Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Hair Cuttin'

And in other noteworthy Ms. Graveyard Dirt news: for the first time, ever, I cut Italics' hair today*. (<- "First time" even includes the use of clippers! Holy shit, my God, if I can solidly clean up the nape of his neck I can surely shear some fucking sheep, right? ...RIGHT?)

* SO Y'ALL TRASHY, HAIR SNATCHIN' GHETTO ASS WITCHES BEST BE FINDING A NEW WAY TO STEAL MY MAN. CAUSE NOW? NOW //I// BE DOIN' THE HAIR CUTTIN' IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE.

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?)

Egg Wash

Click thumbnail for larger image.

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.)

Click thumbnail for larger image.

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

Some Say Prayers, I Say Mine

Spring happened sometime between borsht and The Sisters of Mercy; before the last of the slanting, sloping rays of the setting sun disappeared behind subdivision roofs, and after the first hissing pop-n-crackle of the turntable's speakers instantly coming to life with the push of one rectangular button.

Or maybe it happened during Lucretia, My Reflection when swimming in the golden light of dark matter - dirt embedded under fingernails, damp earth clinging to jeans, seeds spilling from hand to soil, body dancing, dancing, dancing under the beam of the last light, the final streak of glowing warmth hitting skin and setting flesh alight like an incandescent orthodox icon.

"WE GOT THE KINGDOM, WE GOT THE KEY / WE GOT THE EMPIRE, NOW AS THEN," I sang - I prayed - while planting on the concrete patio steps, the upper half of my body crossing the open threshold from outside to inside for seeds and biodegradable peat cups, only just aware of the significance of the movement - the moment - of mirrored life.

("WE DON'T DOUBT, WE DON'T TAKE REFLECTION...")

Lost in the whirling, tumbling pull of cannabinoids I shed my skin of self-consciousness (whatever thin, transparent, negligible "skin" I have) and freed myself into the rushing current head first, heart open and body willing. It was prayer, it was praise, it was giving thanks while simultaneously grieving, it was the soul speaking directly without words, without thought, without distractions or filters. It was tribute, it was worship, it was exaltation and glorification of being.

("SOME SAY PRAYERS / I SAY MINE...")

Or, perhaps, Spring might've begun the second I dropped the dull needle to vinyl, and, as Dominion began playing, I threw open the patio door and knelt at the concrete pew of nature. (THE PEW OF NATURE, ADMITTEDLY, WOULD'VE BEEN MORE...NATURE-Y...IF THE GROUND HADN'T BEEN SO FUCKING DAMP MAKING IT ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO DO ANY PLANTING ON THE BARE EARTH.) Papa's birds, roused by sound, crept closer to the house, the melodious song of the blackbirds echoing lyrics, joining Chippy (who was sitting on an empty bag of seedling compost) and I in the ancient rite, reveling and paying homage to the beginning of the end.

And when all was said and done, all was celebrated, when the warmth waned, the night breeze cooled, when the seeds were covered, the soil spent, when the remnant of the sun was just a faint haze of fading orange in the obscured horizon I bowed my head in reverence, in thanksgiving, and tenderly held the promise of new life while filling earthen chalices with water, one biodegradable peat pot at a time.

Clannad's Past Present, the closing hymn, gently ironed out the electricity of jangly guitar rock and ecstatic, heady dancing gave way to reserved thankfulness. In the chill of the gloam - with the blue Loch Ness monster watering can in hand - I found myself suddenly chanting "BEE BEE, COME HOME, BEE BEE, COME HOME, BEE BEE, COME HOME..." when watering Beh's only-just-planted container of bee balm.

Maybe Spring began when my eyes welled up with tears that threatened to break the barrier of lashes and spill across my sun-kissed cheeks. Watering, I felt the bitter sting of loss, the ache as sharp as it was almost a year ago when we lost our Bee, and then when I lost her, again, when the honey bee, at the send of the season, crawled through the office window and clung onto the sagging DIY screen and slowly died next to me - less than a foot away - as I cried and stroked it's listless, buzzing body. "BEE BEE, COME HOME," I coaxed my Bee, I coaxed all of my vanishing, dying Bees, so they knew that they haven't been forgotten, so they knew that they were still needed.

God, I don't know, maybe Spring actually began with the decision to bake fresh bread a day before (molasses oatmeal "farmer's bread"). Or to defrost one of the last frozen blocks of borsht and have it - along with the freshly baked bread - for lunch this afternoon. Or when I said "FUCK IT, IT'S NEVER TOO LATE!" to the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was a little TOO late to start Spring planting when the sun was about to set.

Or when I saw the haggard, Old Woman in the sediment of my tea cup, reaching over the deep ravine to the young Bride, becoming and yet letting go. Or after I jokingly scattered pumpkin seeds I cleaned and toasted ("LOL! WE CAN USE THESE FOR DIVINATION! WATCH!") to find a poised scorpion lurking within the contents ("LOL! MR. AWESOME CAN HAVE THESE! LOLOLOL!"). Or the wild, careless dancing I gave into when Children of Bodom's covers of Somebody Put Something in My Drink and Rebel Yell came on while I was cooking dinner.

Or, fuck, maybe Spring officially began when I took two homemade pheasant pot pies out of the oven that Italics and I had made together and we discovered that my set of asterisks had magically transformed - through the power of baking - into a promise of what was to come:

Click thumbnail for larger image.

(DUDE, WHEN YOU'RE HIGH //ANYTHING LEAF-LIKE// LOOKS LIKE POT LEAVES, OKAY?)

(PLANTED: aubergines (5), bee balm (approx. 60), courgettes (5), peas (2 trays), Russian sunflowers (11) and sub-arctic tomatoes (5). WATERED: apple trees grown from seed (3, but one hasn't sprouted leaves yet), Russian olives (no signs of life yet) and strawberries (need to separate and plant into strawberry pot). INSIDE: aubergines, courgettes and sub-arctic tomatoes. LEFT OUTSIDE: bee balm, peas and Russian sunflowers.)

(IMPORTANT NOTES: Crumbled up Beh's two-pack of BEBE COOKIES (CRACKERS?) and added the crumbs to the compost before planting Beh's bee balm over it. <- THAT? THAT'S CALLED //MAGIC//, BABY!)

Not the Trash, II

YESTERDAY I DISCOVERED THAT MY FATHER-IN-LAW USED AN OFFERING PLATE ON MY ALTAR AS A TRASHCAN.

I WAS VERY, VERY ANGRY.

SO ANGRY THAT I SCREAMED INTO A TOWEL LAST NIGHT FOR AN HOUR. SO ANGRY THAT I FORCED THE MAJORITY OF THE TOWEL INTO MY MOUTH SO I WAS SIMULTANEOUSLY CHOKING AND CHEWING ON IT. SO ANGRY THAT ALL I COULD DO WHILE CRYING AND SCREAMING AND CHOKING AND CHEWING WAS PRAY THAT NOTHING POPPED INTO MY MIND TO GET FINALIZED IN A SPLIT SECOND OF FURY.

(OH, BABY, DID I WANT TO SPIT.)

NORMALLY I'M NOT AS SENSATIONAL WITH THE CHOKING AND THE CHEWING AND THE REGURGITATING OF TOWELS, BUT I MADE MY DISCOVERY JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT WHICH MEANT BOTH MY IN-LAWS WERE IN BED. (SO I WASN'T ALLOWED TO BE LOUD, TO BE UPSET, TO BE ANYTHING, WHICH MEANT THE EMOTIONAL TSUNAMI WAS ABSORBED BY A SKANK ASS KITCHEN TOWEL WHILE I ROCKED BACK AND FORTH IN FRONT OF THE ALTAR.)

WHO LEAVES GARBAGE IN A PLACE OF WORSHIP? WHO LEAVES GARBAGE IN A CHURCH? OR A MOSQUE? OR A SYNAGOGUE? OR A TEMPLE? WHO DELIBERATELY LEAVES GARBAGE IN AN OBVIOUS PLACE OF PRAYER AND BELIEF? WHO DOESN'T EVEN CONSIDER THE INAPPROPRIATENESS OF THAT SORT OF ACTION?

MY FATHER-IN-LAW.

Late Harvest

Ate Chippy's microscopic strawberry, smoked stem.

How Many...?

Q: How many witches wake up at 4:30 in the fucking morning to consecrate a hole that city workers dug up right in front of her house (SYMBOLICALLY IT'S A GRAVE, OKAY?) the day before with blood, urine, magic mushrooms, and antique hair pins?

A: NONE, LOL, THEY HIT THE SNOOZE BUTTON BECAUSE IT'S WAY TOO FUCKING EARLY IN THE MORNING AND IT'S RAINING, ANYWAY, AND SLEEP FOR ANOTHER TWO HOURS AND THEN RUSH TO GET EVERYTHING DONE BEFORE EARLY COMMUTERS CAN CATCH THEM IN ACTION. (BURN THE WITCH!)

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.)

She Spits, She Scores

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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).)

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!)