Showing posts with label Living two lives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living two lives. Show all posts

Friday, December 10, 2021

Listen carefully to your gut

 
Your body never lies to you. You should listen to it, especially if you want to follow a path related to magick or if you are an empath or psychic of any kind.
 
If you're feeling stressed, or angry, your body is trying to give you a message. Whenever I feel angry, it's because someone is violating a boundary and entering my personal space uninvited. My mind may not be up to speed with what's happening. I may need to discuss with a friend to put my finger on the exact reason I feel mad and how that person is disrespecting me. It's not always obvious, but I know something is wrong. I know it because I'm irate. What my mind can't immediately locate under layers and layers of social conditioning, pretence, and polite coercion, my body understands just fine. The animal in me bares its teeth and wants to bite. I should listen to the message for my sake. Careful here: listening to the message does not mean acting on it. Feelings exist to give you feedback. They aren't there to tell you what to do. Impulsively acting on them is not going to take you to a better place.

What if I'm wrong, you'll say. What if the person or situation is OK and I'm the one who has the problem?
 
Even that is a valid reason to back off. They may be safe, they may even be suitable. But if you are not feeling comfortable, then you're not ready. Not being ready is as valid a reason as they come. And if you're right about feeling uneasy, believe me, you don't want to find out why the hard way.

A few nights ago I was out, doing my walking routine. I usually pass by an old building with a large garden. The garden fence is mostly non-existent. If I step into that garden, I find myself walking alongside the street. The street and the streetlights are no longer visible, because there are large bushes that act as a natural fence. I need to take thirty to forty steps in that garden before I find myself on the street again, exiting through a hole in the fence. 
 
It's usually quiet in there, and sometimes I take the detour because I want to feel the change in atmosphere. This building is very close to Ymittos mount, and even though it's next to other houses and in theory I am still in the city, the atmosphere is different than walking on the street. I don't take the detour every night; only when the mood strikes.
 
So here I was, strolling without a care in the world, listening to All About Eve. I love that band, especially their sad songs, and I was in a good mood when I reached that place. I walked five steps in and realised I was terrified, though there was nothing there. I took one look at the way the light wind was making the tree-tops shake, another look at the darkness, and something inside me screamed, "get out, get out now, return to the light." 
 
For a split second my mind attempted to barge in and convince me that everything was fine. You know: there is no reason to feel that way, there is no-one here, you should not act like a baby, blah de blah. Thankfully I'm way past the point I need to prove myself to anyone, myself included. I elbowed my mind in the nose, metaphorically speaking, turned on my heels, and I was outta there. I admit I breathed a huge sigh of relief as soon as I stepped back into the safety of the streetlight, and I kept looking behind my back until I had put some distance between me and that place.

Now you're probably expecting some dramatic explanation, some proper justification for my behaviour. I am sorry if this is going to be anticlimactic. I don't have an explanation. I can say that the particular night was in the time-frame between the two eclipses. During eclipses various gates open, as eclipses are powerful astrological phenomena that release a lot of energy. Maybe something had stepped out of one such gate. What I do know for certain is that I am too old, and have had too many nasty etheric encounters in my life to shit in my pants just because the wind was blowing. I was spooked that night, I was downright terrified. I like darkness a lot, but that night, the wrong kind of darkness awaited in there. It was the hungry darkness that lurks in bad places during the small hours; the darkness that causes car accidents to happen, that makes normal people decide to bash their wife's head in because she said the wrong thing. That sort of darkness. And honestly, exorcism rituals are a lot of work. It's just plain stupid to have to go through one because you carried something home with you. 
 
To sum this up, don't ignore your own body screaming something at you. Feeling like an idiot for being spooked without a reason is a hundred times better than going through damage control because something bad happened. And some bad things cannot be undone, so please be vigilant. These are strange times.

Hope the new year will be better. Take good care everyone.

(As per usual, if you'd like to support this scaredy old cat, please buy her a coffee.)

Monday, January 25, 2021

Four of Swords: Forced Rest


And so I'm reading. I'm re-reading bits of my saga, which I wrote in 1999 and 2000. Yellowed pages that smell good, and have water stains on them. The ink I used to write has been smeared and erased in places, and my writing style, twenty years and thousands of pages later, seems too descriptive and overly emotional. But there are parts of me in them that shine effortlessly even now. It makes me happy and sad in equal parts. When I'm looking for a comforting place to hide in and recuperate I hide in there. In the world I brought here in bits and pieces that have never been connected in one, larger body.

I'm tired. Nothing new. Trying to push on, trying to keep walking. I'm terrified of stopping. In this world we live in, where dog eats dog, humans fight over nothing and find nothing to unite them, I am terrified of stopping. I'm chased by a battalion of anger and sadness, people, circumstances, unfinished jobs, unattainable dreams, frustration and tiredness. I need to find a safe place to rest, to put down my burden and sleep. I'm starting to think I'll sleep when I die. I've been chased by Gods, demons and mortals for almost forty three years now. I get bitten a lot, and before the wounds are healed I get new ones. I'm a goddamn geological formation of scabs. I don't even stop to think about it; anyone who gets too close on the other level gets incinerated. The only problem is you can't kill real, actual people without going to jail. Ha ha ha.

I'm tired. I need to rest. I need to hide and live the rest of my life invisible. It's impossible, of course. No matter where I go, they'll find me. I stink. My being is inhabited by my soul, and my soul stinks to them. That small pulse inside called soul colours my entire existence, skin and bone and blood, and it smells of the Other Side. It smells like understanding and forgiveness, taking care of every life from the smaller to the biggest, protecting the weak ones and the different ones and using resources to promote well-being, health and literacy, justice and medical care. It smells like safety and individuality and different families and fucking utopia. I stink of it. I stand out like a flower in an abattoir. And I can't help it. I am what I am, I can't change. I can't stop caring and wanting to protect the ones who can't protect themselves. I can't stop hating injustice, pettiness, vanity, racism, stupid mind-games, cruelty and hypocrisy. It's who I am. I know right from wrong. Loving, evolving, moving on is right. That's what I want for me and everyone else. And those who don't want it, well, I just wish to stay away from them. I don't want to change them, or educate them, or make them change their minds. I can't change them anyway, it's futile. Just want to keep my distance.

This world hates my guts, and I suffocate in it. It will pass. I'll push on. Time is always on my heels, biting me like a hyena, trotting behind me to tire me until I collapse. It circles above me, a carrion bird. And I give him the finger. And I walk on.

I recently came across this poem that pretty much says it all. Enjoy. And if you'd like to support me, please buy me a coffee.

Pursuit, by Stephen Dobyns

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do

something else. In such a way do the days pass--

a blend of stock cars racing and the never

ending building of a gothic cathedral.

Through the windows of my speeding car, I see

all that I love falling away: books unread,

jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?

What treasure do I expect in my future?

Rather it is the confusion of childhood

loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,

the failure chipping away at each success.

Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape

and so move forward, as someone in the woods

at night might hear the sound of approaching feet

and stop to listen; then, instead of silence

he hears some creature trying to be silent.

What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly

down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;

the other ever closer, yet not really

hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.

From “Cemetery Nights” by Stephen Dobyns (Penguin Books: 100 pp., $14.95) Copyright 1997 Reprinted by permission.

Taken from here.

Sunday, October 27, 2019

Bookhopping

I have been feeling weird for the past week; dizzy, weak, disoriented. My sleep hasn't been good either. It's nothing new. From time to time I find myself feeling ill for no reason. After forty one years on this earth, I've come to realise that being psychic to some degree is similar to having a chronic illness. I do not mean to make light of the daily struggle of people suffering from a chronic illness. They alone know what they have to deal with and the dehumanising effect of chronic pain. Under no circumstances would I say I face even a portion of the challenges they do. However, there are similarities. For example:
  • During the day, I may find myself feeling ill, or drained and exhausted, for no apparent reason.
  • My sleep is often awful. Not always, and not always in the same way, but getting a good night's sleep is way more challenging for me than it is for the average person.
  • This one is thankfully rare: I wake up to find that the world is spinning round and round, though I am perfectly still. If I try to move, even in the slightest, I am apt to vomit. Everything hurts and I feel wrecked. I don't drink alcohol, ever, so I don't want to hear smart comments about a hangover. This happens to me infrequently, usually every few years. When it does, I am rendered useless for that day. 
  • Interacting with the wrong people is a one way ticket to hell.
  • I can't touch, hug, or have sex with random people. Hell, I can't even dress up, put on make-up and go out without returning home feeling sick. It's fun, you should definitely try it. Not.

Yesterday was one of those fun days. After a bout of the merry go round effect (it happened on Tuesday), on Saturday I started feeling unwell. It got progressively worse. Headache, muscle pains, disorientation. I went to bed early and also took a painkiller. It didn't help much. I spent the biggest part of the night tossing, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep. Then I started shivering. I had to get an extra blanket. Then I started sweating. I had to keep just one blanket in order to stop sweating. I ached everywhere, and woke up feeling exhausted. I still feel exhausted and my body aches. Hopefully by tomorrow I'll be better. I am grateful for the fact I don't have to work on Monday because it is a national holiday. I would have been the equivalent of the queen of zombies working as a secretary.

I didn't begin this entry to air my woes. I wanted to refer to my bookhopping. Bookhopping is like barhopping, only with books, and for different reasons than locating a place with lots of excitement. Let's say you read a book, and the protagonist is about to break up. Being emotionally drained, you decide you can't handle it, so you hop to another book. You read that other book, only to discover that the heroes are facing a difficult challenge. Can you handle it? The answer is no. So you hop to yet another book like a frog that's chased by an army of hungry snakes. Gee, maybe I should start reading books for first graders about butterflies and shit. Maybe I should stop reading in general and start, dunno, knitting. What are the chances of abandoning a scarf because I am emotionally vulnerable?

Other than that, I am alive and well. I read two very interesting articles I would like to share with you. They both touch on how language and repetition/ stereotypes define and program our beliefs.
 
(Update in 2021: unfortunately the first article does not exist anymore.)

http://leftbrainedhippie.com/2017/02/25/8-words/

https://markmanson.net/negative-self-help

I would like to close this entry with this photo. 



She was found shot seventeen times, with one ear cut off, blind, pregnant and with a broken jaw. She survived, got adopted and now she is a therapy dog. Look at her. She is the living example of not letting your pain define who you are, but turn every bit of pain you've been through into solid gold. I mean LOOK at her. And maybe, just maybe, next time you face a challenge, instead of "I can't do this", say, "I'll give it a go." Just give it a go.

As per usual, if you'd like to support me, please buy me a coffee.

More info on the dog here: 

Monday, July 29, 2019

Storming paradise


"From this flesh my spirit longs to break away. 
Did you ever feel this cosmic circumstance was never enough? 
Wake me slowly if ever at all. 
Wake me slowly or watch me fall."

I do long to break free from my flesh tonight. Only I don't want to die.
Desire makes me weak, it makes me crawl, yet dignity wins every single time.
I still need to find the one who won't force me to choose.
I have to keep on fighting though I can barely stand.
It's OK though. I'm used to watching my world burn.
I am slowly regaining my hope, not because the situation is improving. Because it was mine and you took it away.
The rest will take care of itself, fuck you very much.
Desire will pass. It always passes.
Hey, even life will pass, let alone desire. 
I wish I could take a single drop of my longing and put it in a glass.
Then watch the unlucky person who drank it go mad.
You obviously knew what you did when you gave that much yearning to me.
You knew I could host it. 
Not sure who else can take it even by association, and not go insane.
Long ago, there was someone who could take it, and he used it to create worlds with me.
He is not here now, but watches over me.
And late at night I find myself imploring him.
"Show me the one who can take it.
Show me the one who'll manage not to be consumed and pushed into madness
but will use my love as a key to unlock paradise.
We'll take paradise by force, true Sons and Daughters of Lucifer
and our love will burn so brightly that angels will cover their eyes."
I do long to break free from my flesh tonight. Only I don't want to die.
Desire makes me weak, it makes me crawl, yet dignity wins every single time.
Until the night I won't have to choose.

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Tuesday, April 02, 2019

Indigo jester


Take a person made by their very nature to hope and merge, and teach them
by tribulation after tribulation,
by one death after the other,
by killing their hope,
by crushing their dreams.
Teach them by branding them day by day
with the red hot iron of disappointment
that understanding is an illusion,
that there is no peace, except for the one they grant themselves,
and that there's no escape, nor any destination.
Keep doing that for four decades.
Do you know what you get?
The worst kind of holy warrior someone could have unleashed upon your sorry ass,
the kind of witch priestess who will spit her soul out before she yields, 
a jack of all trades killing with tales, her eyes dripping poison and tears in equal parts.
Me and my army of cats, dead and alive,
are still debating the wisdom of your tactics.


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Saturday, February 09, 2019

Winter nights

Some winter nights are tranquil. Masses of clouds travel fast in the sky and the cold is not unbearable. I stare at the moon and distant stars and try to decipher the meaning of their shapes, the hidden stories in the shadows.

Some nights I am happy. Other nights, the pain spills out and covers my skin with goosebumps. I listen to music and remember dead friends and dead pets. I try to wrap myself in the comfort of music and imagine the notes as an ethereal embrace, the ghost arms of those who once loved me.

I'm tired. Two nights ago I re-watched a short film I had made with a friend. He needed to make a short film as a dissertation, and I found myself starring in it. I thought the DVD was lost. Recently I found it again.

Watching my much younger self in the film I experienced an overwhelming wave of sadness. She had no idea what life had in store for her and I wished I could hide her in my embrace and tell her to be strong, because she is someone I love, appreciate and admire more with each passing year. But we can only travel forward one second at a time, and so I watched her and shook my head. If she knew what her life would be like for the next fifteen years, maybe I wouldn't be here now, writing this blog entry. Maybe she would have thrown in the towel and stepped off that building eleven or twelve years ago like she planned. I don't know what kept her going. Hope? Stubbornness? Anger? Whatever it was, I am glad it served to keep her here. I've seen what suicide does to those on its ground zero. It's not pretty.

I'm trying to develop a strong inner core so that the outside doesn't rule my inside. It's very hard.

I wonder what you saw in me all those years ago, my dear Virve, and decided to make me part of your family. We never did meet, but the fact you considered me trustworthy enough to confide in me is the greatest praise I can think of.

I am tired, love. Tired of this life that it seems to run in two modes. One is the crippling routine mode, the second is the kick in the teeth mode. I keep pushing my hand inside, and like a blind person, I fumble about inside my inner darkness until I pull out wonders. I sink my hand inside the river of Lethe to pull out the salmon of Wisdom. I push my fingers into my wounds to study the nature of my despair, the taste of my blood, the root of fear inside me. Then I share my discoveries here. I know most won't understand, and that's okay. The soul's journey cannot be shared. But even if one person understands, that's enough. And you did understand.

I miss you tonight. You, and all my dead pets, and the father I never had, and the innocence I cannot regain.

I miss you. But maybe the music I listen to is the embrace you never gave me in flesh and blood. Now your ashes travel the world, and I'm here, writing and remembering.

Thank you for believing in me when I didn't. I still draw strength from it. I appreciate everything you ever did. I wish you were here so I could say it to you, but maybe you know. 

When I kiss the stars good-night, I kiss you too.

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Saturday, November 24, 2018

They cannot stop you unless you stop



That's what I keep telling myself. Again, and again.
They cannot stop me unless I stop.
They can't stop me unless I give up. If I give up, they have succeeded.
They are idiots, because I can't really stop. It's not a choice. Asking me to stop breathing would have been easier.

I can't stop seeing. I can't stop writing. I can't stop understanding. It's the way I am wired. The same brain that discerns patterns and responds to specific kinds of music is the mind that has hosted freaks and monsters and wonders for as long as it exists. Yes, conditioning plays a part, but there is genetic predisposition and there is also something called soul. 

I follow in the footsteps of Hecate, gathering freaks and lost souls from the crossroads of life, gathering the weird ones around me. Strength in numbers, because everyone and everything is against us. Against decency, humanity, understanding, common sense, dignity, hope. This is war, and it has been going on for as long as humanity exists, and it has never been better or worse. There are periods of remission and periods where the struggle is violent and visible. The struggle never stops, and it is inside as much as outside because this is the way of life. As above, so below, within and without.

Right now in Ohio men in power want to completely abolish abortion and jail women on the mere suspicion.
In countless countries being gay still gets you the death penalty.
Trafficking is worse than ever. Wars have provided the jaws of the Machine with an endless supply of fresh meat.
The entire world stumbles towards blind, mindless, bloody chaos, and I put one foot in front of the other even if I have to clench my teeth to do it.
They cannot stop you unless you stop. 
Ο μόνος τρόπος να σε σταματήσουν είναι να σταματήσεις.
Keep moving. 
Don't let them silence you.
There are truths that aren't negotiable.
Keep going. 

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Saturday, April 07, 2018

Fun time with demons

I have been re-reading my past diaries. I do that from time to time. I recently came across a dream I had seen in 2016. I had forgotten about it. Ha! It scores a veritable nine out of ten in the Shitting Bricks scale, so I thought I'd share with you. Ready or not, here I come.

I am in a place with other people. Everyone is sleeping. I meet a friend's mother in law. She is smoking like a chimney, and I tell her that she has a demon in her throat. If she exorcises that demon, she will quit smoking. I also tell her that someone has seen spots in her aura, which means she is in imminent danger of developing cancer if she doesn't quit. She tells me she doesn't want to. 

I notice that there is a metallic object flying in the room. It is a decorative object, but it is flying in the manner of an insect. I grab it, throw it on the floor and step on it, destroying it. There is an orange substance like dough inside. The left hand I used to catch it with is smeared with that orange substance. I know there is a demon inside that thing, so I keep stomping on it while yelling, "Fire! Bring me fire to burn it!" No-one pays attention to my yelling. 

The scenery changes and I am back in my house. The demon has followed me there. My (dead) grandmother appears in my dream. She was my father's mother, and her name was Elizabeth. She takes the demon inside her willingly to protect the rest of the family. Suddenly I find myself in another place, where two friends live, and they, too, are under possession and they keep attacking me together with their demon, who's a man. I can barely keep them in check. 

I find myself back in my house, in my room. My possessed grandmother is in my room with me. I step out. My mother gives me a candle to put it inside my grandmother's mouth. I open the door, put the candle inside my grandmother's mouth, and close the door again. An explosion takes place, and when I open my door again, my grandmother has transformed into a candle that burns slowly. My mother seizes that candle and tells me, "Now I am going to call another demon to take her soul and bring me wealth." She is holding the candle in her right hand as she tells me "Look! Do you feel that wind? It means he has arrived. He is already here." 

I look around and there is indeed an abnormal wind blowing that terrifies me, because there is a thing like tendrils of black smog inside it. "I am going to stop you," I tell her. "In the name of Christ," I say, and raise my hand. I am holding a big metallic knife in my right hand. I draw a banishing pentagram in the air and her invocation is cut short.

"What did you do?!" she screams at me. I realise her left eye is completely black, as if it is a stone and not a human eye. "A rich man would have come in my life, and he'd have taken care of me!" 
"It's best for you to be free," I tell her, and I wake up. I am panting. I look at the clock. It is 05:43 a.m.

The worst part of the dream wasn't that. The worst bit was after waking up. I called upon Michael because I was terrified and still heaving. I looked at the ceiling and saw tendrils of black smog. I raised my right hand to block it and spoke out loud the name of Michael three times. At the same time, a dog started howling somewhere in the neighbourhood, while the sirens of two ambulances echoed in the distance. 

Don't ask me how I slept again that night. I did. It wasn't easy, but I am rather used to these things happening to me. 

Points of interest:
  • Sleeping people= unaware of the supernatural?
  • Addictions are actually 'demons'. 
  • Spots in aura are a sign that a sickness is about to appear in the physical body, if it hasn't already.
  • Fire can indeed be used to fight demons.
  • Selling the soul of a person who sacrificed themselves to protect others in order to gain wealth is one of the most abominable deeds I can think of.
  • Drawing a banishing pentagram in the air can be used to ward off evil whether one is asleep or awake. 
  • The knife I saw in my dream does exist. After the dream, I took it and placed it on my altar. 
  • Michael and Christ are excellent choices to keep evil at bay. Don't forget Michael's element is fire, and Christ... Well, I don't need to elaborate.
  • Howling dogs, eh, not good. Animals can sense when something is wrong. Ambulances, obviously not good. Numbers in descending order, not good either. 
Here is a picture of an invoking and a banishing pentagram. Use the second to kick some demon ass. And don't forget, the worst demons are the ones we create by addiction and obsession. They begin as thought-forms and slowly evolve into separate, autonomous entities. So regulate your bad habits if you don't want unhealthy roommates in your body and mind. :) And if you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.

Monday, February 12, 2018

Phoenix




"Hi ho, nobody home, love nor hope nor honour have I none, yet I will be merry..."

The song of the dispossessed is buried with them, piles of rotting flesh in nameless graves. Then the crows, eaters of flesh, take it back to the Mother who's Unfathomable, Unnamed, Sacred, Absent from this hellhole of a world.

"You know, Lilith has had as much bad press as Lucifer, if not more. It's the same with Kali and Hecate. Kali kills the parts of the self that not only don't serve a purpose anymore, but turn into fully-fledged demons if left unchecked. Hecate was the goddess of witchcraft, but also of justice, eloquence, a protectress of pregnant women and children and the one who in her mercy gathered the souls of the mad and the suicides from the crossroads."

And Lilith?

Luminous shadow of Creation
the left hand of God/dess
Black Moon to Her Black Sun
The Ancient One who walked in the gardens of Babylon
The Second Born and first to give birth
Exalted, revered, sacred
The ones scared of Her power 
called Her mother of abominations
the One who gave birth to Death
As if life itself isn't the first step towards
the embrace of Death...

And you?

I weave. Silently, incessantly, I weave. I write and pray and light candles and kiss my cats and eat and walk and talk and weave. In my sleep I sing the song of the dispossessed and wake up with my cheeks wet with tears. In my waking hours I see the heart of the tiniest phoenix in the flaming center of a flower and go back to bed with my cheeks wet with tears. Cause no-one else sees it, and when I tell them about it, they give me that half-smile we give to children and mentally challenged people. 

If you have money, you are eccentric. If you don't, you're just weird.

I can live with it. 

Dead Can Dance
"Song Of The Dispossessed"

The river is deep and the road is long
Daylight comes and I want to go home
Awoke this morning
To find my people's tongues were tied
And in my dreams
They were given books to poison their minds
The river is deep and the mountain high
How long before the other side?
We are their mortar
Their building bricks and their clay
Their gold teeth mirror
Both our joys and our pain
The river is deep and the ocean wide
Who will show us how to read the signs?
The earth is our mother
She taught us to embrace the light
Now the lord is master
She suffers an eternal night
You blocked up my ears
You plucked out my eyes
You cut out my tongue
You fed me with lies
Oh lord
Oh lord
Oh lord
Oh lord
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Sunday, November 05, 2017

Nyarlathotep


Two nights ago I had  a very interesting dream. I was in the bedroom of a young woman I've known since childhood. She was in bed with me and we were naked. In the beginning of the dream I thought it was her, but then she attacked me and I knew it was a shape-shifting demon.

I started struggling with the demon. It was strong and trying to overpower me. I was stronger. I was fighting to hold it still and screaming sacred names of entities at the same time. I remember using Michael's name, and I also shouted "divine providence". Every time I yelled one of the holy names, the demon reduced in size until what was left of it was a handful of blonde hairs. So I got off bed and started burning those hairs using a candle, and even the hairs of that thing were struggling.

Just as I was done burning the hairs, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and stood behind it completely naked. I was feeling at ease. Outside stood a tall, slim young man, whose features were Caucasian, but he had the skin colour of either an Arab or a person of one black and one white parent. His eyes were green and transparent. He was actually quite sexy and had a pleasant demeanor. He asked me if my friend was inside, and I replied she wasn't.
"Oh, that's a pity," he said. "It has such nice weather. I was thinking of taking her to the sea."
"I am sorry. She's not here," I said and closed the door.

I woke up feeling tired and cranky by my struggle with the demon. Two pieces of information came to me as I made the transition to wakefulness. 

One, that pleasant dark-skinned man was a demon too, and he had come to take what had been promised to him. You see, that young woman I have known since childhood had a mother who was involved in magic. Unfortunately she was the worst kind of witch someone can be; sloppy and with superficial knowledge. I wouldn't be surprised if she promised her daughter to some entity, or something tricked her. 

Two, that man wasn't just any demon. He was the Black Man of the witches, also known as Nyarlathotep. He appears as a man of Arab ancestry sometimes, but is also seen with Caucasian features. Great.

So... exterminating shape-shifting demons by vibration (yelling) and fire, check. Flirting with Nyarlathotep, check. Shutting the door on his face while he came to collect a debt, check. Seeing that dream on the night of the full moon, check. Not that I am counting or anything. Just saying.

I really, really need to win the lottery. Life is so much simpler when all you have to worry about is what colour nail varnish to use. Not that it'd change anything in my case. I'd still spend my days choosing stickers and my nights grappling with demons. And trying to type a blog entry with a cat sleeping on my lap. Both my legs have gone to sleep presently, and I suspect that's what I ought to do too. I hope Nyarlathotep won't pay me another visit any time soon; I sorely need my beauty sleep. 😝
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