Magic all around us…

September 3, 2016


Not only do we all have magic, it’s all around us as well. We just don’t pay attention to it. Every time we make something out of nothing, that’s an act of magic. It doesn’t matter if it’s a painting or a garden, or an abuelo telling his grandchildren some tall tale. Every time we fix something that’s broken, whether it’s a car engine or a broken heart, that’s an act of magic.

And what makes it magic is that we choose to create or help, just as we can choose to harm. But it’s so easy to destroy and so much harder to make things better. That’s why doing the right thing makes you stronger.

If we can only remember what we are and what we can do, nobody can bind us or control us.

Charles de Lint
The Mystery of Grace

powerful women 3

Snake Girl #2

September 3, 2016

A snake girl

I always kept her
well-covered at carnivals,
camouflaged on dense
city streets. I sold her
to a man who lived on
a diet of horseflies
& frog’s eyes.
He lived alone in a basement
on Browning street,
where if someone went missing
they would not be missed.
Delicately, he unraveled
the white cloth hiding
snake girl’s face & torso.
He melted before her,
the face resembling a smashed mirror,
with two bottomless holes,
where the forebrain should
have been.
He said Yes, it was indeed
the daughter he had given
up for adoption.

Kyle Hemmings

witch - Friedrich Seidenstücker - Frauenakt, 1940

A witch is someone who has dedicated her life to learning about the connections between things. She studies the different cycles and her place in them. She learns how to use the energy in herself and in the world to make changes. And most of all, she tries to make the world a better place for herself and other people.

Isobel Bird
The Challenge Box


September 3, 2016


Smoke, it is all smoke
in the throat of eternity…

For centuries, the air was full of witches
Whistling up chimneys
on their spiky brooms
cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe,
as they flew over rooftops
blessing & cursing their

We banished & burned them
making them smoke in the throat of god;
we declared ourselves

“The dark age of horrors is past,”
said my mother to me in 1952,
seven years after our people went up in smoke,
leaving a few teeth, a pile of bones.

The smoke curls and beckons.

It is blue & lavender
& green as the undersea world.

It will take us, too.

O let us not go sheepishly
clinging to our nakedness.

But let us go like witches sucked heavenward
by the Goddess’ powerful breath
& whistling, whistling, whistling
on our beautiful brooms.

Erica Jong


September 3, 2016


Witch Burning

September 3, 2016


They burned a witch in Bingham Square
Last Friday afternoon.
The faggot-smoke was blacker then
Than the shadows on the moon;
The licking flames were strangely green
Like fox-fire on the fen…
And she who cursed the godly folk
Will never curse again.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square
Before the village gate.
A huswife raised a skinny hand
To damn her tense with hate.
A huckster threw a jagged stone –
Her pallid cheek ran red…
But there was something scornful in
The way she held her head.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square
Her eyes were terror-wild.
She was slight, a comely maid,
No taller than a child.
They bound her fast against the stake
And laughed to see her fear…
Her red lips muttered secret words
That no one dared to hear.

They burned a witch in Bingham Square –
But ere she swooned with pain
And ere her bones were sodden ash
Beneath the sudden rain,
She set her mark upon that throng…
For time cannot erase
The echo of her anguished cries,
And the memory of her face.

Mary Elizabeth Counselman

a great man…

September 3, 2016

great men

Wherever you find a great man, you will find a great mother or a great wife standing behind him – or so they used to say. It would be interesting to know how many great women have had great fathers and husbands behind them.

Dorothy L. Sayers
Gaudy Night


Diary 3rd September

Just a fistful of fast, challenging, hot-wired mind-bites!

Today, I don’t want sex, all that rough fucking and scrambling about in knotted sheets. I want the prelude. The slow kisses, the embraces, the fumbling hands inside lose clothing, the tentative touch. Then the sight of breasts gently spilling from lace cups, the tender caressing and stroking. I want the gentle biting, the heavy breathing and sighs. I want the pauses as you try to catch your breath…

Oh, my God!

Then I want the sex –


Tess Tee, profoundly bored in her marriage, her career – which is going nowhere fast – and in the role she seems stuck in, as plus-one and helpmate to a powerful old man. She’s bored, she’s nearly forty, and she’s all set to explode, or so she says.

She describes herself as ‘Petite ( 5’ 4” and 104lbs) Celtic Catholic with striking blue eyes, freckled skin, red hair and pink nipples.’ And Oh, yes, she has an intimate piercing; something arranged after a fractious, alcohol-fueled hen-night eight years ago.

She describes her fantasies: ‘I wear stockings only under my dress with spiky high heels. I expose myself ‘accidently’ in this seedy night club. Women, men they all see what I’ve got, you know. They see the gold ring down there…The idea of being exposed in public is a big turn on for me. Being bound, blindfolded, helpless and not knowing what’s coming next. Wunderbar! In a room with many men. Sexual servitude is compulsory…those men pinch me and pound me without mercy. God, they fill me with their filthy cum…’


Tess Tee’s fantasies remind me of Tamarind. In another time and place, she told me her sexual fantasies, which were medical in nature. Doctors and nurses – with Tamarind in the role of their helpless, vulnerable patient! ‘Open wide, please…’

C said ‘Peedeel can write a story based on your fantasies.’

I was surprised when Tamarind commissioned me to write such a story. But I agreed, and delivered it to her a couple of days later. After reading the story, she asked for others.

But poor Tamarind, with her gypsy heart and her longing to always be elsewhere, the little girl who’d never forgiven her father for dying and abandoning her, who remembered a time when the family doctor on a home visit examined her and fired her sexual imagination, died herself four years ago. Of cancer. So young, but so unhappy…Her short life packed with so much sadness.


Asked why I don’t believe in the Christian / Jewish / Muslim all omnipotent creator God – I have to say why would He / It, in His / Its infinite wisdom, create something as feckin’ useless, and at the same time nasty, as Philophthalmus lacrimosus?

Eye flukes?


And that’s without mention of Clonorchis sinensis, boys and girls.