eyes like balls of fire

October 22, 2019

‘This,’ said he, ‘I plucked from the beak of a raven feeding on a murderer’s brains! This is the mad dog’s foam! These the spurgings of a dead man’s eyes, gathered since the rising of the evening star! This is a screech-owl’s egg! This a single drop of black blood, squeezed from the heart of a sweltered toad! This, an adder’s tongue! And here, ten grains of the gray moss that grew upon a skull which had lain in the charnel-house three hundred years! What! Not yet?’ And his eyes seemed like balls of fire as he cast them upwards. ‘Not yet? I call ye once! I call ye twice! Dare ye deny me! Nay, then, as I call ye thrice, I’ll wound mine arm, and as it drops, I’ll breathe a spell shall cleave the ground and drag you here!’

William Mudford
The Forsaken Of God

red, red heart

March 31, 2019

Maybe it’s not a lesson so much as it’s a magic trick. You can make a little girl into anything if you say the right words. Take her apart until all that’s left is her red, red heart thumping against the world. Stitch her up again real good. Now, maybe you get a woman. If you’re lucky. If that’s what you were after. Just as easy to end up with a blackbird or a circus bear or a coyote. Or a parrot, just saying what’s said to you, doing what’s done to you, copying until it comes so natural that even when you’re all alone you keep on cawing hello pretty bird at the dark. 


Catherynne M. Valente,   


Six-Gun Snow White

Unique Opportunity

December 26, 2018

Charm for prophetic dreams

September 8, 2017

Use any of the following: citrine, amethyst, clear quartz. Use beads, tumbled stones, or crystals. Take a length of silver wire or silver-coloured ribbon. If using beads, string them onto the ribbon or wire. If using a stone or crystal, wrap it in the wire until secure or tie it in the ribbon. Charge the charm in moonlight, preferably during the waxing or full moon. To receive prophetic dreams, take the charm in your receptive hand and recite:

Moonlit charm of psychic stone
Let my future soon be known
Fill my head till light of day
Send prophetic dreams my way

Meditate with the charm still in your receptive hand, focusing on your intentions. Visualize the charm emitting moonlight, glowing with psychic energy. Place it under your pillow and go to sleep knowing that your dreams will be clear, vivid, and prophetic.

You are a witch. You warp the very energy that makes up the universe. You dig chunks of sharp crystal from the earth with bare hands and wear them as trinkets. You rip herbs from the dirt and use them to spice the air. You collect glass and bones and storm water and daggers.

Maybe you’re a different sort of witch. Maybe you write music like a siren’s song, sung to the stars, manipulating them until they shine the way you wish. Maybe you delve deep into code and weave quiet, meticulous charms into the very bones of the cyber world, feeling the flow of waves and Wi-Fi like others do the wind and the ways of the cosmos. Maybe you collect eldritch creatures, spirits and deities like others do stamps, frightened because you’re smart, unceasing because you’re brave, and know you’re much scarier than anything you welcome over your threshold.

Maybe you slip blessings into food. Maybe you slip curses under doorsteps. Maybe you draw symbols on your arms. Maybe you write incantations to be heard only by crickets, wicked, whispered nocturnes.

Whatever you do, however you do it, you are a witch. You are a warrior by default. Your strength is as innate to you as breathing. The only thing you must fear is what will happen when someone pushes you too far.

Source Here

catlight

Diary 29th November

A vague trembling of stars behind the eyes this morning. Indicative of a hangover, perhaps. Still dark outside. Winter morning, cold – very cold.

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Melancholy may be found at the heart of most great art. Or so it seems to me.

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And of the water witch? What of her? Smelling of salty deeps, wearing rags, burlap and pearls, and with those misty-grey eyes that see so very deeply inside of you. Soul deep, she can see. She has the ocean for her heart. Listen carefully for the rolling beat of her tides. She traps your tears and keeps them in little crystal bottles for her spells. Her head is full of the crashing of waves, and she overflows with such dark magic…

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Do you hear them? The whispering voices, when you are alone? Hidden presences that have crossed the line between dark and dawn. Eerie and inexplicable, but terribly real for all that. You may not realise it, but you have called them over to be with you.

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And in that climatic moment, she will do all in her power to steal the breath from your lungs. That is the simple truth of her wild nature…

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I thought we might become lovers, or, at the very least, indulge in a variety of sexual acts together, even if only on an infrequent basis. But no. Une baise sauvage. That and nothing more was all she wanted.

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Recently seen on the internet HERE:

Aleister “Crowley was adamantly opposed to such manipulative tactics and strongly against rape of any kind. He upheld the right of every woman to be the master of her own sexuality, in strong contrast to the prevailing mores…”

What total nonsense. As to Crowley’s “manipulative” nature one only has to see what the young William Gray had to say on the matter:

“…Seemingly Crowley could hypnotise Victor (Neuburg) with ridiculous ease and especially liked to do so before company in order to impress them with his evident ‘powers’. He would make Neuburg behave like a dog, barking and groveling at his masters feet. Then he would order poor Victor to empty his pockets of money and hand it over immediately. Since his father was usually generous there might be as much as five pounds on his person. Crowley would throw back about half-a-crown contemptuously saying: ‘Get yourself some fish and chips. We’re going to the Savoy with the rest.’ And forthwith do so. In those days it was perfectly possible, and there could be change left over. “

As to Crowley’s views on women, let the great man speak for himself:

The real inferiority of women to men is shown by their hate of pederasty, which they regard as unfair competition. Men on the other hand rather approve of Sapphism, as saving them trouble and expense.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, March 9th 1929

Practically all women ought to be chloroformed at 35.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, January 3rd 1931

In Berlin all the whores look like ‘respectable women’; in New York all the ‘respectable women’ look like whores. Reflection: they’re all whores, anyhow.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, January 4th 1931

And so on and so forth. One could build a complete website containing Crowley’s outpourings on the subject of women. He really didn’t have a very high opinion of them despite what his advocates and revisionists may say to the contrary.

swallowed the world…

October 22, 2016

witch6

My mother taught me the skill of curses, and her mother taught her, back and back and back into the green land where the small folk were as thick as the air. A good curse is not said quickly, it is a slow thing. A good curse is no worse than spoiled milk. It is not about the milk. It is about the day that the spoiled milk occurs on.

See. The trick of it is to have punishments that line up in the shadows of sins. A good curse cannot be shallow. It must be ever deep, a forever that happens on the head of a pin.

A small example. A man pushed me down today in his hurry to pass me. Out of all of the paths, he chose through me. I am small and working and on the carpet of our store I skin my knee. It is okay. My mouth swallowed the world and spat back up a gold watch. The man stops by our jewellery counter. He asks to see that one in the front. I am cleaning blood off my palms. Taking off his old watch, he breaks the clasp. The gold doesn’t suit him. And he’s late for a meeting. And now it’s raining. A curse is a good thing, sometimes. Good things in the wake of being cruel never turn out pure.

A large example. Every interviewer who sits with women of talent and asks them questions about their weight and rabbit food and makeup. This is a bloodless crime, a drill in the heads of little girls watching professional women debased by their dresses. A bloodless curse. Every night, a plague: you were in the room with one of the most talented people of our age, and you didn’t ask them. Each night is another question. What could you have learned from them? The curse, this curse. A quiet one.

Here is how it is done. You are earth, and to cast a curse brings one back. So you live good, in a way that makes others curse you. See. The young girl is working and happy, but the man does not like where she is standing. The women are successful and deadly, but we are taught it is one or the other, brains or beauty.

Here is the trick my mother taught me. The best revenge is a life worth living.

Source HERE

spell-casting

Take four ounces of the blood of a black dog, two ounces each of pig blood and brains, and one ounce of donkey brains. Mix all this together until well blended. When you give this medicine to someone in food or drink, he will hate you.

(Peedeel comment: I’m most certain he or she will hate you after consuming that little lot!)

Anon
Ghāyat al-Ḥakīm,
(The Goal of the Wise)

becomes the spell

June 17, 2016

Lights and benches

These are my eyes awake at midnight
smelling the muddy waters coursing down below
matters waxing sacred as put down to paper
fighting the night wind for my very next breath.
This town is a vagrant that stood its ground too long
every house illuminated with a haunting blue glow
electric eye candy radiating from nailed windows
onto empty streets – dark like caverns
beggarly, with the shadow of lurking violence.
The bile of hoodrat laughter echoes –
at every dark tormented turn
even the hustlers stay in the lamp light
waiting for felonmongers who never show
absent at their wearisome game.
This place is filled with angry Verucas
who cry for trees that are merely weeds
and wouldn’t fuddle from the same glass as me.
Eyes sunken and deaf from the cold wind
grasping desperately to my anguished,
hallowed text.

David Seaman

(David Seaman, author and poet, has had work published by Slice Magazine, Foliate Oak Online Literary Magazine, Birmingham Arts Journal, Downstate Story, Bluffs Literary Magazine, and Absinthe Magazine.)

warlock

High Priest (HP) stands to High Priestess’(HPS) left; both face Coven.

HP: “Listen to the words of the Great Mother; she who of old was also called among men Artemis, Astarte, Athene, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Cybele, Arianrhod, Isis, Dana, Bride and by many other names. At her altars the youth of Lacedaemon in Sparta made due sacrifice.”

HPS: “Whenever ye have need of anything, once in the month, and better it be when the moon is full, then shall ye assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of me, who am Queen of all the 12 witcheries. There shall ye assemble, ye who are fain to learn all sorcery, yet have not won its deepest secrets; to these will I teach things that are yet unknown. And ye shall be free from slavery; and as a sign that ye be really free, ye shall be naked in your rites; and ye shall dance, sing, feast, make music and love, all in my praise. For mine is the ecstasy of the spirit, and mine also is joy on earth; for my law is love unto all beings. Keep pure your highest ideal; strive ever towards it; let naught stop you or turn you aside. For mine is the secret door which opens upon the Land of Youth, and mine is the cup of the wine of life, and the Cauldron of Cerridwen, which is the Holy Grail of immortality. I am the Gracious Goddess, who gives the gift of joy unto the heart of man. Upon earth, I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal; and beyond death, I give peace and freedom and reunion with those who have gone before. Nor do I demand aught in sacrifice; for behold, I am the Mother of all living, and my love is poured out upon the earth.”

HP: “Hear ye the words of the Star Goddess; she in the dust of whose feet are the hosts of heaven, and whose body encircles the Universe.”

HPS: “I who am the beauty of the green earth, and the white Moon among the stars, and the mystery of the waters, and the desire of the heart of man, call unto thy soul. Arise, and come unto me. For I am the soul of nature, who gives life to the universe. From me all things proceed, and unto me all things must return; and before my face, beloved of Gods and of men, let thine innermost divine self be enfolded in the rapture of the infinite. Let my worship be within the heart that rejoiceth; for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals. And therefore let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honour and humility, mirth and reverence within you. And thou who thinkest to seek for me, know thy seeking and yearning shall avail thee not unless thou knowest the mystery; that if that which thou seekest thee findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without thee. For behold, I have been with thee from the beginning; and I am that which is attained at the end of desire.”

Janet and Stewart Farrar
The Witches Bible