Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

Magick has crushed too much of my soul. It gave me access to everything I lusted after, but the consequences were so painful. It turned my hair grey. It externalized my very creative essence into the outside world, then dropped it like an anvil upon my head. It hung me out to dry. As long as I have a human body, I feel that I will keep playing cat-and-mouse with desire. The paths of obedience and worship were neither for me. I have been too independent, too erratic, so very random. Only unlearned a small fraction of my father’s stubbornness. Tributes worked for nothing. Rehashed deity felt like it was robbing me of service to my fellow humans. I writhed in the dark and bled myself open, dancing with each of my fears, occasionally overtaken by them. For what? To be society’s constantly broken mascot? I thought my path was about empowerment. My swords, my blood, my anger, my violence, they are all here too. My pet monsters. Now I try to keep my rage a secret. Now I have teachers who...

It calls me from down the street. It has a ping like radar in the movies. Faded stickers on the side of it, as one would expect. Taking a beating from the sun in the heat usually. But it's the end of March. It's not even April. I walk up to him. "Hi, what you want this time?" says the greying Armenian man. "We got laughers, screamers, poppers...you want something with nuts on it?" he gives that nervous, close-mouthed smile, and I see some spittle at the corner of his mouth. I laugh nervously. "Um, no, it's ok. I'll just take the one with three colors on it. Tangerine cherry." "OHH, you like popsicle. Good choice, young lady." The holographic wrapper crinkles in my hands as I pass over the money. "Don't be afraid to have good time!" he exclaims, enthusiastically. I'm unclear on whether his comment is sexually charged. I walk away slowly, deliberately unwrapping the treat. It's certainly hot enough fo...