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.
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.
- The Huntress
