQUIRES THREE WORDS. (CAN YOU GUESS IT?) Crisis averted!) And when in that hazy state of lucid drowsiness I go with the flow and just entertain his raving black ass, because, really, the crazy shit he’s throwing out of left field is only a puzzle waiting to be decoded. (Effort? Work? WHO THOUGHT EITHER WERE NEEDED TO STAY SHARP AND SUCCEED AT THIS GAME.)

(Admittedly a lot of the “crazy shit” is in the form of poignant commentary on things I’m thinking about, or ideas that catch a significant portion of my attention (A LOT MORE DIFFICULT THAN YOU THINK WHEN YOU’RE REALLY FUCKING HIGH AND ON THE BRINK OF FALLING ASLEEP, IT’S LIKE BEING FORCED TO WATCH 1000 TV CHANNELS – AT LEAST SEVERAL SIMULTANEOUSLY - BUT NOT BEING ALLOWED TO CHANGE THE CHANNELS YOURSELF SO YOU JUMP FROM SHOW TO SHOW AT RANDOM INTERVALS, WITH NO EXPLANATION AT ALL, BECAUSE SOMEONE ELSE – WHO YOU DON’T SEE AND DOESN’T EVEN SEEM TO BE AWARE OF YOU - HAS THE FINGER ON THE BUTTON, CONTROLLING EVERYTHING) for a brief second before the next distraction comes tumbling down. Admittedly, times two, that his form of poignant commentary during these fugue states - where the conscious meets the subconscious, and they both work in unity for my emotional, mental, and spiritual well being and progressive growth as an individual - usually involves the words “let”, “black”, “cock”, “me”, “suck”, “ass”, “pussy”, “up”, “fuck”, “Negro”, “in”, “nigger”, “me”, “you”, “why”, and “the”. (SUPER SECRET AWESOME FUN TIP: If you strike out every instance of the use of one of the previously mentioned words, you just might be left with a simple, fragmented sentence. (CAUSE THEY BE ALL EDUCATED NOW.)))

Two or three days ago the Old Man caught me turning over an idea (much like the Rubik’s Cube analogy I used when talking about my grandfather (64 Degrees and Cloudy). He watched me for some time as I studied it from all angles, not saying anything (watching me more than my mental process), and then after I finished completing the thought, or coming to a final decision (because I can’t exactly remember what I was thinking about other than something about MAGIC –

WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! I ACTUALLY REMEMBER! LOL @ HOW WRITING THIS (ARUGABLY RACIST) ENTRY JOGGED MY MEMORY! I had a stunned, really fucking dumbfounded moment after I started mentally revisiting things I’ve done (aka “worked on”, ahem). As I refamiliarized myself with the situations I found I was able to tick almost every one of them off as “HAPPILY EVER AFTER!”, which left me with an eerily high ratio of success. A RATIO SO UNNERVING, SO ILLUMINATING THAT MY ONLY REACTION WAS A COSMIC BILL & TED WHOA.! (It’s the truth! Okay, it was more of an unsure “Uhm...?”. Okay, okay, so it was more like an unsure “Uhmmmmmmmmmm...?” (ONLY RIVALED BY BANGLADESHI DOCTORS!) so there was enough room for something, anything, to feel like they could jump on in and provide any sort of explanation without there being an awkward silence.

PAPA: “BABY GIRL, IT CAUSE YO ASS BE ALLLLL FUCKING...SCIENTIFIC...IN SHIT.”

So, apparently, the secret to my Midas touch is BECAUSE I’M “ALL FUCKING SCIENTIFIC, IN SHIT”. (See? Educated.) Italics’ response was A+ better than mine, but since this is a family friendly journal I’ll refrain from repeating the anecdote due to its use of a stereotypically negative view of the culture he comes from (for comedic purposes). And, really, if I don’t think about the children or take a stand for them, right here, right now, who will?

(KIDS, ONE DAY YOU’LL LEARN YOU CAN BE AS DEROGATORY AS YOU WANT ABOUT ETHNIC STEREOTYPES; JUST AS LONG AS THEY’RE ALL ABOUT YOUR OWN CULTURE. OR, IF YOU’RE SERIOUSLY INVOLVED WITH SOMEONE WHO FINDS IT SEXUALLY AROUSING WHEN YOU’RE BEING DEROGATORY ABOUT THEIR CULTURE/ETHNIC STEREOTYPES. THOSE ARE YOUR TWO CHOICES, SO CHOOSE WELL.)

Exactly.

Domestic Variables?

On Thursday, April 24th I finally got around to laying some cards down after a week or two of ignoring Papa’s ass. I initially went for the Halloween Tarot, but made one of my infamous FUSSY FACES when I realized we owned International Icon Tarot (ZOMG HAPPY SQUIRREL!) and it WOULD’VE BEEN TOTALLY BADASS TO LAY CARDS DOWN USING STICKMEN APPROXIMATIONS. I stuck to my original guns. (Peh, next time.)

Due to the arrangement of junk (LOL, “JUNK”, LOL!) on the windowsill (i.e., devil fish tealight holder & two skull candlesticks) I pulled four cards, and each was placed in the space created by the objects. Throughout the course of the evening (wandering in, getting high, absently pulling out a card that felt “right” (or dropped out of the deck inexplicably), placing it in an empty space, wandering back out – RINSE AND REPEAT THREE MORE TIMES) I pulled: the Sun (R), Judgment (R), Queen of Imps (QoW), and Nine of Imps (NoW, R). The first card laid down was the Sun (R), but the first card I flipped over was the Nine of Imps (NoW, R).

Sun (R):
Shadowy secrets. A worried mind. Possible future trouble

Nine of Imps (NoW, R):
Confinement, conformity, stagnation. Fear of breaking out of a rut. The need for perspective.

…and then I was all “SO THIS IS WHAT YOUR NEGRO ASS WANTS TO SHOW ME?” to Papa. Something didn’t seem right; everything seemed a little too ordinary and obvious and mundane (you know, stuff that otherwise wouldn’t warrant Papa riding my backside for a week or two).

At the time we were dealing with weekly household strife (OH, BUT WHEN ISN’T THERE SOME FORM OF STRIFE AND GRIEF IN THIS HOUSE?) and Hezbollah dying, and even more than before I was feeling trapped and imprisoned by the situation. (i.e., At least with depression I know where the feelings and thoughts are coming from, and I know what needs to be done to shake it off and get my life back on track. Up until this point I’ve primarily dealt with internal struggles that lead to feelings of “stagnation” and “confinement”, but with the Crazy Rat situation I felt PHYSICALLY, FOR REAL SERIOUS, TIED AND LOCKED AND IMPRISONED IN THE HOUSE.)

I’m not surprised I got the cards (in fact, there was a sort’ve “OH, HEY, IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE FACT THAT YOU’RE SERIOUSLY UNDERSTRESSED, EMOTIONALLY EXHAUSTED, AND DEPRIVED OF SLEEP THESE CARDS WOULD HAVE BEEN -THE RIGHT WAY UP-” feeling), but I don’t think they were the ones that Papa was talking about. I’m not sure if it was a bad reading, bad night, or if there were too many domestic variables going on that inevitably influenced this totally underwhelming spread.

Usually I get a good sense of what’s being said, but in this case there was nothing I was being told that I wasn’t already aware of. (Although getting the Sun reversed (i.e., “shadowy secrets” & “possible future trouble”) is-was-is interesting, since it pre-dated the breaking of three different pieces of glassware over the course of three separate days. Superstition says "to break a tumbler is a sign that some secret will be discovered” and a brand new M&S tumbler broke after I had loaded it into the dishwasher.)