Dangerous Combinations

Been Torn Down: 10

I walked old streets with new markets. I remembered the days of flickering streetlights and broken glass. The remnants of my friend’s former home became cinder blocks being pushed through the windows of my former home. I didn’t know what to think of this, ghetto turned prime location.

Inferno: 9

The Inferno isn’t filled with fire. It’s filled with memories and dilapidated buildings. It was built on pavement leveling layers of history and patching the cracks with cement, therein concealing it’s former existence. The inferno buries its history with skyscrapers and low income housing few can afford. The inferno doesn’t want you to sense the layers. It only wants you to feel the void. This is the curse of the land.

Sacred & Profane: 8

In the temple I ran into kindred. We roamed the halls touching old stone and tracing our fingers along glass. It was the stained glass in the chapels that spoke, the carvings, the tapestries with years of history, blood, and toil weaved into them that expressed their language wholly. We touched poison in the garden. By the deadly nightshade were the bittersweet berries known as woody nightshade.

Back in a dream of forests I remembered tasting them. It has been said that some children have perished from just sampling an unripened berry but I remember them beautifully raw and bitter. Every day a little sample. I was always cold. These I am told are the symptoms.  I want desperately a poison garden. I consider these plants home.

Blackwell:7

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Under the willow tree I spoke softly and watched clouds darken from white to grey. The willow was once my Mercury. Over time it’s branches have swept across my face cleansing sorrows until light swept over, and all I could smell was where river met sea. It is not a mournful place but one of joy. I lay my head on the ground absorbing the pulse from beneath layers of soil and history. The Lighthouse to my right and the panopticon to my left.

Recap of a former working: Skulls poured out of skulls breaking the initial working. It took three days before the news came in. It had been broken and the skies cracked and he lifted his face to the sun.

Dirt Roads: 6

"You’ve got to take that prayer cloth and hold it, let your tears fall and you say those prayers over it and into it. You say them until that cloth gets so hot it falls out your hands that it’s burning with those desires."

Outside Astaroth howled. Inside I propped the new Eggun stick against the wall. Restlessness shook my body. It’s a bad thing to feel it in your bones. I want to travel now. I want to be on dirt roads.

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Hallet’s Cove: 5

The air felt thick with rain again, the second of the series of storms. I stood on the shore of Hallet’s Cove watching wilted flowers as they rolled back and forth with the waves. The black candle had burned out and the crossroads eagerly excepted it’s remains. The good Sister was reading bible verses again, Ezekial 38:22 and sent the message. In ten minutes time another storm, in another city far far away blew in. It was coming, not the end of days, but someone’s days. I collected the water and washed the poppet. Somewhere someone was pretending everything was okay.

By the roots of the tree were two devil pods. Two bat nuts to bring home. They aren’t found by these waters. The man at the crossroads had left them for me.

And it Came in a Downpour: 4

The sky opened but didn’t crack. It was the rain before the rain,before the storm. It was the one to let me know it was coming. It was slight and delicate, enough to know it was a series. Amanda lit the candles in the garden. The old Saint statue was crumbling from weather and greens. She took photographs and sent them to me. From light, darkness grew and in it a tiny spark grew once again. We have named him Astaroth.

Winding Roads: 3

The early hours started with a fast car and winding roads. Up on a mountain we looked out at the water deciphering lights and talking of the forgotten dead. Back home the candles flared and flickered. The black candle danced and spit. If they were trying to resist it wasn’t working and soon the sky would open flooding the land and streaking the sky with light while both heaven and hell pounded their drums and chests.

The wind had been calm and gentle, the way she gets right before change occurs. I lit the white candles on jars of honey, so many hopes and wishes crammed into sweetness with locks of hair, photographs, and sexual fluids. I said a prayer for each of them blowing three times and lighting the match. Seven in all. It was a seven year.

In the evening I slinked away to the lighthouse and lay beneath the weeping willow. When I think of Mary Bliss Parsons, I think of her like me.

Holy Water: 2

The twigs of the cedar tree would be brought to the marketplace and left in bundles. The seed of the land planted like willow by abundant water would spread creating roots. This is what the good book told me and so I collected the branches and bundled them with twine. While cedar protected against lightning the willow was sympathetic to the plea.

"I know she’s of the devil for I can not keep my mind from her" - The Silencing of Women

Down the road, laying face to sky I found my father standing over me. Daughter of both Fortune and Fate, “I can work both sides.” I said raising my hand to the sun. And there it was in the open, no good, no evil, neutrality at it’s best.

"There is no contract. By working the good book you work both for and against me. You work both for and against him. But nothing is against us. It’s 50/50 on these roads. Both up there and down here it’s an equal divide. All of it’s justified."

He shook my hand and I saluted the sky. The leaves turned belly out. The storms would be coming soon.

Me and the Devil: 1

In the air were storms. The sky would break and he would say “It is broken like me.” and I would collect the thunder water breaking him again because I could and it was needed. When Sister opened the good book she read the passage from Ezekial 13:8 and it was understood that all would be shattered.

The wind was angry now. She howled outside pushing the plants and snapping branches from small trees. I tended to candles. The black candle flame remained small until the small poppet was encased and then it grew full fulfilling it’s duty. Small signs told me so, broken string, a dropped tool, a chain, crab shells, and two dead fish. All of these small and symbolic, meaning nothing to anyone but me. I lit the white candles now and they melted quickly leaving puddles of wax tears behind them. Soon the skies would open. Soon my job would be done.

The rooibos simmered in the large tub. I think about beauty and filming and how a raven uttered “Step back.” but a crow responded “Come forward.”