The Evils

August 28, 2016


Let’s make pastry, and gravy,
feed it to the dolls,
spoon it into Dorothy’s tight mouth:
watch her grimace, watch it cake.

Let’s sit them in front of Quatermass and the Pit
or the Wednesday Play
where that woman gets a gun shoved in her face:
Swallow this you bitch!

Her lips round the nozzle. And the gold fish
I didn’t mean to kill. My Brother’s pet
lathered up, placed in a jam–jar to dry.
And the stray he named Jupiter.

Yes, it could be from a star
or a planet full of cats
but swung by the tail it screams
just the same. Squeals for mercy. Helpless.

Kathleen Kenny

Kathleen Kenny’s poetry collections include Sex & Death (Diamond Twig), Goosetales and other Flights (Koo Press), Sandblasting the Cave (Flarestack) and Firesprung (Red Squirrel Press). Hole (Smokestack)

Powerful women - Walter Molino, 1959

Confront death…

August 28, 2016


Confront death, not by pretending that you have cut a deal with the Elder Vampire Gods invented for you by some internet Dark Witch fantasist in their over-priced books. Confront death, not by pretending that a beautiful Beltane ritual and a blue sky means everything will stay the same. Confront death, not by practicing the magic of ploughmen and wortcunners in your urban apartment believing that it makes you more authentic than any given Wiccan. We need to stop making those closest to us our sworn enemies. The game has changed. I have no interest in telling people how to practice their witchcraft, a term which covers a multitude of sins, but what I can offer is the principles that will make it work in these difficult circumstances. Readers of my Apocalyptic Witchcraft will recognise these ideas: Orientation, Presence, Imperative. We are not simply losing it all, it is being stripped from us as surely as those accused of being witches were by their inquisitors in the torture cell. Our enemies are not our sisters and brothers in the craft, they are the named individuals and corporations and their governments who are tearing out our living flesh. Witchcraft has never been about turning the other cheek to this. The witch has been created by the land to speak and act for it.

Peter Grey
Rewilding Witchcraft
From a talk given at the Pagan Federation South Central conference on Saturday 7th June, 2014


August 28, 2016



August 28, 2016

le Voci di Dentro - Francesco Fusco

Night is not something to endure until dawn. It is an element, like wind or fire. Darkness is its own kingdom; it moves to its own laws, and many living things dwell in it.

Patricia A. McKillip
Harpist in the Wind


I had this girl once Jessica who was bit hard. She liked to workout at the gym and fancied herself as Buffy the vampire slayer in her spare time. Once in The Apollo this guy came over and took an empty chair from our table without asking if it was free, which it wasn’t.

Anyway, Jess launches herself from her seat and grabs the fast departing chair. ‘’Scuse me,’ she says. ‘This is taken.’

‘Really? It’s first come first served here, luv,’ he says. ‘Shouldn’t you at least say please, if you want something?’

‘Yeah, your right.’ She kicked him straight in the balls. He didn’t see it coming; had no idea. Down he went like a sack of potatoes. ‘Please,’ she said, and took back the chair.

Anyhow Jess don’t take shit off anyone. She likes to be in control. One night when we’d both had more than a few drinks, she challenged me to a game of cards.

‘What game are we playing?’ I asked.

‘We’ll play nut-cracker poker, yeah.’

I’d never heard of it before and was apprehensive. ‘What are the rules?’ I asked.

The rules she explained to me went something like this: each card represented a punch, squeeze, knee, or kick to the balls; the number of the card was the number of blows to be struck, or the number of seconds each squeeze would last. The Joker represented a sixty second handjob from her as a relief from all the rough treatment.

‘Hang on a sec,’ said I. ‘You’ve got no balls?’

‘I’m the banker,’ she said. ‘I take five cards at a time, see. And then I do what the cards tell me – to you. So we have here the eight of spades, ten of hearts, three of diamonds which means I’m going to give you eight kicks in the balls, a hard ten second squeeze and three punches. But we also have the King of diamonds, which counts as twenty, so you get an additional twenty second squeeze. See, it’s all about you…’

‘I’m not playing?’ I said.

‘But you’ve got a Joker there, too. That’s sixty seconds of me wanking you. You don’t want?’

‘Yes, I want. But it’s the kicks and punches…’

‘You’ve got to take the rough with the smooth.’ She shrugged. ‘If it’s hurting too much you can wimp out. We’ll have a safe word, yeah. Shout out ‘Sissy’ and I’ll stop.’

‘What’s the point of the game?’

‘To see if you’re man enough.’

‘When’s the game over?’

‘When you wimp out…Or when you cum. But if you wimp it, you have to eat me out as a forfeit.’

So, to cut a long story short, I ended up on the sofa in the nude. She dealt the cards and that first hand included three club cards: the four, six and ten.

‘Stand with your legs apart,’ she said. I did. She drove her knee into my balls with so much force my legs buckled. I tried to straighten but as I did so she powered that knee back into her gently swaying target. I hit the floor. ‘There’s a nine of hearts in the hand,’ she said. ‘That’s a nine second squeeze. Shall I do that before the rest of your kicks?’

I slowly rose from my knees. ‘I don’t think I like this game,’ I said, but she already had a firm hold of my balls. The pain was unbelievable, oscillating up from my balls to my brain, exploding behind my eyes in bright red neon. It took a few seconds before I screamed ‘Sissy’ and she released me, laughing.

‘Well, that didn’t last long, did it?’ she said. ‘Better get back on your knees.’ She sat back on the sofa and spread her legs wide. ‘You’ve got a lot of licking to do. About an hour’s worth, I’d say. bon appétit, my little wimp…’


voluptuous debaucheries…

August 28, 2016

A burning_bible

Whenever we read the obscene stories, the voluptuous debaucheries, the cruel and torturous executions, the unrelenting vindictiveness, with which more than half the Bible is filled, it would be more consistent that we called it the word of a demon, than the word of God. It is a history of wickedness, that has served to corrupt and brutalize mankind; and, for my part, I sincerely detest it, as I detest everything that is cruel.

Thomas Paine
The Age of Reason


August 27, 2016


There are holes in everything she owns:
dress, shoes, the roof of her house.
As she shuffles home,
the wind finds her ears,
shoots down them, makes them ache.

She needed more marzipan.
Mice have been nibbling
and one of the gingerbread walls
is caving in. When she gets back
she’ll break another piece of chocolate
from the door jamb, suck it for warmth.

Last night snow blew down the chimney,
sat hunched in her chair.
It’s the only company she has
but the house should bring them
sooner or later – ragged children
tiptoeing up her path,
their rosebud mouths
opening for barley sugar.

Jennifer Copley

Jennifer Copley has published six collections of poetry including Ice,Unsafe Monuments, Beans in Snow, Living Daylights and Mr Trickfeather.

It is a magical event…

August 27, 2016


The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?

J. B. Priestley
Apes and Angels


August 27, 2016



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