For Sale: Sak Yant book

I had chased after this book when I had more money than sense and was chasing a dream that I now realize has nothing to do with me. So here I am, six months and a zip code removed from the delirium and I realize that I will never do anything with this book or the information contained therein.

I considered donating it to the local library, but let’s be real about what the library is likely to do with the book. I bought it so it wouldn’t be pulped after the copyright fiasco in Europe… and it’s a good chance that without any interest from the county’s library patrons, it’s going to be sold for just that after a year or two. (San Bernardino County isn’t exactly a hotbed of occultism.)

So I’m offering it to y’all for $75, including shipping, as is. Yes the shrinkwrap is gone, however this edition did not have any of the inserted goodies that I was previously hoping for. (Why is another rant and a half and the first slap in the face showing me that I was chasing someone else’s dreams.) Continue reading “For Sale: Sak Yant book”

A Last Look at 2017

I started 2017 physically struggling but spiritually sound, and I am ending 2017 physically sound but spiritually struggling.

As of this post, it has been all of seven days since my daughter [Dter] and I moved out of the family home into our own apartment. If it were not for the influence of, instigation by, and inspiration from several key “spirits” in my life, our circumstances would have been much less pleasant than they ever had been before.

So to [Rummer John], and “Malphas”, and [Horatio], and [Pescado], and [Phillipus], and Socheniel, and [ThisWoman], and [Patient Caller], and “Mary”, and “Jehovah”, I give my thanks and acknowledgement for the actions you all have pushed, pulled, and dragged me through.

It’s not the close of a chapter, it’s the close of a book. And I am at a loss for words to begin the next volume with. Continue reading “A Last Look at 2017”

I Have A Feeling

I am less afraid of the signet ring I will have to obtain next year. Things are going as they go, but my god, how fast they are going!

Since my last update, I have had an angel get the drop on me to remind me that I am not forgotten and I am not forsaken.

I know this. It feels otherwise, but feelings are liars at times. Ask anyone in love. Continue reading “I Have A Feeling”

Spirit Journal: 2017-04-16.01

The theme of Nature versus Nurture comes up a lot in my writings lately. Not all of my dreams involving conflict between established traditions (Nurture) and personal abilities (Nature) are mere flights of fantasy. My immediate relatives reject me based on lack of a shared culture that was intentionally denied me (Nurture), but my ancestral chain going from Great Aunt Mabel™ and up are reaching out and seizing me anyway (Nature).

There is a lot to be said for initiatory traditions, sincere initiations, and formal education in paths, histories, and workflows that keep a (sub)culture alive. But a good number of those avenues are closed off to me, either by malicious intent or lack of disposable income. There is no “nurturing” to be had. I’m on my own. Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-04-16.01”

Dropped Notes

You have to be your own person. It’s perfectly fine to use what you perceive of someone else’s personality as a template to compare your own strengths and weaknesses against, but you have to be you, not what you wished that other person was.

Things change, but nothing changes. But still there are changes.

Own what you say.

Own what you do.

Own your expectations.

It’s not a tug-of-war between orthopraxy and orthodoxy. It’s a question of how you walk out your faith and if that path is taking you where you want to go.

Yes, you are the Chosen One, but only in the context of your life. You are at best a minor supporting character in everyone else’s.

Your beliefs mean jacque shitte when I’m dealing with my gods. It is comforting to know mine are equally dismissed when you are dealing with yours. You are not the measure of my faith, and I am not yours.

How To Become A Worthless Abomination

You that is Worthless, COME!
You, the Abomination that devours! COME!
Ascend from the heavens into the depths of my divinity.
Pour into these pools of light so they are brilliant with shadows.
Let those that fear your revelation of their putrescence tremble.
Let me embrace you unto consummation and consumption.

Unholy thing that reveals the faults of the pure.
Evil thing that reveals the emptiness of angels. Come.
Corrupt my heart and reveal the lie that is perfection.
Corrupt my mind and reveal the hypocrisy that is beauty.
Release the base and vile within me that I may be unchained.
Open my eyes to the ineffable and know this too, is true.

Oh Anathema, come unto me.
Oh Blasphemy, devour me.

Let me become that which is evil to the fearful and the ignorant.
And become everything that I have been from before the beginning.

(Inspired by this trolling ask.)

(Hey achangingaltar! I did a thing!)

Dream Journal: 2014-03-26.03

The seal was originally installed at the mountain terrace. K and kir buddies allowed me to play ceremonial magician there until I started to realize this was not just in my head. The seal was scrubbed off later by a vicious wind before I was dropped into Rummer John’s care.

The Embroidered Man was my mentor and teacher over yonder. I wondered if he was a higher version of myself. (Did I mention how full of shit I was then?) My entry into the Boneyard was a result of him piercing the realms and dropped me damn near into Ravenwoman’s lap. He handed me off and never made an appearance until today/last night. Three years, the bastard. Someone has questions to answer, the fuck.

Shortly after acquiring that certain wand, I was dropped into Rummer John’s swamp cabin. But not before every external tool or identifier that marked me as a wanna-be ceremonial magician was removed and/or broken. The physical wand now had no connection to Weaver. Until a few weeks ago, when it suddenly “woke up”.

The four “angels” that I thought were assigned to the seal weren’t all angels. Only one was, and ke was connected to K. The other 3 are other things from other realms, and after the seal was scrubbed away I was only able to make contact with two of them. I have yet to gain admittance to where the Lord of Earth originally came from.

The Club Kaaba (or the Kaaba Club, the word order is important, but I never found out why) is an Over Yonder edifice established by the Embroidered Man and was painted in blood by yours truly. It is a magical place inside, and some readers had mentioned it is representative of Daath. After I was kicked out of the ceremonial magicians’ club, I never returned there.

Last year’s walking of the Path of Vau was at the behest of Lord Asmodel. He called upon Weaver to run a message as Courier. I would never have dared to enter that paradigm without that mandate.

Now I’m being not-so-subtly pushed to walk the Path of Cheth. I still have no damn good reason to do so. Watching these tools and these conflicting paradigms reassemble themselves in my hands is not doing well for my friendly attitude. Not doing fucking well at all.

Dream Journal: 2014-02-01.01

I closed my eyes for five hot seconds, and was confronted by an entity that wanted me to make a tarot spread based on a certain event and the things that featured in that event. The tarot spread would not be a passive reading of current events, though. It would have a component where the reader would be able to directly alter the querent’s probabilities to a significant degree.

The entity found out the hard way that being beaten with an inflamed holly branch is not very pleasant, and having been thus educated, ke departed.

Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.

(And yet, you know this is going to bug the fuck out of me all day, because what if.)

Okay. Lemme work this out here, then. What if. What would be the positive consequences? What would be the negative consequences? What would be the negative ramifications of the positive consequences? (See also: Too much of a good thing.) What would be the positive ramifications of the negative consequences? (See also: Long term results.)

Alright, so I could make such a thing. Do I keep it to myself, or share it? If I share it, so I throw it out on the wind immediately, or do I send it to a few key people first. (It is my experience, that only ONE can keep a secret. Eventually, what is hidden slips away into the Internet. Usually, at the worst possible moment.) Once I have it, do I advertise that I have it? Or do I say nothing until a situation presents itself where it would be worthwhile to deploy? If I intentionally let it slip, how much responsibility do I bear when it is misused? Could others come up with this thing on their own? Could others see through the intentional blinds I’ll seed the public version with and recreate the event that inspired the spread?

Would I be able to live with myself if that does happen and the wrong choice is made to devastating effect?


I will not be the one to place the knife on the table and walk away.

Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.

Idling: 2014-01-09.01

Yes, I still have that (second) crucifix. No, I haven’t made a rosary from it. Yes, it’s still pretty damn heavy on me that I should make one, and that it will be mine to keep. No, I still have no fucking idea why I should, and what materials should it be made from.

And I’ve been coming to grips that what my Christian churches taught me was the Christian god may not be the god of Christ. (Mindfucks. Mindfucks everywhere.)

But my engines don’t run on faith.

I’ve been burned by too many empty promises. Too many promises of freedom ended with a tighter leash around my neck.

I keep demanding answers, and the only answer I can hear is “Wait”.

So, I’m waiting. And drawing boundaries. (Don’t look at me like that. Y’all know I’m mercenary as fuck.) If this rosary was for a public covering, to give me the appearance of “fitting in” because the alternative is to place my life or my daughter’s life at risk, I’d be making so many rosaries, the local folk would be sick of me handing them out. “I saw you bought a new coat, this color would go great with it!” That’s not a problem for me. That’s surviving in a hostile place I can’t escape.

But this isn’t for that. This rosary is for me, and for those things I do.


And what will be the price of it?

I don’t mean the findings and the beads and the bruises in my palm because I need a bone-breaking grip to keep the bugger from flying off when I try to make a hook from a nickel pin that decided at that moment of its existence to be more resilient than titanium.

Why should I make and keep an item that is the symbol of so much god damn pain for much of my life? I am an Apostate. I am a walking Blasphemy. I have denied Christ, struggled with his angels, walked away from the presentation of [God the Father]. Twice. I conjure spirits. I call on the dead. I have made offerings to “foreign gods”. Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera. ~hand flourish~

Why now?

Why a rosary?

I wasn’t even Catholic! My whippings were all Baptist flavored.

I feel like I’m missing something in plain sight and the pains of my past keep obscuring my vision.