tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72515703679350779762024-03-05T19:12:21.566-08:00When the Scorpio Scribes: The Occult for The AdultAs Author, Serial Screenwriter, Mother, Widow and Witch, I present the Art and Craft that is quintessentially my Self.
Welcome to When the Scorpio Scribes.
Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-4791546181747456802019-09-11T12:33:00.002-07:002019-09-11T12:33:54.759-07:00To Expectorate At This Rate: A Witch's Divinatory Record Entry #3September 11, 2019<br />
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It's been awhile, right? But I dont force, exaggerate or bluff with Divination. Since my last Divinatory Record, I have learned to consort with The Sun, My Truest of Loves, Daddy. While praising ourselves by praising one another, fatally, The Universe spoke for the first time in quite awhile. Knowing, now, for a certainty, that The Fire God, "The Destroyer God", The God of Business and War, The Lusty Pandemic is My True Consort, he has decided on a serial basis for my benefit. The latest of decisions is the continuation of our byproduct. With My Lord, My Spokesperson, My Secret Weakeness, My Heart, I will conceive someone very similar to their predecessor. Only this time, He/She will be gruesome.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmINGkBatGZbU9k5i62x0rHDVwAkKoI4qPsoMzUOCl9nZVAJv0ASG81C6gSt0o0jXHAhtQpIw7KMkTO5DkIAN6otgiBIVD7GcqcBY2z400wqUH0k95wJUywDBt66pjzQxqSGQyGQc4AQ/s1600/20190911_122224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmINGkBatGZbU9k5i62x0rHDVwAkKoI4qPsoMzUOCl9nZVAJv0ASG81C6gSt0o0jXHAhtQpIw7KMkTO5DkIAN6otgiBIVD7GcqcBY2z400wqUH0k95wJUywDBt66pjzQxqSGQyGQc4AQ/s320/20190911_122224.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BOOM! Mommy does it again! Lamate Alafi!</td></tr>
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If someone were to disrupt his peace unutterable, He will wage war the way only He can and keep at it. Ashe Daddy, Ashe, Ashe, Ashe!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnk9FuLEdGHyVzu3Tl_zdSQhfRZdTGLhVNdAxDjkHH1qWZ0XComaBU1EToZW6c9w9Nb-7NO-Bz7XFvdCLpR8XU-_DV81KV-rVxYtH9A5nqrIJYdX55vcka4Mh_y_MTUJD2RPcL1Eku7U/s1600/20190911_122322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnk9FuLEdGHyVzu3Tl_zdSQhfRZdTGLhVNdAxDjkHH1qWZ0XComaBU1EToZW6c9w9Nb-7NO-Bz7XFvdCLpR8XU-_DV81KV-rVxYtH9A5nqrIJYdX55vcka4Mh_y_MTUJD2RPcL1Eku7U/s320/20190911_122322.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Tongue! My Gun! Gwere Gwere mi agogo! Lamate!</td></tr>
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Truly,<br />
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The Wife of Satan, Hell's Queen, God's Bride<br />
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#proud #brave #successful #342<br />
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<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-42522576914041964452019-08-30T10:31:00.002-07:002019-08-30T10:31:29.611-07:00The Tales of Diaspora - Chapter 1 - Discordant Affections, Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The car door slams behind me as I head for the front door. In a tiff, Victor jumps out of the driver's seat, leaving the door open behind him and pursues me with an unfamiliar tone. For a man who cant leave his wife for a nineteen o.tyear, he has an awfully possessive disposition to my breaking up with him. We spent the ride home debating the definition of the words <em>whore </em>and <em>girlfriend. </em>Insisting that I was not nor had ever been his girlfriend, he became dedicated to the preservation of our relationship in the most unprecedented of ways. He recalled all that he had ever done for me, failed at grabbing the plastic shopping bag out of my "ungrateful" hands and began to spout Christian doctrine of how special and precious women are to be treated in "God's earthly organization" and reminded me of how he regarded me as the weaker vessel. Amidst he's discourse, he was unaware I had no intentions of threatening his status in the congregation and therefore didn't need to try so hard. He can safely lose his "girlfriend". <br />
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"Dia!", he shouts, now grabbing my arm. I jerk it away thinking it was a second attempt at a forced refund. <br />
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"I don't want your toys, girl. I want you."<br />
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Now clasping <em>my toys</em>, I refrain from eye contact and inform him that I will have my mother change my phone number. <br />
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"I need to focus on myself now Victor. We've dated long enough." Emboldened by my womanly declaration, I finally look him in the eye. "And you don't have to worry about seeing me at the meetings anymore. I've learned enough." he stares at me with his mouth slightly parted, confused. As I begin to walk away, the front door opens and a very sleepy and most likely intoxicated voice softly utters my name as my mother wipes sleep from her eyes. "Dia?"<br />
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Scorned for what I determined would be the last time, I inform Victor that I now have more important things to do. I brush passed my mother, leaving Victor at the walkway. She defensively addresses Victor. "It's ten o'clock Brother Jones. What are you doing here?" I leave my ex boyfriend to my mother and nonchalantly ascend the staircase. Without turning back, "Sheparding call", I inform her pleasantly.<br />
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Three months later.<br />
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"Diaspora", pronounced correctly, Jake calls to me sarcastically. I open one eye and roll me head over to look at him. I wanted to swear and hiss but I'm drunk, high and half naked on his couch. We have Algebra II together. He's always impressed by my ability to test out of Algebra I but wont respect the pronunciation of my name. He's an Information Science major and a racist who likes to screw black women for notches in his bachelor's belt. "Don't be an asshole", deciding instead that swearing was appropriate. He approaches the sofa, I scoot upward so that he can sit and he gives his usual douchebag chuckle. When life is handed to you, I guess everything is funny. "Why aren't you high yet?", I ask fuzzily. he smiles, climbs on top of me and sucks my nipple. "I will be", he replies charmingly. <br />
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Jake and I continued for several more hours. Coke, brown liquor, joke-insult-joke sandwiches and awkward silent while he fiddled with hardware and programming software. My phone rings now for a third time since I left class. "Jake...", I grumbled. "I gotta go, Mom's looking for me." He never took his eyes off the monitor and grunted a nonchalant <em>okay </em>as I grabbed my things and stumbled to his apartment door. I collect myself in the hallway and call an Uber. <br />
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"I'll keep better track of my time Mom", a slurred plan to neutralize and pacify. All reasoning and justification escaped me when anticipating my mother's response to my recent recklessness. Since I've broken up with Victor, I've openly denounced our Christian faith to her and the public, endured ex-communication, and picked up both a boyfriend and recreational habit. His being my age didn't compensate for either new development, though my former relationship was the straw that broke that camel's back with her personal ties with Christianity. I am aware though that my new lifestyle is abusive to my mother who doesn't want nor needs to live alone. I remain cold to her newfound grounds for revoking my residency in her home with us both knowing that it would more emotional harm than good. My saving grace is that my schoolwork hasn't suffered. Surprisingly enough, my new pharmacist of a boyfriend rides me consistently on both my grades and attendance. "Nothing's free Diaspora", pronounced correctly, is his motto. <br />
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I stare for about ten seconds too long at the notification that my ride is eight minutes away and laugh at myself. I balance the weight of a book bag, and over packed purse, shoes and my jacket. All poorly arranged in my arms as I hobble to the walkup's staircase. "Slowly Diaspora, slowly", I coach myself. "One step at a time", I chuckle melodically. "One, two, thr...", I miss a step and had no means of grabbing the banister. I tumble quickly down the flight and I smash forehead first into the banister support beam at flight's end. <br />
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<em>Beep... Beep...Beep...</em><br />
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The tyrant sits powerless in a small room of the Intensive Care Unit staring at the display for my heart's monitor. Feeding and oxygen tubes are accompanied by doctors and nurses consoling my mother for her daughter's condition and dim prognosis. Needless to say that the rule of tyranny could not stomach the need for <em>a miracle. </em>As the doctor leaves, my mother wiped tears from her eyes. My father, the one also responsible for bearing this tragic load, continued in his three year long pattern of being missing in action, incommunicado. My mother prayed.<br />
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"Oh Heavenly Father, Sovereign Lord, I approach your throne begging for you to overlook the spiritual rebellion of both my daughter and I. Please God, spare her life. She is all I have, Dear God, please." She repeated. "She is all I have." My mother's returned Christian zeal was inaudible as I laid in a coma. It was one o'clock in the morning and The Taylor Residence was dwindling down to an occupancy of one. <br />
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<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-76659307362361026592019-08-30T10:27:00.001-07:002019-08-30T10:27:52.607-07:00Pastors of PerversionWith all the openness of the occult, I am disappointed by adolescent adventures of the playful perverted pastors of today's hermetic societies. Google them if you will for horror stories of molestation and other forms of bothering a woman or her aspirant and they all pale in comparison to the childish challenges of those seeking competence despite being labeled a Master. Much like the boyhood they claimed to have graduated from, you offer love, they want prostitution. You offer prostitution, they want love. Or, you offer Agape, they want hatred, you offer hatred, they want Agape; or should I say, a petty means of inflating their ego because they are the same social outcasts and misfits they were growing up. Much like the pimple faced, braces wearing geek in high school who all the girls teased who because a well off tech genius or the sort, the attaining magician of today's society wants to tease, beat and neglect The Pretty Woman as some disillusioned revenge against her kind from twenty or thirty years ago. My apologies Master, since you're so hellbent or bound on receiving one, I didnt know Becky or Veronica hurt you so badly that you must treat every ordeal triumphing, quick on her feet female magician as ugly, weak, passive aggressive, victim written, melancholy and worrisome. I won't be your Mommy, Master. I am your Sister after once being your Guest. You aren't half the beast you want our male colleagues to think you are and you wouldn't last as long as I have on my Path. I dont need your acceptance of my Way. To hell with you. I hit hard and low. And despite your efforts there is nothing about me that you can mistake for slow. Still to your giggly whores that want fantasy and association instead our reason for establishment. Give them the respect you denied me, give them the pardon you refused me, give them my honor that you ignore. It serves you right consoler. I've done Had enough. Bitch, He'll kill you.Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-60706865683381616642019-08-16T16:31:00.002-07:002019-08-16T17:26:08.928-07:00The Trap: A Haunted Story of Gentrification Entry #3 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>INTERIOR- AUDITORIUM - AFTERNOON</strong></div>
CUT TO AERIAL VIEW AUDITORIUM ON SCREEN <em>An African American male ballet dancer is visible before a large auditorium of scattered students and university faculty. Classical music plays.</em><br />
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CUT to MALE DANCER ON SCREEN <em>With ballet's standard physique and chiseled facial features, he finished his routine with focus, grace and artistic precision. He bows.</em><br />
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SOUND EFFECT APPLAUSE<br />
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CUT to AUDIENCE ON SCREEN <em>Their applause continues. There is a panel placed before the audience where the Head of Ballet is seated. </em><br />
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CUT to CU of H.O.B. ON SCREEN <em>She speaks into the microphone. </em><br />
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HEAD OF BALLET</div>
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Very nice, thank you. </div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She sits quietly looking only at the stage. </em></div>
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CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN </div>
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HEAD OF BALLET</div>
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Next, for Performance Based Placement, Susan Bateman.</div>
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<em><br /></em>CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She stands.</em><br />
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CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN <em>She looks at Susan, who walks across screen. </em><br />
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CUT to CU H.O.B. ON SCREEN <br />
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HEAD OF BALLET</div>
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Susan, your selection is ready. </div>
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CUT to CU SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She stares emotionless into the crowd. She breathes deeply. </em></div>
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CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN <em>There is brief silence as she looks at Susan.</em></div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN </div>
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S.E. CLASSICAL/BALLET MUSIC PLAYS </div>
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<em>Susan begins her routine.</em></div>
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VARIOUS CUTS/ANGLES (approx. 10-15) CLIMATIC ROUTINE - DURATION APPROX. 60 SECONDS</div>
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<em>Susan delivers a flawless performance. At the end of her routine/selection, she stands facing the audience, breathing heavily and stern in demeanor. </em></div>
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S.E. APPLAUSE</div>
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<em>Susan smiles and bows appropriately. </em></div>
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CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN <em>She smiles and nods approvingly. </em></div>
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HEAD OF BALLET</div>
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Very well, Susan. Thank you very much.</div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She nods in acceptance of her praise. As she begins to leave the stage, something in the distance catches her attention. </em></div>
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CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <em>He stands at the auditorium entrance. He smiles at Susan and claps again silently. </em></div>
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FADE OUT</div>
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<strong>INTERIOR- KITCHEN - EARLY EVENING</strong></div>
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CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>He sits at the kitchen dinette reading a journal. </em></div>
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CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>She preps dinner at the kitchen counter.</em></div>
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CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>Without looking up from the journal, he addresses his wife. </em></div>
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MR. BATEMAN</div>
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Our daughter hasn't come out of her room this evening.</div>
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CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN </div>
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MRS. BATEMAN </div>
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She said she's worried about placement and has reading to do.</div>
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CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>He looks up from his reading. </em></div>
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MR. BATEMAN</div>
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I'm sure that she placed just fine Marianne. </div>
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CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She stops food prep, sighs and turns to her husband with her hand on her hip. </em></div>
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MARIANNE</div>
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Well what do you suppose I do William?</div>
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CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He puts down the journal.</em></div>
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WILLIAM</div>
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Perhaps, you could use a hand with dinner. </div>
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<em>He slowly returns to his journal while eyeing Marianne.</em></div>
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CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She chuckles sarcastically in defeat as she continues prepping dinner. </em></div>
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</em><strong>INTERIOR - DINING ROOM - EVENING</strong><br />
CUT to BATEMAN FAMILY ON SCREEN <em>They sit at the dining room table, quietly eating dinner. The light in the dining room is dim. The kitchen beside the dining room it pitch black. </em><br />
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CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She sips a glass of wine, looks towards Susan and then her husband. </em><br />
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CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He sips as well. He looks at Marianne, places down his glass and then addresses Susan. </em><br />
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WILLIAM</div>
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Susie...</div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She looks up from playing with her meal.</em></div>
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CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN </div>
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WILLIAM </div>
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How was your day? </div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She returns to playing in her food.</em></div>
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CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN </div>
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WILLIAM</div>
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I hear who had your placement audition. </div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN </div>
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SUSAN </div>
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My performance was fine, thank you.</div>
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CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She looks to neutralize the tension between the two. </em></div>
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MARIANNE</div>
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And I'm glad. I have high hopes for you Susie.</div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She places down her fork.</em></div>
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SUSAN </div>
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But why would the three of us need to move to Philadelphia, if you two wouldn't be there?</div>
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CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He pats his mouth with a cloth napkin.</em></div>
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WILLIAM</div>
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We would have, </div>
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CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She nods in agreement to both. </em></div>
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CUT to WILLIAMS ON SCREEN </div>
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WILLIAM</div>
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but we both had to work and you know why you couldn't live on campus Susan.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So you didn't have to have another abort....</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>She looks to save face. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MARIANNE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
William, performance went well. I am very proud.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He returns to his meal. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You can't embarrass your mother and I if you focus on your grades and ballet.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>Reluctantly, but solemnly, she agrees. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SUSAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have been irresponsible.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's correct and...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
S.E. THREE (3) KNOCKS FROM KITCHEN</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>William looks over to the kitchen startled.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She does the same. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN <em>Same. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He stands and heads towards the kitchen.</em></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll be right back...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MARIANNE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you want me to go with you William?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to CU WILLIAM ON SCREEN <em>He walks into the dark kitchen.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Uh uh, stay with Susan. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to KITCHEN ON SCREEN <i>(darkness and silence)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MARIANNA ON SCREEN <i>She peers into the darkness.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MARIANNE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
William?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She looks into the darkness.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SUSAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dad?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to KITCHEN ON SCREEN <i>The light cuts on and William stands at the back door staring out of the window.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN <i>He stares quietly through the small window curtain.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WILLIAM</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hm.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>He turns and ad libs to the women of the house, diverting from the situation at hand.</i><br />
<br />
FADE OUT</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>the full screenplay is in composition and available upon request...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<em></em><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<em>
</em></div>
Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-7198330985186712702019-08-10T17:13:00.004-07:002019-08-10T17:16:14.368-07:00Occult Observations: The Shame of Descent - A Review of Charlie Chaplin's "City Lights"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8EZczic3SnMHJk1SIsDNpRkyH0l1ox7CuKvJU2q92nki7ZwEMFGC3rceDQ7qteppBz3uWTenR4ITUSQHqK6ZAwTLSqfjXTXP-o_fUUI1LYGaeskkZ5SWEeStctx6iKHzTqR6gNKmrM0/s1600/131204175328-charlie-chaplin-tramp-city-lights-horizontal-gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8EZczic3SnMHJk1SIsDNpRkyH0l1ox7CuKvJU2q92nki7ZwEMFGC3rceDQ7qteppBz3uWTenR4ITUSQHqK6ZAwTLSqfjXTXP-o_fUUI1LYGaeskkZ5SWEeStctx6iKHzTqR6gNKmrM0/s400/131204175328-charlie-chaplin-tramp-city-lights-horizontal-gallery.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The silent comedy opens with the star, Charlie Chaplin, sleeping on a monument that had not yet been revealed to the city. Once revealed, the eighty-six minutes of controversial adult comedy, inspiring more occult shock than laughter, takes off. The monument that The Tramp rests on consisted of three subjects or statues. The Tramp preferred to and succeeded in the pursuit of disregarding what was intended to be charitable and honorable for the people in order to rest in the lap of the throned woman; an indication of sexual preference and loyalty to his origin, maternal energy. He was successful in the endeavor by waiting until nightfall when neither the people or the city could witness the violation. The comedic and simple-desired criminal mastermind’s timing reveals that the hierarchy of the sexes is, in fact, the reverse. Notice the sword of the reclining male philosopher or paternal deity is pointed to The Mother's abdomen. Oh Mother, the pleasurable pain of division, how we fell!<br />
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Furthermore, The Tramp, achieving the child's rest on the mother's lap is later educated on the way of the world by receiving a foreign paternal point in the rear end. This adds credence to the philosophy that our art progresses as our society does. Such a painful consequence for evading the responsibility of rising to the attainment of philosopher as every true adult should. While there is no glory in his pursuit of the mother over the woman, those observing the film must admire and be amused by his ability to turn the tables on the shame of his descent from his prolonged stay on the mother's lap. He proclaimed to the world silently. I should have lived as a man with a woman on my lap and now the point has ruined my pants as my discipline from the elders from my gender related cult. But know this, before I resume tramping I will mock those disciplining me! To hell with you Sir, I sit on your face! Oh, I smell you intelligent and curious gentleman, acceptable, but I must stay on course. So, I'll sit on your hand. Look, it’s humorous to the people. They love it! Then he proudly moves on and finds the woman. Mr. Forty Year Old Tramp, welcome to manhood!<br />
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Another impressive aspect of this contextual theme is response from those In attendance of the monumental revelation. The mayor's wife and the other ladies in attendance were utterly mortified. How dare he ruin our moment? Didn't he see our Mrs. Mayor’s pull the ribbon so perfectly? Did he not notice how important we are? No, no he did not. The mayor and other officials were deeply engrossed even slightly amused. Then joined the military in outrage when the commotion was noticed. But overall, Mr. Forty Year Old Tramp had a great turnout for his performance and seamless getaway. With a camera positioned far from the scene, realistic portrayals and long scenes reducing the number of cuts, there is no wonder how such a perversely charged artist could avoid prison. Is one not surprised that a man afraid of swimming’s perfect match is a blind girl?<br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-25315078513288647732019-08-06T09:55:00.000-07:002019-08-16T11:58:37.326-07:00The Trap: A Story of Haunted Gentrification Entry #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>INTERIOR - COLLEGE CLASSROOM - NOON</b><br />
<br />
CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN <i>He lectures before the class, speaking with artistic gusto.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In The Black Cat, the motif of murder<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to PROFESSOR POV ON SCREEN <i>The room of young adults has mixed attention.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(dramatically)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and or<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She sits in the back of the class in the middle. She looks down, doodling with a pen in a notebook.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
death </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that follows Poe,<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <i>Caucasian male, looks at the professor pretentiously, humored by the performance.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
stalking him in fact<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to COLLEGE STUDENT #1 ON SCREEN <i>Caucasian redhead female, she is unenthused.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
reveals the artist's personal connection with<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She is as before.</i><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Ancient Fire God.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <i>She draws stars in the right margin of her notebook. </i><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With the black cat as the representative of the protagonist<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>As she draws, Susan's hand slows involuntarily, almost to a complete stop.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SOUND EFFECT PROFESSOR VOICE PROGRESSIVE DISTORTION</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What is to be said of the feline's screeching informing the policemen?<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She is horrified as possession sets in.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SOUND EFFECT MUFFLED DISCUSSION STUDENT AND PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <i>Her hand slowly moves to the left and begins to quickly make illegible markings, scratches, over her notes. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i>
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>Her fear transitions to deranged fixation on what's being written. It is apparent Susan is no longer "present" in class.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(cheerful gusto)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Susan!<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>With her head still down towards the notebook, mouth slightly opened, she slowly looks up at the professor. Her hand still moves but more slowly.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN <i>He is oblivious to the change in her presence.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You seem deeply engaged.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She is silent as she stares at the professor.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
What are your thoughts on wives catering to their husbands' perversions?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She continues to stare unresponsively while her writing has ceased.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <i>Still cockily amused, he looks back and forth between the professor and Susan. He chuckles while looking at the professor.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LUCAS</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't think Susan is concerned with your perversions.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The class chuckles in unison. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN <i>Embarrassed, he quickly regroups and diverts with his rehearsed enthusiasm. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Very well then, moving along!<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <i>He looks back at Susan.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Premature Burial!<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS POV ON SCREEN <i>Remaining lifeless in the happenings, Susan's eyes have cut over to Lucas.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <i>Through his amusement, he shows concern for Susan. He nods to encourage a confirmation that she is indeed okay.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN Ignoring Lucas, her <i>eyes are now back on the professor, she then cuts her attention back to her notebook.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <i>A scribbly letter "J" is amidst the illegible markings.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She stares at the markings.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i>
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROFESSOR</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(loud outburst)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Class dismissed!<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to (possible CU) SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>The loud sudden announcement, causes Susan to snap out of her engagement; blinking quickly. She tears.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN (?) <i>There is movement around her as the classroom empties. She quickly wipes her tears, runs her hands through her hair; gathering her composure and her belongings.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <i>He stands, putting on his book bag. Noticing Susan's tears, he takes a more serious disposition.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LUCAS</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hey Susan, you okay?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <i>She stands, leaving the class without any regard to Lucas.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN <i>He is offended even irritated by her brush off. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
FADE OUT<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i>
<i>to be continued...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-10047493789483256582019-07-02T19:43:00.000-07:002019-08-25T12:26:27.237-07:00The Dog Whisper: Law #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Law #1: Every man wants to know that He's a good boy...</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'll elaborate. When you're in your bedroom at night, you're dressing for bed and he, your husband, fiancee, or live in significant other, is watching television and he happens to notice that you're a little colder than usual, he'll ask: "Babe, what's wrong?" You sigh and continue to lotion your body and begin to pour out your heart. "Well..."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I promise you, front that point forward, he won't understand a word you say. <i>Dogs understand very little English.</i> Throughout your moment of truth, regardless of how polite, respectful, calm and patient, it will translate to your canine bestfriend as "Wah, wah, wah, wah, pussy. Wah, wah, wah, wah car. Wah, wah, wah, money. Wah, wah, wah, wah, wallet. Wah, wah, wah, wah, gas money."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>After juggling the television program, a sports game or what have you, which is aired in English by the way, and adding up his five keywords he heard when listening to the Master, he comes to the conclusion that your mad about gas money and then replies, "But I always give you gas money?" The following look of shock and horror as you begin to cry and shout at him for <i>no reason, on one of your little crazy rants</i>, is because he missed that fact that you always give him <i>pussy</i>, even when we're in the </b><b><i>car</i>, yet he's spending his <i>money</i> elsewhere so you dont have any and you know why and you can't rely on your husband anymore, not even for <i>gas money</i>. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Experiment #1: Once he gives the "I dont know where that shit just came from" face, when you respond by losing your shit, smile the best you can, give him a kiss, be it the forehead, cheek or lips, and say "I love you Baby" and see that the horror doesn't immediately leave his face, you are no longer crazy and he can happily watch the game because Mommy said he was a <i>good boy</i>.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>PS: Wah, wah, wah, wah, separate spending account. Wah, wah, wah, wah, prepaid cell phone. Wah, wah, wah, wah, don't skip a beat. Wah, wah, wah, wah, save. Wah, wah, wah, wah, his and <i>his</i>. Wah, wah, wah, wah, "Sorry, I ain't sorry."</b>Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-26388854528106849802019-07-02T15:03:00.001-07:002019-10-13T09:45:24.963-07:00The Tales of Diaspora: Chapter 1 - Discordant Affections, Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>A steady drum pounded in my head as I laid across my bed. I figured if I looked as if I were sleeping, The Tyrant wouldn't be inclined to initiate an argument. <em>The kitchen is clean. We're supposed to do leftovers. I cleaned up behind myself after my shower. I'm good. </em>But as the tunes for inducing a Native American shamanic journey climaxed, I hated myself for having ADHD.</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"I should be in a trance right now and I'm worried about whether or not the house is clean", I grumbled in melodrama.</strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>"You need to be worried about me telling the elders about you inducing a trance in my house", I heard over the ethnic drumming.</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Or about your fits of anger, it's very un-Christlike of you mother", I turned up the volume on my phone. I couldn't entertain her calling my father's house hers for a second time. When I became aware of my audacious arrogance, I peeked out of my left eye to see if she were about to swing. To my surprise, I was left to my shamanic journeying. After the drumming repeated for a second time and I was no closer to traveling the astral plane, I removed my headphones and started a Google search for shamans. <em>How do I report a site as fraudulent?</em></strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>As I jumped site to site filtering through the charlatans, I thought of my father. Marcus Taylor never attained appointment in our global Christian brotherhood. Neither was he the emotional Christian moved to tears at the thought of all the <em>hope</em> that God provides in exchange for exclusive devotion and observance of his <em>high moral principles. </em>While he ensured that I knew the scriptures, he would never brow beat me with the<em> </em>"Word of God", as his wife would.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>One day in the car, on our way home from our Christian ministry, he spoke to me on our religious doctrine pertaining to divination and spirit mediumship. I always noticed that when my father confided in me, especially on weightier matters, his voice would deepen in a very distinctive authoritative tone. After the voice of <em>spiritual integrity </em>faded, he paused as I gazed out the window, still disengaged from the preceding topic. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"You know, Dia, there <em>is </em>life after death. Here, on Earth, as we know it now", he said softly, solemnly. I looked over at my father who had not removed his eyes from the road. I was unaccustomed to my father ever speaking against our doctrine and doing so nonchalantly and plainly as if his statement hadn't questioned my entire upbringing. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Since I was a child", he continued, "I've seen things, spirits, you know? I hear things, them, sometimes too". He paused. "Your grandmother is in the living room by her pictures and candles. There is a reason why I told your mother to put the candles by the family pictures." He paused again and sighed as he searched for his words. "But she'd never admit that to you. So don't bring it up to her. I'd never hear the end of it."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Looking at my dad, I couldn't formulate an appropriate response. So I turned my attention back to our urban scenery. </strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>"Neither would I", I finally added.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>So with my natural desire to pursue true spirituality coupled with my father's confidential confession, I had no inhibitions about seeking spiritual guidance of the nontraditional sort. With Yoruba priesthood ruled out for being better performing artists than proxies to the powers, covens being next to nonexistent in my area and shamans not having as large of an online presence, I threw the phone down to the bed and stared at the ceiling. I began to rear myself. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Your SPE 101 paper isnt't going to write itself young lady. What did you learn from this semester's student teaching with Autistic middle schoolers?", melodrama continued.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I rolled my <i>oh so</i> overwhelmed and burdened mind over to look at the conjoining back driveways through my backroom window.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"That the mildly and severely Autistic need to be educated separately. It isn't fair to the more capable of the two. But their all inclusive, disorder designated classrooms, with students aging from nine to fourteen is most likely a contingency of having to raise your special needs child in a low income neighborhood", I sighed, "public schools".</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Pulling my head over to once again to view the ceiling, "Now write in down". Instead I disobeyed myself, picked up the phone and called Victor. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"He broke up with you Dia..." I said sarcastically, bitterly. But I couldn't fight that nagging inclination that the relationship wasn't over. The phone rang. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Welp, at least he hasn't blocked my number y..."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Hello?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong><i>Holy shit, he answered.</i> <strong>
"Victor?"</strong></strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Hey, D, can I come get you?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I sat up as the pressure from anticipation tightened my chest. I looked over at my closet, planning an outfit before responding. "Let me throw some clothes on."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Thirty minutes later, we were in the back seat of his Honda CR-V. It had only been a few days since his "I'm a married man" speech and his body felt heavier than it did the day before he delivered it. When he finished and peeled his sweaty body from atop mine, he sat, caught his breath and caressed my thigh.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Missed you...", he said very casually. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Victor, after your big speech, I sent you twenty text messages."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"And they aren't in my phone anymore Sister Taylor."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"What?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>He reclined his seat, closed his eyes and muffled as he began to nap.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"We're both dedicated and baptized Christians, Diaspora. And there's a pretty little thing running around with my last name. I can't keep any of your messages or phone calls and haven't for a minute." </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>He adjusted his weight in the chair. I sat up and began to dress myself. <strong>"I'm not in a rush", he quickly added with one eye now open. </strong></strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Lucky me", I hissed. He pats my butt.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Hey, you were sixteen when this shit started. Your dad left and I thought you and your mom would eventually stop coming to the meetings and all of this would have gone away."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Well, now I'm nineteen, Vick."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Now, with both eyes intently on me, "And we still haven't gone away."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Gone away? Like I've ever been a problem. It's only a problem, Vick, if you make it a problem."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>He stared. "What do you want me to do Dia? I can't leave my wife for a nineteen year old."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I finished dressing, sat back next to him and passed him his clothing.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"There's a store in Lancaster."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"That's like an hour away", he complained.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"And you aren't in a rush Brother Jones."</strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong> He nods, "Okay."</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"And, I'm hungry."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<br />
<strong></strong>
<strong></strong>
<strong>On the road, we ate Wendy's and pretended as if nothing were wrong. We listened to popular music: hip hop, funk and a little jazz. We cracked jokes and watched the GPS. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"So where exactly are we going?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"You'll see. I'd rather just go and let you be surprised than to tell you now and be told no."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<br />
<strong></strong>
<strong></strong>
<strong>"You're funny", he chuckled.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I shoved French fries in my mouth and looked out the window. After several sips, I decided that I'd rather have his lemonade than my coke. We exited the highway and a few minutes later I could see the store's sign posted on the road. It stood out plainly between two other storefronts and abundant farmland. <em>Madam Vessant's Occult Shop. </em>We pulled into the empty parking lot. If it weren't for the flashing neon <em>TAROT READING </em>sign and the crone rocking in chair out front, I would have presumed the shop closed. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"You wanted to go to an occult shop?", he asked confusedly.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Mhmm, you coming in?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"And give you my card again?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"You didn't give me a budget last time, not my fault. Come on."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I jumped out of the car and addressed the crone. "Are you Madame Vessant?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Only when I'm here sweetie. What can I do for you?", she croaked. Victor watched as we conversed, surprised at what he thought my newest venture. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Umm, I wanted a tarot reading, a deck of my own and maybe a dream catcher, if you have any. Do you have any books on shamanic journeying?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"The reading is fifty dollars", gave her aged voice. From her sun tan and heavily wrinkled skin, I couldn't place her ethnicity but her accent was American. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Dia..", Victor exaggerated, complaining of the price. I ignore the Christian elder who couldn't leave his wife for a nineteen year old. Madame Vessant glared sternly at Victor, even squinting an eye.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Alright, the girl gets her first reading free, but your young mistress wants a deck of cards, a book and quality dream catcher." He bypassed the woman's comment and the fact that he wears his wedding band so seldomly that he doesn't carry an imprint.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Dia, you want me to go with you?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"She should do this alone", Vessant added firmly. Victor cut his eyes over at the woman and then back at me. <strong>"D...?"</strong></strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"I'm okay, I'll do it alone."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>In the back of the whimsical store, behind closed purple curtains, Madame Vessant and I sat in a small room with ethnic statues, masks and clothing on the wall and other knick knacks of various religious backgrounds. There was a tall vertical metal file cabinet that I assumed was full of witchcraft supplies. Candles and incense were lit and the Rootworker began her shuffle. Six cards were laid in the pattern of the solar plexus. She remained silent as she reviewed the cards. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Is it separation or divorce", she looks up at me above her thin spectacles, "with your parents?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Separation", I admitted shamefully, "or abandonment, which ever works."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Your mother will not handle this well overtime. Her future is very dark, now that she is without your father. I'd be more concerned with her emotional well being over my own for at least awhile."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"You don't know a damn thing about us, lady. I can't focus on my moth..." Without disrupting her further review of the cards, she interrupted my sass. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Your journey will be successful. The Universe will provide what you have been seeking but Mister out front playing with my wind chimes is an evitable hurdle along the way. But only if you are willing to remove him. Now get your deck of cards, wild little girl, your dream catcher and get out of my store." And without a bat of an eye, I was dismissed from my reading.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong><em>I don't think I've ever been more confused in my life.</em> I picked up my bag and went out into the main store. Through the storefront windows, I saw Victor outside playing with the wind chimes that barely made a sound. <em>How the hell?</em> I turned around in astonishment of Madam Vessant as she went behind the cash register. She ignored my shock and pointing to the manifestation of her revelation and continued to bark orders. "Shop!", she demanded, "Tell you boyfriend to pay me my money."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>There was no book, but I found an Afro-Brazilian tarot deck and a royal purple dream catcher and then, Victor. The bells on the store's door rang as I tagged him into my consumer experience. "Hey, I'm ready."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>On our way out, I looked back over my shoulder at Madame Vessant. Her frank shortness unassuaged me. She lacked the friendliness of any merchant and the conventional professionalism of the average businessman. In the car, Victor immediately asked the details of the reading. I genuinely considered heeding her advice of leaving Victor, so I refused to inform him.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"A bunch of little things, nothing heavy. It was free anyhow, you know? Wanna see my cards?"</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Yeah..."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Back in the shop, Madame Vessant watched Diaspora and Victor drive off. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"Wild one, isn't she?", she asked softly. "You'll get your journey alright <em>diaspora, </em>oh,<em> </em>Dia-spora, I mean, humph." She pulled the shop keys from her house dress pockets. She shuffled her fuzzy slippered feet over to the front door, locked it and turned off her neon sign. She turned out the store's lights and continued her shuffle to her back room. She opened the metal cabinet and kneeled. At its floor were five pillar candles, offering bowls of food and a goblet of wine. The articles of worship surrounded the base of the statue of her God. She lit the used pillar candles and looked up to her horned Lord. </strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>"My Lord of the Wilderness, our last client is bound to cross your path. She seeks a journey of enlightenment and growth. If it be your will, allow her to journey to you and gain wisdom in your hidden knowledge. That is, before she foolishly finds herself pregnant by her mischievous pervert Mister. Lord..."</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Madam Vessant rose and went to bed. The cabinet remained open and the candles burned all night.</strong><strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<em><strong>to be continued...</strong></em><strong></strong><br />
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<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-32296960427348718462019-07-02T09:34:00.000-07:002019-08-31T11:32:36.114-07:00The Rogue Angel (Entry #4)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Deity pounded on her chamber door as she heard her coven sisters crying , murmuring, running and <i>brooming</i> through the corridors. She knew Terra had overstepped a boundary with her revelation but couldn't fathom her frightened sisters' claim to execution. She could hear Governess Maria, The Air Witch, calming the young witches of Earth.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Children, ladies, children! Please, silence. Be still, listen."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Deity pressed her ear to the chamber door.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"We have all studied Karma", Maria continued, "we all know well that It compensates in full. So if the word being spread has any validity then..."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"But she's our Governess. There isn't a more competent Earth Witch in Vulcan or Diana!" Deity heard. From the rasp in her sister's voice, she could tell the cry originated from Laura. But Laura was currently in Fire Mastery but she is known to frequent the Earth wing. The young witches of Vulcan tend to wander to the wing of their elemental moon, their original mastery. The same stands for the young wizards of Diana and their elemental sun. Both House Vulcan and House Diana have identical architecture. Each House forms a pentagram castle </b><b>of the five wings, with The Coven Parents in the center.</b><b> Each wing is heavily decorated and enchanted with the elements of assignment. Where the man power for décor and engineering falls short, magick supplements.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Water wing has running water substituting glass windows. The baseboards of the rooms and corridors are the same to foster practice and peace with the element. The spell on the Air wing leaves it subject to tornadoes in the hall, a byproduct of frequent spell casting gone awry. But, we've learned their patterns and now use them for practice and therefore mastery tasks, and fun, when conceit sets into a young magician. The Fire wing, the darkest and seediest wing of the castles, is void of electricity and is prone to visits from The Underworld by means of the candle and torch flames that illuminate it. The Ether wing is more simple than one might think. It is possessed to the point that each chamber as twice the occupancy of any other wing. We practice embracing our true selves when we cycle to Ether for interaction with those possessing the wing. But Laura's lunar home has bedroom floors of green grass and living, breathing, speaking plant life. Every witch that cycles to the Earth wing is magickally responsible for the upkeep of their plant life.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>There are nine chambers in each of the five wings. Seven are dormitory with elemental features and every student magicians of Vulcan and Diana has a pagan roommate. One chamber for the solitude of the Governor or Governess who monitors the students' progression and behavior throughout their five year mastery of the element. And each wing has one chamber of isolation. This particular dungeon of penance is void of the comforting homeliness and magick provided by elemental features. That would be the chamber of Deity and the like. It is only subject to magick when its repenting occupant suffers further sentencing.</b><br />
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<b>As deity chaffed and paced in her chamber of isolation, she hated herself for her curiosity and wandering that resulted in her occupying the ninth chamber. Two ago, only one year into her Earth Mastery and bonding with Terra, she was sentenced to "no recreation for a twenty one days" for practicing Water Magick against Governess Hestia. The Fire Witch Governess and Professor of Manipulation of Stones and Metals (MNP103) was saturated in her only weakness after a showy display of authority against Deity when Deity became testy regarding the mandate that she only learn but not practice the ways of Fire. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"The binding placed on me in Fire classes and in your wing is for your safety and coddling as mortals. I wont just sit and listen and test on paper", Deity proclaimed that day. </b><b>Hestia would not "tolerate her lip" and struck Deity with flames. To the Fire Witch's dismay, Deity gave a proud rebuttal that mandated Hestia dry out for a week before reigniting. Out of fear of further sentencing, Deity fled the perimeter of the two Houses and retreated deep into the surrounding woods, the same woods of her discovery as a newborn.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cold and ill-equipped for survival in the wild, Deity slept under a large pile of leaves. In the middle of the night, she was awakened in terror by a snake slithering across her leg. When she screamed and threw the serpent from her, it regrouped and spoke.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"I know you child. Calm yourself. You are The Abandoned One", announced the legless entity.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Abandoned by whom?" Deity asked, no less shaken than she was before he spoke.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Excited with anticipation, he slithered closer to her and raised his limbless body erect, now eye level with the kneeling rebel.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Instead inquire of whom awaits you child." The serpent hissed softly and swayed from side to side, reading the spirit in Deity's eyes. "Have you learned of The Fallen Angels of Heaven in that coven of yours, Witch?"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"We study them but working and battling them is prohibited outside of the Ether Mastery cycle."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The serpent put distance between them.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"And I suppose", he began, "it would be the same for The Rising Angels of The Underworld."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Before Deity could confirm his suspicion, he leaped and buried himself into the ground. The Earth trembled and the very spot of his burial began to lift and form a whirlwind funnel. After several crackles and sparks inside the earthy twister, it combusted into flames. A large masculine angelic entity appeared in the swirling heat. With a strong flap of his wings, the fire was extinguished and the earth settled. He hovered over the young witch, raised his left arm and pointed to her. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Deity our Abandoned One, you were left alone to demonstrate your purpose, a trial not so uncommon. Remember, Hell hath no fury without She born of it." He then outstretched his palm and struck Deity with a heat that knocked her back into the leafy heap and into a deep sleep. He blanketed her as she was before and watched her rest. He confessed.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"My daughter, your mother and I will not be there for you're return. We must expire for the sake of your reign. But you will never learn mastery until you leave that cage we've reluctantly given you as a home. When you do leave, Deity, you will be alone. He will come for you. And you two will return to The Underworld together. Stay fervent, my beloved demon daughter. Remain furious, oh rebellious one, Hell's future Queen. We love you." Her father then left her.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>At dawn, she was awakened by the roaring of her coven brothers of House Diana on foot, brooms and horseback. They collected their rogue sister who had awakened in excruciating pain. Twenty four hours from the point that The Rising Angel of The Underworld rendered her unconscious, she was laying on her belly in the infirmary of House Vulcan. In one hand she held a letter explaining that the remainder of her experience as a student at House Vulcan would be spent magickless isolation. In the other, a mirror that revealed a fate she considered to be far worse. She had two large humps on her shoulder blades, from which she was sprouting wings.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>Deity refused to be excluded from the commotion of Terra's fate any longer. She glared at the chamber door, determined to break the spell of isolation. She hovered above the ground, forsaking the use of the wand, opting instead to conduct her power organically, as she had recently been instructed. She raised her left hand, stretched out her palm, sought destruction and put her Latin to the test.</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b>"V<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">eritatem</span> <span title="">revelare. Ego sum qui ego sum. Deus tuus ego sum. Arcum mihi!"</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Deity waved her hand and the door and its wall opposing her crumbled. When her freedom was granted her by her own power, she saw her coven sisters running toward the exit. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">"They've found her!" They hollered. "Diana has found Terra!"</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">In the distance, she could hear Governess Maria, announcing the event. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">"Now, now, we must all convene outside for a dual coven convention for the execution of The Traitor."</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Deity's stomach turned. Terra's revelation of Deity's birthright as The Lofty Chosen of Darkness and subsequent fleeing warranted public execution. No doubt, The Earth Witch with fall to her only weakness and burn at the stake. In the heat of the moment, Deity disregarded the insecurities of her very human, yet blessed, siblings and parents and flew over head to the entrance of House Vulcan. As she flew passed her sisters, she ignored their cries and pleas.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">"Deity, please, return to your isolation, for your own sake!"</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">"Deity, please, why won't you use a broom?" </span></span></b><b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Deity had it set in her heart to do neither. She refused her cage and the use of antiquated tools that do not move as quickly as her wings allowed. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Terra had broken a pact of secrecy for Deity's deserved awareness. She would repay her governess with the same rebellion. The glory of this defiance was undeniable to Deity. As she navigated the halls of Vulcan, she looked down at her sisters and dodged those brooming, having the nagging inkling that this would be her final goodbye. As her flight led her to the entrance of her coven, she opted for a less showy display of power, closed her eyes, retracted her wings and exited through the window. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Outside witches and wizards from The Houses poured into the front courtyard. The stake and lumber were prepped as The Executioner tied Terra to her fate. Deity could see sparks and bolts of green energy shooting from Terra's body as she struggled to use Earth magick for her freedom. As the truth took hold of Deity, her heart sank. Her generation of witches and wizards had only heard cautionary tales of executions. They has never witnessed one. Deity was mortified at the amount of magicians excited, proud and advocating Terra's death. Terra had declined from being a beloved and venerated authority figure of Earth in both the sibling Houses to being detested, name cursed and spit upon.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title="">Deity looked over and saw both sets of coven parents next to the stake as Terra's face flooded and shivered in fear. The four coven parents seemed to ignore Deity's presence and broomless flight. The four parents spoke in unison. </span></span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Self-perpetuating, may Vulcan and Diana live forever!"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Executioner of The Houses, a demonic ward of The Underworld, then spat his unholy flame and lit the lumber. Terra screamed at the top of her lungs. Deity couldn't bring herself to take action. In her inexperience, she was stunned. Terra's terror and horror resounded into the woods that the hidden witches and wizards had made their home three hundred years ago. As the flames grew to Terra's waist, Terra began to choke and cough up blood. For the last time, Terra and Deity made eye contact. Mourning the torture of her governess, Deity broke her composure at the sight of the weakening of the Earth magick leaving Terra's pentagram. Her shrill of agony echoed. Terra gasped twice and screamed out to Deity from what little was left of the magickal soul possessing her body.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Run, Deity! Run!"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>From her third word, the flames instantaneously engulfed Terra. The crowd cheered. The Coven Father of House Vulcan, the only father that Deity knew, raised his hand and immediately silenced the celebration. With the mixed houses' attention on the Coven Father and his hand, they followed its direction to look up or over at Deity. With their energy fixed on their rogue sister, Gustav spoke masterfully.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Magicians, fire."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>With the grace of magick, two hundred witched and wizards pulled their wands from their inner pockets of the cloaks and fired their elemental magick of preference. Deity made evasive maneuvers from their energy and brooms. As several of her brothers of Diana began to enclose, her youth and inexperience with betrayal lead to her demise. She lost her angelic control and began to fall. As she descended towards her grounded siblings, she felt pressure on her brain as the Greek Lord of The Underworld spoke.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Higher!" He shouted.</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b>Through the frighten tears in her eyes, she looked up and saw the brooms of her brothers vanish into thin air. As they began to crash land, some saved by magick and others crossing over, Deity took to the clouds. At every moment of doubt she heard the Lord speak again.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Higher!"</b><br />
<b>"Higher!"</b><br />
<b>"Higher!"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Once outside of the dual covens' range, Deity heard the voice of Hades once more.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Leave. Forever."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Out of harm's way and void of further doubt, Deity flew. In to the night, away from the fear of those lesser than she, away from regular persecution and sentencing, away from the demands to be anything other than her Self, she flew.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>to be continued...</i></b><br />
<span class="tlid-translation translation" lang="la" tabindex="-1"><span title=""><br /></span></span>Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-65540172319256860782019-06-28T11:47:00.000-07:002019-08-16T11:58:15.250-07:00The Trap: A Story of Haunted Gentrification Entry #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>The following screenplay was inspired by the comedy of actor, comedian and writer, Mike Epps...</i><br />
<em><br /></em>
<br />
BLACK SCREEN<br />
<br />
SUPERIMPOSITION: "1979" <i>white, Arabic Typesetting</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
SUPERIMPOSITION FADE OUT<br />
<br />
FADE IN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>EXTERIOR - ROW HOME - 11PM</b><br />
STILL SHOT NORTH PHILADELPHIA ROW HOME<br />
<br />
<em>The windows and front door are boarded. The home is completely dilapidated and declared abandoned by the city.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<br />
<strong>INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - SAME</strong><br />
CUT to PROSTITUTE ON SCREEN <em>High and naked, an African American woman lays sprawled across a dirty, ruined mattress. Her head rolls back and forth with the dips and spins of her high. Smoke fills the air.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<br />
CUT to DRUG DEALER AND BUYER ON SCREEN <i>An African American male s</i><em>eated at an old wooden table with only two chairs, the dealer passes a vile to his customer, who throws his money down on the table. The table is dirty and covered in paraphernalia, food remnants and trash, ashtrays and malt liquor cans. The African American consumer stands before the dealer.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<br />
CUT to DEALER ON SCREEN <em>High himself, he coughs and looks up at the customer.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
DEALER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Disrespectful bitch, you couldn't put that shit in my hand?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN </span><em style="text-align: left;">Dressed in dirty tattered clothing, and jittery. He side steps back and forth, his jaw jumps. He looks back over his shoulder and then back at the dealer, reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a smaller revolver.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BUYER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bitch!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>He fires twice into the dealer's chest.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
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CUT to PROSTITUTE ON SCREEN <em>She sits up and screams.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN <em>He cleans the bleeding and hyperventilating dealer's pockets of money and drugs and takes off.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong>INTERIOR - DOWNSTAIRS- SAME</strong><br />
CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN <em> He runs through the living room/dining room, into the kitchen and climbs throughboarded back door.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<br />
<strong>INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - SAME</strong><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to DEALER ON SCREEN <em>He lays lifelessly in the chair at the table, bled out entirely. The prostitute runs passed holding her clothes. Still screaming.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
PROSTITUTE (V.O.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
June Bug dead!<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
ZOOM IN<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CU OF JUNE BUG<br />
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FADE TO BLACK SCREEN</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SUPERIMPOSITION: "2000" white, Arabic Typesetting</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
FADE IN<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong>INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM- 2PM</strong><br />
CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN <em>A well dressed and perky Caucasian woman shows the newly renovated home to a middle aged Caucasian couple, who follows behind her into the living room.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
R.E. AGENT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The three bedroom, two and a half bath features brand new cherry hardwood flooring...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to COUPLE ON SCREEN <em>They look around the room and then separate while browsing.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
R.E. AGENT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The home was completely gutted and soundproofing installed throughout.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to WIFE ON SCREEN <em>Now standing between the dining room and kitchen.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
WIFE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are these stainless steal appliances?<br />
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CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
R.E. AGENT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why yes and brand new tile flooring.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to HUSBAND ON SCREEN <em>He steps beside his wife and places his hand on the small of her back. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
HUSBAND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How's the neighborhood? Our daughter will be attending Temple's Fine Arts program in the fall and we're hoping that we can move into an area that is dedicated to their students' housing.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN <em>She approaches the couple. </em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
R.E. AGENT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yes, Mr. Bateman. Both of the surrounding homes are Temple University housing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
CUT to BATEMAN COUPLE ON SCREEN <em>They look at one another.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
R.E. AGENT</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="text-align: center;">and this listing would have been as well, if you weren't making such an attractive offer. But no worries, it is still a quite and safe neighborhood.</span><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to BATEMAN COUPLE ON SCREEN <em>They look at one another again, weighing their options. </em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN <em>She gives a rehearsed smile of friendly professionalism. </em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong>INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - DAY TIME</strong></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to FF VIEW of SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She hangs a poster on her new bedroom wall. The room is visible behind her. </em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to REAR VIEW of SUSAN <em>She stands, hands on hips, and reviews the poster of a ballerina.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SUPERIMPOSITION LOWER RIGHT SCREEN "3 weeks later..."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>Mrs. Bateman enters the room. </em>BLACK BLUR<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SUPERIMPOSITION FADE OUT</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Susan?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to XCU of SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She turns around. </em><br />
<em><em><br /></em></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SUSAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yeah, Mom...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>She stands by the doorway and far wall. While large furniture is in place, there is a wall of boxes. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sweetheart, I know you wanted to stay on campus but...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SUSAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know Mom, you want to keep me safe and on task. I'm not wayward you know. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>Now red in the face, she approaches her daughter. Her hands are outstretched to grasps her daughter's.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, sweetie, I know. But try convincing your father of that. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MRS. BATEMAN AND SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She holds her daughter's hands. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ugh, eighteen already and just...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>She holds her daughters face.</em><br />
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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CUT to MRS. BATEMAN POV ON SCREEN <em>Completely unenthused, Susan receives her mother's affection. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...so beautiful.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>She let's go of Susan's face and backs up and looks at the room.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MRS. BATEMAN</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you want some help unpacking?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Uh, no. I'm okay. I'll do what I can but </div>
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classes start tomorrow. So the last minute move will have to take a backseat to my education. <br />
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CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>Still emotional. She places her hand over her heart.</em><br />
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That's correct and your dancing. </div>
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<em>She heads towards the door. </em><br />
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She watches her mother, exasperated. </em><br />
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CUT to MRS. BATMAN ON SCREEN <em>She stops at the doorway of the large room and turns back to look at her daughter. </em></div>
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MRS. BATEMAN</div>
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You know, I just want to be there as you pursue ballet, the way I did. I just want to be there for my baby. </div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN </div>
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SUSAN</div>
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And now you will be, Mommy. <br />
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CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN <em>She</em> c<em>huckles and sighs, leaving the room. </em><br />
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She looks around the room and looks at the sunlight coming through her window. She approaches the window.</em></div>
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CUT to FF VIEW of SUSAN<em> She sternly pulls the curtains shut. </em></div>
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FADE TO BLACK SCREEN </div>
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BURST LAMP LIGHT</div>
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SOUND EFFECT CLASSICAL MUSIC</div>
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FF CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She reviews her frame in the mirror. </em></div>
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CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <em>Dressed in her nude leotard, she begins practicing her craft. She runs through her positions, plies, etendres, relevers, glissers.</em></div>
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ALTERNATE VARIOUS VIEWS THROUGHOUT<br />
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CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <em>And when she begins to sauter, in the mirror she notices her closet door slowly opening. She stops and looks to her desk.</em></div>
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CUT to DESK ON SCREEN <em>Her CD player/boom box sits on the desk. She presses pause. </em></div>
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CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She approaches the closet.</em></div>
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CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN <em>She looks inside the closet.</em></div>
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CUT to LOWERED FF VIEW of SUSAN ON SCREEN <em>She looks down into the dark closet. The tops of her shoes can be seen. She closes the door.</em></div>
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CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN<em> She turns around to head back to her desk.</em></div>
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<em> </em>SUSAN</div>
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Hm.<br />
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FADE OUT<br />
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BLACK SCREEN</div>
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<em>to be continued...</em></div>
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-38727998045030734552019-06-27T17:01:00.000-07:002020-06-20T20:39:38.134-07:00In The Name of The Pentagram: A Witch's Grimoire Entry #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0jAAwwN5sk96lypqsW0W9VrpXKrqIohyBhDtMsZX4_GqKAmwPWMdonCdp_YNrB53_d1zA05upSJc1YEcpE9GMvYrlozPXB44Zwm_Keipx3PDsU_YGQDKQMnn6ufcLGhO6nJqXizwNSo/s1600/Herbology%252BHeader%252B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0jAAwwN5sk96lypqsW0W9VrpXKrqIohyBhDtMsZX4_GqKAmwPWMdonCdp_YNrB53_d1zA05upSJc1YEcpE9GMvYrlozPXB44Zwm_Keipx3PDsU_YGQDKQMnn6ufcLGhO6nJqXizwNSo/s400/Herbology%252BHeader%252B2.jpg" width="400" /></b></a></div>
<b>I find myself in frequent need of a spiritual bath, floor wash or tea. I know most grimoires separate the three, but if a herbological solution can be used on the skin, it can be consumed. Do not be fooled Witches! Most Godmothers, Iyas, Coven Mothers or spiritual guides exploit the aspirant's need for remedy and milk you for your last penny. While no spiritual work is free, for the sake of honoring and appreciating the Source's energy, there's no need to make <i>simples </i>complicated. So the following recipe can and should be used for all that fall into the category of its title, big or small. Drink it! Dress your candles with it! (dry, of course) Bathe in it! If you can afford to do so, bathe in it daily! Put it in a spray bottle, spritz it! Remember, Witches, there's no such thing as little quantities doing large jobs when making a solution. There is no such thing as a splash of solution in mopping water spiritually cleansing the entire room. The water in the bucket dilutes it. So again, mop with it! You should smell it in the room. I use a half to a cup of each ingredient, depending on the size of my crockpot, and when it's gone, I simply make more. </b><br />
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<b>I purchase all of, or most of, my simples from Amazon.com. They sell large quantities for reasonable prices. They have nearly everything you'd need for a rootworking task. Do not be fooled by the bang for your buck! I have killed a large pesky demonic intruder with this recipe using Amazon products. But I'll blog about that later. When unpackaging, do so while hopeful and grateful. Meditate on your intentions for the spell while blending the dry leaves. If inclined, pray! (no matter your religion) I do so "In The Name of The Pentagram". Enjoy Pythonissam! 🤟🏾🧙🏽♀️🕯🔮🕯</b><br />
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<u><b>BE GONE DEMONS</b></u><br />
<b>Rue - cleansing</b><br />
<b>
Hyssop - cleansing<br />
Sage - cleansing (crushed white sage leaves but crushed incense is useful while in a pinch)<br />Sweet Basil - self protection<br />
Anise Star - strengthen spell's consciousness (booster)</b><!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/share/clipdata_190627_163225_342.sdoc-->Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-22340369594963710512019-06-26T00:58:00.001-07:002019-10-13T09:44:45.297-07:00The Tales of Diaspora: Chapter 1 - Discordant Affections, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPJlxMwBX62amYUSKNy6jjLdmbBgpmpUj75Tfg9srlzXaZSAr6PyAVCd049ko7nYXOvdmvp0QOf-lnxKmRlZBS-LguMt_sd_o-Xyl4dvxWWFG1y33p9_fe4i7nkvcMODLLyoDvmtbWeQ/s1600/20190626_001346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="604" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPJlxMwBX62amYUSKNy6jjLdmbBgpmpUj75Tfg9srlzXaZSAr6PyAVCd049ko7nYXOvdmvp0QOf-lnxKmRlZBS-LguMt_sd_o-Xyl4dvxWWFG1y33p9_fe4i7nkvcMODLLyoDvmtbWeQ/s400/20190626_001346.jpg" width="323" /></a></div>
<b>“It’s pronounced Dee- ah-spor-ah”, I groaned while rubbing my temples. Three weeks into the semester and I must have corrected her about twelve times already. “My eccentric mother thinks we’re Hispanic or something", I followed up in quick witted self- defense. Deer in the headlight eyed, she recited my name back to me pain stakingly slow; just to efficaciously annoy me I suppose. Once she realized I wasn’t going to confirm her thirteenth attempt, she proceeded to confusedly take role of her half empty classroom. There’s a side of me that wants to ask how many students were originally enrolled, to better understand why she makes the most lost of faces, due to the lack of attendance. But, I refrain. Bewilderment suits her. <i>No one cares about Yoruba Studies, Lady.</i> That’s why no one is taking it, but me. Slowly perusing the room, coming to terms with just how many empty seats there are while considering just how much effort it took for her to prepare for the course, I begin to feel bad for her. I am literally one of six students present and the poor woman has to pronounce <i>diaspora</i> as <i>dee-ah-spor-ah</i>.</b><br />
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<b>Seventy minutes, three crown orisha and twenty answered text messages later, I am forehead smooshed against the window of the six bus headed home. Eyes squinted, I cynically observe pedestrians laughing on their cell phones, and drivers with unbuckled toddlers in their backseats, questioning if they knew something about life that I didn’t. As for myself, Diaspora Taylor, I am still wondering where the hell my dignity went. “He doesn’t want you anymore Dia”, I remind myself for the one thousandth time, after sending twenty unanswered text messages. Twenty. <i>Why do I feel like incessantly contacting him will win me some magical opportunity to be back in his life again? </i>He looked me right in the eye and said that we were never serious. He also acknowledged for the first time that he was a married man. The sound of the words “my wife” were so foreign coming from his mouth, I almost questioned their origin, asked their definition and damn near thought I’d be expected to spell it back to him for some national prize.</b><br />
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<b>Three years of eyeing one another at church services, “sheparding calls” when my mother wasn’t home, playing hookie from classes for day trips, just to have to swallow my pride and pain being reminded of his wife. She isn’t nearly as much of a godly woman as he is a man, so I only encountered her during seasonal church campaigns or fundraisers. Essentially, this made her no threat, granting us both peace of mind, and now, I’m sickened and he’s suddenly belligerent. I should have known better though. After all, Victor Jones was one of our congregation elders and a friend of my father. Former friend now, who knows? Three weeks after my dad split, I had a boyfriend, or so I thought.</b><br />
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<b>After an approximate twenty one minute bus ride, walking six blocks and not one highly anticipated love letter in the mailbox later, I’m in the shower. With my head hanging shamefully low, I watch the water cascading off my head and down to my aching swollen feet. I need a car. Well, first, I need license. I need license to live again, if that’s what I had with a Victor, a life. I need license to let go, let go of someone I had no license to love in the first place. Then, I will be awarded the luxury of being able to drive my own vehicle, instead of being enslaved by loneliness and lack of understanding. </b><br />
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<b>Feeling only superficially clean and not nearly as renewed as I hoped for, I step out the shower and wipe the mirror to reveal the force of displacement. “I shall prevail”, my father’s motto softly echoing in the bathroom. And that’s what I shall do. I shall prevail the travail, combat compulsive communication and prepare for my tyrannical mother to get home.</b><br />
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<b>Tyranny is the unjust use of governmental power. Due to my mother’s inclination to conjure misery in her own mind, she has the uncanny means of fostering a tumultuous household. This was mainly before my dad left us. Though I’m sure they loved one another very much at one point in time, I have no recollection of my parents ever being really happy together. I mean, how could they have been when one half of the team succumbs to two to three hours of screaming and crying fits that include calling out my father and I for one on one verbal scrimmages based on events that happened more than a decade ago? In the last month alone, I had to twice soothe and reason with my forty-six year old mother as to why I wouldn’t let her kiss me in front of my friends in the schoolyard when she dropped me off when I was all of seven years old. Each time I made a point, she would obey the truculent orders of her demons to immediately find another trivial topic as to which she attributes her disproval of my entire existence. “Ignore her”, my father would counsel. I understood his easier said than done approach to my mother’s instability. He had less of a difficult time managing her.</b><br />
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<b>My parents professed Christianity in its purest of forms. So on occasion her possession subsided long enough to allow her to be submissive and level headed. The scriptures don’t require that my parents take a back seat to my needs, as it does for children to do for them, so my attempts to heed my father’s admonition would result in being followed around the house and cornered in the hallways or in my bedroom, being called out my name and egged on to take the first blow on a unruly woman. This was a spiritual household, Christian! Where was the Holy of Holies? <i>Are you there God? It is me, your Devotee</i>. Whilest waiting for divine intervention from The One True God, I bestowed my inherited tribulation the title, The Tyrant.</b><br />
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<b>Growing up my dad was the last to return home from work, which made me The Tyrant’s welcoming party. From the moment the wench would walk into the house, I swear, a fiery and tempestuous entity would mount her. Every day, she’d cross the threshold and resume whatever hurricane of a hissy fit that had her very large panties in a bunch the night before. <i>Hello to you too, mother</i>. I’m happy to see you too, mother. Instead of a warm welcome, she'd systematically slam the front door and stomp up the stairs to find me minding my business in my room. </b><br />
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<b>Scowling, she would ask “Did you hear from your father today?” “Yes”, I’d reply, “he texted me earlier today asking about dinner. Everything okay?” I’d ask uncomfortably, wondering if I was unknowingly guilty of a transgression against her. Then the look of complete devastation would manifest on her face every time we had this exchange. Why on Earth did I insist on telling her the truth? “Dinner? Why didn’t he ask me? I plan the meals. You only cook them!” She’d shout pitifully. “Mom, I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.” “But, I’m his wife!” She’d scream at the top of her lungs, usually leading to hyperventilation. </b><br />
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<b>By the time, she starts to pant during her episodes, I’m usually deathly afraid to make any sudden movements. It was always clear that these problems predated myself. I wouldn't know what to say to the woman, his woman, not mine, except: “Mom, I’m sorry”. “I know you’re sorry Diaspora, you’re just a sorry person. I’m sorry I even had you. I should have just aborted your sorry ass”, she’d rebuttal cryingly, then abruptly leaving my room, slamming my bedroom door behind her. I’d hear her deranged muttering as she’d make her way to her bedroom. After creeping to my closed and too afraid to make physical contact between it and my ear, I'd suddenly hear, “Fuck you both! Fuck you, Dia! Fuck your father! Fuck this house! I should just kill myself! AAAHHH!”</b><br />
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<b><em>Whoa, this has nothing to do with me Lady, call your husband.</em></b><br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-63292767507395211992019-06-24T12:37:00.001-07:002019-06-25T12:07:25.667-07:00Occult Observations: Grokking Harshaw's "Hanky Panky"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqr5cqGnbCYyfaQv0H5uTY7uJM6lDxXnuoiixUVY5DHpaJVtMYjcNKR7EDNFP_R8KCWRCjasrM3GMUH6xjqCiAIqfI9n7zpEE_2_JBYEmq7cfdjAwlCmj8ItWJzuYkYs8Ifolw-gSkyk/s1600/s-l400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqr5cqGnbCYyfaQv0H5uTY7uJM6lDxXnuoiixUVY5DHpaJVtMYjcNKR7EDNFP_R8KCWRCjasrM3GMUH6xjqCiAIqfI9n7zpEE_2_JBYEmq7cfdjAwlCmj8ItWJzuYkYs8Ifolw-gSkyk/s400/s-l400.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
<b>"<em>Front!</em>", he hollers, and very quickly, one of his three live in <em>assistants</em> runs to his side to grant his every wish. While Jubal E. Harshaw, attorney, medical doctor and neo-pessimistic philosopher, was no believer in divine beings let alone genies, it was no hindrance on his self- righteous claim to a Hugh Heffner-esque lifestyle of "<em>hanky panky</em>". A crucial character in Robert A. Heinlein's <em>A Stranger in a Strange Land, </em>Harshaw not only supervised the care and experimentation of The Man From Mars, but represented the demographic of educated, very well paid, prominent and renown men. The class of men who are well read and connected that have opted to value and explore the physical rather than the spiritual. Because <em>He</em> decided that God doesn't exist or care, he can watch a human being raised and metaphysically educated on the planet Mars send the animate and inanimate alike into a death sentence of oblivion, levitate these objects, even curl his body while simultaneously bringing all of his bodily functions to all but a complete stop just to be able to dedicate all of his energy to meditation, and still question whether or not God exists.</b><br />
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<b>I wasn't surprised at Harshaw's agnosticism, though. I once dated an US Airman of the same neo-pessimistic <em>philosophy. </em>Only, these men reason on their life's sorrows in the most self-exonerating fashion and build their rhyme and reason of the world around the concept that they can do and therefore have done no wrong. This leads to the arrogant nature that causes them to look down on everyone. If the individual is simple, meaning easy to please or entertain, then he is stupid and can not possibly know all that <em>He</em> has reasoned on and can not lead the life of <em>the strong</em>. For example, his temporary fourth addition to his all American <em>harem, </em>Jill Boardman, was a nurse in a Federation Hospital, the only one who could dedicate her time to the social rearing of The Martian and did so flawlessly in her birthright as Woman, yet suffered Jubal's indignant nature at the thought of a woman doing so for a man as if he had the mental patience to do it better. He scorned her for implementing the ritual of washing and dressing after a swim and accused her of some terroristic pursuit of transforming The Martian into "a copy of every fourth rate conformist with a briefcase". Later the agnostic calls Boardman and all her gender a gift of "God's graciousness" to men of course, yet demeans her for her "Bible Belt morality". The neo-pessimist <em>philosopher</em> must have missed the discovery of Lucy, supporting the concept that before The Father, was The Mother.</b><br />
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<b>Agnosticism is the questioning of the existence of God. When attempting to explain religion and who or what the concept of God is to The Man from Mars, Jubal grasped for straws in his explanation. Not because Mike would not grok if he gave a revealing dissertation, but because Harshaw himself could not define the word. After groping for what he felt would be an appropriate response he essentially left it to criminal church leaders to explain and expose the meaning of "God". Jubal went on to epitomize the theory that <em>arrogance denotes ignorance </em>when he <em>philosophized, </em>silently, that "sperm whales" and "sequoias" were greater than humans as philosophers and poets and goes on to say that "Man is the animal who laughs". Well, dolphins, dogs and monkeys all laugh <em>Doctor</em> Harshaw<em>, </em>and unless your on a hallucinogen, I am more than certain that you don't speak whale and trees are silent. Man is, in fact, the animal capable of developing philosophy and poetry. I beg The Man from Mars, who was not allowed to socially separate himself from mankind by referencing Martians as "his people", to repose the question to the well read political socialite, "What is Man?".</b><br />
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<b>Jubal did redeem himself though, in all my omniscient wisdom as Witch, when he advocated Mike's sexual exploration. Jill sought to protect his innocence, even down to withholding naked pictures sent in his fan male. Jubal wisely said that eventually Mike would meet the woman in the picture (if she wanted him bad enough) or one of her spiritual sisters. Very true, it is unhealthy and even sinful for adults of either gender to be restricted from sexual relations. It is what is needed for the proper psychological transition into adulthood and to remain there. Both are incapable of leading a relationship or pursuing secular heights without the innate confidence bestowed upon you when being honored and gifted with someone else's naked body against your own. You have proven to yourself and It that you are capable of It's equation that one plus two equals three. It is required for survival. <em>You can be here</em>. Take Mike for example, he made love to all the women in the house and later <em>told </em>Jubal that he was no longer in need of his care and was leaving immediately, and taking Jill with him, completely disregarding that Jill was essentially engaged to another man. She became is consistent mate on the path of immorality.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Though he would not and therefore did not argue with The Martian, who now knew what it meant to be a Man, I am sure Harshaw did not appreciate the disruption to his Kingdom. He had previously treated Mike the way he did women. They were all capable and necessary but could not be treated but could not be treated as such. And they were too sweet and innocent to notice. For instance, he did not take the time that a client's attorney should to explain money to Mike and what would be done with his hundreds of millions that hine inherited. It became Harshaw's money the way he passed it out at an alarming rate without Mike consultation. He belittled Mahmoud for being Muslim when he approached his household the same way. His character, though staunch opposed to traditional organized religion, still possessed the socio-religious nature of the men of his class. Socialite men, usually Caucasian, function much like Muslim men, both Black and Arabic. They prefer the respect and praise given for meeting all of the superficial requirements flawlessly while fearing the depths of the spiritual or metaphysical opportunities availed to you. They have their rituals and talismans, statues and cultural lingo for that strong pat on the back from their fellow man. While they all work hard to "stay on their dean" (I probably spelled that incorrectly) or to remain "in the state of Islam", Mike has proven that you can have the powerful capabilities of God on Earth while still striking the deadly blow in the bedroom and having the money to do anything your heart desires. You don't lose anything by prioritizing your spirituality.</b><br />
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<b>I must admit though, I am a little disappointed my water brother lost his virginity. I wanted to take it from him properly. I wanted him to <em>grok the fullness. </em>We art God, Michael. Agape.</b><br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-48353721485423694672019-06-23T18:17:00.001-07:002019-06-24T12:46:00.439-07:00"I Don't Care!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>The 2001 Sony Entertainment Pictures production, <i>America's Sweethearts</i> was a childhood and family favorite. The premise involved a celebrity acting couple that after an approximate decade or more suffers a terrible break up leaving the husband, Eddie, in psychiatric rehab, mourning the loss of his love, Gwen. Instead of the prescribed three months inside, his money and mourning paid for more than a year's stay at the oasis. To his misfortune, profit and popularity trends disturbed his peace and meditation and he was enticed into leaving, causing him separation anxiety. He later sits in the limousine, with a lap full of high quality herbs, wearing sun glasses, reciting his mantras and growing closer in conversation with his limousine driver, one of the first human interactions he had encountered since his release. He then became perturbed by the spontaneous parking on their way to the late movie premiere and the tapping on his window by an assistant. Begrudgingly, he rolls down the window and is bombarded with what he felt were irrelevant questions with obvious answers that his mental or emotion strain could not entertain. He resorts to the only logical solution of throwing the herbs at the female assistant screaming "I don't care!", repeatedly as he then rolled up his window.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Relating greatly to Eddie's emotional attachment to the detachment of the loony bin, I resound to my life's inadvertent and therefore inevitable controversy with a loud proud, "I don't care!". Life tests my self-esteem, self-awareness, path, intelligence, imagination and physical capabilities, strategically and what seems to be pointlessly. I have reason, so why should my hardships? So I flip the bird, swear, and reject all notions of Universe's dominance over my existence to the point of extremism, even urinating and expectorating in the streets, highly anticipating in-patience. I could care less about being teased or labelled or the stigmas of those labels. I've been called crazy every day since beginning my menstrual cycle at twelve. After all, I am Artist, therefore, I am God.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>On this overly critical path where even babies in strollers "are looking at me and judging me, the whole world is judging me", I refuse to contradict anyone's opinion of or desires for me. Think what you want, feel how you want, scheme and plan all you want because you all are "totally nutths". I mean, Hell! "I can't even enjoy my chower", when I get to take one! Where's the loony bin?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>If I dont 301 myself before your next half witted practical joke of a hardship, I'll will be forced to pour a skillet of hot scrambled eggs in the next "man"'s lap screaming that "I'm sick of all the buuullshit!". That is, as soon as I manage to find a stove and skillet, or a home with a kitchen for that matter. I declare, with the utmost confusion of the highly intelligent trapped amongst the masses of barking microscopic infusions "You're the Devil" you stupid arrogant asshole! Dare one more time that you dont know whether or not to go through with our agreement or "to just hand me the divorce papers" and I'll go flying through your window on a motorcycle as you sit at the sill. Then, I'm a psychopath and you're in danger. Then, call 911 you shivering midget "bathdard". I wouldn't care about you if you were contemplating suicide from the rooftop of an outdoor event, because you need one last attempt for attention and sympathy. "Puthy boy gonna go splat". Though, I'd be up there too, just to be alone and think. Only, you'd claim it were some non existent occasion where a Black American was a terrorist.</b><br />
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<b>Hold the paddy wagon boys and the fake news actors, this isn't a terrorist attack to report on. I can take myself to the crisis center. I'll take the drugs while I wait on herbs and mantras.</b>Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-23170280727816278502019-06-16T17:55:00.000-07:002019-06-30T11:14:02.541-07:00The Rogue Angel: Entry #3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>"Governess, may I walk with Deity to her chambers? Her sentence has me out of sorts and I fear it will misdirect future manifestations." Tabby asked in her sweetest voice. Her loose brunette ringlets slowly danced in the air, as they were unaffected by gravity. Every member of the coven, from the age of five, spends five years under the governance of a particular element in order to master it, while concurrently taking General Education courses, both magickal and profane. Tabby rose in Air but her Moon is in Earth. So though Tabby's third round of governance landed her in Mastering Fire, Terra was particularly fond of the young Earth Witch and highly anticipated her future governance over her fellow Earthling. </b><br />
<b><br />
"What a clever claim Earth Witch. You're two years from the completion of your Third Element Mastery. Even during your eighteenth year, your focus is flawless." Terra responded, portraying offense, as she personally was incapable of avoiding bias with other Earthlings. She caved, as Tabby knew she would. "Walk with your sister." The girls, Deity, Tabby and Terra alike, giggled and walked down the corridor. <br />
<br />
"You know Deity, my Second Element Mastery was torture. Twelve year old girls are mean. For an entire year, all I was reminded of was that my father was not of House Diana and that I'm the daughter of an excommunicated witch whore! For all I know, only half of my conjuring was magick. So you shouldn't chafe at being a <i>demon child</i>." She playfully said to Deity in her spookiest witch's voice. Terra, following close behind the students, grinned. <br />
"That's the best you've got girl? Shame to your Social Segregation professor. The profane wont be terrified of you at all." Terra chucked admiringly.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"I'll be sure that Professor Olla knows she's failing me. She'll be thrilled." Tabby said sassily and then returned her attention to Deity. "So you see, you aren't as bad off as I am. There's no reason for shame."</b><br />
<b><br />
"You could have found out who your father is, Tabby and be rid of your shame. Don't run from divination. Anyway, you're too powerful to come from profane blood. I consider you no half breed." Deity said maintaining high spirits. They were seconds away from reaching her chamber, when her solitude and sentence would resume.</b><br />
<b><br />
"Thank you, my truest friend. Magick knows I miss being your roommate. I hate that your wandering and wings separated us." Tabby said as they approached the chamber door that was cloaked from ceiling to floor in a black cloud of negativity that evidence Deity's sentence. </b><br />
<b><br />
The three froze outside of the room and silenced as a thin black hazy hand inched from the spell, seeking the presence of trespassers. It caressed Tabby's face and she immediately went red in her round face and experienced a full body paralysis that left her eyes in wide and bloodshot and quickly leaking large tears. A chill came over Deity as the energy began to draw her body near the door. Tabby attempted speech and produced a spine chilling stutter. "W-w-why is s-s-she doing this to you Deity?!" She cried out in horror.</b><br />
<b><br />
"Enough!" cried Terra, "Tabatha you have no business here and it's been made clear." With swiftness Terra removed her Earthy wand, struck and freed Tabatha from the spell that was beginning to swallow her. "Be gone, child, and do not return until your sister has triumph. Beseech the Universe that she does." Tabby backed away from her bestfriend, not wanting to leave her side and forced to break eye contact to turn and flee. Deity's fear set in as she watched Tabby's cloak fly behind her as she did. She turned to her governess for mercy. </b><br />
<b><br />
"Governess please! I don't know why they are always so harsh with me! Save me Terra!" She screamed as the spell's pull on her demonic body increased with the removal of the trespasser. Nearly shivering and fighting tears of her own, Terra waved her wand in the air, in standard choreography. It danced an energy summons and she spoke her will.</b><br />
<b><br />
"Aether interius Terris, Deus interuis corporis" she then pointed her weapon to the ground beneath them. "Servus meus es tu. Puer guide in salutem." The Earth beneath the title floor shot upward under what was once Deity's door, breaking and freeing Deity from the spell and opening the doorway by several feet. Terra stepped back with her left foot and then shot her wand at Deity. With "intra cubiculum", the Earth slide Deity into her bedroom. </b><br />
<b><br />
The two witches stood on opposite sides of the opening, staring at one another. Terra jerked her head upward and chest outward, instructing Deity to do the same. "The Coven Parents are afraid you Child." With her governess' rare honesty, Deity broke. She screamed and cried as the ground beneath her still crumbled.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Who am I?" </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Terra raised and danced her wand and groaned in disgust in her lack of discretion. She vomited her final fateful words,</b><br />
<b>"The Lofty Chosen of Darkness". She pointed her wand and Deity's bedroom, the flooring and the black spell of isolation and pain were restored. Terra stood staring at the black haze over the door.</b><br />
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<b>"Ego semper pythonissam".<!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/share/clipdata_190616_162055_445.sdoc--></b><br />
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<b>In the suite of The Coven Parents, the century old witch and her wizard husband forty years her senior were dressing to retire for the evening. The wizard sat in a plush red velvet robe with a glass of wine and listened ever so intently to his wife complain about the current generation of the coven children. Sharp daggers were thrown about their <i>deviation</i> but The Coven Father didn't waste his precious energy to introduce to his wife to the idea of innovation and progress. They have raised their coven since his mother in law was captured and murdered by profane hands fifty years ago. As a new generation of Coven Parents themselves, they had an unrelenting need to preserve the reputation of the school and home left to them. So he allowed her to vent and scheme. When his wife took a breath, he interjected.</b><br />
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<b>"Dear..." he said lovingly. He received no response as she continued to oil her hands while staring at herself, seated at her vanity. Her husband swooned under the influence of his red wine and his wife's scent of lavender and rose. "Sabrene, My Love, what's truly bothering you?" Immediately The Coven Mother ceased oiling herself and looked off the into the distance, listening. </b><br />
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<b>"Sshh..." she began, "Do you hear that Gustav?" </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Her husband sipped and rejected the notion, "Leave an old wizard alone, it doesn't speak to me the way it used to or ever as well as it did with you. What was said?" Sabrene jumped up and grabbed her robe, "Put some pants on Love, we have company."</b><br />
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<b>The Coven Mother went to their chamber doors and opened it before Olga, The Water Governess and Professor of Divination, Necromancy and English Literature could knock. The Coven Mother's countenance tightened as she looked into the dutiful eyes of Olga. "So, it's true?" asked The Coven Mother. Olga nodded, "Yes Dear Coven Mother, it is true and she fled, leaving a written confession and apology to the coven". Olga handed The Coven Mother the letter left on Terra's bed. The Coven Mother shouted at the insult, "You won't know regret nor remorse until you cool from hellfire, Traitor!"</b><br />
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<b>Angrily, The Coven Father approached his wife from behind, closing the chamber door in Olga's face. "Compose yourself Witch. What has possessed you? Ive heard our news. The whispers were calm. Why aren't you My Love. This wont your first execution. So don't shame your mother's name with hysterics. The traitor will be hunted and burned. The House of Diana will see to it." He kissed his diabolical wife that he loved more than magick itself and caressed her lower back. "She signed our agreement in blood. Foolish Earth Witch. Never taking a single vow with The Underworld was her greatest mistake." The couple smiled gratified in their truth and tenderly kiss again. Their lips part and Sabrene giggles, "She'll be tortured for all eternity. Light magick has never saved a soul". Kristoph looked longingly into his wife's villainous black eyes. </b><br />
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<b>"Your hatred is most becoming My Darling". </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Sabrene smiled sinfully, disrobed, backed towards and climbed into their bed.</b><br />
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<b>"Possess me you malicious bastard".</b>Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-88190475712707683502019-06-10T16:56:00.000-07:002020-04-05T07:55:22.820-07:00Occult Observations: The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a stupid action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not ?" In The Black Cat, Poe gave a very telling,yet, non Catholic confession to his nature as a man of fire and lust. It is even more telling, to those of a different nature, to reveal that the strategy is mainly to break or disrespect morality. It can be a compelling or attractive quality to those of the opposite sex seeking to have a traditional good time, playing with the "bad boy". But this does not read as the most idealistic state of being for those living such lawlessness first hand. Poe goes on to say, "Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverness..." Much like the little boy reigning in his parents' household with fire and fury, shaming his mother and worshipping the father who leaves in search of greener pastures, Poe describes killing a dog simply because it loved him. The dog's lack of desire to attack or kill his master is what lead his Master to kill him. <br />
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The Sun, Shango, Zeus, Jesus, Hades, Had, no matter what you call the power of the element of fire, it only respects that which who knows, promotes, promises and does eventually put him out. Poe goes on to explain that his desire to kill the weaker vessel was his initiation into demonic terror. After also killing a black cat, which may or may not be to his recollection, he realized that his existence was symbolized by his poorly chosen victim. The light of historic gods of fire have been always paralleled to black cats and self destructive behavior. Shango's debauchery leading to him hanging himself, The Lord's desire for a street gang and traveling magic show and staunch opposition to the government, leading to his execution and Poe's thirst for excitement by means of murder lead to his downfall as did his predecessors. He later goes on to murder his wife, who innocently and ignorantly pandered to his sexual perversions and used surprising masonic skill to bury her in the basement wall. Like all men descending from Fire, the black cat appears when he has reached his fate. In Poe's case, his drunken-like demonic rage influenced his arrogance when he invited the police into his home and taunted them as they searched for his missing wife. And while audaciously reveling in what he thought would be his victory, his blackened feline murder victim reappears in the basement and screeches in the direction of the Mrs. Poe hidden body.<br />
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I, that which who knows, promotes, promises and does eventually put him out, would have told him not to do it. Or at least, I would have told him how do it. But who am I?<br />
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<!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/share/clipdata_190610_165224_394.sdoc--><br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-59769963006318939212019-06-10T07:27:00.001-07:002019-06-30T11:14:21.657-07:00The Rogue Angel Entry #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>"Up. Down. Up. Down.", Deity whispered softly as her wings abliged in synchronicity. She sat on the floor of her quarters, sulking her predicament. The spell on her window allowed for energy to enter but not exit for ventilation and light, but the energy proof glass left her feeling hopeless.<br />
"And this was just compensation?", she asked staring over at it. She twirled a wand in her right hand like a baton, and was then startled but a sudden rattling, girling, and then high pitched screetching. She whipped her attention over to the door.<br />
"Damn."<br />
She knew the door would never open as the wall containing it and the floor beneath her began to shake. She immediately hovered mid air. Through the rush of adrenaline, she struggled to mind the lack of head space above her in the small chamber and keeping her eye out for the work she had been asking for. Bang! She hit her head once as a burst of black energy entered the room. She tried to remain off the ground as he entered on all fours. Nerve wrecking excitement at it's new surroundings and in search of a playmate that would end up his meal for the afternoon, the demon surveyed the chamber.<br />
Nearly hyperventilating, Deity pointed her wand.<br />
"I swear on all things Masculine and Feminine, I'll kill you and condemn you back to hell Asmodeus!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. She had studied him well in Demology but never worked with or against him. Her arm now trembling from pointing the wand she doubted would assist in doing the job that she claimed it would, hoping to inspire fear and therefore an easier battle. The demon was more wolf and man then gremlin, a fearsome hybrid, product of conjurational experimentation in Hell and but one term of an eternal contract with The Underworld for the sake of war and education. Asmodeus rose to his feet, as he made and refused break eye contact. From floor to crown, he stood at five feet and one inch, only four inches shorter than Deity. He gave a small, self gratifying growl and on all our fours, took to the wall opposite Deity. She screamed in horror and she made evasive maneuvers, still pointing her wand. Scaling the far wall, jumping over the window and across the ceiling he approached his opponent.<br />
<br />
Deity was raised in the ways of light and was sentenced to battle with darkness due to her insisting to practice, but she lacked all the necessary training. Light magick, or white, was beneficial for protection, healing, wealth, creation, and self defense. But there was nothing that her Governess,Terra, nor her professors had instructed her in that would prepare her to destroy a hellish novelty like Asmodeus, at least, none that she could remember at the time. <i>The Coven Father couldn't have chosen a smaller gremlin? </i>But as Deity, dipped, swerved and failed in timing when casting a containment spell to freeze the demon in place so that she could devise a plan for his destruction, she thought of the entity that gave her access to her wings when she ran away a was lost in The Woods of Whims overnight. When he found her, he never named himself but claimed kinship to the Lord Hades and informed her of her angelic birthright. He casted a spell that left her dormant, waking with a severe ache in her third eye and across her entire back from which her wings painfully emerged over the following twenty four days. Deity spoke no Greek and her Latin needed improvement but she trusted her natural precociousness for manifestation and called on Lord Hades.<br />
<br />
Every time she uttered the name Hades, Asmodeus would pause, as if anticipating the Lord's arrival, waiting a second or two and would resume his pursuit. At the fourth utterance of the name her outstretched right arm froze, dropping her wand. Her hand opened and waved across the path of Asmodeus. He flew to the far right, hitting the wall and falling to the floor. A slight pressure cloaked her mind as someone whispered to her from within. She identified the foreign language as Greek. As Asmodeus shook off the blow, Deity slowly began to panic from the language barrier. Exchanging weapons, her left hand then rose and in a louder volume the voice ordered "Strike!". Deity's palm felt warm as reddish electric energy shot from it. As Asmodeus dodged the blow, her outstretched palm moved along his path, "Follow!". When her aim was centered, it spoke again, "Strike!", and her heated energy would leave her body and fire against her enemy. Asmodeus was hit once when the wall opened revealing The Coven Mother.<br />
"That's enough!", she shouted. Asmodeus was pulled from the room, scraping and scratching at the floor. Once he was pulled back into the darkness from whence he came, a heavily breathing Coven Mother adjusted her husband's sentence. "We do not have contracts for your license, I mean," shaking her head and dismissing the thought, "your nonsense. The Coven Father would have stopped the contention at the first minor injury and released you from the additional battles. Calling upon Lord Hades, Child, I have had enough of these strange happenings. Never in our coven's three centuries have we encountered such a..." The coven mother was abruptly interrupted and stormed out closing the wall behind her. Deity, now grounded, stared in disbelief at the The Coven Father's matching her with any entity as powerful as Asmodeus and allowing for an injury.<br />
"I wont steal again, Mother", Deity said sorrowfully as her place with her coven parents became clear. She couldn't trust The Father anymore than she could The Mother and would have preferred to be trapped in a cavern wall.<br />
<br />
She had a little more than twenty four hours until Beltane. In her twelve hours of detainment, she slaughtered, gutted and pieced her offering. After battling Asmodeus, she became surprised that the mess was removed from the room. <i>How kind!</i><br />
<br />
"How the hell am I supposed to offer the goat alone this is small room without training in fire to contain it? Is he trying to kill me?" Her chamber door opened and there stood Terra. Deity rose and stood before her. "Governess?" Terra looked at her proudly, head a little higher than usual and chest puffed. "You may attend dinner with your coven Child". Hungry and tired from newly discovered energy, Deity was grateful at the announcement. But she had not seen so much pride in her Governess and she had just aced her final in Alchemy 102. Deity could only imagine what secret to her sentence she was missing. But divination would have to wait. She was being left to the devices of her sisters.<br />
<br />
Deity played with her biscuit, overlooking her chicken breast and garden salad. It didn't matter that the basil and cilantro on both enchanted her senses. This evening, her herbological favorites and their magical benefits paled in comparison to her anxiety. They all sat five to a table. A large coven of witches, in place for over three hundred years. Only one hundred lived In House but there are nearly one thousand of House Vulcan, a coven priding itself on the accurate duplication of all signature magic of The Ancients. There isn't a world empire whose sorcery could not be studied and perfected in House Vulcan. They had forged the greatest witches and sorcerers of the last three centuries. Deity sat where she typically did, at Earth, Tabatha, her bestfriend at Fire, Catherine at Water, Berretta at Air and Theresa at Ether; an assignment according to governance.<br />
<br />"Deity, you're running out time for supper. Where's that beastly appetite to which we've all grown accustomed?" Beretta asked, giggling. "Leave her alone Retty", added Tabatha as she looked consolingly at Deity, "I don't think it was fair that you went up against Asmodeus alone either. My fire magic couldn't have done me any justice on my own without additional help from my governess and The Coven Parents have forbade you from learning it. Eat up sweetheart, who knows what you'll be up against later."<br />
<br />"Do you think The Coven Father wants me dead?" Deity asked without looking up from her plate. Catherine, the eldest at the table wiped her mouth very authoritavely and threw her napkin to the table. "You're elemental magic is strong enough without fire. You needn't insult the coven with your doubt. You've done well and you will continue to do so. Get through your sentence and wipe those sticky fingers clean, Witch."<br />
<br />"Ha!" Theresa gave way. "Vos autem non pytonissam. Piger puella. Alienus et non idoneos transfertus." Deity looked at Theresa angrily. She may have struggled with her accent and her writing but her Latin comprehension was flawless. Theresa had to ground to say she wasn't a witch. Neither was she lazy or a little girl. But to call her an outcast and unfit, well that was a blow for which Deity was unprepared.<br />
<br />"Scio quid dicas Theresa, leave me alone. Now is not the time for blasted quipping, Coven Sister" Deity shot back.<br />
<br />"Non soror mea est" Theresa said.<br />
<br />
"Now that's enough Theresa, she has been and always will be our sister" said Retty, uncomfortable and irritated with Theresa's frankness. "Ego adaptatus", added Deity, still self defensive and proving her case. "We know you were adopted Deity you dont have to prove yourself this way", said Tabatha. "Et accepit sum" Deity said, turning to Tabatha. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"False, but you will be accepted once again, after your sentence. Theresa has a point Coven Sister" gave Catherine.<br />
<br />Condescendingly, Theresa continued, "de daemonium and now a repeated violator of Coven Law. We learn how to annihilate lawless demons of your kind in The School of Fire, a craft that I began to master at 10 years old. You were excluded from it for this very reason. They should have sent a sister to your chambers, Demon."<br />
<br />"As if my Earth magic would have failed her. Your sister conjured a Lord of the Underworld this afternoon and He did not fail her either. And The Coven Father has negotiated her next opponent with Lord Hades, now that He vouches for her use of His element. It will be a fair fight. Threaten her again, Child, and you'll be on Trial faster than you sneak into the wizards dormatory", Terra said as she stood behind Deity. Just then the end of supper bell rang and the coven dispersed back to their respective quarters. Deity needed to rest before her next battle, but gave way to tears of gratitude at the blessing to use the element the element of fire. Her hope of attaining The Pentagram was not lost.<br />
</b>
<br />
<!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/share/clipdata_190610_070158_956.sdoc--><br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-44600226901553338752019-06-07T01:12:00.001-07:002020-04-05T07:26:12.982-07:00Illusion of Karma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Self-esteem is an illusion, designed as a trap by the Universe.</b><br />
<b>There is no law.</b><br />
<b>There is no rhyme nor reason.</b><br />
<b>We can not accomplish our dreams nor our goals.</b><br />
<b>That also is an illusion.</b><br />
<b>Our reality is that we will never find what it is that we are seeking.</b><br />
<b>Burn the map.</b><br />
<b>Heroes or role models are con artists and liars.</b><br />
<b>Your fate will always be in the hands of the one that hates you the most.</b><br />
<b>Give in!</b><br />
<b>Submit!</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b>We can do nothing.</b><br />
<b>There is no I.</b><br />
<b>There is no sanctuary.</b><br />
<b>There is no hope.</b><br />
<b>Faith is pointless.</b><br />
<b>Trust is illogical.</b><br />
<b>Love is fruitless.</b><br />
<b>Mask!</b><br />
<b>Mask!</b><br />
<b>Mask!</b><br />
<b>They can not shame you if you shame yourself.</b><br />
<b>Do not love I.</b><br />
<b>I is your detriment, your enemy.</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b>Do not believe.</b><br />
<b>Do not hope.</b><br />
<b>But most importantly, do not wish.</b><br />
<b>Their love is opposite.</b><br />
<b>Their language is silent.</b><br />
<b>Their strength is in your weakness.</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b>Sense has no sense.</b><br />
<b>Love is loveless.</b><br />
<b>Wooing is for the crook.</b><br />
<b>Submission is for the lover.</b><br />
<b>Do not want.</b><br />
<b>Do not pursue.</b><br />
<b>Do not work.</b><br />
<b>Do not try.</b><br />
<b>It is for the dead.</b><br />
<b>There is no such thing or land as Opportunity.</b><br />
<b>Your fate is in the hands of the one that hates you the most.</b><br />
<b>Stupidity is gold.</b><br />
<b>Intelligence is death.</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b>Speech begets death.</b><br />
<b>Spirit and the pursuit thereof begets trials and tribulations.</b><br />
<b>Do not read.</b><br />
<b>Do not write.</b><br />
<b>Do not listen.</b><br />
<b>Do to watch.</b><br />
<b>Do not believe.</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b>Do not hope for the best.</b><br />
<b>Karma is dead!!!!!</b><br />
<b>No one lays victim to her.</b><br />
<b>She does not exist.</b><br />
<b>Do not hope for her.</b><br />
<b>Do not call to her.</b><br />
<b>She has no line of communication to thee!</b><br />
<b>Master nothing!</b><br />
<b>Craft does not exist.</b><br />
<b>Work is not Great.</b><br />
<b>Triumph is the hope of children.</b><br />
<b>Know that no one is keeping score.</b><br />
<b>Victory is random.</b><br />
<b>There are not chosen.</b><br />
<b>Let no one change a word nor exclude it.</b><br />
<b>Champion is a lie.</b><br />
<b>Honor, a lie.</b><br />
<b>Respect, a lie.</b><br />
<b>Destroy.</b><br />
<b>Loyalty is a lie.</b><br />
<b>Peace is a lie.</b><br />
<b>War is God.</b><br />
<b>Spoils are spoils.</b><br />
<b>To have is to win.</b><br />
<b>Fame is a lie.</b><br />
<b>Mightiness is the possession of the weak.</b><br />
<b>Power is the unspoken.</b><br />
<b>Pain is the unspoken.</b><br />
<b>Hardships are the unspoken.</b><br />
<b>Know me, know we, by what is not said.</b><br />
<b>Die!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-79523946586191671542019-06-06T15:26:00.000-07:002019-06-09T18:54:49.967-07:00The Testimony of The Wenchy Witch of Unworthiness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I have this habit of thinking too much. </b><br />
<b>I give, offer and host far too often.</b><br />
<b>I cater to the weaker minds while honoring the more advanced. </b><br />
<b>Surprisingly enough, this approach to human interaction never results in much praise, respect or recognition for myself. </b><br />
<b>Despite this, I have this uncanny ability to be oppressed until payment. </b><br />
<b>The incapable are never enslaved, or what I should say, introduced to intentions conspicuous enough to elude to it. </b><br />
<b>I can't seem to fathom, nor do I have the courage, to divine why I and It see it fit that this is my path in life. </b><br />
<b>Why won't I be allowed to show up, prove through exemplary action and receive reward and compensation upon doing so?</b><br />
<b>Why must all those allowed by It to cross my path in an authoritative state first beat me due to hidden insecurity as a master's Master, and when he or she is finally worn and I am somehow still standing, per their confusion, be rewarded a settlement?</b><br />
<b>Regardless of their education or degree, I still encounter this odd quality of human behavior and the more mortal, the worse. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>To hell with The Master!</b><br />
<b>He's gained his whip only by vote of popularity, an indication of his own profanity. </b><br />
<b>Judge the orange that has fallen into my hands by means of gravity alone without envy, Master!</b><br />
<b>There's no room for bias while a man's life is left to trial!</b><br />
<b>I can only maintain to be myself, truly.</b><br />
<b>But in the Court of Universal Law, for Heaven's sake, dedicate a trial room in my honor, since I must be present so often.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I confess, Your Honor.</b><br />
<b>I am no Whore, pandering to the weaknesses of those present down here as prey and prey alone. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No, Your Honor, I see no benefit in spouting deceit for amusement of myself or others. It takes much less energy to reveal the truth of the matter and let it go. The casting of demise that is done athletically by those of my peers is done by letting the recipient of the truth digest what has taken place, in their due time, while I remain free from my peers' karmic compensation.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I also confess, Your Honor, <em>beautiful women are not the ones ugly on the inside.</em> Please wipe the faces of your lying, Whorish natured of love interests and administer anesthesia especially designed for phallic use and come to the awareness of an spiritually educated man; that you mistook large eyes and a suspiciously available vagina as an Universal sign of beauty and worthiness. After all, Your Honor, she can fathom, name and receive a monetary price.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No, Your Honor, I did not pursue this brutal path and therefore this very trial, where my life lays in your hands, as mortal as my own, trembling from the brink of spontaneous evolution for the sake of survival in order to procure and secure a man of money, fame or otherwise. Believe It or not, I was reared better than that.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No, Your Honor, I don't feel like the most attractive woman in the room based on looks, personality or spirituality, but I'd gladly request that you try the Whore and or her John that claims that I do. And if you see it fit, have me question them both, Your Honor. Because the equal and opposite of a Gold Digging Whore is a Huntress of a Wife With Her Own Mine and I'd wager my favor with the jury that I'd find her guilty of envy of my Way and him guilty of submitting to his base need for fruit, no matter the caliber of who offers. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I will eat from my settlement, only this time with honor.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Before you come to a verdict, Your Honor, on the grounds of my worthiness as a Witch, consider my past, Your Honor.</b><br />
<b>Product of my environment or restriction thereof, I have no choice but to stand strongly, proudly, mightily, courageously and unperverted in my chosen ways of righteousness until the guillotine drops. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I am militant, without political initiation.</b><br />
<b>I am religious without baptism. </b><br />
<b>I am protected outside of wedlock and if the court be so bold as to protect a lesser magician over myself, my Executioner better hope my ghost has no interest in his dreams and that of his children.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>That is all.</b><br />
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<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-8053698918274567442019-06-01T17:08:00.002-07:002019-06-30T11:14:35.227-07:00The Rogue Angel : Entry #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>She sat quietly in her a chair in the coven courtroom, on trial, listening intently, though her legs were spread shoulder width apart, elbows resting upon her knees, fingers interlocked and eyes fixed to the floor and as usual wings lowered, crossed, covering her rear end.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"For heavens sake, have the due respect of a child and appear before me humbled", barked The Coven Mother.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Deity, pronounced as one would Aphrodite, was accustomed to browbeatings on the weekly and at times daily basis. She trembled in anger knowing the expectation was to hold her tongue but her being would not withstanding the beating, at least, that's what It told her so through her nervous disruption. She spoke the truth.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"If you had wings you wouldn't feel so disrespected by the mere sight of me, Mother." Coven Mother immediately rose to her feet.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"What on Earth did your audacity just utter child?" She points condemningly to Deity. "You're wings are a sign of unholiness, rebel, and you would not have them were it not for your tendency to wander to dark places unattended by your Governing Witch!"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"She doesn't feel a need for my governance Dear Mother. We worship and work with those who look like she", interjected her governess, Terra. The Coven Mother made note and sat slowly.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Granted", added Coven Mother, "but you were instructed at the time of her infantile discovery that she should be kept away from such things and raised in only the ways and morality of The Light Craft."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Which Terra has done unfailingly Love", added The Coven Father, a scarce contribution to such matters. He adored Deity, secretly. One of four wizards to a coven of one hundred, he fathered Deity despite his wife's belligerent approval of the coven's adopting her when she was found in the woods alone, unswaddled, undiapered, unfed and crying at three months old.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Keep The Pact of Coven Peace and disguise your flight", The Coven Father added. Deity unbagged and put on her hooded cloak, then sits erect, staring fiercely at The Coven Mother. The Coven Mother would have saw it fit to change her name upon her adoption and would have done so in a Catholic fashion if “Deity” weren't tattooed on the nape of the infant's neck at the highest of her spinal cord. If it weren't for the fervent effortf of The Coven Father to honor It and The Pentagram, The Coven Mother would be administering weekly and some times daily lectures of respect and submission, concluding verdicts and sentencing to a Mary or Prudence or better yet, Agnes.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"So she has, pardon the accusation Governess", The Coven Mother continued, "But Terra, you know the child best,"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"I will be 18 this Summer Equinox", interrupted Deity.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Silence Child!", yelled The Coven Father. He turned to his wife to finish the sentencing. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The verdict was ruled that Deity was guilty of unauthorized access and usage to and of magickal chambers, potions and utensils, which counted as charges of theft, totaling eight; five potions, one goat, a pocket knife and chalk. Deity began her silent treatment once informed that the charge for chalk was valid. And one charge of conspiracy, conjuring her angelic family of birth was forbidden.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Again, Governess, you know the child best. Which punishment suits her?"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Deity assumed her original slouch in her chair and rolled her lowered head over to have her Governess in sight. The common courtesy of looking at the defendant during judgement was not returned. Deity supposed it didn't matter that sixteen of twenty four hours were spent under Terra’s supervision, when she wasn't instructing, because now, Terra won't bother to look her in the eye.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"The child hates my natural magic. Earth Magick is her least favorite and therefore her weakest subject. I recommend the brigs of the lower caverns. She'd struggle to escape for awhile. I estimate that we'd only have seventy hours between her imprisonment and her being trapped in a cavern wall. Then it's a death sentence Covern Mother. I am displeased with her trouble making but I dont want the child to die Mother", humbly adds Terra, finally looking at Deity.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Nor do I", adds their Coven Father. Coven Mother sighs, discouraged with her options or lack thereof.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"My Lord, what are we to do with the child?", she asks her spouse of seventy five years. The Coven Father eyes the coven's prized possession, though it was unbeknownst to Deity. He sighs and twiddles his thumbs. With his chin to his chest he nods and then looks to Deity, “Ninety six hours in her personal chambers,"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Ninety six hours?", yells Deity.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Yes, deviant, ninety six hours", he says as a matter of fact, now rectifying his posture, "and now with no rations." Deity's confusion met with sensed betrayal made her stomach turn. Coven Father notices, "You're plump enough Child, you can afford it. Closing Off rituals every hour for the escape artist and visits by the Gremlin every twelve, since she must work so fervently. And the guilt of shaming fire and all that Is by absence at Beltane."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Absence at Beltane? Lord Father, please", pleaded Deity, "My sisters wont let me forget it and who knows what fire will withhold from me for negligence."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Good", he adds, "but, you can keep all that you've stolen. Practice in your chamber."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"I can't start a fire to offer a goat in my room and control it, Father. The chamber is too small."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Figure it out Sorceress, and Happy Beltane", he quips.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Coven Mother is pleased enough by the sentence. "Then, Happy Beltane Child. Adjourned."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Coven Father eyes the defendant sternly and finalizes emphatically. "Adjourned."</b><br />
<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-22023921983103565722019-06-01T10:58:00.000-07:002019-06-09T18:57:11.909-07:00To Expectorate At This Rate: A Witch's Divinatory Record Entry #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>May 20, 2019</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I know, I am about two weeks late on interpreting my most recent divinatory device of disgust. Truthfully, I had no idea of what to say. What could I say? I smoked a cigar, well, a cigarillo, at Pico and La Brea around midnight, watched and spit at the bitterness before my eyes, even more bitter than the herb I smoked and disgust from the colony of roaches running midnight errands. A Witch can't honor and offer her vessel for pleasant overwrite by The Ancestors in peace.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Expectorant accumulated and gravity did what it thought to do as I noticed the pile beginning to run but was distracted by two homeless men yelling and fighting across the street in the 711 parking lot. Moments later, I looked back down by my right foot and there was an ejaculating penis in the Witch's Tree of Life. Yes, I consort by honoring the Lord, Masculinity, Fire, Lust and Business as often and certain as the Sun rises in the East and mourn the absence of it's physical manifestation in my life as sure as He sets in the West. I Am Witch but no Lesbian. But no, Shango, I will not conceive a second time unmarried. Put a condom on. Grok it.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>- The Huntress</b><br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-34501245878211499762019-05-07T09:23:00.000-07:002019-06-09T18:56:44.947-07:00To Expectorate At This Rate: A Witch's Divinatory Record Entry#1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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May 7, 2019<br />
<br />
Today, I've given Birth to Life. With reverence, praise, offering and humility present on my spiritual tool belt, I have been reminded of my Path of Witchcraft. I spell with fertility. I am fruitful. I am sacred. To those disconnected, never destined for connection and ill equipped, I am forbidden. Through disgust, I paint the very ground you walk on; a street artist with divine guidance and innocent motive.<i> I expectorate freely</i>.<br />
<br />
I find divination in the darkness. I reach for enlightenment with every stride. Oh <i>kay </i>with Ether, I fifth the element of magick. It is here as It is there, but It has chosen that I, a witch with a strategic purpose, AM here. I AM Life.<br />
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No matter how hard I try, I am a representative of all there is and all there will be. I travel 10 worlds by means of 22 paths while challenged, but unopposed; loved though not coddled; loving though non consoling. I didn't find It. It found me.<br />
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I AM Witch.<br />
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HallePentagram, Ashe Orisha, Ashe Egun, There She Is.<br />
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- The HuntressLauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-30142542878188213002019-05-04T14:03:00.000-07:002019-06-09T18:57:32.810-07:00To Strip or To Scorpio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I remember being in third grade and wanting to be a stripper. As we sat at our desks grouped in fours, we went around the table during our scheduled free time, and I,at the tender age of almost eight, I pursued The Wow Factor. As I waited for the others to finish relating what I found to be ordinary careers, “Doctor", “Lawyer", “Engineer", I remember being nervous with excitement waiting to drop the bomb that I wanted to strip or do pornography. Unbeknownst to my crush, who sat adjacent from me, I knew that boys liked “sexy girls”. Although, what does a nine year boy or an eight year old girl know about sexy? Shit, I wanted to perform the routine dressed like Princess Jasmine. Honestly, I just wanted Kimani to like me. Hey, it worked though. He was my boyfriend on and off, straight through fifth grade.</b><br />
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<b>The same technique of exceeding expectations of the adult Male psychology didn’t work so well with Victor though. That same academic year, I stole my mother's blue gemmed costume ring, after Victor said he wanted to marry me. But, once I was sat down for what turned out to be a party of four third grade harem meeting, I realized, Victor could get the fuck out my face. Needless to say, my mom got her ring back; after lying and saying that I never took it in the first place. I should have told Victor about my Princess Jasmine outfit.</b><br />
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<b>Twenty years later, I've learned that the happenings of my third grade love life has been a constant motif, until now. After learning that telling a particular man of interest that I was willing to strip for him, especially in exotically erotic costumes, for the sake of impressing him with The Wow Factor, is even more ordinary than being a doctor and even less sexier than being an engineer, I've decided that being His Scorpio was more impactful. Every man that I've been with since losing my virginity after high school, can not forget Lauren Ashley, even if they lied and said that they have. I've progressively deduced from my experiences with each one that if I were to impress and gain this fairytale reward of a man's love, honor and respect of being sacred in his eyes, I had to reveal.</b><br />
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<b>Not my body, though, that is easy and attained by the most ordinary. But with my mind, wired for the hidden. The hidden information and sanctity of that which is esoteric. While women seek for the one that is to lead them, she must be the one who educates and directs with the gifts that are only exposed to her gender. We as women hold both the egg and the womb; two thirds of the equation to create the most holy of creation, The Life of Man.</b><br />
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<b>I never denied myself the ability to learn the magic of life by consorting with those whom I loved, each for their distinct, unique qualities; be them apparent or not. I love, I speak, I analyze, I appraise the worthiness of all that is, as Scorpio. I don't hold myself to commit to a lost investment. I stick to my Principle, indebted to cosmic placement. I am True, to my myself. I prefer to leave a lasting impression than to lose what men truly find to be impressive by submitting to a weaker man's desire for blind faith through his personal definition of submission. My chosen form of humility is in accepting the compliment from The Universe, or God, that not everybody or one deserves The Scorpion Loyalty of exceeding expectations. It is better to let them “Wow" than to say “You took it, Good.”</b><br />
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<b>Holding on to my Princess Jasmine outfit, at twenty-eight, I'm so pleased that I never became a stripper.</b><br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-64009953863869816602019-04-01T22:23:00.001-07:002019-04-01T22:23:48.280-07:00Alyssa Nicole 7/7/11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I left my daughter.<br />
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Now, when you read or hear these words I know that nelegligant, or otherwise deadbeat, parents come to mind, but see things from my perspective. I let my parents raise her while I pursue mySelf, my dreams and financial stability. See, her father is the deadbeat that let me raise her predominantly on my own until three years ago. She will right in July. Until then, it was Alyssa and I who calmed the storm of my daughter's mother's abandoned, abused and disfellowshipped mind. I did not know who I was or capable of until April 2017. Until then, even now, the Universe has dictated that she be in the care of a more financially capable couple while I remain single and/or neglected. Even in the confines of legal matrimony, I could not manage to raise her in a financial nor moral solitary state. I had, then, twenty six years of negativity to abandon as it had done myself.<br />
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Alyssa was my constant companion until that point. I once chose a job because she would receive eight hours of care on just the floor beneath the one on which my office was located. I once physically faught both my father and mother who felt that I didn't deserve to be in my daughter's presence when I was at odds with them while we resided in the back room of their home. They didn't understand that my first and only child, the one whom I carried until she was five days late, labored for sixteen and a half hours with, and pushed only four times to bare had nothing to do with the fact that they were programmed to hate me for leaving their extremist Christian cult. Much like their refusal to celebrate my high school graduation, they refused the celebrate the arrival of my baby with a shower. When we arrived back at their home after she was born, a spell that lasted only her first 20 months of life, I sat in front of a cake that read "Welcome Home Alyssa", as if they preferred for me to stay at the hospital. Even still, today, almost two years after realizing, cult or no cult, their decision to shun me was personal decision, I ache cardiovascularly and mentally due to her absense in my life.<br />
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I seek a life of creativity in the Golden State, the City of Angels, while she receives what I hope to be Brotherly Love in the City of just that. I miss my Lyss. I say, sing and sound and even praise the name I bestowed upon her almost eight years ago. A. L. Y. S. S. A. N. I. C. O. L. E as often as I mind the aches and pains. I refuse to forget her, to disappoint her, to fail as an example of success and spiritual advancement to her. My child, my baby, my daughter, is the sole reason I push for nothing less than Excellence. To make an international name for myself is the only principle for my dedication and persistence. I love my daughter as I love myself. And what would the world be without me, Lauren Ashley?<br />
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I miss her smell. I miss her laugh. I miss her undying need for her mother's approval. She loves her Mommy. She wants to be just like me, which, as any True parent would agree, is the scariest concept to fathom. I do not wish to pass my mistakes into my child. But I'd gladly deal with such a circumstance in the manner that most fits her wholeness as 2/3 of the Universe in order to have her with me. Even as a currently homeless woman, sleeping in a tent in a strange city, I'd have her with me. The Universe knows I'd transfer our residency the best I could for her to attend school with pressed clothes, a packed lunch and a Mommy present every day at the bus stop with her. I miss my baby.<br />
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Although I don't know when this madness of this current place in my life will resemble Peace enough for her to be included, I dream of her, waking and resting, My Alyssa. I know she needs and misses her Mommy. We will be here together one day soon for certain. I just wish I didn't need to leave my Daughter.<br />
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Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251570367935077976.post-35428664805895076052019-03-18T17:00:00.000-07:002019-03-18T17:00:23.800-07:00Do You See It?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you see it? The means of carrying out this command or strong admonition is still elusive to me after twenty eight years of supposedly do so. For my record, and perhaps my record alone, I do so Black. I do so Woman. I do so Writer. I do so Lover. I do so Mother. I do so Lauren. But for the , life, of me I can't seem to grasp what it is I'm supposed to feel while doing so. Do I do so Happy? Do I do so Depressed? Do I do so Enraged? Do I do so Lost? Do I do so Found? Am I supposed to find contentment? Do I do so Complacent? Am I supposed to continuously redefine its meaning and endlessly search for the newly placed target? Do I do so Overachieving or even, Ungrateful? Do you see it? I was once told to visualize, obsess and watch it unfold. But do I see it? Is it what I was trained to believe it is as portrayed by those professing to have it. Do I do so Mimickingly? What am I supposed to feel? </div>
<br />Lauren Hunterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418766269531283209noreply@blogger.com0