Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

That Sort've Witch

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One of these days (most likely after I finish up with my Bride’s Day/Imbolc shit) I’ll sit down and tell you all about my first foray into haruspicy (entrails reading).

(OH, HONEY, I’M //THAT// SORT'VE WITCH.)

Bride's Day Eve

It's Bride's Day (Imbolc) Eve. Tomorrow I'll be welcoming the Bride into our home for a homecooked meal (see menu list within), we'll weather predict together and later in the evening I'll turn down a bed for Her so She can stay the night. Since the majority of my Imbolc will be spent in the kitchen (although I'm hoping to sneak out of the house for a snow laced walk to see the local lactating ewes) I did the housecleaning today to get it straight out of the way.

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I honestly for real can't remember the last time the room was //this// clean. (Because it's a secondary room it's the default dumping room.) I'll be making Bride's bed on the leather couch, and decorating the coffee table with some of my ritual linens. (<- It'll be a pretty basic altar: my miniature cast iron pot belly chimney, and a fancy lady-like table setting with Her meal laid out for Her).

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I love this room and already rue the day Italics' parents will "rediscover" it. It's south facing so it's gorgeously balmy in summer and cozily warm during winter. I've lost count how many days I've spent lying naked on a sheepskin rug, high, sunbathing in the light while listening to old The Sisters of Mercy records. (I get excited when I see the room this clean. When I see any open, clean space I feel motivated to do shit, and get shit /done/.)

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The backroom's entertainment unit. Because we're desperate for space the record player has to play witch's closet as the last batch of 2009's wildcrafted goods finish drying.

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The very last of my organic/wildcrafted projects I need to wrap up. The red berries are dried rowan berries from our tree outside, the long tray's filled with almost dried rose-lemon scented geranium leaves (off my indoor plant), the small trinket dish of seeds are the wheat kernels pulled out of the pheasant's crop when I butchered him (there's bits of his feathers, skin and fat mixed in with the seeds so when I plant them in the Spring the wheat plants will emerge from his remains), the small white bowl is filled with crossroad dirt that's so fucking concrete I need to moisten it to break it down more easily and the large wooden bowl is full of the nuts used on/within our kitchen table Christmas centerpiece that we're going to split open and offer to the local wildlife.

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Once I brought my Stone Cock to life I promised him that he'd spend summers outdoors on his phallic worship altar, but during winter he'd be brought in from the cold until Spring had returned. He came indoors the first day it snowed this Winter, and then I bathed him, dried him and glorified him on my succulent altar. (Stone Cock and Harvest Home yam are TOTALLY BFF.)

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Part of Harvest neatly bottled and jared up. Let me see if I can actually make any of this shit out...

I see black currants from the graveyard, 2008's tobacco, dried pot leaves, dried pot flowers and pollen, various chili peppers, lavender buds, wheat collected from local fields, green acorns, Muriel's necromancy incense, outside backyard bones, strips of sycamore bark (off what'll eventually become my Spring broom), plum pits from last year's plum harvest, gun shots out of dead rabbits and a bottle of homemade raspberry vinegar.

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Bride's Day dinner: corned beef, vegetables boiled in corned beef liquid, dill potatoes, skirlie, oatmeal soda bread, Bride's braid bread and, for dessert, homemade creme brulee. (I loathe my handwriting, isn't it awful and totally unspectacular?)

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I was tremendously lucky to find this in tact. (Wishbones are BIG juju for me. Normally they're destroyed due to various forms of cooking (see below), so when I manage to find a wishbone in one piece I extract it VERY carefully and dry the motherfucker out for an emergency.) I spatchcocked our chicken yesterday and popped its chest to break the breast bone so the bone should've snapped along with the ribs and sternum, but it didn't. (SCORE!)

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Candle wax reading.

January 29th, 2010

January 29th, 2010 - the day I read my very first entrails. (It was so beautiful I cried.)

Bad Witch

It might come as a shock (especially if you manage to catch me on the phone) but for all the fucking talking I do, my natural instinct is to shy away from most social interaction. It's not because I'm an introvert (I'm obnoxiously extrovert; I swear that even my silence screams), it's just because I'm not interested.

(THAT'S PAINFULLY BLUNT, I KNOW, BUT IT SHOULDN'T BE THAT MUCH OF A SURPRISE SINCE I DON'T THINK I'VE BEEN GIVING THE IMPRESSION THAT I'D BE HOLDING ANYONE'S HAND WITH THIS SHIT.)

I'm impatient, short tempered, moody and it doesn't take much to piss me off and send me into grouchy cunt mood. I'm the awesome production of AUTISM, ARIES TYPE-A PERSONALITY and ECSTATIC WAR. I'm actively trying to tone it down, but, at the moment, it's mostly YOU EITHER LIVE WITH IT or YOU DON'T. (Thankfully, Italics has a high threshold - at least when it comes to me - and after twelve years of work there's been some improvement in my retard rage.)

A huge majority of witches - real witches, proper witches, witches that I'd give two gigantic thumbs up to - are friendly, helpful and altruistic. They selflessly devote their work and their time to friends, relatives and strangers. They welcome questions, take part in discussions and remain easily accessible to the public to paint a clearer, most positive picture of witches and witchcraft. The thing is...I'm not one of them.

I'm the one who hates everything, hates everybody, screams at people through her monitor ("WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING CALLING YOURSELF A FUCKING WITCH IF YOU CAN'T EVEN FUCKING STOMACH HANDLING MEAT YOU BUY FROM THE FUCKING GROCERY STORE?"), spits in the path of anyone who even momentarily crosses her, threatens certain death to neighbor cats who kill her garden's wild birds and could find some sort of ungrateful complaint when stumbling across buried treasure.

Me? I'm undoing all of their work with one cliched generalization after another. I'm what gives "witch" a bad name; I live up to every negative stereotype in the book. I'm unsocial, I'm angry, I'm ill-tempered and I'm always riding some level of foul mood. (Any wonder why I feel spiritually closest to the sorceress hags in fairy tales?) And the worst part? I //LIKE// IT.

I'm not a fan of comments; once you give people a forum to interact with you it inevitably becomes open season on your life. And what I'm doing here, with Graveyard Dirt, isn't open for debate - IT'S A DIARY OF MY LIFE. I'm not interested in what people think I should be doing, or how I'm doing it wrongly or differently. I'm doing it - I'm LIVING IT - and I'm simply letting people watch from a distance.

(When in doubt treat Ms. Graveyard Dirt like a wild animal doing her thing in her natural environment. If you wouldn't poke, taunt, harass or draw unwanted attention from an elephant or rhino in the untamed open, then please just stay in your internet safari car and enjoy Ms. GD from a safe distance.)

ANYWAY, ANYWAY, ANYWAY. I'm not trying to frighten, intimidate or paint some sort of on-line badass persona of myself, I'm just attempting to better explain why I decided to opt out of using any sort of comment system here in GD (which, reading back, comes across as unintentionally severe, although I wasn't exaggerating in the least about my volatile personality, it's both my greatest strength and my biggest weakness as a person).

It's not that I don't appreciate comments or emails (I totally LOVE getting emails), I just know criticism, arguments and "suggestions" would inevitably follow and seriously, guys, I already have enough shit to deal with here. GD is meant to be a sort of refuge, and I dread to think there might ever be a time when I find myself avoiding it because other people ruined it for me.

(SORRY, READING AUDIENCE, THE POSITION OF "PERSON WHO RUINS THINGS FOR MS. GD" HAS BEEN PERMANENTLY FILLED BY MR. AWESOME, MY FATHER-IN-LAW, AND DESPITE HIS AGE HE SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING HEALTHY SO IT MIGHT BE SOME TIME BEFORE THE POSITION OPENS FOR NEW APPLICATIONS.)

PHEW, ALRIGHT! Now that I've got GUYS, I'M A BAD PERSON THAT YOU DON'T REALLY WANT TO KNOW, REALLY and DON'T EVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ME WHEN OUT ON SAFARI out of the way I can finally address what this entry's about. (CIRCUITOUS AND UNNECESSARILY COMPLICATED? ...ME?)

Sometimes, when the stars are in the right alignment, I crawl out of my cranky cunt shell and mingle with the population. (It's rare, I admit it. Your chances of finding a four leaf clover is way more likely.) Tumblr has this feature which allows other users to ask you questions, and since we've been up at night (and haven't left the house in practically a month) I've been crawling up the wall for stimulation.

Out of curiosity, I flipped the switch to "on" to see what people would ask (CONFESSION: to see if people would even ask anything at all, I almost always work under the assumption that people haven't noticed me and have no fucking clue as to who I am) and I was pleasantly surprised. The majority of questions I received focused on my beliefs and practices, so I thought I'd copy and paste some of the on-topic Q & A here.

I remember seeing your entry about tarot cards earlier, and I reblogged, noting that I have a hard time meditating and centering my energy. Hell, I have a hard time relaxing and calming down in general. I'd love to learn more about tarot and read cards in general, but I get the impression centering one's energy and being calm and collected is a pretty important element in order to read cards well. Is there any hope that a high-strung mind like mine can relax and interpret the cards?

Man, I'm probably the WORST person to get tarot advice from. Seriously. Along with being able to sympathize with your overactive mind I've also built this mental block because learning a system I didn't create is counterintuitive to the way I work.

I need to be at least marginally familiar with something before I can develop any psychological attachment to it. As of now I've got an okay handle on some of the major arcana cards, but the minor ones? Pfft. Trying to use a tarot deck properly right now would feel like I was playing a board game whose rules I needed to check with every fucking move.

Before embarking on getting in touch with my subconscious, I need to feel like my subconscious is vaguely familiar with the tools I'm using. That's why using things I've made (i.e., bones, runes, whatever) or simply "reading" shit like coffee foam, tea sediment, blood clots and scrambled raw eggs works so well, it's direct interpretation without any prior knowledge needed.

I get the impression centering one's energy and being calm and collected is a pretty important element in order to read cards well.

I think it hugely depends on the person. Me? I do my best work when I'm in ecstatic mode. I don't know if it's the autism, my type-A Aries personality or if I'm just supremely fucked in the head but I can't meditate AT ALL. (I've tried. Honestly. But within five minutes of relaxation and breathing Papa {aka Baron Samedi} pops up and begins talking about his big black cock or Chippy wants to go and play ball. It's like being still and centering myself turns all the channels up to 11 leaving me in the exact OPPOSITE state of mind.)

If you're finding it difficult (or even uncomfortable) to do the shit "quietly" (<- not necessary volume related), then do it loudly. Do something that energizes you, or moves a part of you. (I also recommend getting high, or working under the influence of an entheogen but drug taking, despite its ancient roots in witchcraft and religious worship/work, seems to be irritatingly taboo in many modern witchcraft/paganism circles. If you're totally up to smoking (which I don't think you are since you can't burn incense in the house) or consuming (usually in form of teas and tinctures) something there are organic "visionary" blends you can buy that'll help the reading/connecting process without you having to experience the hardcore "drug" effect things like pot or mushrooms will produce.)

For instance, with Papa I'll put on lingerie, pour us both a drink, get high, share a cigar with him, play something like Dr. John's Gris-Gris and by the time I'm heady, withering around and dancing to the music with careless abandon I know it's time to begin laying cards. But that's for super special occasions, most of the time it's a lot more low key and I rely on something like BEING HIGH and/or MASTURBATING (with a deck in hand) to help unblock access to my subconscious.

Is there any hope that a high-strung mind like mine can relax and interpret the cards?

Yes! Make "being comfortable reading shit" your priority. Find a system that's totally reliant on your interpretations so you can concentrate on feeling confident with your subconscious connection. At the same time (if you're really interested in using tarot), begin familiarizing yourself with the major arcana and then the minor arcana. (That's what I'm doing, anyway, and it's working well enough for me, although these things ARE highly personal...)

My suggestion? Find two divination-themed decks. One should be a tarot deck that appeals to you, and the other should be some sort of card set without prewritten significance. (In other words, a set of cards that requires you to "read" based on intuition rather than referring to the rules book included.) It PAINS ME TO EVEN SUGGEST THIS, but...despite SOUL CARDS being nauseatingly "new age" they're amazingly accurate. (I took my deceased mother's set for sentimental and "LOL @ THIS NEW AGE BULLSHIT, LOLOLOL!" reasons, and I've been recommending them ever since - EMBARRASSING.)

isnt there someplace you can do a perma altar or is this due to your obviously annoying inlaws...?

I have a billion tiny, inconspicuous altars spread throughout the house (mainly the kitchen, our office/computer room, our bedroom and the backroom which kind've sort've acts as our living room when in-laws are in the TV room), but the majority of them are behind closed doors due to my father-in-law's OCD-like tendencies.

(He can't help but move or touch things which sometimes involves him "fixing" things that aren't broken (without asking), throwing away shit that isn't his (without checking first) and/or simply appropriating other people's things for himself (without asking if it's cool). If you leave something out - no matter what it is - it's only a matter of time before he breaks it, ruins it, kills it, takes it or trashes it.)

Unfortunately, we just don't have the space in our super personal rooms (the office and bedroom) for a permanent altar, so I have to wait until the in-laws are gone on their two week vacations to create something seasonally elaborate in the communal lounge. The problem with THAT is reverting everything to its otherwise mundane setting before they get back home.

(Last Christmas? My father-in-law threw garbage on my altar rather than carrying the shit to the kitchen to throw out in a fucking trash can. "Livid" doesn't even remotely describe my initial reaction. I've since learned a valuable lesson - if you don't want a dick to act like a dick, don't give him a chance to be one.)

Did you have a favourite myth/story when you were just a wee wild young thing? What is it?

Man, I was so fucking self-absorbed as a child that this question's stumped me FOR DAYS. You'd think that I would've been under the influence of THE OLD COUNTRY folklore with the way I go on about being Ukrainian, but in reality that aspect of my heritage is completely non-existent. I was told my grandfather thought that the shit was "nonsense" so he didn't allow my grandmother to tell them to my mother, who, in turn, never got exposed to the mythic/mystical side of Ukie life so she had nothing to pass onto me.

(INTERESTING SIDE NOTE: I apparently come from a long line of recognized "witches" on my maternal side - the Hutsul branch; mountain cowboy mystic folk. My female ancestors were supposedly hella proficient in reading signs and exceptionally knowledgeable in herbal lore. The lineage stopped with my grandmother (who was 1/2 Native American despite being Ukrainian, but that's an entirely different story...) who left Ukraine to find a better life. I think our ancient "job" came back with my mother, but she got too caught up in religion and twisted whatever she had to make it fit the Native American thing she was doing. I feel like a stronger, better version of her, unhampered by the feeling that to be a witch/special/magic you have to had adhere to certain religious beliefs.)

I've always been attracted to chthonic themes, although I've only just realized that in the past few years. At the end of the day everything boils down to "under". As a kid I had a natural affinity towards water. (The first time I made it to the ocean? I tried committing suicide. I wasn't depressed, I wasn't confused - it just felt like /home/. Filled with an utter sense of longing drowning myself, at age 12 or 13, seemed like an *awesome* idea. Although, LOL!, deliberate drowning yourself after making the most spontaneous decision, ever, wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be, heh!) But the "water" thing can easily be broken down - the womb, infancy, the security of suspension in fluid. (I haven't worked out "earth" yet, unless this phase is deliberately shining on my fear of mortality and the question of "IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE AFTER THIS?".)

So...selkies. (And mermaids. LITTLE KNOWN FACT: I still collect mermaid shit, although I'm not into the "pretty" aspect. I prefer my divine water women a little more REAL, a little more monster since I see them as a symbol of a woman's darker self. You know, the supernatural Medusa character that strikes fear into the heart of men.) Yeah, definitely, selkies. I practically OWNED the library's copy of FAERIES by Brian Froud and Alan Lee. I don't know why the notion of seal women captivated me, but even as a kid I was enthralled with the idea. I swore that one day I'd visit Scotland and spend Midsummer night with the seals on the coast, waiting to see if I could catch any of them shedding their animal fur for human skin.

But that really isn't a myth or story, is it? HAVE I COMPLETELY FAILED AT ANSWERING THE QUESTION CORRECTLY? (GAH!)

ALSO, will you make out with me in the woods or something? For... uh, magic's sake?

ADMIT IT, YOU JUST WANT TO STEAL MAGIC PUBES. (AND IF THAT'S THE CASE YOUR ASS BETTER GET HERE BEFORE JUNE, OTHERWISE THERE'LL BE NO MAGIC PUBES TO STEAL! (<- INDIGENOUS WISDOM TEACHES FARMERS THAT IT'S SAFE TO SHEAR THEIR SHEEP WHEN ELDERFLOWERS GO IN BLOOM, SO WHEN THE LOCAL SHEEP LOSE THEIR WOOL, THIS SHEEP JOINS THE BODY HAIR REMOVAL PARTY.))

What was the altar to? Do you follow any systems?

You mean the altar that my father-in-law used as a fucking trash can? It was 2008's Winter altar. He apparently failed to see that THIS SPREAD was somehow significant or serving a purpose. (I MEAN, SRSLY? WHEN HE LOOKED AT THE SYMMETRICAL LAYOUT WITH CANDLESTICKS, RITUAL MASKS, OFFERING PLATES AND SEASONAL SPECIFIC DECORATIONS - ALL CENTERED AROUND A HEARTH-LIKE STRUCTURE - IT DIDN'T OCCUR TO HIM IN THE SLIGHTEST THAT IT WAS SOMEHOW /SPECIAL/ AND FOR A REASON?)

I probably would've gone over-the-top mental if it had been the Spring/Easter altar, or the Fall/Halloween. I take the Easter and Halloween shit I do V. SERIOUSLY, THANK YOU since they're part of my spiritual duties (so fucking with THAT shit is like fucking with MY JOB). The Winter and Summer spreads are more celebratory than ceremonial, but I'd still warn against throwing fucking trash on Papa's (aka Baron Samedi) or Tentacle Monster's (aka Cthulhu, although not really - it's easier to say "Cthulhu" because it immediately invokes the tentacle monster image people are familiar with) offering plate.

(Once? Once my father-in-law even stole half of a fucking Burger King bacon cheeseburger out of Chippy's (aka Pazuzu) offering dish. Sometimes I think the man's the dumbest motherfucker in the world.)

Do you follow any systems?

As in magical systems? No, no, not my thing. In fact, I try really fucking hard to stay willfully ignorant about what's out there and what other people are doing. Almost everything I do is based on gut instinct, but that's my sort've witchcraft; I'm redefining things that make sense to me using personal experiences and incorporating my "translations" into my practices.

I differ from your average witch because I don't consider myself pagan. The shit I do? Comes from me. I've deified my subconscious so instead of worshiping or working through an outside source (i.e., gods and/or goddesses) I stay completely internal. I still use deities and idols, but they represent aspects of myself that I either want to work on, or need to access. (The Virgin Mary is a good example. I'm martial all the way, so to encourage traits I don't naturally have - compassion, forgiveness, maternal nurturing - I pray to the Blessed Mother, although I'm really knocking on my subconscious going "HEY, YOU, I KNOW WE'RE CAPABLE OF THIS SHIT, FUCKING HELP ME OUT HERE, OKAY?".)

I'm interested in voodoo, but I feel that as a system it's too structured for the way I practice. (Besides, I have a unique relationship with Papa. He's never asked me to drop what I'm doing to adopt the practices that bore the Baron Samedi image I'm familiar with. If something's not broken, why the fuck fix it?) I'm REALLY interested in rootworking and hoodoo since they're a lot more open ended and it SEEMS like you're given some room for personal interpretation.

I know that as I grow older my practices and beliefs will evolve, but at this point in my life - right now - I kind've sort've follow my own interpretation of the agricultural cycle. For the "Light" half of the year I'm Spring's Virgin Bride, married to the resurrected, divine King. For the "Dark" half of the year I'm Winter's Whore, widowed when the King is sacrificed at Harvest.

(We've actually performed a "reaping" ritual a few years back in a local field where I cut the King's throat and spilled His blood on the land after some wild outside sex. I brought the bundle of wheat I cut home, ritually decorated and displayed it (it's called "Didukh" in Ukrainian) during Winter and then planted the divine King's seeds the following Spring. The Didukh pictured in this year's Winter altar was created from the wheat from those seeds. (<- It's our first "homegrown" Harvest!))

I'm playing my own version of the sovereignty game, but instead of sticking with one straight "myth" I'm incorporating some middle eastern flavor (Inanna/Ishtar/Anat), some Greek flavor (Cybele), some local indigenous flavor (the Cailleach; my Whore/subconscious self) with a huge helping of Byzantine Eastern Orthodox Catholicism for gaudy asceticism.

Despite the mishmash of cultures and beliefs, everything works amazingly well beneath a Ukrainian/Slav veneer. I was hugely influenced by the ritual/ceremonial aspect of Eastern Orthodox Catholicism even though my family weren't hardcore Catholics. The Ukies were a lot like Celts when it came to conversion - they kept their old shit and just accepted a new name for it. Almost all of the annual traditions I now perform by myself are so laughably "pagan" in nature that you can tell Catholicism just didn't want the hassle of stripping the culture down to rebuild it.

ANYWAY. I'm all over the place with this shit today, sorry. Hopefully I've managed to kind've sort've answer your question. (Which, admittedly, probably could've been summed up with "SYSTEM? NONE. NEXT QUESTION!" to spare everyone. I'm not social, but I talk a lot once you get me started.)

"I differ from your average witch because I don’t consider myself pagan. The shit I do? Comes from me. I’ve deified my subconscious so instead of worshiping or working through an outside source (i.e., gods and/or goddesses) I stay completely internal. I still use deities and idols, but they represent aspects of myself that I either want to work on, or need to access. (The Virgin Mary is a good example. I’m martial all the way, so to encourage traits I don’t naturally have - compassion, forgiveness, maternal nurturing - I pray to the Blessed Mother, although I’m really knocking on my subconscious going “HEY, YOU, I KNOW WE’RE CAPABLE OF THIS SHIT, FUCKING HELP ME OUT HERE, OKAY?”.)"

This is exactly the sort of ideology I've had in mind for the sort of "witchcraft" I'm interested in! I just never thought it was something I could actually do for the fact that it may not have been considered "true witchcraft" nor have I wanted to offend any religion and practices involved; this definitely reassures me!! Thanks for sharing the information. :] If you have any more info on different practices you do, please let me know!! Much love, dear.

I'm going to delicately step over "true witchcraft" because that's one topic you don't want to get me started on (unless you want to wade through an expletive-laced tsunami of text). I don't think there are many witches practicing "true witchcraft"; it's primitive, nasty work that requires a strong stomach, a deep understanding of Self and an ability to ignore all of the modern bullshit that's distorted what it really is.

As a practice witchcraft can stand alone. It's a system, much like hoodoo or rootworking. Religion can flavor witchcraft, but you don't necessary need it. For some people it's a necessity since they need something to subconsciously bolster their work, but since I'm already approaching things from a psychological aspect I don't feel like I need to work through an overly religious filter.

If you have any more info on different practices you do, please let me know!! Much love, dear.

That's what the search function on my diary's for. *winks* (A lot of shit doesn't actually make it to Tumblr since I try to keep focus here on the visual aspect of my life. Unless there's a picture accompanying a journal excerpt I don't normally copy and paste my diary entries here. If you plug in keywords like subconscious and black rabbit it should pull up quite a few entries; the most recent ones (I think one entry might actually be called "Black Rabbit" or "Black Rabbit Altar") have the sort've information you're looking for.)

*Not a question so don't stress yo'self!* Your answer to me was totally perfect, thank you for putting such thought into it!! I AM PLEASED. And also, OMG, it was always always mermaids for me too!! Except I thought I was one, and always tried to find them in the ocean. I even bathed in salt water, go figure. xoxoxo

*Not a question so don't stress yo'self!*

BUT THAT'S MY FAVORITE HOBBY THAT I'M (SUPER)NATURALLY TALENTED IN!

Your answer to me was totally perfect, thank you for putting such thought into it!! I AM PLEASED. And also, OMG, it was always always mermaids for me too!!

OMGOMGOMG. SISTERS-IN-MERMAIDISM, AHOY!

After thinking about it I've always been attracted to duel nature water-based concepts. Undines, Rusalky, Kelpies, Mermaids. Anything that had the ability to bless or kill. That sort of...I dunno...terrifyingly beautiful aspect of Woman's nature.

I really liked the story of what's her name, uh, the fairy wifey from under the lake who gets wooed by a human with bread. (YOU KNOW THE STORY, RIGHT? FIRST HE GIVES HER BAKED BREAD, BUT SHE SAYS IT'S TOO HARD, THEN HE GIVES HER UNBAKED BREAD, BUT SHE SAYS IT'S TOO SOFT, THEN HE GIVES HER PARTIALLY BAKED BREAD AND APPARENTLY THAT WAS AWESOME BECAUSE SHE CAME OUT OF THE WATER AND MARRIED HIM. ALTHOUGH IT DIDN'T END WELL. <- LOL, IT NEVER DOES, LOL!)

GWRAGEDD ANNWN! (THANK YOU, GOOGLE, I WAS TOO DAMN LAZY TO GET UP AND PULL OUT MY FAERIES BOOK BY BRIAN FROUD AND ALAN LEE!)

Except I thought I was one, and always tried to find them in the ocean. I even bathed in salt water, go figure. xoxoxo

SDLFHBNGKDSKFG. YES. YES. YES. Although I was the lame retard who was TOO AFRAID TO ADD SALT TO HER BATH because I didn't think I could handle the smallest possible chance that I wouldn't transform into a mermaid. (I BLAME SPLASH, WHICH I'VE BEEN MEANING TO WATCH AGAIN, BUT I WAS TOO CAUGHT UP RUNNING THROUGH ALL OF THE NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET SHIT AND NOW WE'RE WORKING ON PHANTASM AND WARLOCK SIMULTANEOUSLY.)

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?)

78 Pretty Pictures

Regardless of what my tarot deck collection might say, I don't do tarot. (I also don't do reading, but every room in the house seems to have several towers of books in various corners.) I like it as a concept, but as a divination system it doesn't mesh well with my Choose Your Own Adventure style of life. In some ways, it even goes against my natural instincts as a witch.

As far as witchcraft goes I'm an innie, not an outie. Meaning that everything I do comes internally; I don't outsource shit, and my ability/talents as a witch are products of my subconscious rather than spirits, gods or celestial tentacle overlords bestowing divine blessings upon me. The sun, in my world, revolves around me.

The very heart and foundation of my beliefs? My experiences - which are solely unique to me - trump everything. My reality's been created by the things I've witnessed and lived through first hand, not something broken down - culture by culture - in a reference book. By examining my relationship with the world around me I create my own definition of things based on one-to-one contact.

Tarot falls in an awkward space between FASCINATING and UTTERLY USELESS (for me). I have no personal connection with it. I didn't create the concepts, I didn't create the art, I didn't create the story and I didn't decide how many cards make a fucking deck. There's nothing inherently "me" there. When I sit down and work with it it's like trying to sit comfortably in a chair specifically made to fit the contours of someone else's ass.

Scrying? Tea leaves, coffee foam, broken eggs and entrails? Second nature. Hand me a joint and a bag of chicken bones and I'll show you old skool divination. It's primitive, it's basic and it's the oldest game around. There's no limitations, no restraints. There isn't a filter to make sense of shit. It's a direct link without the need of translation. But that's my "magic" - consciously accessing the subconscious with as little props as possible (props, I should mention, that I've made and have a personal resonance and history with).

I WANT to like tarot, and I'd REALLY LIKE to be a skilled reader, but my natural reaction to it goes against what the tarot's all about. (The thing about "reading" egg yolks and splattered sexual fluids? I don't need to cross reference shit. It's a split second understanding that reaches deep into your psyche. The problem with tarot? When I look at a card and the images displayed my split second understanding that reaches deep into my psyche greatly differs from the artist's interpretation of the card. And that's what using the deck's all about - the artist's definition, not yours/mine.)

It's a love-hate relationship. Seriously. At least this tumultuous affair occasionally provides 78 pretty pictures and the occasional collector's item bought for an absolute steal (see below for one example).

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New Year's Day, 2010. I wasn't planning on laying out a spread, but once it became dark and began snowing I thought I'd ask the Old Woman (aka Cailleach, the Whore, my "darker"/subconscious self) to show me three things from my past, present and future (since She had already come around for Her daily shot of whiskey).

Normally when I play around with any sort of card I sit down with Chippy on the lounge floor and spread the cards in front of us. This time around, though, I decided the kitchen was more appropriate for some reason (a first for me) and set everything up at the base of my kitchen altar.

I first placed a white cloth on the sink, and then overlapped it with a Ukrainian table linen that I cover the ancestral feeding plate with (when it's not in use). Since it was snowing I fixed the Old Woman a plate of food and poured us both a shot of whiskey (Famous Grouse, very Scottish). Mine was left next to the tarot deck I used, Hers was taken outside.

I got high (but not high enough), slipped into a pair of flip-flops, offered the Cailleach Her food and drink (left on a patio pillar outside), invited Her in, promptly fell in the snow when wading towards the clothes line (She laughed) to untie my wedding dress (a Scottish apron) from the line (I hung it up on New Year's Eve, while snowing, beneath the blue moon, partial lunar eclipse and last full moon of 2009) and returned to the house a colder, wetter, more sober witch.

After donning the damp apron I downed my shot of whiskey and took the deck between both hands and invoked Her/myself while chanting and fire gazing (at the lit candle before me). Once I felt suitably tapped in I opened the box, removed the cards and while shuffling began chanting "three for past, three for present, three for future".

(Just before shuffling I thought "OH, WAIT! THIS DECK DOESN'T HAVE BLANK NON-TAROT CARDS, DOES IT?" but I was so caught up in the moment I was all "LOLOLOL, WHATEVER, WHAT'S THE CHANCES ONE BLANK CARD AMONGST SEVENTY-EIGHT OTHERS WILL SHOW UP IN MY NINE CARD READING?". <- True story.)

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The cards that fell from my hands were the cards that were laid. First the past (top, first), then the present (middle, second) and, lastly, the future (bottom, third).

PAST: Woman of Soul (chalice suit, queen), Man of Soul (chalice suit, king), the Fool/0 (R)

PRESENT: 3 of Jewels (pentacles suit), 2 of Jewels (pentacles suit), Child of Soul (chalice suit, page)

FUTURE: Blank, Blank, the Shaman/V (Hierophant) (R)

Remember "WHAT'S THE CHANCES ONE BLANK CARD AMONGST SEVENTY-EIGHT OTHERS WILL SHOW UP IN MY NINE CARD READING?" and "LOLOLOLOL, WHATEVER"? Yeah, well, the Universe remembered, too. I got not one, but TWO "blank" cards in my future row. I'm still rolling my eyes over it. (LOOK WHO'S LOLOLOLOLING NOW! <- Not me.)

Personal dilemmas and mini-crises ignite and overwhelm the second cards are turned over:

Do I "read" the cards blindly? Do I use the artist's booklet? FUCK, THERE ISN'T ANY INFORMATION FOR REVERSED CARDS! Wait, are these cards even meant to be used reversed? If there's no mirrored pattern on the back, and the artist - who changed the deck enough to make it highly personal and different from your standard Rider-Waite copy - didn't provide definitions or interpretations of reversed cards (and incorporated negative aspects within the overall card rather than separating the card into a clear cut positive and negative) surely that negates reversed cards, right?

HOW THE FUCK DID I MANAGE TO GET TWO FUCKING BLANK CARDS IN MY FUTURE ROW? *PEEKS AT DECK'S BOOKLET* HOLY SHIT, //WHAT//? I'M SORRY, SERGIO TOPPI, BUT MY FIRST IMPRESSION WASN'T "CHILD DROWNING" IN THE CHILD OF SOUL CARD. OH, GOD, SHOULD I EVEN BOTHER USING THE ARTIST'S BOOK? I TOTALLY DIDN'T SEE A CHILD DROWNING, //AT ALL//. IS IT WORTH "READING" THESE REVERSED CARDS, OR SHOULD I TURN THEM STRAIGHT? THAT'S NOT A FUCKING OLD MAN, THAT'S THE CAILLEACH! EFF YOU TAROT, I HATE YOU AND NEVER WANT TO TALK TO YOU EVER AGAIN.

...is the precise reason why tarot and I don't get along. I need to take a fucking Valium just to deal with looking at nine effing cards. My ass is sticking to blood, mud and spit.

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.)

Incense Making In Progress

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I'm dissolving a dehydrated blood clot (<- I PICK BLOOD CLOTS OFF MY MENSTRUAL RAGS WITH A PAIR OF TWEEZERS AND THEN DRY THEM ON GREASEPROOF PAPER FOR LATER USE) in some whiskey to add to a personalized necromancy incense blend I'm working on. (To the left are the first two WITCH'S GARLIC bulbs I've harvested this year.)

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?)

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!)

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

New "Colors"

The Color Quiz? It's the only FOR REAL ACTUAL internet quiz / divination tool that's ever FOR REAL ACTUAL worked with / for me. (SOMETHING ABOUT BEING RETARDED AND REACTING BETTER TO COLORS THAN WORDS - IT ALL MAKES SENSE, TRUST ME.) I've been using this system for years to "CHECK MYSELF" and it's always been A LITTLE TOO EERILY ACCURATE ALL THE TIME.

Generated on Wed Nov 26 17:29:51 2008

(SO, WAIT, LOL, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ALL OF YOUR LIFE YOU'VE ALWAYS GOTTEN THE SAME BASIC THING OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND IN THE SPACE OF 6 OR 8 OR 10 MONTHS YOU SUDDENLY GET SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT - NOT JUST SORT'VE DIFFERENT, BUT ENTIRELY COMPLETELY INSANELY DIFFERENT - AS IN, THE ANSWERS THAT NEVER CHANGED HAVE INEXPLICABLY CHANGED AND YOU'RE LEFT IN A SENSE OF STONED INTERNET SHOCK.)

(...I'M GOING TO DIE, AREN'T I?)

(OH, WAIT, WHAT WAS IT THAT CAINER SAID ABOUT THIS WEEK, AGAIN?)

(WELL...OKAY THEN.)

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'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.))

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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?))

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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.))

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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:

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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!

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.