Boxing Day

I had to cut through the mall on my way home today. MADHOUSE. I cannot imagine staying to shop there. ...so instead I went to fourth ave, because Miz Mooz was having a sale.

shoostore.com

traxxfootwear.net

What? I needed good quality black heels. And because it was BOGO-half-off, the black heels wound up costing like $45. The original price is $140. The grey booties I almost didn't get - there was a pair of black ones that were also very cute - but considering that my wardrobe is mostly black already, I thought they might add a bit of variety.

And both are omg comfy. I love Miz Mooz shoes - the two sets of heels I bought from them in the past have lasted years, and their boots always seem to carry me through a few seasons of salt and slush and grossness even though I live in them and don't treat them nicely. So I think it was worth it.

Merry Whatever.

Here, have some Gordon. Specifically, this:

"Given our collective responsibility to push on the probabilistic weak-points of the dominant materialistic narrative that seeks to imprison us, your gift to me can be to take a few moments, preferably while intoxicated, out under the stars, to pull down whatever celestial force currently answers to the name of Jesus, that 2014 is more free and less restrictive."

Wake me up. Before you go-go.

Having survived the longest night, we find ourselves blinking in the newest dawn.

I, personally, have spent three days in bed. This is entirely my own fault, as I was determined to use the free drink tickets provided at my staff Christmas party despite the telltale signs of a cold sinking into my body. Turns out liquor does not actually fight disease, it merely shitkicks your already exhausted immune system. Was it really worth it for a few bucks worth of gin? Survey says no, but we cannot take back the past.

Consequently my Solstice plans got a little jacked - I could barely stay awake for longer than three hours at a time, let alone stay up all night. Leaving a flame lit against the darkness while drooling all over my pillow also seemed ill advised; I settled for my electric fireplace. (Which is exactly one step up from this.)

I was initially was feeling a bit like I'd missed the party, but sometime after my afternoon nap I decided that rather than mourn the misspent spooky evening, I could instead focus on the whole new day thing.

Which is an interesting thing to try and do when you wake up at 4:30 PM and it's dark out. Well. Whatever.

The holidays are a pain in the ass more often than not, because even if you're having fun they tend to play merry hell with your routine. I've already lost almost a week of my new exercise regime due to the cold from hell, as well as valuable choreography time, and this week I'll be thrown off by Christmas. I was getting ready to be all whiny about it, but then I figured I should just say "oh well" and start again, pushing forward as best I can without beating myself up about it.

We lose a lot of time self-flagellating. "I was doing so good but then X happened and blah blah blaaaaaaaaaaah." I'm not sure why, exactly, unless it's to shift responsibility so that we feel less guilt. Whatever the reason, I find it offers an excuse to procrastinate just a little bit more, because it's an excuse everyone relates to.

Today is the afterparty to the Winter Solstice. Tired, hungover, we look to the East and remind ourselves that oh fuck we have to start over tomorrow.

Stripped, Scared and Sacred Update

I have no idea who to credit for this image.

New podcast up! Episode 12: Winter Stories.


In this episode we discuss the season of death, and Mr. Harron sings Enya. This really is a selling point.

W is for Witch

This post is part of the Pagan Blog Project.

"Oh, Mandy's a witch."

Even though this is factual, it gets A Look.

"That's cool. I have friends who are Wiccan or whatever."

"I'm not actually Wiccan..."

"What's the difference?"

"They have like... morals."

This is, as near as I can recall (I had had a LOT of gin. Or was it whisky? Whatever, I could barely sit up.) an actual conversation I had some time ago. Perhaps not the most elegant explanation; when sober I'm more likely to go into "Wicca is a religion, and I don't practice it" spiel, but again: booze. Besides, nobody really cares about a witch's religion anyway.

Religion is a boring, personal, serious subject. The only people who want to talk about it in regular conversation are fundamentalists. Normal people hear 'witch' and want to know about magic, and I don't blame them. Magic is empowering, while most people's idea of religion is not. It's mysterious. To quote, "It's fun! It's scary! I mean... who gives a shit?!"

In popular culture, the witch is female* and generally either an evil hag or a beautiful seductress. Yes, there's an acknowledgement that a witch might be a crunchy granola type, but if you ask a kid what a witch looks likes she's going to show you the Wicked Witch of the West, Maleficent, or the evil queen in Snow White. Kids grasp the basics: witches are powerful, and witches are scary.

I'm not a huge fan of the 'white magic' bullshit. Not because I want people to shit their pants at the sight of me (that would be awkward) but because I don't believe magic is ever truly 'white' and that the term is used solely to present a group of people as nonthreatening. "We're not dangerous!" it says. Motherfucker, if you're not ever doing anything dangerous then what are you doing that's worth your time, study, and practice?

(This is not to say I endorse blatant stupidity, but come on. No risk, no reward.)

Witches are transgressors. They live and work between worlds. They are ridiculed, reviled, and revered in equal measure. That's just what you sign up for if you use the word, sorry. Ridiculed because what you do is insanity - really, you think you can predict the future? Talk to spirits? Yeah, babe, hold onto your crystals. OOooOOOoooh! Reviled because even now, almost in the year 2014, people believe you're the devil's concubine. Bride of Satan. Tempting people into sin, because you clearly have no other hobbies. Even older witches were traditionally often considered inappropriately sexual, always after a piece of that sweet, sweet Devil Dong. And if they weren't nailing Satan, they were dried up vessels of pure evil.

This post has skewed toward people who identify as female, and that's not gonna change with this paragraph I'm afraid; for a woman, being a rebel is powerful. You'll still be labelled a whore for doing anything that crosses the increasingly weird line of mainstream-approved sexuality, but at least you might terrify some people with your evil spiderwoman vagina in the process. You don't have to play by the rules.

As for being revered, when shit happens, and when nobody else seems to offer help, you're there. People will come to you for help. Whether or not you can help them depends on their expectations and your skill level, but rest assured that if people know you are a witch eventually you'll get a call for assistance. The people who come to you may never admit in daylight that they did, of course, but you knew that already, didn't you?

So. The witch is a sexual, possibly evil rebel with dangerous powers.

I'll take it.


* - This is not to say that male occultists are not scary badass weirdos. They certainly are. But men tend to be thought of as magicians, which while eccentric have always been a touch more legitimized depending on who was in charge. John Dee had a pretty good run, but you never heard of "the court witch."

...

(Actual content coming soon.)

Both me, folks.

These photos were both taken last night with the same crappy filter on my cameraphone. The first is almost directly after I got home from preforming at the Taboo Revue, and the second is probably twenty minutes later after I'd taken off the false lashes, washed my face, taken out my contacts and thrown on my PJs.

"Glamour: an illusion so real as to fool an onlooker…"


In other news, recorded a new podcast with Messrs. Quast and Harron tonight on the spookiness of winter.

A Break-Up Letter to Marilyn Manson

Hey, Manson. Come on in. Have a sit-down.

Look, I know we go back. Way back, to the 90s back. Mom bought me Antichrist Superstar for Christmas, and I loved it. You weren't my favourite - Nine Inch Nails won my heart first, but you tried to woo me away. Hell, the Guns, God and Government tour was a pretty good argument for "but he's a better LIVE performer."

Speaking of, I saw you in Vancouver this year. Every time you humped the floor, I thought you just really, really wanted a nap. You played for an hour and fucked off, and yes, apparently you were ill but mostly I think that it's the fact that you're fucking forty-five or something now. Don't get me wrong, I had fun. I laughed a lot. But I was also sure to point out to anyone I told about the concert that I'd gotten in for free.

I didn't know any of your new songs. I tuned out from your career about the time you wrote your "I broke up with Dita von Teese" record. Then I heard you were dating the LITTLE GIRL FROM PRACTICAL MAGIC and I went, "oh, ew." I also felt old since I realised the little girl from Practical Magic was old enough to make poor dating decisions. But that's not your fault.

Anyway. Pretty indifferent, it what I want to say.

Then the other day at work while cruising the musical waves on 8 Tracks, I thought I heard you in the background of some shitty song. So I checked the track and yup, there you were. Singing with Avril Lavigne.

Avril, Manson. Avril.

I messaged my sister, who agreed that, yes, you'd finally reached "skeezy old guy" status.

You know, once upon a time it looked like you were gonna wipe the floor with your old pal Trent Reznor. You were doing shit for Resident Evil while Trent was doing terrible songs for Tomb Raider. (Ugh, Deep.) You were the big time shock rocker.

But now... Trent looks like someone's uncle, yeah, but maybe that's because he's a friggin dad now. His kids are cute, his wife is talented and smoking hot, and he's got fucking awards for his musical scores.

I'm just saying... I have tickets to NIN on Thursday.  They weren't free.

We'll always have Mechanical Animals, but it's time for me to stop making secret excuses for you.

And take some fucking naps dude, seriously.

Mainstream.

Today I read this excellent article by Gordon, and just as I was nodding my head in agreement with him I read that Urban Outfitters is selling prayer candles. "No way," said I, and opened another tab to see for myself. Yup. They certainly are.

And they're really fuckin' cute.

"I don't know how to feel about this," I told my sister via gchat, and sent her a link. "Holy shit, they're really cute," she shot back. So today after work we decided to see if they had made it to the Canadian stores. Yup, they sure had.

 I bought the set.

...I don't think that's what I was supposed to take away from that article.

(Nor is it the only thing I did, but that was a funnier line, so shut up.)

 Hipster occultism. You know, I've noticed for a while that fashion has been flashing back to the 90s (my sister and I like to play "sixteen-year-old me would LOVE this" when we shop) and not that long ago I was musing on the resurgence of witchy TV, so this really doesn't shock or appall me. It feels like we've just hit another point of recycling, and as was pointed out over on Rune Soup this seems to happen pretty frequently with magical currents. And as much as we like to roll our eyes at the new and hip incarnations, there's no denying that you wind up with people who are attracted for the aesthetic and stay for the rest of their lives.

Beside the prayer candles in Urban Outfitters, on Granville Street, there was a copy of Raymond Buckland's Book of Spirit Communications. THAT surprised me, because wtf it's Raymond Buckland in Urban Outfitters. It's not even like they updated it with a moustache on the cover. But here's the thing - how many people will buy that book, read it, and actually USE it? How many will do so more than once? Probably not a lot. So what? A little occult dabbling is fairly normal. But there will also be a few people who read the book, test it out, and go hunting for similar material.

Everyone has a starting point. For a lot of people my age it was The Craft, or Charmed. It was the comic books of Alan Moore and Grant Morrison. There's always an in, and from there you find your way with a lot of trial and error.

Who am I to judge the chick with too-big non-prescription glasses sitting in her crappy apartment bedroom, praying for love or fortune while her roommates slam PBR in the living room and argue about the merits of vinyl records? Nobody. Because when I was her age, I was in my OWN crappy apartment, with my own equally silly clothes and music, fucking wishing I could find premade spell candles instead of making my own out of shitty dollar store materials. 

So. Are these candles ridiculous? Yes.

...but they're really fuckin' cute. 

(Note that the candles are not in any way dressed - it is simply the glass that is decorated. So, yes, they're totally a rip-off for the price in terms of candle composition. On the other hand, I've seen truly atrocious scented candles go for an even higher price, and they're not marketed as either magical or aesthetically pleasing, soooo.... dunno.)

Stripping Down

Definitely getting colder out there, and I am getting ready for a break.

Work is a madhouse, and when my contract is up I think I really will just say no to any offers of extension. November is going to be a lot of late nights at the office, though, and even less of a social life than normal.


I've noticed the aesthetic shift in my personage that began when I cut my hair short has continued, resulting in a simplification of my wardrobe and personal grooming. This streamlining has also been manifesting in less immediately obvious ways. My diet is much like my wardrobe - key pieces with little touches to make it enjoyable and unique to the day. The exercise routine stays basic and flexible enough to allow life to flow easily. In burlesque, I've tried to better optimise my time on the Chicken board of directors, and to devote energy to routines and projects that I feel will better me as a performer. Not a lot of room for fluff, basically.

Ditto magical practice. It's time to rip stuff down to the basics yet again, and make sure that shit is in order. This means meditation. Jesus, I hate meditation. Hate it, hate it, HATE it. Gotta do it more regularly, though. It means a proper offering schedule. It means some good cold walks along the beach in the dead of fucking winter. It means running under the moon, and a lot of careful listening without fear.

This winter is going to be a good one. Stark, brutal, and good for cutting down to the bone.

The author, thinking deep thoughts/watching Hoarders.

Madame Sparkletits

Photoshoot going on in my living room.

SO much blood and glitter.

MoA

Got knocked down with a flu over Halloween. Like an idiot I figured a day of rest would fix it, and so I went out on the weekend and then wound up even sicker, resulting in two days off work spent sleeping and groaning.

I never claimed to be terribly bright, people.

Thankfully I was feeling decent this weekend, because my father was in town visiting with his wife. It was lovely to see them both; as an adult, time spent with your parents is all the more enjoyable because you can dispense with some of the bullshit and you can all relax. Part of our visit we spent at the Museum of Anthropology at UBC, which is a place dad used to take us when we were children and remains one of my favourite parts of Vancouver.

There was a lot of new stuff from Papua New Guinea, including a series of contemporary collaborations with Haida artists. My sister and I enjoyed the masks most of all, as we usually do. My favourite part of the museum besides the totem poles in the main area is the First Nation mask area, where there are beautiful pieces from the Kwakwaka'wakw - masks used in the Hamatsa rituals depicting huge, man-eating birds. 

The artwork of the Pacific Northwest indigenous people is stunning. No matter how many times I see it, I am always struck by how graphic it is, with bold blacks and a brilliant use of negative space. This is true in the carvings as well, as you can see simply by walking through the main hall of the museum. The poles there have the designs carved in so deeply that shadows pool dark enough to create contrast. 

I grew up with this one.

Maybe that's where my love of heavy inks came from. And perhaps my limited palettes? To this day I'll avoid more than a handful of colours in my art if I can get away with it. 


Speaking of art... I'd hoped to enter a Canadian graphic novel anthology contest deal, and I'd planned to collaborate with my friend Andrew. The deadline, however, is December 1st and realistically with my work schedule I don't think I'll be able to do it. This gives me the sads. 

Still, there's always other chances. 

I'm pretty sure I had something else to write about here, but I went for a run today after over a week of not doing so, and I am fucking exhausted. I think I may just lounge until my sister crashes my apartment for a photoshoot. (My couch, it is photo worthy.)

Happy Halloween.

Worship the Maze.

Ugh, I can feel myself getting sick. Like, not-just-a-cold-probably-a-bad-flu sick. NOOOO. I WILL FIGHT YOU, BODY.  Having to stay at work late is probably not helping. 

Have some photos from the Haunted Trolley Tour!

Hard to read, but it says 'Only Sleeping.'

The grave of Janet Smith, murder victim.

The prisoner is masturbating. Don't get too close.

And a bonus one from the Corn Maze. I misread the sign and figured we had a Children of the Corn situation going on.

Actually, even reading the @ doesn't help...

Haunted (when the minutes drag)

Every year I have a checklist of 'shit to do before Halloween.' The list tends to stay fairly consistent, as events tend to be annual. This year I've made an effort to shift  the focus from the blood-and-guts jump-scare aspect of the holiday to the more autumnal and haunting side.

Partially this is because I am a horror fan - serial killers and zombies don't belong to October, in my mind. That shit is all year round.  Ghosts on the other hand, really do seem to thrive as the weather turns cold, and monsters go with Halloween like Nutella goes with everything.

So. No gore flicks. Monster Squad, Elvira, Tales from the Darkside and every ghost movie ever rule the day. I haven't been to any haunted attractions - I enjoy them, but I've chosen instead to put my budget toward things like the Chilliwack Corn Maze, the Vancouver Haunted Trolley tour, and of course the Stanley Park Ghost Train. (This year's theme was Classic Movie Monsters. Perfect.) Today I'll be going to Burnaby to check out the 'Haunted Village.'

The weather has been perfect for October, alternating between sunny and foggy. Although I haven't made it out to the cemetery besides as part of the trolley tour, I have taken several walks through crisp autumn leaves and also along the seawall in the dense fog. I feel badly for my sister sometimes - October is her busiest month, and consequently she's said it doesn't feel like Halloween is so close.

Some holidays are just that - days. Halloween (and I guess Christmas) is different. It's a month-long celebration of spooky shit, a fantastical meeting of death and sex. I feel fortunate that I have had time to enjoy the pumpkin spice lattes and ciders, to make paper decorations for the walls, and to simply enjoy the atmosphere peculiar to this time of year.

They keep stolen souls in that pumpkin.

Now. Links.

Jezebel's Annual Halloween Thread Party. - Although the website has been on a steady decline in terms of good content, I do check in occasionally. I was pleased to see that they're doing another scary story thread, along with links to past years' tales. 

 
One of my favourite podcasts is Last Podcast on the Left. (My sister and I frequently reference it, and have taken to screaming about bones in the chocolate.) My absolute favourite episodes of the show are the Creepypasta ones, which I will now list here.

Creepypasta!- The very first, highlighting some of the better known stories.

A Smattering of Creepy - Includes the pug parade, and a real life serial killer call,

The Hamburgering -The boys explain how to play the Midnight Game.

Then Who Was Phone?! - The very, very best. If you listen to only one of these? Listen to this one, specifically around the 25 minute mark.

Babybum - The latest instalment. Ben Kissel's bedroom, talking to God, and the eternal mystery of who was phone. We still don't know.

More Horror Gaming

Found this one via Pewdiepie!

Lakeview Cabin.

I enjoyed barfing everywhere.

I'm Not Done.

I wasn't going to go for a run tonight.

I stayed late at work - which is ridiculous lately - and came home feeling exhausted. I figured I'd just get caught up on some online business, and then sink in to watch some shitty TV and maybe do some reading.

Every so often it just takes one little thing to throw off your whole evening. My mood has been dipping a little as we get closer to the end of the month; Halloween remains my favourite holiday, but it's undeniable that one year ago it marked the breaking point of a whole MESS of shit that left me mired in a depressed state for months afterwards. Honestly, it was probably the worst point of my adult life - every day was grey, I'd cry for no reason and be unable to stop, and it was the only time I have ever been able to comprehend why people might want to harm themselves bodily.

Anyway, I found myself suddenly upset in that you only ever are when you let shit build up, and I decided that instead of moping I'd run down to the ocean and back. I did, getting more and more pissed as I did so. I got to the water very quickly, and sat down alone on a dock. Anger dissipated, and instead I found myself near tears.

Before I could get to weeping, an older dude with a bike approached and asked if I'd seen any empty bottles or cans. I replied I had not, and he asked if I knew of anywhere in the city that did hiring - he was from back East and had been in Vancouver three months with no job. He was not drunk or high or aggressive. He was a sheet metal worker named James. I directed him as best I could to the job centre downtown (which was not very well, I'm afraid) and we parted ways.

That's a dude with REAL problems. Who happens to have the same name as two of my deceased grandfathers.

On the run back I felt no anger, no sadness. Some cute dude in a suit on a bike asked for directions, then asked if I was running. "Yup, but not well," said I, so he rode along beside me til he reached the pizza joint, yelling, "you can do it!"


We do not always get to choose how things work out for us. I am privileged to be working at a job that I enjoy, and living in an apartment and area that I adore. I have good friends, and a wonderful family. I am physically in the best shape I've been in since my mid twenties, and my mind is alert. I have unconventional hobbies, but they mean a great deal to me as I am uninterested in leading a life unexamined.

I am not at the mercy of every little annoyance. Not tonight, not anymore.

The Bitching Hour

You guys.

I hate American Horror Story. Hate it. But season three's opening?

How did they film the inside of my brain?! My every day is scored by people who've been on NIN albums!

That being said, there's more than just American Shit Story's take on witches hitting the small screen this year. YouTube, seeing the crap I've watched, helpfully told me, "you may also enjoy... The Witches of East End."

No, YouTube. I don't think I will. Except in the way that I'll totally watch it because they cancelled that other witch show I was hate-watching. And it's on Lifetime. Have you ever watched a Lifetime movie?!  This is amazing shit right here.

(YouTube also frequently recommends me things like 'BABY MERMAID BIRTH CONFIRMED' or 'They Live in Trees! Skunk Ape Documentary' alongside shows on serial killers. Also 'Say Yes to the Dress.' So it is not to be trusted.)

Halloween Cocktail: Bourbon edition

Stole these from Martha Stewart, tested em while Halloween crafting with my bud Kat.

Ice
6 ounces bourbon (I use Bulliet) 
4 teaspoons  lemonjuice
2 teaspoons maple syrup 
1 cup apple cider
Cayenne pepper 

Shake shake shake, senora, in your cocktail shaker. Makes 4 drinks. I forgot the cayenna after the first one, noticed no real difference. 




3/4 cup apple cider 
1/3 cup bourbon
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 thin slices fresh peeled ginger

Shake shake shake, again.

Driiiiiiiiiiiink. 

Mistress of the Dork

So, as you may already know, Elvira is one of my personal heroes. Last year I had enough hair to do a decent approximation of her look, but of course I have short hair now and that is not an option. So when I decided to be a bit lazy this year and do Elvira for Halloween again, I had to go out and buy a wig.

Naturally, I could not find a single Elvira wig in Vancouver. While at the new Target in PoCo I found a 'bouffant' wig for twelve bucks that I figured I could put together with another long black one I had leftover from last year's Abracadaver. No problem, right?

Yeeeeeeeeeah, no. 

Now, for twelve bucks I wasn't expecting much, but this wig was THE mankiest goddamn thing I have ever seen, and looked absolutely nothing like the box picture. Worse, as soon as I started to try and examine the damn thing it basically unravelled. 

Undaunted, I attacked the fucking thing with scissors, rubber bands, a needle and thread, and bourbon. Eventually I tamed Sir Manks-A-Lot into a puffy base, upon which I could put the better quality long black wig. Here are fake!instagram pictures of the result. 

U: Uncrossing for Idiots

This post is part of the Pagan Blog Project.

"I don't trust any of you dogfuckers." 
- Spider Jerusalem 

I can literally do the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram in my sleep, did you know that? Can and have - perfect ritual in the middle of a fucking dream. This doesn't make me badass so much as it makes me anal retentive, I'm sure, but it's still not a bad skill to have when you've devoted your life to sticking your nose where it doesn't belong spiritually. There is shit out there that you do not want on you.

I first read Dion Fortune's classic Psychic Self Defense when I was in my late teens or early twenties. It was the first time Fortune's work seemed to make any real sense, and even then it seemed antiquated - it was easy to imagine Crowley and his contemporaries hurtling magical attacks at one another (since, uh, they did) but to actually worry about that shit in modern life? Yeah, I'm so sure that asshole on the other end of  a yahoo mailing list bragging about his Demon Powerz was suuuuuuch a threat.

Here's the thing, though - I still have Fortune's book. And in terms of self defense? I've added to the arsenal of books on the subject. Jason Miller's Protection and Reversal Magick is my favourite, but I have several recipe books full of floorwashes, incenses, baths and the like. This does not mean that I believe everyone in the world is out to get me. I just realise that very often people will put their shit on you without even meaning to.

You can view uncrossing through a psychological lens if you like - pressures of life and ways to decompress from them, etc etc, giving yourself a sense of control and so on and so forth. Magic as placebo. That's cool, you rock on with your bad self, I totally agree with all of it. I just also believe in malefica and malochia.

You can believe in science and magic both.

Because of this, I am a big fan of regular spiritual checkups and preventative measures. I am also more likely that some people to take people seriously when they say they think they've been jinxed.

Can't hurt, might help - this is generally the way I approach the whole people asking for uncrossing work thing, unless the person is CLEARLY unstable and has an addictive personality. (It's the same with tarot - if you know a person is just looking to reinforce their own beliefs/can't function without a sense of outside force, you do not work for them.)

I don't think people are often cursed maliciously by people who know what they're doing - in the circles I run in, there are shockingly few active practitioners, and those that do are generally very positive people. I suspect this is true of the greater population as well. But there's a small chance, still. More likely is accidental jinxing, through sheer force of will.

So, for whatever reason, you think maybe someone or something has fucked you up. You feel 'out of step with time' to quote Jason Miller, your luck sucks, you keep breaking shit, you get headaches for no apparent reason... What do you do?

The simplest thing to do, I think, is to take an uncrossing bath. There are loads and loads of recipes for these, but my in-a-hurry formula is salt, essential oil of sandalwood, rosemary, and lavender, or Florida water. I also have basil and rosemary plants so I can make teas to add to the tub quickly.

After an uncrossing bath, I believe one should clean the house as well, both physically and spiritually. So more Florida water in the mop bucket, sage or a Van Van candle burning, and then bang out the LBRP if you're magically inclined. If you maintain an ancestor altar, now is a good time to make sure it's tidy and to make some offerings, too - they can watch your back.

This will generally clean up any accidental Evil Eye bullshit, or clear off things you may have pissed off without realising. If things do not improve, THEN you can consider active hexing. (This is to be considered only after you look at your life and determine that no, it's not just that you do not have your own shit together.) Then you can break out the big guns, depending on your tradition.

In summation, the world is not actively out to get you. It's indifferent. But it is dirty out there, and you will get muck on you whether you ask for it or not. Learn how to clean it off.

Save-On Scares

Seen while checking out.

This sadly falling off the wall scary plastic thing summed up most of the half-assed Halloween offerings crammed onto one shelf.

Clearly a staff member cares, though.

The Best Craigslist Ad

This is my favourite Craigslist posting.

For when it eventually dies, here is the text:

Do you like dipping things into thick melted liquids and then eating it? 
Would you like to impress a date or someone you have a crush on with some sophisticated cooking that is as easy as shit?
Do you like the Swiss? 

Well then fondue most likely, quite possibly, maybe be for you.

Set includes:

-two burners (thats right two! One for cheese and one for chocolate. Or one for hot burning oil, and one for..well...some other sauce you fondue with.)

-classic collectible 1970's fondue book, where its so 70's they call Asian cuisine "oriental." 

-2 bottles of clean odourless burning fluid.

-bundle of skewers (dont worry, you share in fondue)

-2 serving plates. (color coordinated so you don't mix up food dipped in chocolate with things dipped in cheese.)

-certificate of authenticity that means absolutely nothing.

-one cardboard box to hold all this Fondue Funness.

That is all.

Tattoos: Sister Edition

"Thank God for Jet's belladonna, or I'd never get any sleep."

 

"I don't know if you smoke it, or eat it, or what, but I need to try it right now."

Ye Olden Horror

I was talking to a friend about the fact that Halloween back in the day was far more terrifying... Apparently by accident. Like shit was supposed to be whimsical, but somehow got fucked. 
Exhibit A:

Nothing about this is okay.

 

And really, that's not all. This is one of my favourite  image sof all time, and is currently my phone background:

Halloween: Satan and mutant gourd-men.

Maybe it was just the decorations and shit... I'm sure the costumes were much OH JESUS CHRIST.

Trick or Treat.

Move Review: Night of the Demons (1988)

Look at the fucking box art. Look at it, I say!

A million years ago there were these things called video stores, and you would wander up and down the aisles going, "I dunno, what do YOU wanna watch?" and very often you'd wind up picking a film because of the picture on the box. See, this was before you could watch trailers online or even read a damn review unless you had one of those huge movie guides by Leonard Maltin.

Night of the Demons had a box designed to scare the everloving poop out of you. The random capitalization of 'You'll' somehow just adds to it - they care not for grammar, they're throwing  A HELL OF A PARTY, bitches!

the witch at home.

photo by Voodoo Pixie

Crap I didn't buy.

Halloween is creeping into retail stores, especially now that 'back to school' is over with. I've taken pictures of some of the shit that caught my eye, and will continue to do so.

This devil mask was in the Dollarama. It's too much evil for $1.25

Old pregnant witch.

I guess it's steampunk? But Jesus. Also available in albino.

The Letter

The month creeps along, and we grow ever closer to AbraCadaver. Every year I do a lot of work behind the scenes, and this year is no exception.

Still, I found time to play another low-res horror game: The Last Door. You can play chapter one for free, and chapter two by donation. Have to say I really enjoyed this one.

Must be hard to get pizza delivered...

Growing up, my dad was a computer nerd. This meant we were one of the few families to own a computer before it was the norm - we had a Commodore 64, and more important to my sister and I, we later had an Amiga.

The Amiga was for games. Games where you had to type in instructions, or point and click, and maybe once in a while use the world's shittiest joystick to control a few pixels that were supposed to be a car.  I loved several Sierra game titles, like Space Quest and Police Quest, but the best game of all time as far as I was concerned was Uninvited.

The most terrifying screen of my childhood.

Also released for the Nintendo apparently, Uninvited had you losing your dumb kid brother after a car crash. Obviously he's inside the spooky old mansion you've crashed by. The mansion was huge and lush (well, at least by graphic standards at the time) and filled with ghosts, demons, and puzzles.

Oh, the puzzles.

Back then, I don't think game programmers gave two shits if you EVER beat their game.  Police Quest was written by a former cop, so god help you if you tried to pull a gun on some bikers without first using your nightstick. You would get your ass killed by not following proper police procedure. ...I was like, nine? I HAD NO IDEA. Anyway, Uninvited also gave no fucks - there were pretty much zero hints on how to solve shit, and even as an adult when I tracked down a copy to replay? I had to cheat. I have no dignity.

Anyway.

In the spirit of Uninvited, I present to you an online game that is quite reminiscent of it: Malstrums Mansion.

Leading up to Halloween I hope to post more low-budget horror games that don't blow. In the meanwhile, enjoy PewdiePie playing Outlast. (I love it when he gets so scared he sings. :3)

Season of the Witch

Fire and glass.

Hand of Glory.

"What the shit, man? You abandon your blog and then you come back with some filtered, out-of-focus photos?"

Well. Yes.

I can safely say that the past year has been very difficult on a personal level. I spent much of the winter and spring depressed; I had a falling out with my sister, and after we moved apart there were many days where I would come home from work to my beautiful new apartment and just cry.

Things improved, as they tend to do, but there have been lingering issues. I had my surgery, which I don't regret one bit but which did take a lot more out of me than I had been anticipating. My working conditions are less than ideal due to the fact that the office is a disgrace. I have been working to become a warmer person, and that too comes with its own challenges.

But now it's almost Autumn again. A full year since things started going sour, almost, and a few days ago I finally hit that point where you truly just let shit go. Not the fake "oh, I'm totally over it" thing you do where you lie to yourself, but the honest "fuck this action."

Which is good, because summer is dying.

I will be returning to more regular posting about all the usual crap, as well as extensive Halloween ridiculousness. Because that's how I roll, bitches.

I is for Integration

This post is for the Pagan Blog Project.

I've just finished Jason Miller's Sorcerer's Secrets. Aside from one or two petty details, it was a book I enjoyed very much and would recommend to anyone who practices magic. One of the reasons I so thoroughly enjoyed it was that the focus of the book is on creating a practical system of magic that combines the occult with the mundane. It is, essentially, a how-to guide for magical integration.

In case it wasn't painfully obvious by now, that's kinda my whole deal. I don't like reserving magic for special occasions and emergencies. I prefer to see it as an active current, working its way through all aspects of life.

I don't have a lot of apps on my phone. One of the few I've downloaded is a moon phase calender. Every day I check my almanac, just to make sure nothing's sneaking up on me. There is a shrine to my dead relatives in the kitchen, by the window, across from the herb and candle supply cabinet. Everyday issues are considered from the physical and the spiritual; if you're going to have a hot bath to wind down from the day, you may as well add rosemary and sandalwood.

These are fairly passive actions. Fully integrating the magical and the mundane requires deliberate decisions. You must choose to create a routine of meditation and other spiritual acts, and fit them into your everyday life. You choose to utilize magic more often - you don't wait until you get sick to cast a healing spell, but instead work preventative magic in conjunction with common sense. Maybe you carry Commanding Oil in your purse, or a mojo bag for good luck in your pocket.

I've always believed strongly that you've got to get up off your ass and DO something if you want it. The natural extension of this, to my mind, is to augment your mundane actions with magical ones. Now, at first this might seem like overkill. "I don't NEED all this assistance," you might think. And no, you don't. But why wouldn't you pull out every trick you know to get and maintain a life you love? I sometimes wonder if it's not leftover guilt; a great many people do not believe they are worthy of good things, and any attempt to change their situation is seen as greedy or somehow immoral. Obviously I think that's utter horseshit.

Gradually one just turns to magic as a matter of course when one wishes to influence events. It's still an active decision, but now it feels organic. Your practice has become integrated.

Dunno about you, but that's how I always figured a witch should live.

5lbs.

I lost five pounds in one day without diet or exercise! ASK ME HOW!

...I had it cut out of my boobs in a three hour surgery in a hospital that seems to have very nice staff but severe communication issues! YEAH!

IX Daily Interview

Balls Deep in Burlesque: An Interview With Mama Fortuna.

That'd be me, ya'll.

Currently

Drinking: Bois de Rose.

Coveting: fucking everything in this shop.

Watching: Snog, Marry, Avoid.

WOO-HOO!

Love That Lovecraft: Part Two is up!


In other very exciting news... I have a date for breast reduction surgery: July 24. I've basically been counting all the things I'll be able to do in a month... go bra shopping at more than ONE store, buy an actual sports bra that might WORK, jog, do yoga without occasionally suffocating myself, do dance moves that require your arm go across your chest smoothly, find shirts that fit, be able to do up my own corsets because I can actually SEE the hooks, see my fucking feet when I look down, sleep in different positions without pain, not look like a drinky-bird at my desk because I'm constantly dipping forward, not want to bitchslap people who say 'going braless is better for you' quite as hard, have pasties that don't double as small hats...

Am I scared of surgery? Fuck yes! Will it probably scar? Fuck yes! Do I give a shit about either of these things? FUCK NO. Hell, if scars super bad I'll tattoo the mothers.

Growing Up Gawthic

Fallen a bit behind on the blogging lately, but not for lack of things to talk about!

First and foremost... Stripped, Scared and Sacred is back. Love That Lovecraft! (Part One.) The sound quality of the podcast is much improved, as we went and got a decent microphone. Part Two of the Lovecraft extravaganza will be up soon, and features Andrew Harron and David Quast, both of who were in the recent production of An Evening With Professor Byron Price.

Also soon to be featured on the podcast... Tristan Risk! We talk a little about her role in American Mary but mostly we discuss growing up spooky. Keep an eye out for those upcoming guests!

I think I might actually be from Innsmouth.

I dunno, there's something about standing on the beach at night.

The Innsmouth Familiar

I decided to buy a fish.

His name is Henry. Why?

This is why.

(Hey, you know who else loves apples...? Damn right.)

H is for Home

This post for the Pagan Blog Project.

I don't know if it's because I'm a Libra, or because of how my mother brought us up, but how my home looks is very important to me.

That's not to say I need fancy furniture or Oriental rugs - although nice furniture is a bonus - but I need my home to feel just like that: a home. I need it to feel safe and welcoming, not just for me but for any guests I may have. I strive to keep everything tidy on a physical and magical level, and to fill my space with things that create a comfortable atmosphere even if there is witchy shit in every corner.

As I write this, a warm storm has picked up outside. It's raining, and the wind is pushing my wooden blinds away from the windows. Inside, I am surrounded by candlelight; I smell beeswax and faint sandlewood.

It's good to be home.

The Book of the Dead

The Necronomicon.

The Innsmouth Look.

Show pictures to come - hopefully soon.