chaos magick
January 08, 2022
To what extent am I blinded by someone’s shine? How blinded are they by mine? A mere man once fooled me into thinking he was a wizard.
Tonight has a bizarre energy, and I’m partly waiting for something deadly to happen to me.
Many strange things happened to me tonight at work. Today was strange in general. I woke up in the afternoon, walked Momo, fed my plants, watered Sibyl, and when I arrived at work I had the strange feeling that it was only 10am, even though it was 3pm.
The other strange occurrences:
A cocktail exploded on me inside the shaker.
My coworker accidentally knocked a beer in my right eye, and it was so painful I cried.
I pricked my left finger.
I went outside to smoke weed, and my landlord sent me a video that referenced the fact that Sleeping Beauty sealed her death with the prick of her left (index) finger.
I pinched my left palm in the dishwasher.
My barback kept saying he felt like something strange was going to happen to me, like there was a concentration of chaos magick around me. He asked me if there was anyone out in the world who would want harm to befall me …
I immediately thought of La Femme and said, “Yes! But I don’t think she is powerful enough to enact a hex upon me,”
and Pedro said, “Yes, she can. Hatred is itself a prayer, and a prayer is energetic input in the Universe.”
He suggested I do a counter-spell or a protective spell.
I need to uncover more of what my feelings are towards La Femme. At this point I have a much deeper tether to her than to the Constable, because my hatred of her is more intense than my love for Constable.
Tonight I remembered a dream I had in early September: I was walking alone at the bottom of the ocean. I came across a trench and had the desire to take my clothes off and go inside of it. Then, and I can’t recall in which order these events happened, a parrot descended, landed on my hand, and bit my hand in the shape of a constellation which I understood to be Cassiopoeia. I put my hand on a man’s head, and he kneeled before me. I could feel in our exchange of energy that I was healing him.
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I have felt melancholy and hurt over the past few days in my new home, but I mostly don’t care, in the sense that the pain is so significantly weaker now that I’m severed from Laurel Manor and its inhabitants. I don’t think I’ll ever care to know the Constable again. He is clearly at his core a 50s male in a 50s-style heterosexual marriage and not the iconoclast he claims to be.
In other news, I went on a date last night. I drank an Aviation cocktail, bourbon in a rosemary-smoked glass with Chartreuse and lemon, and absinthe poured over a sugar cube into warm water. We drove out to Saratoga Springs, and the air was heavy with fog.
I want to go back as often as possible. My skin is soft from the sulfur.
Poetry has been pouring from me lately, which excites me.
I will value solitude over connections that limit my best outcome.
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