Sound and Fury

Dear Hearts,

I could start this post tonight a thousand different ways. It’s been…a week.

Mom and I got back to The Holy City last Sunday night. She had to go home Friday because poor Maddie had to have emergency surgery. Laryngeal Paralysis—Lar Par.

She was dying in the car with Dad and he got her to the vet by God’s Grace.

I just looked at my bank account—I had an overdraw issue earlier in the week. For the first time in my life, I am looking at my bank account and I know that I can’t pay the bills.

Of course, I have to let My House go. I don’t wanna talk about it.

It just feels shitty to not have enough money to pay the bills—but God blesses me with a family who helps. I can’t imagine if I didn’t have…

I miss Mom. I drove her to the airport and when I left her at the terminal (awful Tom Hanks’s movie) I walked away crying.

I KNOW that I’m not—but I feel alone. I haven’t thought about killing myself seriously lately. That’s a feat.

Prairie Preacher thinks she was two good guys—or one—that would be perfect for me. It’s a success for me to get through a day with a panic attack or day dreaming about blowing my brains out. I would never do that—my plan is far more complicated. But, there is no way someone else can be in my life.

I hope…but perhaps I’ll just be alone. I am trying to see my life here, in this house, in The Holy City—the future. I’m alone.

I was so fucking stupid with T.

His father died—I learned via Facebook.

I hope he drinks himself into oblivion because of his “Daddy Issues.” What an awful thing to hope for. But there is this part of me that want that motherfucker to suffer.

I’m scared.

I have Star Tuesday and I have to go into Burning Bed this week and re-organize the library. I had all my ritual work memorized and then some—but like my body hair, I let it go and now I have to re-memorize the ritual work. Of course, I only have one part to memorize—but I felt compelled to memorize three other vacant offices. Because why? Because I have to be the best…be number one…

Look where that got me.

I argued with this bitch over the weekend via a social media site about Wicca. She is all Christianity is a joke and to be a real Wicca you have to be an ordained into the Third Degree. And, Scott Cunningham she says is a first-degree hack.

“You don’t argue with a High Priestess,” she wrote.

Aw, hell no. You did not just say that to me. I was “appropriate,” but I wasn’t gonna back down. YOU DON’T DEFAME SCOTT CUNNINGHAM.

I have been talking to Mother Mary for years—I just used to call her The Goddess. In my drawings I incorporate dream catchers, peace pipes, Indian spirituality. Why not include my Pagan tradition. The crescent moon tattoo I have in honor of the Great Goddess and also works for Mother Mary. The two religions are so similar in a lot of ways.

Why EXclude a whole tradition of Faith that served me for so many years?

I don’t believe what The Church says—that tarot and Wicca are evil. Only man is jealous. God doesn’t mind what the fuck we call Him. Or Her.

“Have no other Gods before me.”

As in—don’t worship stuff. Or people. Like houses.

Tonight is gonna be a five cigarette night.

The weather has been in the upper 60s. It is so beautiful to not feel assailed by Nature when you walk out the door.

I could color a finished drawing. But, I’d rather draw. I express something through my pictures that I can’t any other way.

I’m scared and alone. I wish I were in Nebraska Buffalo Hunting.

“’Tis a tale told by and idiot. Full of sound and fury…”

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: THANK YOU SAINT FRANCIS.

Grateful For:

Health

Warmer weather

Cigarettes

Family

Christ