Re(memo)ber the desert, Storm?

The Whiskey emailed me a youtube clip regarding some misguided folks converging upon a point in the desert, and the number 2. Why was I shown this clip? Because that was the day I drew the cards regarding the two little witches, Gabe and the Nautilus Heir.

That post was heavily edited, I left out a bunch of stuff and tried to keep straight to the point. Really, what it meant for you in a practical way, even if I don’t communicate in a practical way.

The time as I was typing up the draft of the post.

Wine merchants selling my distilled essence. I was pressed and compressed out of existence. The husk they discarded (the remains fell to here) while my water they drained to imbibe, a heady elixir mixed with honey and spice. A tonic reprise brings me back to life. I return with some of my words from the blog of my undead.

Speculatrix, a fortress

16 June 2019

Look at me through the glass, mirrored soul of Mirach. It felt like forever but I am back by my side. Oblique flesh, a self embrace.

Mirror, oh mira, what sight do you see? A mirage in the desert, their god is hydrophobic. Lurking in deserts for the hopelessly lost and despondent wanders.

Alice Through the Looking Glass, 2016.

Reader, be(ta)-ware of the walking dead salesman.

mined and named. of labyrinth halls, through 9 realms de-light, the only way forward is to ensure clarity accuracy.

Something I’ve rambled somehow, some point slapped together and found them like this…

No wonder he never delivered those guys out of the desert, led them wandering aimlessly for 40 years. Perfect environment to reinforce subjugation upon a peoples: lost in the frikken desert, dude! That’s the meal ticket to the formation of a cult of personality! People get grumpy when they feel hot, I’d be mean spirited too if I was dragged around on a wild goose chase after some crap or another that has never worked for me, or whatever.

Felix St. Ragen, 2002. What is my soul purpose tarot reading, notes only. My handwriting rushed and messy. Sorry.

A precious jewel shines from me. From my heart, focused light pierce stricken skin; the rays with names are calling. Hades and his hands upon my shoulders. A reassurance, his strength is my foundation. Jain and his expressive praise of my words. I am speechless and self-conscious.

With a sleight of hand, my neck is adorned with the returned Brisingamen. I am bound again, I am home with them. I am the first of my kind, not all kind, but that is very kind of you to exclaim.

I can’t tell what, exactly, I’m supposed to do, or where I am to begin doing my “something”. So I just continue on as I do, strive to try and thrive in the material world.

Thanks for the rope, it reminded me of myself. I never did see it nor it’s significance until before this day see it. I don’t know what you mean by ‘tomorrow’, except I know what it reminds me. That is the sign I weave to initial my name. A signature mark by my own hand.

I had to break up my mark into the separate base and specific lines that are used to create it’s visual appeal, so you may see the subtle influence to which I am allied and lovingly bound. I am nothing without you, my self depends upon for emotional, social and spiritual security. You give me your soul and I make you whole.

But I don’t want your soul. I am satisfied, I am happy, I am enough. (at least my psyche is compliant and peaceful, in this moment).

Seated upon her throne of silver gun metal grey, the shining charioteer is a Patriot. I’m sure I wrote about being a pretty schmick driver.

Ahh, freedom for my keys. Jingle jangle. Found them.

Ahh, shit. I lost my point. Where I thought I was going to be going when I started typing. Something about the 9 of us. the core units that make up my microcosm.

All is well with my soul and all that is within me. Bless my whole key name. Heal my holey brain. Raise my halls of fame. Try not to forget my name next time you meet me at the end of days.

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