via jewelridersarchive

Don’t get me wrong, I loved She-ra and I LOVED the recent She-ra and the Princesses of Power reboot, but I’d also love to see another go at the short-lived, empowered girl-gang Golden Girl and the Guardians of the Gemstones.

The series of action figures from Galoob was set in a world “before history on earth when myth and magic still existed.” Golden Girl and her Guardians, named after precious stones, protected the powerful vaguely-named Gemstone from the evil clutches of the pink-haired-and-amazingly-rad Dragon Queen from Storm Isle, who would ostensibly get up to no good with it and use it to take over Argonia.

I was just reading on a forum that She-ra was introduced to the world in October 1984, and Golden Girl showed up that very next month, so I’m guessing it was some sort of knock-off cashing in on She-ra popularity (maybe?) But man. Look at this lot. There’s a campy gravitas and a ferocity here that She-ra was lacking and I think this could have been a very different thing altogether. I mean–those villains! (THOSE FASHIONS!)

Funny story. My family moved to FL from Ohio in 1985, I would have been about 9 years old. I actually had a few of these Golden Girl dolls. It was a Friday or Saturday night, not long after we had moved into our new house and my sisters and I were super excited to see that Golden Girl was listed in the TV Guide (remember that thing?) As you can imagine, that show was…not what we thought it was going to be. But in the end, we adored Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia anyway!

I don’t think Golden Girl ever did get a television show–I’m not even sure if there was one in the works–but in lieu of celluloid Galoob fantasy barbarians, have a peek at this old commercial instead. Thirty-plus years later I can STILL hear that jingle in my head! Be sure to watch this link, as it also includes a European version, which is moodier and sassier and even better.

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I took a bit of a summer break from the YouTubes, but this week I am back with a new video and some peeks into my somewhat sizable perfume collection. I also share a handful of favorites!

I hope you’ll stop by, give it a watch, and maybe leave a comment, because I sure do like chatting about stinks. Tell me your favorite notes, wax poetic about a beloved fragrance, heck, even share a scent you hate–I’m here for all of it.

I’m still relatively new to filming and editing and uploading videos, so please feel free to share your feedback and suggestions, as well. I know I have got a lot to learn, and I am grateful for your thoughts. And if you have anything you’d like to see in a future video–perfume related or not–please let me know!

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The Garden of Paracelsus, Leonora Carrington

For those of you who may not be aware, I thought now might be a good time to mention that my book, The Art of the Occult, will be conjured into this realm in just two months, on October 13! Which is unfortunately not a Friday, but what can you do?

The Mother of the World, Nicholas Roerich

A visual feast of eclectic artwork informed and inspired by spiritual beliefs, magical techniques, mythology, and otherworldly experiences, it is my hope the mesmerizing, transformative works–both iconic and obscure– and their fascinating creators explored within The Art of the Occult will provide a wealth of inspiration to incite your curiosity, excite your senses, and perhaps inform your own practice – whether you incorporate them into your personal search for the truth, make them part of your magical philosophies, or experiment with them as part of your artistic techniques and processes.

The Zodiac, Ernest Proctor

The Art of the Occult is available for pre-order now but in the interim, here is a small gallery of some of my favorites, mystical imagery influenced by occult practices, esoteric beliefs, and magical realms.

L’Amour des âmes, Jean Delville
The Divine Breath, Olga Fröbe-Kapteyn
La Sorcière, Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer
The Household Gods, John William Waterhouse
Illustration from Songs of the Witch Woman, Marjorie Cameron
The Primal Wing, Agnes Pelton

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14 Aug
2020

Image: From Cat Walk by Mary Stolz and illustrated by Erik Blegvad.


All of my life from family, friends, teachers, classmates, heck, sometimes even from strangers I’ve only just met, I have heard some well-meaning variation of “why are you so quiet, Sarah?” or “why aren’t you talking, Sarah?” Good intentions, or no– I hate this question. It makes me feel anxious and pressured and put on the spot. It’s embarrassing and judgmental, and when I am feeling scrutinized like this, the last thing I want to do is chat. Instead, I want to curl up in a corner and disappear.

I thought maybe they’d all stop asking that question once I became an adult, but nope, I am 44 years old and I literally just heard it again last week (via video chat, no less!) I flushed and flustered, fumbled for words and mumbled something inaudible and inane, but I wish I had responded with something acerbic like, “you talk enough for the both of us.” Or perhaps turn the awkward spotlight back on them and countered with an analytical inquiry: “…and how does that make you feel?”

But…you guessed it. I remained silent.

Sometimes I am quiet just because other people are so loud. Those energies are overwhelming and I tend to retreat in the presence of them. And anyway, I am not good at idle chatter or casual conversation, I don’t even like it, I guess you could say I really resent it. It takes up space better served by silence. And what is wrong with silence, anyway? I am much better at listening and observing than talking, and I am deeply appreciative of the space that a silent moment affords for reflection and awareness–and so when I talk, it is when I have got something to say. And I’m not suggesting that all of everything I’ve got to say is wildly important, or that any of it is. But if I have said it, it must’ve meant it was important to me, important enough to interrupt the silence for.

I know this isn’t the way people are typically wired, but I sure wish that in lieu of commenting impatiently with something like “why are there no words coming out of your mouth right now, Sarah?” They’d instead recall something some silly face I pulled, that made everyone laugh during a tense moment. Or a favorite cake into which I baked so much tenderness that when they later wiped a crumb from their collar, they may have wept without realizing it, and felt inexplicably loved, and touched, and seen. Why do I have to say anything at all? A quiet moment can be full of so many wondrous things. If you’re talking you may miss them.

So just because you don’t hear me yammering away doesn’t mean I’m checked out and not paying attention, that I am mentally not-there, or that I don’t care. I spend a lot of time in my head. Listening, observing. Absorbing, reflecting. And just because I don’t talk about [this, that, or the other] thing does not mean I don’t think about the thing.

This is really just to say, jeez, sometimes I relate to these cats.

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31 Jul
2020

OH MAN. Does anyone else remember Freddy’s Nightmares?

Freddy Kreuger as a monstrous villain got to be pretty campy and cartoony in the third or fourth film in the franchise, but I think while that might have rendered the ensuing movie installments somewhat hokey, it might have made him the perfect character to host a show featuring his name on the small screen.

While I don’t recall many (or any) of the episodes or particulars of the plot points of the series, I know that I found Freddy’s Nightmares much freakier experiences than the actual Nightmare On Elm Street movies. Perhaps because it aired late at night when the house was quiet and the adults were in bed, or, maybe I thought it so unsettling and strange because the show never seemed to be playing on the same station at the same time. Recalled through the cracked and smudged lenses of memory it’s even more surreal and eerie because it almost feels like one of those things that happened so long ago that it could have actually been something you dreamed up and never existed at all.

It did exist though because I just messaged my sister and she remembers watching it with me! Also, I mean, there’s a wiki page for it.  I just found a link for what my sister thought was the scariest episode. I wonder how it will hold up with a revisit?

LET’S SEE!

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This interview was originally posted at Haute Macabre on July 31, 2020.

Earlier this year I read and was thoroughly charmed by Lisa Marie Basile‘s dreamily empowering Light Magic for Dark Times: More than 100 Spells, Rituals, and Practices for Coping in a Crisis –which Bust Magazine refers to as “The Artist’s Way for witches” (and wow, do I love that.) But in the past year or so before having read her book, I had been already falling in madly love with this marvelous word witch via her fierce, tender poetry and her lyrical, profoundly heart-stirring writings.

A poet, essayist, and editor living in New York City, Lisa Marie Basile is the founder and creative director of Luna Luna Magazine, an editor at Ingram’s poetry site Little Infinite, and co-host for the podcast, AstroLushes, which intersects astrology, literature, wellness, and culture. Her website Ritual Poetica is a space for sacred self-exploration at the intersection of writing, ritual, and healing, and she has just recently launched her Write Well Patreon, with holistic resources & advice for nourishing a creative life that is physically, emotionally, & spiritually fulfilling.

So many of the subjects that Lisa regularly creates dialogue about and touches on in her writing –intentionality and ritual, creativity, poetry, foster care, addiction, family trauma, and chronic illness– are topics that are close to my heart, and, no doubt, close to the hearts of many of her readers, as well. This spirit of sharing both the beautiful and the ugly, with regard to the body, the world, the universe, is the shining core, and the secret-but-not-so-secret-really, to what makes her work so dynamic and relateable and what always, every single time, thrills me so profoundly when I see that she has posted something on Instagram, or tweeted about over on the twitters. If Lisa has taken the time to ponder a thought or a concern, word-witch it into existence, and share it with us, then it is a rare gem worth seeking out.

Of the elements that deeply spoke to me in Lisa’s first book, it was the rituals and exercises that involved writing I found myself most psyched about. As a bit of a word witch myself, I find that written language is the realm I am most comfortable exploring and creating in. As you can imagine then, when she announced her second book The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual (released this past April), I was over the moon!

Part guided journaling practice, part magical grimoire, The Magical Writing Grimoire explores the transformative power of writing. Each chapter contains writing prompts, writing rituals, meditations, and poetic wisdom. You’ll find shadow work, bibliomancy, automatic writing practices, incantatory poetry, and more. I don’t think I need to tell you, this is a freaking amazing resource– and Lisa Marie Basile was kind enough to field a few of our questions about The Magical Writing Grimoire, below.

Haute MacabreA question that I might typically ask is where the inspiration for this book originated–a question which you have handily answered in the introduction! You recount how your grandfather spent a day teaching you calligraphy, and how as a child you could begin to understand how writing could become a tool to sort out life’s complexities. I love stories like this, a wisdom passed from a beloved elder to a younger you, wherein formative magics take hold and burrow under your skin, mapping an internal pathway, directing and guiding you from there on out. I don’t know how much time you spend with calligraphy nowadays, but what sort of activity would you sit with a younger person (a child the age that you were in that memory, or bb witch, or a young writer-in-training) and slowly teach them with over the course of an afternoon?

Lisa Marie Basile: First, can I tell you amazing I think this question is? So thoughtful and magical. It’s true that these memories, these seemingly forgettable flashes in our lives — how could my dying grandfather even imagine that this thing he did with his grandchild would stick? So often things tumble through our memories, until their just flashes — change us. Perhaps it’s not calligraphy that stuck, because in truth, I do not partake of calligraphy these days. I am sure I would if I had the chance, but it’s not the act of calligraphy that matters. It was the intention, the focus, and the use of language.

It was this idea that through writing we can make memories — that the word itself is a sacred, eternal thing

I suppose if I were with a child or new witch or someone young who wanted to begin writing, I’d have them write a letter to themselves; what they write would depend on their deepest need. Maybe it’s a letter of support or forgiveness or simply a letter that asked one’s future self to pave the way for something. When we write to ourselves, we usually transmit something into and from the shadowy self (even children have shadow selves), and this is important because all transformative acts require a willingness for the depths. Imagine the total freedom of talking to yourself without censorship or judgement or approval?

You note that one of the most important things you’ve learned is that doing something (ie writing a book, casting a spell, etc.) is a process of both “work” and “the occult”. Can you and define and maybe give an example of what you mean by the two of them in that sense, and why it is that this is an important differentiation to you?

I have always viewed writing (or, as you said, anything) as this sort of hybrid thing. Half of the act is occult; it comes from some channeling or transmuting. It is connected to the divine, or the higher self. Sometimes when I write it feels like I am connected to something electric, something cosmic. It pours into me and I take the tabula rasa and make it into something. I know so many creators feel this way. The other aspect is the Work or Craft. You take what you get from the unknown, and you chisel into a shape. You apply knowledge or years of training to the raw thing you made.

You have to work with the gift or the magic. I believe — and maybe this is just me, it’s possible — but you have to combine an intention with actionable energy. You have to speak an incantation and do the work to make space for something to manifest.

But in the end, I believe both are necessary. You can feel when something doesn’t have a soul, when it’s all math or function. And you can see when something is so raw and so in need of time and space and craft.

Write when you dont feel like working on yourself. Write when you do. The grand ritual is returning to those sacred moments.”  I’d love it if you could share what this process looks like for you when you just arent feeling it? And how to maybe turn an ughhh I dont wanna do this today” into a sacred act?

I think there are certainly days when you need rest. As someone with a chronic illness, it’s important to just lay in bed, to daydream, to sleep, to read poems with the window open. I don’t really mean this literally, as in every single time. I do mean if you find yourself again and again coming up against some resistance to write or self-explore, it’s probably a good reason to do just that. In life. But yeah, if I’m feeling particularly exhausted, drained, emptied, or uninspired, I turn to water. For me, a shower is always sacred — and I try not to rush it. I envision the energy that is being cleansed and renewed under the water. I think of the drain as a physical symbol of what I’m letting go. I think of water as luminous and electric and giving me what I need.

Maybe I’ll turn bedtime or just being in bed as a sacred thing: Herbal tea, a good ASMR video, some essential oils in the diffuser, a few candles. I love the idea that luxuriating and resting can be a sacred thing; it’s rest, yes, but it’s also a recharge, and a healing process.

I don’t believe sacredness or magic always has a big a-ha shift; I believe that it’s found in the things that keep us going, keep us feeling alive.

You make this distinction between a practice that is “process-oriented” vs. “results-oriented.” Can you talk about this as it applies to your magical writing practice?

Ah, this sort of touches on the question above. For me, results-oriented magic is of course beneficial. A spell for this. A recipe for that. But I’ve found that (and this is likely a personal thing, or some sort of hyperintense Scorpio thing) that the long-game works better for me. A process is something I return to again and again — whether it’s a ritual I perform monthly or a meditative state I get back into regularly in order to write and sort of self-question. Almost all of this returning – to without immediate results leads to a massive shift in my life — in terms of joy, health, abundance, etc. That said, of course I do “xyz spell for zyz result” in the short term!

Like, yes, I’ll do a writing spell to manifest something I want immediately — a response in the affirmative, a sense of clarity when I wake up in the morning, a release of toxicity. But I will also return to the page for The Great Work — of healing old traumas, identifying patterns or getting in touch with an archetype or ancestral wisdom. That takes returning-to.

You speak to receptivity or conjuring the muse, as well as generative energy (being able to translate those musing energies) and that writing is a ritual of give and take between the two. I wonder if in your practice those energies shift or lean heavier to one side or another? How do you tempt an elusive muse? How do you interpret garbled transmissions? How do you get those synergies to sync, and what do you do when they are out of whack?

For me, the most important thing to do is give it space and to let garbled mess be. More often than not, the shit that comes out somehow ends up revealing a pattern — or even getting to the point where I realize I’m preventing myself from being receptive for some specific reason. It’s okay to write a few words, to incorrectly interpret, and to let there be times when things are unclear and messy. Usually, there’s a message there. It might mean you have some work you have to do outside of the ritual setting (for me at least).

Because so much of my magical life is informed by my writing life, I feel a need to think as a writer in both ways. Sometimes it’s better to get anything onto the page than to abandon ship because you feel the muse isn’t there. I tend to turn to rituals of beauty and creativity (cinema, music, movement, scent) to trigger/tap something in me that gets the flow going — and I do this with magic and with writing (I mean, it’s all one!).

Reading your passing mention of the Egyptian goddess Seshat was pretty uncanny. Literally, the day just before, Seshat came up in conversation with a friend and I was floored, never having heard this divine scribe and celestial librarian. I am curious as to whether or not there is a particular deity that you feel a connection with in your personal magical writing practice? And has that changed over the years with the changing of your own life’s story?

I love that. I believe that these synchronicities happen for a reason, so maybe Seshat wants to commune with you in some way? I don’t typically work closely with deities, gods, goddesses, etc, in an ongoing way — I take a more secular approach and see deities more as lesson-offering archetypes or representations as parts of myself — but I have always felt a deep kinship with Hecate.

I think growing up in foster care and watching addiction, imprisonment and homelessness happen in my immediate family made me yearn for a figure that stood for strength even in dark times. I wasn’t drawn to figures who didn’t have an intense understanding of darkness, the underworld, that dank underbelly of human pain. Hecate not only is that, she bears a torch to light the way. Today, I’m connected to Parthenope — a siren who lives in the water off of Naples. She’s been following me around, and she found me in Sorrento in Italy, in her waters. She is a symbol of love and vulnerability and water and the ancient world.

Writing is a form of reclamation, taking ownership of your pain, that there is power in your vulnerability– I love this idea…in theory…but what advice do you have for someone who is afraid of their own voice?

The voice blooms at its own pace.

Sometimes you don’t even realize that you are releasing it, that what you’re writing is the deepest truth. It’s okay if it doesn’t come natural or if it is frightening. I would suggest lovingly for everyone to lean into the discomfort and to know that your practice can be private and be entirely controlled by yourself. Create a beautiful and safe writing area to write; follow with self-care. Return to it weekly or under each new moon. Ask yourself what the fear is about and be willing to hear the answer. Is it ego? Is it that you were once punished for it? Is it fear of your own power and autonomy? Not fearing your voice is probably not going to happen in one cinematic moment; it will be gradual for some. But not resisting is key.

Resist the linear! You decry. Why? But also:  I wish I could! I am so tied to my structures and my routine, and I fear they are a bit of a crutch. I am curious as to what a non-linear day of writing or, just a non-linear day in your life might look like and what you might suggest for someone mired in the habitual and familiar.

If linear works for you, who am I to argue?! But I stress this because we all communicate and create differently. Perhaps you want to write a poem one day and a formal incantation, complete with rhyme scheme, the next? Maybe you want to journal here and there but can’t bring yourself to complete an entire ritual. I think it’s okay to do what feels right and what you can.

For me, I’ll write a poem, and only poetry for a while. I’ll write poem-spells and little lines and I’ll put them on my altar and I’ll hide them in my purse. Sometimes I’ll read them for a dose of magic. Then maybe I’ll write an essay or lists or whatever. I let my intuition guide me

I would say if what you do is working, don’t change it. But if you feel like structure is a crutch, maybe examine why? What does it feel like to let yourself be out at sea? If it’s scary, is it the sea — or is something you’re doing in the water? Thank you for your time and your beautiful, thoughtful, deep questions.

Images courtesy Lisa Marie Basile except for the mermaid blanket photo via Emily X.R. Pan

Many thanks to my dear friend Sonya, for it was through them that I originally learned about Lisa’s work a few years ago, and it was also through them that this interview coalesced and came into being. Thank you, thank you, dearest bean of my heart!

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Image: Sasha Vinogradova
Image: Sasha Vinogradova

A gathering of death-related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From heart-rending to gut-splitting (sometimes you gotta laugh, you know?) from informative to insightful to sometimes just downright weird and creepy, here’s a snippet of recent items that have been reported on or journaled about with regard to death, dying, and matters of mortality.

Previous Links Of The Dead: {July 2019} | {July 2018} | {July 2017} | {July 2016}

💀 Grief is a Weighted Blanket
💀 The Necropants Report, courtesy Courtney Lane
💀 Funeral Favors Can Be Tacky — But Their History is Long
💀 Symbols of Death in Art – Rijksmuseum Amsterdam
💀 Boom Time for Death Planning
💀 Bookcase converts to coffin when needed
💀Immortal Remains: A History of Preserving the Human Body
💀 The world’s first photograph of a murder caught on film: a twitter thread
💀 We Need To Talk About The Memeification Of Breonna Taylor’s Death

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Of course, there are things in life that logically, make me very angry. Things that might be obvious, like systemic racism, or when a gross old white politician calls an awesome, empowered US representative a “fucking bitch,” or when an Instagram account amasses an enormous following built upon the uncredited work of other artists and creators. Maybe that last one is infuriating only to me, but I don’t feel it’s unreasonable!

Anyway, some of the stuff on the following list is really, really dumb. I know this! But I consider a cataloging of this sort to be a great exercise in ridding my head of junk and garbage, a clearing out of the nonsense in order to allow the important thoughts more room to grow and develop! It’s a bit cathartic, and, I think, a valuable practice.

So, here is a list of some things that make me irrationally angry. It feels good to get this stuff out of my system! You may not agree with everything below (I DID say some of was a little irrational) so please feel free to share a few of your own infuriating, absurd pet peeves in the comments.

😡Taking a bite of a big sandwich or bagel and the entirety of its gloppy contents splorts messily out the back end

😡 Getting my head stuck in the neck-hole when I am trying to take a shirt off; conversely, trying to put on my underwear and somehow jamming my foot into the crotch, instead of the leg hole, and subsequently losing my balance and falling.

😡 Washing dishes and hosing the front of my shirt; also when I am washing my face and the water runs up my arms as I am rinsing (this makes me so mad!) As it happens, so many people hate this aspect of face washing that there’s a whole reddit thread about it!

😡 Checking Instagram and getting excited to see that I have fifty notifications but when I look closer, I find it’s because one weirdo had liked 49 different posts and then started following me. Also, seeing that I have a DM but it’s just someone who wants me to be a “brand ambassador” for their ugly goth jewelry.

😡 Seeing a notification that I have a new blog comment and then realizing that it’s a pingback to someone’s conspiracy theory blog post where they used a piece of art that I shared, totally out of context, and, while yes, they did link back to me, they spelled the name of my blog wrong. Keep my name out of your dumb mouths, conspiracy theorist bloggers!

😡 Seeing someone (usually a fashionable Instagrammer) exclaim, “that’s SO aesthetic!” Something can have aesthetic qualities, you can find its particular aesthetic pleasing, you can appreciate something for its aesthetic appeal (as opposed to say, its function)…but “aesthetic” is not an adjective that is synonymous with “chic”, or “beautiful”. To refer to the first dictionary entry that appears in a google search, it is either an adjective concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty, for example, “the pictures give great aesthetic pleasure” OR, a noun to signify a set of principles underlying and guiding the work of a particular artist or artistic movement, ie “the Cubist aesthetic.” So…taking that into consideration, what does one even mean when they assert that this, that, or the other thing is “so aesthetic”? That makes no damn sense.

😡 Magazine inserts falling out of magazines and landing on a scorchingly hot driveway when I am retrieving mail from the mailbox on a summer afternoon. This is especially irritating when I have just clipped my nails very short.

😡 A ten-second rainfall on a scorchingly hot summer afternoon (the smell of freshly dampened, hot concrete is awful, ugh.)

😡 When I am getting exercise while walking around my neighborhood in the evening and I have to stop short because a car is driving across my path. It’s 7 o’clock in the evening, dammit! Why are there people still driving around?? Everyone should be home asleep, except for me!

😡 When people invite me out to spend time together with them, but upon my arrival, I find out they have invited other people as well. I wanted to spend time with you one-on-one! This is not a nice surprise! If you had warned me ahead of time, I could have prepared myself, or (more likely) opted out.*  This TikTok by introvert Dustin Poynter sums my thoughts up nicely.

😡 When people invite me over for dinner (or something that involves food and the preparation of it) and when I get there, not only have they not even started cooking, they still need to go to the store to buy food! Though I am fond of you, I do not want to go to the grocery store with you. You should have done that before I arrived. This is rude and disrespectful of my time! Note: if you have warned me ahead of time, this is fine. *

* I think between this one and the previous one, it can be boiled down to “when someone doesn’t give me all of the information I need to make an informed decision regarding going out instead of staying home.” When I am surprised with something I am not expecting, it makes me want to hide in the bathroom and cry.

😡 When someone causes a scene in public. I don’t mean the punching Nazis sort of scene, and I don’t mean the sort where you stand up for someone being bullied, or when you call out someone for racist comments. Those aren’t “scenes.” Those are instances of being a good citizen and a decent human. I mean scenes like relationship dramas or fraught public meltdowns. I don’t want to see this. It embarrasses me so much I want to die–even if I have never seen you before in my life–and this embarrassment, in turn, enrages me. Lose your shit in the privacy of your own home.

😡Loathsome papery, sticky garlic skins, clinging to your fingertips, fragile yet antagonistically immobile, against all of your nearly superhuman efforts to peel the dreadful things off the bulbs? And then! A desiccated scrap of that peevish peel clinging to the heel of my sock, and which I have I have been trekking back and forth across the kitchen for hours, like so much cheap, tacky toilet paper in a public restroom!

😡 Noise of any sort–but particularly obnoxious radio personalities, and people trying to hold conversations with me–early in the morning, say before 9am. It’s not that I am grumpy, or that I am not a morning person. I love mornings. And I believe they should be for silence and solitude. It should be noted that people trying to hold conversations with me after 9 am also make me mad. Just…text me instead?

😡Tone deaf people in my Facebook/Instagram/whatever comments, saying dumb things and making me look dumb by association. Or not being able to read the room. Or saying mean things and making me look mean just because I am friends with you. Or just showing up to state the obvious (I think I hate this more than anything, it actually makes me howl with rage) Don’t make me look bad, people! Don’t embarrass me in front of my other cool friends who obviously know how to behave!

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19 Jul
2020

115742119_3337969626246180_3418155138061098262_nI know while in isolation lots of friends have stuck to their routines and rituals involving a full face of makeup everyday. Which I think is pretty amazing— I salute all of your beautiful faces and your dedication to them! For me, it’s been just the opposite. I’ve never worn a lot of makeup (and that may have to do with how frustrating I find it, and how it never actually looks all that good on me, anyway) but I’ve found that during this time of pandemic I give even less of a crap about what the organization of skin and flaps and holes on the front of my head looks like. I’ve honestly thrown most of my cosmetics away, and I’m finding that most of my daily rituals don’t really even involve looking in a mirror anymore. My face was never going to be my fortune and it’s really freeing to just accept that and spend those extra energies on the things I actually enjoy and which feel important to me.

We all value and prioritize different things and that’s beautiful. I’m not making any judgments here! Just checking in to tell you that my beauty routine (aside from morning and evening skincare) now consists solely of sunscreen and a spoolie swipe through my non-existent eyebrows and that is it and it is glorious.

I’m curious—have you pared down or amped up your own face-keeping in these strange, sad, constantly-screaming-inside-your-heart times?

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18 Jul
2020

shawl1I’ve been knitting on this shawl since the beginning of the year. Slowly, slowly. A row or so a night, or sometime I’ll go weeks without even looking at it. Maybe I’m not speeding through it because I’ve knit this pattern before, a long time ago. Another life, even! But I already know how it turns out, so there’s no hurry to get there. Just enjoying the glint of ruby silk and the sharp needled click-clicking whispered chatter of the stitches as they are drawn up and through and along their journey. I could do this forever. I almost don’t even care what it looks like when it’s finished (except I do, just a little.)

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It’s deep, deep summertime. My blood hums along with the drone of the cicadas, thrums with the promise of thunder on the horizon. I want to prick my fingertip with these wickedly sharp needles. To see if what drips out sings. Or roars. Or is instead a still and soundless blood bloom born .

(I got new knitting needles. They’re moving me in unexpected ways.)

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