spirit lust

As the dancer whirls, she chants in a strange, slow voice, quickening as she goes: Lo! I gather up every spirit that is pure, and weave him into my vesture of flame. I lick up the lives of men, and their souls sparkle from mine eyes. I am the mighty sorceress, the lust of the spirit. And by my dancing I gather for my mother Nuit the heads of all them that are baptized in the waters of life. I am the lust of the spirit that eateth up the soul of man. I have prepared a feast for the adepts, and they that partake thereof shall see God.

for my grandmother

My mom's mother, Christine Mercer, has lived the past 16 years with Alzheimer's disease (life expectancy following diagnosis is approx 7 years, less than 3% live more than 14) and is in the final advanced stage and will hopefully slip away in her sleep very soon. Technically she most likely will die of starvation/dehydration as she is unbelievably healthy otherwise but has now forgotten how to swallow and feeding intravenously at this point is practically inhumane (many in this stage often die of infected bed sores etc.. to no fault of any caregiver, anyone who is willing to offer care is purely a saint)

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Taken from the book ~ When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
Edited by Sandra Martz Papier Mache Press--Watsonville, California 1987

I've become digitally numb

How often have you gone back and reread something you wrote and discovered while trying to edit it to make more sense, at least you thought.. but you actually left a cut/pasted section somewhere that trails into nowhere smack in the middle of a cohesive train of thought? I do it a lot! Of course I'm not that worried about it because I assume no one's judging me as incompetent for the flaw. It's obvious what happened and nobody whatsoever actually thinks I typed the sentence that way intentionally or my brain unraveled momentarily and I failed to realize I had an incoherent/incomplete thought but probably I overly thought it and got caught up in the small stuff, details, words that is, or tense (as in past tense, present etc), person/perspective which I'm apt to do I admit. I like to laugh it off and joke that I can be OCD about things sometimes.. another one that I often use just like all of you who scour the internet do too is "ooh.. shiny" or ADHD. Sometimes I'll even complain about anxiety and often I am certain that I have fallen into a state of depression. Why? Because I can never live up to all the expectations I have for me! I can't even keep up with all the emails I'm expected to read/reply on top of the texts/calls/comments etc. I can't even seem to finish writing a blog, get off the computer, shower, and get out the door to go do something like I want or intend to half the time because there's a million things in between distracting me and I seem to think they're all necessary for my attention to drift to momentarily because my mind is a bottomless pit like a stomach that can continuously digest information and only become more stimulated and strengthened in the process... IT'S NOT TRUE! NONE OF IT IS TRUE! IT'S NOT FUNNY TO HAVE A PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDER! IT'S NOT OKAY BEING LATE ALL THE TIME! AND I'M DEPRESSED BECAUSE I'M ISOLATED TO THE EXTENT THAT MY BODY SUSPECTS IT'S ARMAGEDDON FOR REAL AND MIGHT IMPREGNATE ME HERMAPHRODITICALLY IF THE ONE PERSON AROUND ME IN PERSON WASN'T MY BF whoops, didn't mean to scream that. heh. sorry. um. here watch this: http://www.netflix.com/WiMovie/Frontline-Digital-Nation/70131661?trkid=1211018 seriously something to think about! if you have time and can focus long enough that is? I couldn't. had to go write a blog instead. fuck. that really sucks I think.. ooh! look ~ shiny!

First Gift - Ancestry

According to Plato in "The Myth of Er" the first gift is a person's spirit is allowed to choose the setting/conditions of one's incarnation that might best allow him to be able to learn/discern between good and evil. The Egyptians believed though one's soul may go on after death his Ka, daimon, or essence never dissipates but stays here on Earth and is assimilated into the collective unconscious in some parts known as the genii. In ancient Rome it was believed that the genii resides within the ancestral bloodlines which is why each clan had a coat of arms showing the unique features of 'the family genius'.  As a magician/student of the A.'.A.'.  I'm finally finishing up my old Probationer homework here as referred to in Cornelia No. 6 so off I go on my ancestral voyage for you to yawn at like I did to C93 until you're ready for your own journey or whatever you will...




The story of this remarkable and durable clan goes back to the tenth century when a chieftain held a fortress in the Jura Mountains, and continues to the 1600's when descendants were forced to flee across Europe to avoid martyrdom for Calvinist beliefs. The succeeding flight to America brought new adventures, a unique form of government, treaties with the Indians, and at last refuge in a tiny settlement on the banks of the Wallkill River in the shadow of the Shawangunks.

The Huguenot Cross

One of the oldest streets in America with several of the original houses of twelve seventeenth century Huguenot refugees from religious persecution in Europe was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1964. The Historic Landmark is located in the middle Hudson valley in the town of New Paltz, New York. Two of the twelve Huguenot refugees were Christian Deyo and his son Pierre. Pierre built the first stone House on Huguenot Street in 1692 and it stood for 200 years in the rural Flemish Style of all the Patentee abodes until it was remodeled into a Victorian mansion in 1894.
 

More to come of the older world...

ambiguous sabbatical

what is internally wield exponentially and
wrought by infinitude of sole intensity will be
wrung of ubiquitous uncertainty so to be seen 
when reeled from the myriad of misery
wells an eternal soluble mystery...

But we speak the wisdom of Eloah
in a mystery that was hidden
And [that] Eloah had before separated
from before the ages for our glory.
That not one of the authorities of this world knew,
for if they had known it,
they would not have crucified the Adon of glory.
But as it is written:
The eye has not seen, and the ear has not heard,
and into the heart of a son of man has not entered
that which Eloah had prepared for those who love Him.
(1Cor. 2:7-9 HRV)

"Life is understood backwards, but must be lived forwards." -Kierkegaarde