Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

(Written the day after the midterm election, November 2026) I have been deep in my grief and hermit mode over the passing of my first real witchcraft teacher, Anne Craig aka Jenna Silverhair, whom I found out completely on accident, had died on the 21st of October. No one contacted me but I happened to, in a rare moment, navigate to my unused FB to look up info on my other teacher Ed, who passed last October.   The thing about grief is that sometimes it's a mood, a sensation, a picture or a shape. But often it's not very verbal. It's a feeling without words. The strangest palpable thing has been wanting to share a joy or a joke with a person and them not being there. Amidst this, one of my regular clients will not be able to employ me for up to two months due to a completely unexpected home renovation. It's all good. I don't want to push on anything right now. I will post about my availability for things next week. Thing is, my work here is still about surfing the w...

Today I'm a little bit of sad clown. I'm emerging on the other side of a portal during which I was reminded of the radical self-honesty that I cannot be so much of what many people who used to be close to me need right now. I thought my life through fascism would be expansive and community-oriented as it was for my ancestors who did this, but instead it feels prejudiced, limited and small. It's little like what life was like 6 or 10 years ago for me and I try to steer sharp pivots as the waves of destructive capitalism fling me. Were soothing words friends gave me just a few months ago even still applicable? Likely not. It is another era of un-minimizeable mass death. I witness from the edge and try to make laughter, art and music, but they are small because I am small-minded. I could not be what many needed. I eat candy and food that doesn't agree with my body like I used to smoke cigarettes. You should reuptake smoking for pleasure if you haven't yet. My grandm...