The Eternal Mourner In The Snow. I Love My Walk To Work.

The eternal mourner in the snow. I love my walk to work.

Life hack: if you're a writer/artist who needs ideas, put on the goddamn WEIRDEST asmr you can find then go to sleep.

im curious so.... random poll time!

what genres do you find yourself writing in unintentionally? like what do you gravitate to whenever you start a story?

also if i didnt include a genre, rb and put it in the tags. (btw i didnt include fanfiction because i feel like most fanfic also fit into these genres)

if u want, rb so there's a higher sample size

No I am not digging up fucking graves jfc

Long story short a post that was posted in a queer witch collective where ‘sell’ is understood to mean ‘cover shipping’ (ESPECIALLY WHEN I MADE THAT CLEAR) and curse is understood to mean ‘any spell you cast on another physical person’ was screen shot (just my post. NOT THE MASSIVE THREAD THAT FUCKING FOLLOWED) and removed from the group where it had context and posted. What has followed has been extremely racist, especially towards those who still practice indenginious craft. Physical harm has been threatened, including towards my child. (Ya’ll fuckers can cool it on that front before you really start saying shit you can’t back up. Because I swear if any of you actually have the guts to try something my automatic response when it comes to my child is to put your teeth in my alter. Try. Me.) Here’s what happened. You can either understand there’s an entire part of the story you aren’t getting or you can continue thinking your outrage is righteous and I’m actually knee deep in bodies. I don’t care. There are a few inground cemetaries around where I live. For some reason people think I’m going to Holt, which IM NOT AND IM NOT SURE HOW YOU ALL GOT THAT CEMETARY. But anyways, bones eventually wash up. Because that’s what happens in in ground cemetaries, especially ones where it rains a lot and grounds keepers aren’t doing their jobs. I was walking into the grave yard like I usually do once a week, because its fucking in disrepair and I try to do what I can with weeding and offerings, and I witnessed an old man digging with a shovel and a backhoe tearing into old plots. You fucks wanna threaten me yet don’t actually sit to rationally think about how in ground cemeraries actually continue to be able to have bodies buried there. I made a quick decision when I watched a few bones tumble from the dirt and into the street. I picked them up and went through the grave yard and picked up ones I saw on my path knowing that they were either going to be crushed or swept away. And I’m sorry, but for me, a spiritual person who works with death, seeing a fucking machine tear into graves like that seemed a lot less respectful to the dead you all are so concerned about, than me picking them up and saving them. I. DID. NOT. DIG. UP. ANYTHING. What the post fails to show is how many times I explained what I was doing. I’m not sure how people even got that. Anywho. I made a choice, in what I thought was a safe space for PoC witches, especially PoC witches who practice indenginious, dark, or otherwise not Wiccan/fluffy magic, to post something offering the little bits of bone I had sitting on my alter, to other PoC witches who might use human bones in their practice. Somehow this blew up into me digging up fucking bodies. I’m not. I repeat: I am not digging up bodies or bones. I’ve also been heavily shamed for my indenginious practices. Here’s the thing ya bunch of fucks. Magic is dark. Magic is bloody. Magic is scary. Magic isn’t just fucking white light, fairy dust, bowls of honey on your damn alter. You all can stop touting the 'three fold rule’ or 'Wiccan reed’ or 'karma’ thing. That shit applies to only those who believe in it ::FULL FUCKING STOP:: I am not Wiccan. I am not fluffy. I work with death and bones. Curses and hexes, the dark and the things not for the faint of heart. And you aint about to shame me for it. Fucking ya’ll want to pretend that I’m not in New Orleans, where I have watched black voodoo priests break into crypts and steal random full bodies. Ya’ll wanna sit there and pretend that graveyard keepers aren’t actually selling bodies or bones to hospitals and colleges. (Yeah yeah they have legal ways to do it but if you honestly think people aren’t being paid to bury empty coffins, you’re way more niave than I need to point out.) Ya’ll want to be mad at the kid who saved some bones from being crushed, because fuck getting the actual story. Let’s go with this screen shot that in no way shows the entire story. Sure. Ya’ll wanna prented that occult leaders, ::cough the leader of the New Orleans chapter of the OTO cough:: aren’t actually breaking into graves to steal skulls and get body parts to practice their necromancy (hint:I’m not a necromancer that’s not whatbik doing so can that pile of horse shit please) Instead of being angry at the Frat parties that actually break into cemetaries and cause fucking damage for stupid college parties, you want to be angry at the kid who literally picked up bones from the ground to save them from getting swept away. The kid who continues to care for the cemetaties they visit, the kid who offers offerings and prayer when ever anything is taken. Cool. Sounds legit. But yeah. I’m knee deep in bodies, with a shovel eating and selling the bones. Sure. Whatever. I’ve only gotten a little bit of hate mail, which reads to me as people don’t actually care, they just wanted something to be pissed about. If you feel the need to send me hate mail please be aware that I am not actually going to read it, I’m going to delete it. Thanks.

Last New Year, I resolved to read some classic novels this year.

I promptly forgot about that until I was sitting in the airport to go visit my grandparents this year.

Luckily, it wasn't too late. I had plenty of books I wanted to get through, since I didn't really do any pleasure reading last semester, but when I got home from school, I got the random itch to finally read Fight Club by Chuck Palahnuik. I finished it on the flight home -- just barely making it in time for the New Year.

I highly recommend this book! Chuck Palahnuik is an absolute freak of a man with a very unique style. I love the way he develops Tyler as sort of a cult leader figure -- it's very unnerving how he makes his awful suggestions sound so appealing.

I think it was a risky move to leave the narrator completely nameless, but I think he pulled it off really well. It's easy to project onto the narrator, and as the story goes on, you see how the narrator dehumanizes himself and others (such as the Space Monkeys, who are referred to as a mass, or the Mechanic, who's a sort of prophet figure.)

I loved Marla as a character. I didn't see the twist coming. It was a quick read. Highly recommend.