Melancholy & Missing Lighters

 Hullo and Happy Halloween ~ :3 I've been waiting for this day all year, but now that it's here, I'm have a particularly low day. So, I don't think I'll be up for celebrating. I have, however, prepared a short story for the occasion.  Have a lovely holiday~ Before his phone had lost connection, Sonny noted that he was west of Pecos, Texas. Now, two hours later, his train sits still and silent in the empty desert with nothing but sage bushes for company as cacti encrusted rock formations stare him down.  He warily eyeballs his half emptied jug of water, before settling onto his bedroll over the warm steel of the grain car he's holed up on.  The day steadily grows hotter as his water runs low, and ten in the morning quickly turns into four in the afternoon. The sun, lower in the sky and now glaring in his eyes, only worsens the pounding in Sonny's head. The lump in his throat doesn't subside as he packs away his sleeping bag and bedroll. With his pack stra...

  Feeds on your beating heart, The beast howls as you fall To decaying earth.  

  Stolen homes, buried Tales, browning fields, colouring Trees-- lost spirits rise

  (Source) Allow me to preface this by stating that I, in no way shape or form, disagree with profiting off of your abilities. This statement is also applicable to knowingly fake fortune tellers. False psychics may not possess the ability to see the future, they do, however, possess people skills. The adept ones have a keen understanding of human psychology, as well as employing subtle tactics in order to get answers out of a person. False fortune tellers are most certainly selling their skills, and it's typically for entertainment purposes anyhow; they're entertainers. Albeit, their intentions are not to aid their clients with metaphysical advice to do good by them. But the individual working at Subway isn't working there with the intention of nourishing every customer's body with good and healthy food (despite its advertising). They're working there to get paid. I also hold very little disdain towards the individual slinging cut cocaine at frat parties. Those c...

  When my mask breaks, the Trees whisper for my return– Trading skin for bark.

My dreams are opaque– Misty mornings dressed in grey– They beckon me forth. ((October is finally upon us and Halloween is fast approaching. To celebrate, I'll be posting a haiku every Tuesday up until Tuesday the 31st, on which I will post a short story instead of a poem.)) 

  There's a lil author sidebar in this and it was literally filler because I couldn't think of anything else. Which is wild, considering I only need to fill 7 small pages. But I did it, I made a second issue of the zine, and it was honestly a lot more fun to make than the first one. Happy October~ There'll be a haiku on Tuesday for a Halloween Haiku thing I'm doing this month :> Anyhow, here's the PDF link for the zine: MAMLzine02

  When people die, they were so wonderful in life, A tragic loss. Said babies aborted are a crime to a god -- Who never shows. The people left behind, the mother didn't die, Meaningless, just Sacks of meat No less. The words from living tongue have no worth, And a child's heart isn't beating after birth, Not a cell that multiples means a goddamn thing to them, Because it isn't very good for their supply and demand.

  My second and current pentacle; my first one had been long ago mysteriously lost, closing a chapter in my life My first pentacle was a cheap piece of jewelry that I'd shoplifted from Hot Topic with my cousin as teenagers. It was a necklace, the sort with a twisted chain that discolors when put in water. By that point, I had long since removed myself from Wicca and was forming my own personal craft and religion. Additionally, despite being well-aware of the pentacle's much older origins, I'd known very little about the pentacle. Still, it felt right, it felt complete, and it felt like a symbol of my craft nonetheless. My cousin and I had both worn our matching pentacles proudly and everywhere, even when we went swimming in the ocean and consequently ended up with rusty rings around our necks. Our families just sort of gave us weird looks or simply shrugged it off. It was my grandmother, who, upon noticing the necklace, had stepped up to me with a beaming smile on her ...

  There was once a young boy who had left his town in favor of building a life in the forest that borders the town. Venturing deep into the forest the boy is eventually overtaken by hunger. Just then, a lone buck appears from the trees. "Please don't kill me." The deer begs.  "Why would I kill you?" "To eat me, of course. Aren't you a hunter?" The boy shakes his head. "I am not a hunter. I am hungry, but I will not kill you." Grateful to the boy, the buck leads him to a patch bursting with strawberries. There, the boy helps himself to the seemingly endless supply of vibrant red fruits. Having eaten his fill, the boy is suddenly thirsty. So, the buck then brings him to a clear river where the air is clean and crisp. As the boy stoops down to scoop up some water, a bass pops his head out from the river. "Stop!" The fish cries, "Do not pour any waste into this river." "Why would I pour waste into the river?" ...

I ran into a man boutta half past ten In the middle of the night at a river bend, Only thing there been that he didn't stand quite so tall, I said "Good evening," and "how you do?" All he did was croak and pathetically rue Over bugs not jumping on into his frying pan, I gave myself a fright and forgot how to stand, I hardly even noticed he was holding his pan, Frogman, is right before my eyes. Frogman, frogman of Loveland, Ohio, How far can your amphibious tongue go? Frogman, frogman, are you cryptid or kin? Are you cursed to hunt just like a human? Frogman, frogman, won't you please tell me? Cause it'd be quite rude to ask about your anatomy.

  It's lonely inside my mind, but even lonlier amongst mankind. They see me as I stand, without perceiving who I really am. Their eyes tear into my skin, shaping me to their realities within. What am I outside my memory? Nothing I really want to be. Will anyone else hear the tones which settle in my bones? I'll climb the tallest tree, maybe then they'll hear my screams. I'll remember my worth, so long as I always fall back to Earth...

Now, In June, When the night is a vast softness Filled with blue stars, And broken shafts of moon-glimmer Fall upon the earth, Am I too old to see the fairies dance? I cannot find them any more. Poem Taken from: Langston Hughes , American Poet, 1901 - 1967 Hughes, L. (2022, January 27). After many springs . Poets.org. https://poets.org/poem/after-many-springs (I knowww, I should've used this poem for the June post, but I JUST discovered it. It's a pretty piece, yes? I have a bit of a particular bias for the mention of fairies x3)

One of the things that helps me continue practicing is knot charms. My particular take on witchcraft isn't heavy on the use of tools anyhow. However, without a stable space to really plan and cast spells, it can still be tedious for me. Since I mostly do energy work, it seems only logical for me to at least embue things with energy. For that, I make knot charms. My knot charms consist of knotting energy into my chosen rope to be readily available for whenever I want to cast a quick charm by undoing a knot and releasing the trapped energy. It's essentially the same as the method of trapping wind in knots for sailors to untie in order to encourage stronger winds (though, I can't remember what exactly it was called and can't seem to find it online). I keep it attached to a headband around my neck, that way, it's always within reach, and I can somewhat subtly undo the knots whenever, wherever.

"Witches of times past, Bless me now through this ward I cast, Under the cloak of night, Creatures of the wilds, grant me your might, The power of three will set me free." Chant by light of candle white. Apply aloe to third eye, hands, and wherever else feels appropriate for optimal effects. I found a page of one of my many old books of shadows at the bottom of my pack. It's a ward I had written to accompany an aloe plant I had been growing in a pot since elementary school. Although the plant had died about five years ago, I still have the ward. Because aloe has spines and the gel has protective properties for the skin, utilizing him for a ward only seemed appropriate. And if you were a fan of 'Charmed', you can definitely see how the show inspired quite a bit of my spell writing haha. I've set my craft mostly aside for the past four years because I've been going through changes and hardships. Despite the fact that I've been feeling a pull to re...

  Source I've recently rewatched "The Day After", and then watched the BBC's "Threads" for the first time. Two 80's television movies, two warnings of the tragedies of nuclear war. Admittedly, my hubris goes so far as to convince me that I could survive just about any disaster. However, this confidence is not foolish enough to extend to nuclear war. If I were to survive the initial blast, how could I ever hope to survive radiation poisoning? Apparently, Prussian Blue is a medication that removes radiation from the body. So, if I were lucky enough to be provided this pill, I suppose I'd have a better chance of survival. But nuclear winter sounds like the most brutal of all. How would food be grown? How far would the dust clouds spread? Would they cover the whole world? Would I be allowed in unaffected countries? Despite the low likelihood of being subjected to a nuclear war, the anxiety of the future still weighs on me. If not nuclear war, what w...

  After so many months of procrastinating and going back and forth with ideas, the short-ass zine is finally finished! I had intended to make a few copies to leave around, but I clearly cannot operate a copy machine, and the library technicians using the machine as well could tell I was struggling, but I felt too nervous to actually accept help, soooo there's only one copy. I wanted to finish this before summer, so I'm just gonna go with it. I'm honestly not even too fond of how this turned out, so it's not a huge deal. I'm likely gonna ditch it somewhere in Chicago. But it was fun making it. Anyhow, here's the PDF version: MAMLzine01

  Artist: Arthur Rackham (1867 - 1939) The pale moon's forgotten earthly daughter, A now fatherless princess soon to wed, Her people, the wicked serpent's fodder, Her childhood companion, he has bled, At the altar, the serpent's stolen form Wavers, enough for moonlight to spill, And sweep her away from her kingdom torn, Hidden safely on the highest hill.

  Paper birds. That's what greets me as I stroll through the mansion doors, or at least what's left of them.  I can recall the last time I was on business here; the mansion and the estate it sits on were grand and immaculate, a stark contrast to its present decay. I'll never forget that day, the bloodshed, and more importantly, the servant girl who had survived. The paper folded birds flutter down from the rafters over the foyer. Their wings are washed in the streams of grey light filtering through a slowly crumbling ceiling. I can't help but crack a faint smile as I reach out to touch one of her creations hovering in front of me. "My, my, I thought you hated my 'foolish' enchantments." I glance up to see Galyna perched upon the grand staircase, her chin resting on her arms as they lay crossed over her knees. Her long brown hair is loose today, spilling over her shoulders and cascading along her black and dark blue lace gown. She grins mischievously, t...