As 2019 comes to a close, so does my inventory of tools, talismans, and tchotchkes that I have in my stockpile for the year. Quite a few of them wound up being acquired and/or kept for the wrong reasons and were properly disposed of. This left me with few tools for “immediate” work.
Like an unopened bottle of Florida Water that I had completely forgotten about until I found it during the Great Clean Out. Sitting next to it was a small cobalt blue glass bottle fitting with a spray pump. Both were purchased for separate reasons. Both had been forgotten about for the year.
Both were put back in the cabinet. Florida Water was something that I had been told by many people that a wooish person should have on hand, and should I ever get to making that apotropaic spray (once I find the recipe) than I’ll have the bottle at the ready. Right?
And then suddenly, I needed both.
Continue reading “A Prayer Couldn’t Hurt”
A month ago, I bought a guitar. I plinked on it every night for practice and had started to build up a set of calluses on my fret hand’s fingertips. I didn’t mind it. They felt more like a badge of advancement than the loss of someone else’s ideals.
Continue reading “A Rough Spot”
On April 18, JLR Kruse asked me:
“Also, how do you feel now afterwards? Do you still feel afraid of the black armored angel?”
And I answered what was a true answer at the time of:
“To be honest, I don’t know. There is the memory of fear and the anticipation that it will occur again because “logic” tells me that such a deep-seated fear will not be shifted literally overnight. But there is also the absence of anxiety now and an intense level of ambivalence about encountering them again. I guess I won’t know until they are present and I observe my reaction.”
But my answer has changed since then.
Continue reading “The Absence of Fear”
Still unpacking, though it is more emotional baggage than physical stuff. Still haven’t done any “high working”. I don’t have the spirit in me. (Pun very fucking intended.)
It took four months before I realized I could leave more than just my tarot decks and occult(ish) books on my table. It’s been a long while since my pyracantha wand had a good oiling. Hopefully the long storage hasn’t wrecked it.
Spoiler: It hasn’t. Much. Continue reading “Feeding the Bones”
The first occurence of this dream happened several weeks ago. The scene was so quick, it was easy to dismiss it as the echo of a commercial or some scene I read in a mostly forgotten text. But the dream persisted in repeating until I recognized it.
The dream begins to reveal I am standing in my kitchen. Folded bags attest to the great amount of groceries I had just stocked my pantry and refridgerator with. I’m standing, looking at enough food to feed a marching band for an hour, and feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Outside, the bright day suddenly becomes stormy and dark. A fierce wind blows against the windows, shaking them and testing the seals.
There is a knock at the front door. Whoever is knocking is not sure anyone will answer. Continue reading “A Strange Herb”
Dter1 went back to my parents’ house to pick up any mail still going there. It was her first time setting foot at the property since leaving the week before Christmas. I could tell something was bothering her after she came home, but I did not pry. She remained apart from me for an hour up to her own shenanigans before she declared there was something she had to say or go bust.
“The house. It’s hollow, Mom. It’s not just empty, it’s hollow. I didn’t realize how full the house was with spirits before until I walked in and felt the emptiness reflected back at me. Did [the Regulars2] leave when we did? Where did they go? Because none came with us.”
That’s a good question. All these years, I had assumed that the house was full of spirits because of the hole I had opened in my youth in an attempt to prove that ghosts aren’t real. All the paranormal bullshit that happened after was my fault, I had assumed, and it was my responsibility to mitigate the damage as best as I could and care for those spirits that was now attached to the house. Continue reading “Larger On The Outside”
Until yesterday, astronomical events didn’t fuck with me any more or any less that any other person on this planet. Eclipses were a time of detached observation and an excuse to indulge in terrible puns while teasing the local doomsayer.
I knew there would be a solar eclipse yesterday, that the only area affected by it was Antarctica, and even then it’s just a partial eclipse. So going by all my years of personal precedent, it was a non-event and I had more important shenanigans to get into, like earning a paycheck.
However, to be short, the morning went to shit. Continue reading “Blue Shift”
The night was not pleasant. Too many distractions built up from the week meant I didn’t recognize calls and tells until after the window for answering them had closed. My sense of disconnection deepens and I fear I have recognized my errors too late to remedy them.
All night I had dreams of a wanderer trying to come home, but home is no longer there. After many adventures, she arrives at the place where she and her friends would regularly meet, only for the place to no longer exist, her former friends are too afraid of what she has become, or be barred from entering because of the viewable changes that heralded how she survived.
All she wants to do is come home. But there is no home for her to come home to. Continue reading “Home Is Where The Coffee Is”
January was full of revelations. I always knew I was being played by “The Spirits”, but finding out just how far the game went really fucking hurt. The degree to which the things I took for granted were just smoke and mirrors meant to distract me made me despondent. Whole fortresses were revealed as vain imaginings whose sole purpose was to keep me distracted so I wouldn’t cut my throat.
I can’t be mad about the result. But now I don’t know what to stay alive for.
A lot of shit got reset in January. I no longer needed certain habits and rituals to keep me safe from other occupants of the house, embodied or not. There were too many hours sitting dumbly staring at the wall waiting for someone (or something) to tell me what to do. Continue reading “Winner’s Remorse”
I’m still sorting through the stuff I brought with me during the move. Work and commute during the week left me very tired after work and the weekends never had enough hours to take care of everything, so I still have four banker boxes of old paperwork to sort through. It’s not helping that the remaining boxes also contain evidence and references to some unpleasantness that was inflicted upon me during the past decade.
Yesterday, as I prepared for leaving for work, I took a hard look at the remaining boxes taking up space and acknowledged the difficulties I was having in facing them. I turned to the Wood Statues that had the misfortune of overlooking neat stacks of documented pain. “I know y’all are supposed to have a special space set aside for ya, and that nothing ugly or unpleasant is to be in your view, but welcome to my environment. Remember, you asked to come along for this. I want this place cleaned up proper, too, but I’m having a hard time of it. If you want this space clear, you’re going to have to help me stay focused, even if that means yelling in my ear.”
As I set out for work, I was mentally creating a schedule for weekend tasks that I promptly forgot about when work does as work is and time tables go to hell. Continue reading “Help In Any Form”