“So here’s my question to all you pagans. What does a goddess look like? Does a goddess have porn star tits, of back breaking proportions and gravity defying magic? Or does a goddess look like a real woman?” – ”Goddess Breasts”
“The moral of the research at this stage seem to be, if you want to be in a natural state, you need to be in a natural state. The more artificial your habitat is, the more you will suffer if you don’t protect breasts and feet from the consequences…..The more you can match your shoes to the needs of your breasts, the better this is going to work, though.”–“Bare breasts, bare feet”
“I realise that I have been socialised to consider the unfettered breast a sign of loose sexual morals and availability. The idea that, anyone realising I had no bra would conclude that I am a slut and open to any and all sexual advances, was not a comfortable one. I have yet to go out in public without a bra, and this is a big part of why. I simply do not want the assumptions that could go with it.”
“I don’t remember just when it was that I stumbled upon the fact that began to unravel the puzzle, the fact that the permanent human female breast is not a biological necessity, is in fact an anomaly. In every other primate species, the females develop breasts while nursing, then become flatchested again afterward. So here an anthropological concept applies: a human trait that is not dictated by biology has been created or shaped by cultural forces. In other words, the permanent female breast is the result of learned behavior and serves a social purpose. What could that be? Puzzling over that, I was finally jolted by what by hindsight should have been obvious: when a human male observes a human female from a distance, the first fact he can observe about her is whether she has developed breasts. If she has, then she is old enough to have sexual intercourse. The permanent breast is a signal, a communication of information essential for human survival. Evolutionary pressure created it.”
“Why are men so interested in women’s breasts?” By Aiden Kelly
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/aidankelly/2014/02/why-are-men-so-interested-in-womens-breasts/ Nobody online seems to know exactly who started #NoBraDay. Supposedly it was started to promote breast cancer awareness, but I agree with the critics on this one: it’s not doing much to further the cause. Having pictures of male and female celebrities getting mammograms plastered all over the place would do more good. How about #freemammogramday? I think the people who started #NoBraDay really started it because they wanted to go without undergarments, but they were too afraid to try to launch that campaign on their own, so they attached themselves to the breast cancer awareness cause, just like everyone else in the world. Breast Cancer Awareness is big business.
I celebrate #NoBraDay because most of the time, especially at home, I don’t wear a bra. I was raised by crazed dirty hippies, so bras weren’t really a priority unless you were going out into polite society. Sometimes I do wear a bra or a corset (I have a thing for pretty lingerie), but a lot of the time I just go with nothing–bra or panties. It’s nice to feel free sometimes. I see it more as a First Amendment/Free Speech issue. Society shouldn’t tell you how to dress. ”And ye shall be free from slavery,” says the “Charge of the Goddess”. If, as Pagans, we take this to be true, then we are free to wear what undergarments (or not) as we choose.
“O Lady, your breast is your field.
Inanna, your breast is your field.
Your broad field pours out the plants.
Your broad field pours out grain.
Water flows from on high for your servant.
Bread flows from on high for your servant.
Pour it out for me, Inanna.
I will drink all you offer.”
The Goddess (whatever name you call her) has breasts and nipples. Some gods have heavy swinging breasts too. Female and male humans both have breasts and nipples. Those are simple statements. But in Western society, as Pagans in Western society, we have become afraid of female breasts and nipples. This stems from a deep-rooted patriarchy that is inherently afraid of anything that may elicit a sexual response. Humans can’t control what causes sexual arousal in themselves, and this lack of control can be scary and is some times embarrassing. So, we do our best to cover those things up. However, I, like many people, can get aroused at seeing a man without his shirt on. This man can walk around legally without his shirt on, but I, as a woman, cannot. Double standard.
The Goddess, in her many infinite forms, is often depicted with either youthful pert breasts, ripe for the suckling, or large pendulous breasts, ready to smack you in the face. Conversely, the God, in his many infinite forms, is often depicted with a magnificent bare chest.
These representations of Deity are as it should be. However, “The Charge of the Goddess” also says, “as a sign that ye be really free, ye shall be naked in your rites.” A lot of Pagan groups take this and run with it, holding skyclad rituals that make many families cringe. This is unfortunate. While no one should be made to feel uncomfortable in ritual, and all parents have the right to raise their children as they see fit, always holding clothed rituals does seem to go against the grain of the one piece of liturgy that most Wiccan groups revere some version of. Some of these groups, though, have edited out the part about holding naked rites, perhaps in an effort to seem legitimate among the sea of naked worshipers. Holding topless rites is a perfect compromise. While many parents, understandably, are not comfortable with full nudity around their children (and the law in most areas is firmly against it for obvious reasons), some parents, surprisingly, would probably be comfortable with a top-optional ritual, especially if the laws in their area supported topless women. Despite the religious sexual overtones that imbue Wicca, most groups enact Hieros Gamos via a chalice and an athame. Therefore, the topless men and women are not partially dressed to purposely invoke sexual feelings within the group. That’s one of the caveats that is attached to many pro-topless laws.
As the year progresses towards Yule, I’ll be interviewing Pagan leaders and state legislators in my state of North Carolina about their views on women going topless, North Carolina’s topless laws, and the possibility and implications of top-optional rituals.
I enjoy feeling the sunshine on my naked skin and the wind whispering my skin to goosebumps. There’s nothing like lounging by the water in summer with nothing on. If you’ve not experienced outdoor nudity yet, please do so, at least once, during the next year. Once you experience it, you’ll never want to frolic outdoors fully clothed again.
Listen to my podcast episode where I discuss legal toplessness for women while topless! http://bit.ly/1GexPG1
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Finances and sex have always gone together. The world’s oldest occupation? The Lords and Ladies of Finances and Prospertity greatly enjoy sex. Think Wall St. of the 1980′s. And they want sex through YOU, not you through your partner. And not just you with your hands. They want you through an insertable. This is because there are deities of finance and prosperity that identify with a variety of sexual orientations, and they want you to share in those sensations to facilitate worship and connection. They want you to be their sacred whore.
One of the horniest of the Deities of Wall Street is Lord Ganesha.
I first came into sexual contact with him a few months back when I had enjoyed some Indica that Ganesha would approve of. I had just gotten the Nirvana 3-way, 3-speed vibrator, and decided to try it out. (Hear me use it: http://bit.ly/1hmnZXk) It was wonderful! Ganesha stampeded through me and gored me at full force. All the kinky little kid feelings that I had had growing up and seeing Dumbo’s mother spanking a spoiled kid with her trunk came flooding back, and hard moral thoughts of deity-driven bestiality poked me incessantly at three different speeds with KY hot sauce and some cunt intensifier cream. I was in that awesome “Wah-wah” universe that pulses with color and atmospheric sensations, like a mental water bed. He came to me hot and heavy, in the same aqua blue color as my vibrator. He fucked my cunt with his trunk first, ramming and tickling. Then my Lord turned his head so that his trunk was still inside of me, but now one tusk was pressed against my clit and the other one was sliding in and out of my ass. Did you know that an elephant’s trunk can move both side to side and back and forth at the same time? It is absolutely orgasmic, with Lord Ganesha’s hands squeezing and grabbing, caressing and smacking, pinching and tickling. Lord Ganesha says that all the Prosperity deities have agreed that in sexual worship of them that all the orifices should be busy praising and worshiping them. The first set of lips to call their praises, the second and third set of lips to quiver in response. If this causes you shame because that type of stimulation is new and frightening, then know that they see that shame as humility, since all prosperity petitioners, especially the most successful and confident, should remember that the blessings come at the grace and leisure of the Lords and Ladies in charge, not just by luck, birthright, or work.
Lord Ganesha removes and insures obstacles. Hermes Agoraios sets up the market place in your favor. Lady Luck and Lord Gamble make sure that the Fates have been bribed. Frau Perchta makes sure that you’re going to work hard enough to deserve this prosperity or she’ll slit your belly and make you shit for days. Athena makes sure that your industriousness and knowledge of industry standards are up to date. Lord and Lady Gold, Silver, Platinum, all the Commodities, Dollar, Euro, Pound, Peso, and Yin makes sure that your currency is multiplied and not depleted. St. Expeditus helps things to happen in a timely fashion. Lord Pluto, of course, bankrolls it all. And don’t forget your personal posse that works as your personal mob soldiers.
Like all mobsters, all these deities really care about is money, sex, and success. You be their whore, they’re bankroll your project; you give them the loot, and they give you back a percent. They expect respect, obedience, and good-will sacrifices as good public relations strategy.
Thursday Financial/Business Prosperity Ritual
Relax with an intoxicant of your choice. If you can’t drink like a Russian (metaphorically or literally) then you have no business sitting at the table. Select some prosperity incense or herbs to burn in a heat-proof chamber pot, piss pot, or slop jar. This is because you always want to have at least a pot to use as a toilet. Then recline on your spread out Hell money that you will offer later as an offering. As you become very relaxed, select one or more sex toys that will penetrate the orifice(s) that are below your belly button. If you have a penis, a pocket pussy is appreciated as well. Relax and think about the Deities of Financial and Business Prosperity as you begin to masturbate for their enjoyment and pleasure. If some of it is a little painful at first, remember, some lovers are rough. Fill your mouth with a large lollipop (any flavor) that you have previously run under water until sticky and then rolled in unground salt. These
Deities love sweet and salty treats and want your mouth to be filled with the dueling but complementary tastes. Call out to them, envision what you Need and what you would like. Remember to show Them how you will randomly sacrifice to them for the benefit of mankind by showing them charities and alms that you will support and giveaway. Chant their names until one deity appears behind your eyes and takes over the show. Then increase your chanting of your needs and wants to the rhythm of your coming orgasm. The closer to coming that you are, the more plaintive your pleading cries should be. It’s not unusual for multiple deities to come to you during this ritual. Prepare to be a train whore. When you can no longer orgasm and your lollipop is gone, drink some water and eat a sweet and salty treat while you burn Hell money or fake play money in your piss pot. If things are urgent or desperate, then you should burn a small amount of legal tender to show why your request should be put before the requests of others. Later, when you’re out and about, make sure to leave a salty and a sweet treat at an ATM machine or bank for somebody who is down on their luck. When the deities deal with your case, make sure to thank them and to fulfill your charity and alms promises as quickly as possible. They appreciate weekly, preferably Thursday, worship and protection payments. Kiss the ring, bitch!
Today’s ritual wasn’t quite as intense as the first time, but it was still beyond satisfying. I used my Ganesha vibrator, introduced new anal beads (I slipped the retrieval loop over the clitoral stimulation vibe to vibrate the beads), and then ended by using a new anal plug with the main part of the vibrator nestled behind it and my perineum. Lord Ganesha enjoyed me first and then Athena took her turn. She enjoyed my anal stimulation like she a had penis of her own. Perhaps she does.
I finished Logos this afternoon by John Neeleman, and I have to say it’s a long read. Most of that length, however,is necessary as a story vehicle. Neeleman takes you on a walking tour of the main character Jacob’s life, from childhood until an ultimately happy ending (more on that later). The story starts in the opulence of Roman occupied Jerusalem and ends in the opulence of Rome. Along the way are sojourns in the barren deserts of Palestine and the lush oasises of the Levant. The landscape itself is featured so often that it is a major character central to the plot. The character of Jacob, a rich Jew and son-in-law of Ananias of Bible fame, goes from having everything, to having nothing, to slowly climbing his way back onto the top, very similar to Barabbas. He even comes to a reconciliation with the Christians at the end, just like Barabbas. However, Jacob is an emotional child through out much of the book. He reflects a lot of men and people. He rages when he should be calm and loses his nerve when he needs it the most. While the loss of nerve is a realistic character trait, Jacob’s naivety and ability to be easily won over by those that have terribly altered his life is somewhat beyond the suspension of disbelief.
Logos deals not only with one man’s life journey, but also with the fictionalized lineage of the Christian faith. Turns out the Baptists were wrong. The story of Christ is just a made up story, pulled from tidbits of reality, the myths of the Middle Eastern world, and the Jewish belief in a Messiah. Modern Pagans have been saying this for years. While of course this is a figment of Neeleman’s imagination, this story is very plausible. And, just as I always suspected, Paul is a very slimy person and a liar. And gay. In fact a lot of these characters come across as gay, bi, and into dominance and submission. Of course, in reality, that’s the whole of the Roman world. Although Jacob has three wives, one legal and two common law, he still engages in common adolescent and early adult bi-curiosity. Jacob is often put into positions of power and expected to be dominant, but he is never able to fulfill that role and constantly defers to the Alphas around him. He may look like a bear for most of the novel, but all he really wants to be is a cub.
Neeleman never gives in to the temptation to explore the homosexuality that is constantly poking at the robes of this novel begging to get out, but he does indulge his readers in several incredibly hot heterosexual sex scenes, which is wonderfully refreshing. Sex between Jacob and Hannah, the legal first wife, is very kosher and married. Sex between Jacob and Maryam, his second wife, is fiery and wild, just like the sand they lie in. Sex between Jacob and Hypathia, his third wife, is opulent and bestial.
It helps to have a small background in Biblical history, but it’s not necessary. If you want to read related books, I suggest Agrippa’s Daughter by Howard Fast, and Dr. Hillman’s double trouble duo: Original Sin and Hermaphrodits, Gynomorphs, and Jesus.
So, what about this ending I alluded to? Well, the ending had such promise to go so many ways, yet in the end it went the way you could see it headed toward, which left me a little disappointed. I had really hoped that Jacob would finally get a steel rod for a backbone, but Neeleman never gave him one.
Info From Novel Publicity–I didn’t write any of the Following stuff, just an FYI
About the Book – About the Author – Prizes!!!
About the prizes: Who doesn’t love prizes? You could win one of two $50 Amazon gift cards or an autographed copy of LOGOS! Here’s what you need to do…
Enter the Rafflecopter contest
Leave a comment on another participating blog:
That’s it! One random commenter during this tour will win the first gift card. Visit more blogs for more chances to win–the full list of participating bloggers can be found HERE. The other two prizes will be given out via Rafflecopter. You can find the contest entry form linked below or on the official LOGOS tour page via Novel Publicity. Good luck!
About the book: While novels and cinema have repeatedly sought after the historical Jesus, until now none have explored what may be a more tantalizing mystery—the Christian story’s anonymous creator. Logos is a literary bildungsroman about the man who will become the anonymous author of the original Gospel, set amid the kaleidoscopic mingling of ancient cultures. Logos is a gripping tale of adventure, a moving love story, and a novel of ideas. None of this should be regarded as out of place or incompatible in a novel about Christianity’s origin. Dissent, anarchism, and revolution—and incipient Christianity was no less these things than the Bolshevik, the French or the American revolutions—inevitably have involved ideas, adventure, and romance. In A.D. 66, Jacob is an educated and privileged Greco-Roman Jew, a Temple priest in Jerusalem, and a leader of Israel’s rebellion against Rome. When Roman soldiers murder his parents and his beloved sister disappears in a pogrom led by the Roman procurator, personal tragedy impels Jacob to seek blood and vengeance. The rebellion he helps to foment leads to more tragedy, personal and ultimately cosmic: his wife and son perish in the Romans’ siege of Jerusalem, and the Roman army destroys Jerusalem and the Temple, and finally extinguishes Israel at Masada. Jacob is expelled from his homeland, and he wanders by land and sea, bereft of all, until he arrives in Rome. He is still rebellious, and in Rome he joins other dissidents, but now plotting ironic vengeance, not by arms, but by the power of an idea. Paul of Tarsus, Josephus, the keepers of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and even Yeshua, the historical Jesus himself, play a role in Jacob’s tumultuous and mysterious fortunes. But it is the women who have loved him who help him to appreciate violence’s dire cycle.Get LOGOS through Amazon, or Barnes & Noble.
About the author: John Neeleman spends his days working as a trial lawyer in tall buildings in downtown Seattle. He lives in Seattle with his wife and children. He also represents death row inmates pro bono in Louisiana and Texas. As a novelist, his editorial model is historical fiction in a largely realistic mode, though there are hallucinatory passages that reflect Neeleman’s concern with philosophical and spiritual matters, in part a residue of his religious upbringing. He was raised as a seventh generation Mormon, and rebelled, but never outgrew his interest in metaphysical concerns. Connect with John on his publisher’s website, Facebook, Twitter,or GoodReads.. a Rafflecopter giveaway
She looked at herself in the reflection of the bathing pool. She was filthy, thin, and her hair beraggled. Two days ago she had found a sparrow trying to make a nest in her hair; it was so horrible. She scrunched her eyes tightly to hide her tears as her Tendrils tried to gently tease out the knots. They were good girls, she knew, and they always tried to be gentle, but she was very tender-headed, and no matter how hard they tried, she always cried when they brushed her hair. Every day before the Oak King sent her into the fields, the Tendrils would braid her hair into simple peasant plaits and cover it with a poofy linen cap that her sunhat fit over, but every evening when she took the cap off, her hair would be unplaited and full of knots, tangles, and brush—and sometimes critters. Every Oak season was the same, and she never understood how it happened. It was just part of the magic of the cycle.
She let her mind drift to the coming opulence of the Holly King, that is if things worked the way they always did. Although without fail the brothers met twice a year to kill each other, the Ivy Queen always worried that this may be the year when things didn’t go as they were ordained, that her Holly King wouldn’t come back and that she would be stuck in an endless summer of hard work forever. She was tired of sweating. She shouldn’t work in the fields like a peasant. She was a Queen! She shouldn’t be tanned like the Oak King.
Her skin should be white to better show the lusciousness of her cool ivy leaves. She missed her castle where she could cavort and frolic with her Tendrils without the interference of the ever present Oak. His low growl of “Back to work” never left her ears, nor the exciting chill of dread that sprouted in her heart when he would touch the buckle of his belt or when he would glance between her and the whip hanging from the wall. The Tendrils washed her with whisper light touches over her thin, hard body. They drew the rag up between her small breasts and over her protruding collarbone. The Queen longed for her curves that had to be contained in an endless line of beautiful corsets. All in due time, she thought, all in very short due time.
She thought back to the Oak King touching his belt buckle and shivered.
Catch the irony?
He rarely punished her in that matter. The Tendrils started washing her thighs, and she opened them wider. One of her girls started to gently rub the tiny nub that always brought her so much pleasure. Instead of beatings, the Oak King was fond of the saying, “No work, no food.” He used hunger to motivate the people to do his bidding. Everybody worked hard, but he worked people so hard that their caloric earnings couldn’t keep up with their caloric spending. “Mmmmm”, she sighed as the Tendril rubbed a little faster and harder.
Everything wasn’t horrible with the Oak King. He did enjoy his pleasures, although they were of the more rustic variety. And she enjoyed sharing his pleasures, when he allowed. Often though, he would take a Tendril out with him into the wild wood, and either make her experience his touches vicariously through her girl’s retelling or be made to watch while she was imprisoned in a hollow oak tree.
She hated the tree most of all, since the hollow was only barely big enough for her to stand in and her arms were pinned to her side, not allowing her to masturbate in any way. There were times, however, when he touched her and melted her natural resistance to his authority. Once, during a terrible spring storm, the Oak King had spirited her away into the wind and lighting, pushing her back against a broad strong oak tree, pinning her hands above her head, and fucking her roughly while the rain and hail pelted them, leaving bruises on her slowly tanning skin. The Queen knew that she still had the scars where the tree’s bark had torn into her back, leaving the Oak King’s mark upon her skin.
At Beltane, when all the young men came to treat a Tendril for the night, the Oak King, just like a young swain, built her a cool, soft leafy bower for their sacred coupling. As gently as a nervous groom, he shyly took her with his perfect priapic wand, taking almost all night for her being to burst into a frenzy of fireflies and stars.
That was her sweetest memory of him. She fancied that that night was the sweet meat beneath his hard shell, but she was allowed to taste it so rarely, she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Ohhhhh,” she gasped, remembering his rod moving back and forth slowly inside of her,his rough tip rubbing her most sensitive spots. One of the Tendrils slipped a small wet fist into the Queen’s vagina and started to flex her hand.
Then, most recently, there had been their coupling in the field of partially ripe wheat. He had ordered her Tendrils to strip her of the simple brown shift that she was allowed to wear during the Oak King’s reign. Then he had blindfolded her and led her forward with a strong hand around her wrist. As she stumbled behind him, her skin was burned by the unrelenting sun, her nostrils were assaulted by the smells of grain, grass, and humid earth, and her ears rang with the drone of millions of insects. The wheat, about waist high, had switched and cut her thighs, leaving hundreds of little scratches. It had even tickled further up, sometimes even dipping between her nether lips. By the time the Oak King brought her to a halt in the middle of the field and removed her blindfold, her pussy was dripping, further irritating the tender flesh of her thighs, and she was covered in a heavy sheen of sweat. Through the memory the Queen was aware that her Tendril’s hand was moving even faster. She moaned louder with pleasure, knowing that she was close to coming.
The Oak King had invited her to lay down amongst the wheat, the dust and dirt of the field turning to mud against her sweaty skin. He took a length of wheat and teased her abused thighs with it, tickling her, working his way over her sunken tummy and breasts. He tickled and rubbed her nipples with the wheat kernels until they started to bleed. Then he took the wheat head and caressed further back from her vagina, moving her wetness back to lubricate her ass.
With out much thought she had lifted her hips and opened up as much as possible to him on her own. He teased her tight hole with the acorn head of his penis, being more patient than was his wont, slowly rubbing her in tight circles, coaching her body to slowly open up and swallow him. His entrance had made her stiffen and cry out in pain, but his slow persistence soon convinced her body to relax. The Ivy Queen remembered that she had lost herself in the blinding blue of the sky until it all started to feel good. The Oak King had been very attentive to her that day. He took his time and went as slow as she needed him to go, only starting to pump her dirt coated ass harder when she pulled him fully on top of her, wrapping her legs around him to pull him tighter. She remembered how the wheat tickling her soles had pushed her over the edge.
“Oh!” the Queen gasped and clamped down on the attending Tendril’s hand. Ivy Queen started to giggle, allowing herself to climax. The harder she came the louder she laughed. Then a loud knock on the door shattered the moment.
Her summons had arrived. The Oak King was ready for her, for what may be their final mating of the season. The old fear returned. What if this time, the Oak King prevailed for another six months? What then? She didn’t think she could bear any more of the Oak King’s austerity. Besides, she longed for her own castle. The Holly King allowed to her to come and go as she pleased with her Tendrils. The Oak King never let her go beyond the fields unless he was with her. The Holly King always invited her to share his plush bed. The Oak King insisted that she maintain a pallet on the floor in a dark corner of his chamber. The Holly King was robust and dark yet endlessly mirthful. The Oak King shone like the sun, tall and sturdy like his tree, but he rarely laughed, and then usually at her expense.
The Tendrils smoothed her wet hair down her delicate back. They had dressed her in a simple green tunic that swept the floor and opened fully down the front. As she followed the King’s servant to his chamber, the Oak Knights caught sight of her apple tits and ripe peach. The Queen was conscious of their stares, and despite her blush, she held her head high and glided on. The Oak King was standing before a wide window, gazing out into the courtyard bathed in the late morning sunshine. It was already hot. The spring breezes had ceased several weeks ago, and now it was swealtering. The King stood with his back to her, straight and tall. She always wondered what the brothers thought about in the final hour before the fight. Neither one ever appeared to be nervous or even the least bit concerned. She was the only one who ever seemed nervous. Each brother bore his fate with an unfathomable faith that the cycle would be never ending, that nothing would go wrong.
The Ivy Queen took a deep breath and shrugged her robe off, leaving it a green puddle on the floor. The Oak King turned at the soft thud of the fabric. A greedy, slightly malicious smile twitched on his lips. He took her ALL in fully. It wasn’t often that he saw her freshly scrubbed. He kept her too busy at her chores. She was finally the way he liked her best. She was whispy, yet the delicate muscles that rippled under her bronze skin belied the physical strength she had slowly built up during the growing season. Her hair hung down straight and brown, with blond and red highlights bleached in from working in the sun. Her attitude was tempered too. At the beginning of winter she was always full of disrespectful quips and constantly challenged every order and request. But by the beginning of summer, the Ivy Queen’s attitude was as pliable and agreeable as an ivy vine. Every year he was tempted to keep her naked once the weather grew warmer so that he could see the changes in her body more easily, but he had yet to command it. Perhaps this spring….
“Please lay on the bed, my Lord, and allow me to pleasure you one last time.” The Ivy Queen requested quietly meeting her lord’s gaze. He cocked his head at her, wondering where this was going to lead. It wasn’t like her to be willing to give pleasure. The Ivy Queen was a very selfish lover and felt that people giving HER pleasure was a tribute always due her. She met his gaze full on and pointed at the bed. “Please, my lord.”
As requested, he laid down, stretching his full length out. The moment he had sense her in his room, he had become aroused. This was the epitome of everything they had worked on for his half of the cycle. He felt confidant that he could turn the world over to his brother for six months and that due to his hard work and staying after the populace to also work hard, that civilization would still be here at mid-winter when it was time to for him to take control again. The Ivy Queen pounced on him, untying his trousers and releasing his semi-erect penis.
She bent her head and finally started to show him the respect that he felt he deserved. At first she lapped at his bobbing member like a kitten, paying special attention to the vein underneath. Each lap made him harder and harder. Then she opened her rose petal lips wide and pulled his cock into her mouth with a suction that took his breath away. She had never deigned to pleasure him in this manner. Her skill shocked him. It felt as if his penis were encased in vines, each one hugging and releasing at a different pace. He got lost in the sensation and felt that he was close, very close to spilling forth in her mouth when he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.
The Oak King’s body became still and rigid. The Queen slipped him out of her mouth and gave him a wicked smile. She pushed the small knife into his neck a little more, and a small bright stream of blood started to trickle down his neck. The moment was suspended in time and space, the Fates spinning and weaving furiously to get the cycle back on track. Finally, the spell was broken, the proper weft repaired in the fabric of time. “You seem surprised, my Lord. You shouldn’t be. Every year I’m always worried that something won’t go right, that the One I look forward to best won’t come back.” She slowly drew the grafting knife along his neck, leaving a thin but shallow line of crimson.
The thought of the Ivy Queen, that insolent and ungrateful bitch, plotting to slay him in his own bed jolted him out of his shock at the turn of events. He wrapped his long, strong legs around her tiny body and flipped the Queen in a wrestling move. She screamed and stabbed his shoulder, leaving the knife in his flesh. He had her pinned to the bed spread eagle, keeping her in place with his bleeding body. He roared, “How dare you! How dare you! After every thing I’ve provided for you? How dare you try to interfere? And favorites? How dare you even think to choose! My brother and I are different but equal. We are both necessary to the cycle. And you, dearest bitch, are the fulcrum that keeps it all balanced. You worry about things not turning out the way they should each turn of the wheel? If they don’t turn out correctly, you and your choosing favorites will be to blame! Nothing that I’ve done!” His eyes burned into her as hotly as the noon sun did outside the window. The look truly scared the Queen. The King turned his head from her and bellowed, “Bring the brambles and the nuts!” Within an instance the room was filled with several Oak soldiers, one carrying a sack full of something and the other ones bearing yards and yards of thorny brambles.
“What, what are you going to do?” she whispered, swallowing hard. This was not going well at all.
“Hold her.” The King commanded the soldier holding the bag. He did as commanded, replacing the Oak’s body with his own. The Ivy Queen closed her eyes. The fact that a commoner was on top of her at the King’s bidding was too much for her to bear. She could feel the King’s strong, hard hands grabbing her wrists and pulling them over her head. Around each one he tightly wrapped the bramble vines, their barbed thorns grabbing and biting into her flesh. She felt something cold and sticky being laid on her throat. The Queen realized that it was the knife she had left in Oak’s shoulder. She tossed her head until it slide off of her.
“Quit!” The Oak King growled. “You will be still and take what’s coming to you. And you’ll figure out a way in your twisted, viney brain to enjoy it so that the balance is restored. No more favorites!” As commanded she stopped. He pulled first one and then the other ankle tight with the bramble vines, spreading her as wide as her limbs would allow. The soldier climbed off of her and gave her a pitying look as he and the others left the room.
The Oak King was still hard. In fact he was harder now after their tussle than he had been when he was at the point of climaxing a few minutes earlier. He stripped off his clothes and straddled the Queen’s neck, smacking her enchanted face with the one and powerful Priapic wand. She started to sob. She was so tired, so afraid, so sure that this was going to finally be the end, so turned on that this was finally going to be the end. Finally something different was going to happen in the cycle. Her tears pushed the King back to almost climaxing. With firm, sure strokes he rubbed his rod and exploded all of the Queen’s face. She gasped in shock and embarrassment. Her eyes streamed more tears as the semen burned her eyes. Without meaning to she inhaled it up her nose started sputtering and sneezing in an effort to breathe.
The Oak King waited for the Queen to compose herself. He knelt between her legs and picked up the bag and poured acorns all over her. She shuddered, not sure she could bear where this may be headed. The King smiled at her glistening sex. At least her body made an effort to obey him even if her heart didn’t. Slowly and methodically he dipped an acorn into her juices and then pushed it past the tightly crimped petals of her hidden rosebud with a pop.
“Oh!” the Queen exclaimed. She struggled to scoot away from the King and his wicked acorns, but the brambles only dug deeper into her skin. Finally she gave up and lay still while the King inserted one after another, each time dipping and rolling it in her cunt first. Each inserted acorn made her whimper. Every time she breathed she could feel them moving within her. At first it felt horrible and embarrassing, but now with each acorn and breath she felt more and more aroused. She could feel her juices dripping down from her spread lips and into the crack of her ass. She heard her king chuckle. Her king, had passed almost unnoticed through her brain, but the uncomfortableness of her bonds caught it just in time to register in her mind.
When he felt that the Queen was full enough behind, he started stuffing her pussy, popping the acorns in two at a time. His time was running out, with the sun almost directly over head, and he wanted to make sure that the Ivy Queen was full of his seed for when his brother tried to mate with her later today. She lifted her hips as much as her prickly bonds would allow. “Please,” she pleaded in a husky voice and pushed her pelvis toward him.
He chuckled again, but didn’t give her the pleasure of a verbal response. He just kept popping the acorns into her. She writhed with the uncomfortable pleasure of it all, ignoring the barbs tearing her skin. There was a heavy knock on the door. The King didn’t answer it, nor did the person on the other side open the door enter. The King knew what the knock meant.
“Well, my dear Ivy cunt, it seems that our time for this cycle has come to an end. My brother has arrived. I trust that if things go as they must, that you’ll receive me warmly into your body come Yule. I’ll be most curious to see if anything has sprouted or if you were able to get all my seeds out.” She stuck her tongue out at him and was going to respond when a new pain silenced her. The Oak King cut her ankle bonds from the bed, but now he was winding new brambles around her ankles, binding them tightly together. He wrapped even more up around her legs and thighs, making sure that they were lashed tightly together. She groaned at the new pressure created in her very full body. Using the same knife that she stabbed him with, the King cut her wrists from the bed and pulled her up into a sitting position. The sound that came from the Queen’s lips was unlike anything the Oak King had ever heard. It was a mix of scream, groan, ecstatic moan, and a growl. The sensation of sitting up with so much inside of her was overwhelming. She came hard repeatedly, her head filling with bright lights and fire. Her body tried to dislodge the acorns, but they were held firmly in place by her tightly closed legs. She shook uncontrollably for a moment and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
When the Ivy Queen regained consciousness, she nearly lost it again from fear. Her eyes fluttered open to see the Oak King striding out of the castle to meet his brother the Holly King, who was just as handsome as ever. She wanted to call out to both of them, but she was unable to. The knife that started her whole late morning ordeal had been wrapped in ivy vines and crammed into her mouth and tied to her tightly. She tried to calm herself. When she had fainted, the Oak King had continued trussing her, binding her arms tightly to her sides with the brambles, bringing the jagged tooth vines up and around her breasts, over her shoulders, and then back under her arms in a harness. Then he had proceeded to hang the Ivy Queen out of the bedroom window. Each wiggle injected her nerves full of pain and pleasure. She was afraid that if she moved much that the brambles would snap, letting her fall to the cobblestone court yard below.
She saw the Holly King gesture up to her, but she couldn’t hear his question to his brother. The Oak King’s answer was out of earshot, and he pointed to the shoulder that she had stabbed and the cuts on his neck, both of which had magically stopped bleeding. The Holly King then turned fully in her direction and gave her a look that both scared and excited her. She knew from his look that the Holly King fully intended to continue the Oak King’s punishment of her even after he had dispatched his brother. Then both kings raised their swords in a salute to each other and the fighting commenced. The clashing of the swords sounded more terrible to the Ivy Queen than it had at previous fights.
Both men, to her, seemed to fight harder too. Unlike in previous years, she now could find no enmity in her heart toward the Oak King. He was right. It was unnatural for her to show favoritism. The fighting this time went on longer than usual, both men sustaining deep wounds that would have killed mortal men. Fate finally interceded, and the wind picked up. Dust flew through the summer air. The Holly King kept his head down to avoid getting dirt in his eyes, but the Oak King worried that his bramble harness may not hold in the wind. He looked up to the Queen, and at that moment, his eyes were filled with dust. He never saw his brother’s fatal thrust. His dark blood spilled over the cobblestones, making mud out of the dirt packed between the pavers. Deep, horrible sobs wracked the Queen, making her suspension a terrible torment. Her sobs choked in her throat, caught behind the knife gag. Just like always, the slain king’s body slowly started to disintegrate and disappear.
It’s that time again! It’s June, which means that it’s time for the Pagan Values Blogject! This year I’ll be posting two posts that both deal with interacting with people other than yourself. To see other PVB posts from me and other people for 2015 and previous years, check out: https://paganvalues.wordpress.com/
Very few people these days, Pagans and non-Pagans, seem to understand what a social network really is. It is not a place to post all kinds of crap about yourself and then expect no one to see it and share, nor is it a place to post all kinds of stuff about yourself and then to become depressed because nobody comments on your post. A social network is a place where you are suppose to connect with people in a social manner, for whatever purpose that may be: personal, business, or religious. That means that you need to use some common sense, good manners, and put your best fucking face on. That means that you should expect to get friend invites from people you don’t know who think you might be neat to get to know based solely on the tiny bit about yourself that you’ve put in your profile. Don’t be a dick about it. If you don’t want to friend the person, just hit decline. Don’t send them rude messages demanding to know why you sent them a friend request. And the sites that make you message a person before you send them a friend request (um, like Fet Life) are ludicrous. It’s a social network site. You’re there to make friends with people you don’t know. By sending a friend request you are asking that person to be your friend. It’s tedious and redundant to have to send a message and then send a request.
People judge you on your posts. If you rant all the time, you’re going to appear to never be happy. If you talk shit all the time, people are going to think you’re never happy. Social media sites are not suppose to be used as group therapy. That’s why you go to the health department and get hooked up with a group that meets once a week in a church basement or community center. If you use social media sites as group therapy, you come off as crazy. If you find that you’ve used social media in any of the ways mentioned above in this paragraph, then you need a blog.
Apate, Greek Goddess of Deceit
Pagans, if you join groups on social media sites that cater to Pagans, people will know you’re Pagan. If you post Pagan things on your social media accounts, people who you may not want to know that you’re Pagan will soon find out that you’re Pagan. Therefore, don’t whine and complain when you’re suddenly kicked out of the broom closet. You are the one who put that information on the Internet for everyone to see, despite what you think you’re privacy settings are set to. Everybody, especially the government, can find it all out because you put it on social networking sites.
If somebody does something with your information that you don’t like, don’t confront that person in public, especially at first. Use some common sense and manners and private message the person. Calling somebody out in public is only going to make the situation worse. You may think you’re a badass, but chances are the person you just called out is a bigger badass. And if they’re Pagan, they may work more in the gray areas of magic than you do. Be nice and private message. The reality of the situation is that for the most part, you rarely really know the people that you’re connected to on a social network site, but I would bet good money that it’s very easy to track down your physical location from your social network account. Don’t piss people off needlessly. It could backfire in ways you’ve never imagined. Also, don’t be stupid enough to make threats online. I see people getting mad over stupid things and doing this all the time. If you make a threat online, then it’s a public threat which can be used against you in a court of law.
And finally, don’t be offended when people share things from your social networking account without asking. If you don’t want it shared, don’t fucking post it.
Most of what I’ve said here is common sense, but nobody, especially the average Pagan, seems to have any common sense or manners anymore.
I guess they were too busy meditating when their parents and teachers tried to teach them how to be polite to other people.
Soap can be used in many different magical applications. With that said, I am currently accepting bids from soap makers to a make custom batch of soap for The Barbed Pentacle and the Perchta Power Project. I will pay for the labor, materials, and shipping in cash via Paypal. Your profits will be paid to you via advertising and intense pimping out. So, when you submit your bid, you’ll need to have those two figures in your email. Please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org to find out more details and to get an ingredients list. Bidding ends July 1st, 2015 at 12:01 AM EDT.
As you will remember from the last episode, The Phantom and I were discussing Edmond, his cat. Remember, I’m in pink and Phantom is in blue.
Wow! I wish I had had that “Goblin Market” essay to use as a source when I wrote my “Goblin Martket” masterpiece for my BritVicLit class. Then I could have had a mega essay!
Why do cats eat dumb things? My cats eat some dumb things sometimes. Sometimes they eat bird food, which is weird. I’m tempted to leave the catbox dirty to see if anything sprouts. Is Edmond doing better? Is he out of the woods?
He seems to be doing ok! He’s had a couple of check ups with the vet, and he’s out of the woods. However! He managed to score an eye infection, and so I’ve been dealing with that over the past week. XD Haha, and of course he wants to stick as many paws as possible into his hurt eye because of course that will make it better. The eye seems to be clearing up now as well though. He’s been on anti-biotics for a week and a half now.
And while it may be tempting, a clean litter box is important for all cats, whether they decide to eat bird food or not. XD Edmond eats earwax. I showed him some one day because I wanted to mess with him and gross him out. But he just started eating it, turned the tables, and grossed me out instead.
Ewwww! That’s so gross! It’s like letting the dog clean out the litter box! LOL! I have a friend whose cat likes to get in the dirty clothes hamper and wear her dirty panties and bras. I guess it’s because it smells like her.
I’m really glad that Edmond is out of the woods. I hope that everyone reading this interview gets a commission from you or donates money (big subliminal message).
So, what are your big plans once the TA gig ends?
Aw, well, that’s at least cute though. Thirsting after earwax just doesn’t come off as quite as affectionate. XD
This month is spent moving out of my apartment. Also, I am currently waiting for the arrival of the Vampire Artbook books. I don’t know if you were in on the project, but I headed up an artbook funding project last year, and the books are finally set to arrive in early June! It’s a collection of 40+ illustrations and comics by a wide range of artists–and it also includes a statement by each artist discussing their work and their personal views on vampire mythos. It’s pretty great.
I’m pretty proud of bringing something this big together.
Summer plans are to move, mail out books, and do lots of art. I’m also travelling around a little to visit some friends.
Awww! I missed out on the vamper books, but it sounds really cool! Do you have any art work in there? It sounds like your summer is pretty well filled; what about the fall? And what do you need an English degree for if you’re going to be doing art?
Yeah! The vampire books are very cool.
I do have some artwork in it. The extra copies will start to go on sale once the contributors get their copies.
In the autumn, I’ll be reevaluating my life as my student loans become due.
What isn’t an English degree good for? The amount of ideas and materials I was exposed to had a huge influence on my intellectual development, my aesthetics, and my art. I’m looking into going to art school next year though.
That’s so true about an English degree. It’s like it’s good for everything and nothing at all. Usually it’s good for being an over-educated fry cook, warehouse work, or field hand. And English professors have the best stories! A lot of them seem to be star fuckers (or at least the ones I’ve met). Maybe it’s the whole Arthur Miller complex.
What art school are you looking at going to?
Your million dollar question: Is pornography art or smut?
Here’s the artbook’s tumblr! I’m currently posting interviews with the various artists so that the blog doesn’t sit stagnate while the books are shipping. Once the books arrive and the extras start selling, I’ll post links there to where you can buy one!
Haha, well, I think that English people tend to half-jokingly say English degrees aren’t good for anything, but dang, an English degree is like a history, literature, rhetoric, and philosophy degree combined into one. Plus, deep down English is about clearly and concisely relating information (and analyzing information); who doesn’t need that?
Business person? Well, they need to be able to articulate their plans to their employees and customers.
Mathematician? They need to clearly articulate their findings, and why the findings matter.
Lawyer? They have to know how to argue convincingly.
Astronomers? They need to write compelling proposals to fund their research.
“English” as a discipline is so integral to everything in our society I think people just tend to forget how central it really is. I think it’s good for everything. And people can get jobs in English specifically. Personally, I think the “English degrees don’t get jobs” sentiment is based on an almost entirely erroneous assumption. I’m just kinda “????” whenever sentiments like this come up, because they’re just silly. English degrees get people jobs. Surprise!
I have no idea what a star fucker is, or what an Arthur Miller complex is. Can you explain? The definitions google’s giving me aren’t very helpful. XD
I’m looking into school in Finland! If I can get even just a part-time job, then I can get my residency permit and school is free there. Finland is where I want to end up eventually anyway, no matter what.
It’s not quite that simple, of course. What I don’t think is art, is images made for the male gaze that rely on objectification, the degradation of women (or anyone else), the perpetuation of stereotypes, and harmful modes of thinking. That stuff is not art.
Luckily, this isn’t an area I’ve thought about enough to give you any more than the answer above. I’m not really qualified to say beyond that. Since I’m not interested in porn, I’m not qualified to give a more particular answer.
The kickstarter provides a better overall look at the artbook though, and it does link to the tumblr site. So I often just give out the KS address anyway.
A “star fucker” is a person who only has sex with a person because they’re famous and later on they can brag about it. An “Arthur Miller” complex is when a writer marries somebody famous to launch their own career. Arthur Miller, even though brilliant, would not be as well know if he had not been one of Marilyn Monroe’s husbands. I’ve had at least 4 different English professors tell me that they’ve slept with Erica Jong. So, either Erica Jong is a slut, the professors were star fuckers, the professors were liars, or all three. And one of those professors was female.
What if the art is trying to make you think about how porn objectifies women and how that makes your body feel? And to do that, it emulates pornography? At that point, is it still art or has it crossed the line into pornography?
So, since it keeps coming up, let’s talk about this asexuality, if it’s not too personal a subject. When you say “asexual”, do you mean that you feel no sexual interest what so ever when you see men or women? Are you celibate? Does your body respond to sexual stimulation?
Wow, those aren’t the English professors I know. Mine were all very committed to their work, and just about as far from that as one can get.
It’s a fine line. I don’t think emulating porn is the best way to go about critiquing it. But it all depends on the approach. Personally, I don’t think emulating something like exploitation or objectification is at all helpful in critiquing those structures. Of course, it’s tricky, since then we run into the issue of what constitutes “emulation.”
If the artwork is clearly sending a message that is critiquing rather than glorifying the objectification of women, I’d say it is still art. And of course, that depends on our definition of “clearly” as well. XD I think critique is most powerfully done not through emulation but through direct confrontation with the subject.
Asexuality! I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what my personal life is like in that detail. However, I will give you quick rundown of some of the words you used. Asexual means not feeling sexual attraction to anyone (just mentioning men and women would set up an unnecessary binary). That’s it! Pretty simple. Celibacy is entirely different. Celibacy is when someone makes a personal choice not to have sex, whether they feel attraction or not. It’s also often a religiously motivated choice. So those two terms are very different. Asking me about this stuff is like asking me for my views on this year’s rutabaga crop. Not my area, not particularly interested. I spend my time pursuing other things, like art.
Oh, and I do know about this year’s rutabaga crop. I have some in my garden. ; ) The tubers are going to end up being smaller than normal and hard. We started out with lots of rain, but now it’s completely dry, which will lead to shriveled tubers because they’re using up their stored water to keep their green tops alive for photosynthesis.
Stay tuned for more of the tete a tete and touche hilarity of “Sparrow vs. The Phantom”.
Paying the bills and announcements
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“There are two of you, you see: one that loves and one that kills.”
My torrid love affair with Apocalypse Now began in my high school AP English class. We watched it after school as a companion to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which I was currently in engaged in a dark humid muddy affair. Apocalypse Now has always been associated with smoking for me. Before my first viewing, my friend Matt and I slipped up the road to his house to get high (he lived two minutes from school) while his mom went to McDonald’s to get us munchies (because she was that kind of mom). Then after the movie, we smoked cigarettes as we walked back to his house to get stoned again. From the very first strains of “The End”, I knew that Apocalypse Now and I were going to be very close. ”The End” was already one of my favorite fuck songs/cutting songs/getting high to/ getting drunk to/belly dancing songs, so it was only natural that anything that it introduced to me was going to become an intimate companion.
Later on that same year I had my own fan allusion, where I came to out of a Rimeron haze lying on my living room floor watching the fan go around and around, just like Huey blades.
Apocalypse Now is a very sexy movie. The artistry of the cinematography. The eye candy interwoven with the blood and grit. The jokes and idiosyncrasies of war. The absolute brilliant and elegant script. It’s the total poetic package.
As you all know, I’m a gritty kind of girl, so the blood, guts, and mud, hooked me and made my clit twitch. And then you get towards the end of the movie, and the Pagan overtones start to become obvious with the Cult of Kurtz. By the end of the movie, how could you not want to bathe yourself in buffalo blood and fuck Martin Sheen while he’s stuck in a bamboo cage or tied up in a very compromising auto-erotic asphyxiation position with a buddy’s head in his lap? I can’t help but lust after his machete. The dual sacrifices set everything in the world back on track. The killing of a god.
And then like your girl friend getting breast enhancements, it got even better and the “Redux” version came out, and I fell even more helplessly in love. I can understand how sitting in a theater through the whole uncut movie could be a bit much, but some of the best parts, my absolute favorite part, were not included in the original film. After wrapping myself up in the luscious smokiness of the “Redux” the original is sorely lacking.
And smoke is everywhere in both versions of the film. The army and navy and air cav are constantly igniting colored smoke bombs to obscure view in a literal smoke screen and to signal to the forces and helicopters. Scene after scene is filled with the smoke of napalmed trees and bombed villages. Willard is almost never seen without a cigarette in his mouth. The “Street Gang” crew crouches down in the turret to smoke pot. Kilgore (is that not just the most perfect character name for this movie?) has his cigarette in his “man” length holder and then later on smokes cigars with his surf crew.
And now we’re to my favorite section of the “Redux” version: The French rubber plantation. I love the brunette, “Claudine” who feeds the Elder de Marais. She is such an exotic beauty. Her features hint of mixed blood, like an illicit affair behind a rubber tree, but she is so intoxicating, that the indiscretions of her ancestors can be forgiven.
Then you have Madame Sarrault, who while she’s not a smoking beauty, she is a beauty who smokes, from after dinner cigars to opium.
My favorite is her pressed naked against the mosquito netting with Willard reaching up to cup her breast. It turns me on every time.
If you’ve never seen Apocalypse Now, it’s worth the however many hours of your life it takes to watch it. If you think you’re not going to like it, drink while you watch it. Willard drinks through out the entire film.
I’ve written about smoking here some time back. It was mainly about pot, as I recall. Or maybe it wasn’t. Who knows? Like most things in life, smoking is extremely sexy and it will kill you. Not only is it sexually stimulating to me when I see people really enjoying a cigarette or cigar (not just mindlessly smoking because they can’t control themselves), but it’s sexually stimulating to me when I smoke a cigarette (or these days an ehookah). And it’s not just the nicotine stimulating brain chemicals, it’s the act of inhalation, drawing the smoke into your mouth and lungs and manipulating it once it’s in your body.
From start to finish, it gets me sopping. The flick of a nice, REAL lighter is like a lover breathing lightly on my neck.
And then the orgasm of it all are the smoking tricks. My favorite is the French Inhale. I enjoy doing it, but I like it even better if it’s executed by the other party. It’s like I can just almost feel the smoker going down on me by extension of the smoke.
It is as complicated as it looks, but like most tricks some folks can do it the first go round and some folks just never get the hang of it. It can be done with any kind of smoke, including vapor, although it’s a harder with vape. Here’s a great how-to video for the French Inhale and other Tricks.
I’ve always been fascinated with smoking. I grew up in a smoking household. It was there and visible. I grew up in tobacco country, where the notion that smoking was a health hazard was for the most part scoffed at. I started smoking when I was 14 because, as I stated earlier, it excited me sexually, especially when I saw it in black and white movies. I’ve been an occasional, recreational, social smoker ever since.
I first became acquainted with the “real” ritualistic use of smoking in modern times at a Fume Rite exhibit in college. It was staged, picture by picture, like an art exhibit, but it was one of those exhibits that the artistic merit wasn’t so much in the how-to drawings, but in the actual execution of the ritual itself. Had it actually been carried out, it would have resembled a Japanese tea ceremony. Of course the irony was that it was hung in a “no smoking” gallery. I’m currently working on chasing a pillar of smoke to find out more about Fume Rite. As it is now, I’m working off of memories a decade old and no internet leads.
So, if you’d like to help, and you know something about Fume Rite (which I want to say was celebrated on April 15 and October 15), please email me at email@example.com. If you don’t know anything, but you’d still like to help, then find something smokey to inhale and say a prayer that the information comes my way. Societies all around the world, including the Roman Catholic church, believe that prayers are carried to heaven via smoke (and I believe in our modern times vapor). If you just can’t bring yourself to inhale, choose a nice incense, preferably frankincense because it’ll give you a little mild bit of hallucinatory buzz if burned in an unventilated environment, and burn it with your prayers.
I don’t often repost blogs from other people, but I came across this tonight when I was taking a break from other projects and doing some research for upcoming “Barbed Pentacle” posts, and I have to say that I laughed so hard that I thought I was going to have to be cut out of my corset. I laughed and laughed and laughed. And I may have passed out a little. But when I came to, it occurred to me that it’s stupid shit like this that gets good people killed. It’s a little long, but it’s worth the read. My favorite quote is “Whoredom spirits can even make the homely look sexually attractive.” If that is true, then I’m spreading my legs wide!