tinhuviel: (Tarmian Moon)

For the past two weeks, I’ve been watching nothing but the Tolkien films.  This occurs occasionally, in my Arda-saturated world.  The tales JRR Tolkien shared with the world are as ingrained in me, in my soul, as they are in anyone who has ever been moved by a myth or a legend.  These are stories as old as time, at least as it is perceived by humankind.  You can call it ancestral memory, cellular memory, genetic memory, whatever it is, the remembering experienced by people when immersed in the epic accounts of a nation or race is what drives every generation to redefine the stories to fit their times, and to make sense of the world in which they find themselves.


On the recommendation of my sixth grade English teacher’s son, who was a year my senior, I checked out The Hobbit from the school library, and absorbed it in three days.  Before I returned it to school, I read it again, this time more slowly, taking a week.  I loved it, but hated the musical abomination that was the Rankin-Bass adaptation.  Normally, I loved their TV specials.  Not so with their version of The Hobbit.  I did, however, love Return of the King, primarily because of Glenn Yarbrough's beautiful song, "Roads Go Ever On."


Even though I had loved the book, it didn’t compel me to pick up The Lord of the Rings, which Gregg also recommended, or The Silmarillion, of which I doubt Gregg was aware, based simply upon his age and how difficult it was to be privy to information, literature, music - basically everything - that wasn’t in the realm of the commonplace.  LOTR and The Hobbit were popular enough to be well-known and easily-obtainable in the South.  The Silmarillion, on the other hand, had only been published for approximately two years at that time.  Even if Gregg knew about it, it was highly doubtful the school library had book!


On the day I took my SAT, in my senior year of high school, Aunt Tudi found a box set, which I still have, of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit at a yard sale she and Granny visited while they waited on me to finish my test.  I still did not read LOTR.  I was busy with other things at the time, like getting through my last year in high school, preparing for college, and writing this odd collection of mythic stories that were born out of my lighthearted science fiction shorts, originally inspired by the Electric Light Orchestra’s Time album.  


In my first year of college, my Humanities professor was impressed with my assignments and asked if I was a writer.  I told him I wrote stories and poetry, and had been active in the literary and drama clubs in high school.  He asked to see some of work, so I opted to share with him some of the stories of the Rhyllans, and how they came to be.  


A week later, Dr. Miller, who happened to be a Tolkien scholar who had taught classes on the old professor's works, asked if I had read The Silmarillion.  When I asked why, he informed me that I could be sued for some of the material I had written, if I ever tried to clean it up and get it published.  I did not understand but, instead of reading The Silmarillion, I opted to read The Lord of the Rings, under the incorrect assumption that it came before The Silmarillion.  Publishing-wise, it did, but I was thinking of the timeline of the narratives themselves.


Of course, I fell in love with The Lord of the Rings, and promptly went to B. Dalton Books and purchased a copy of The Silmarillion, which I still have.  When I read the Ainulindalë and Valaquenta, I finally understood Dr. Miller’s warning, and I reconciled with the fact that my Rhyllan myths would never be published in any complete capacity.  The one thing I couldn’t understand was why I was unable to make myself change much of anything in my myths, even though their current incarnation would get me chased around by the Tolkien posse.


This is where I want to make it very clear that I am, by no means, comparing my writing to that of JRR Tolkien’s, who far surpasses the greatness of the likes of Clive Barker, and he greatly surpasses even my wildest dreams of scribal skill.  The essence of the stories, in particular the Music of Creation and the diminishing of the Dėaghydge, was exceedingly Tolkienesque.  Even the Goddess Kessilon, the Dėaghyden Star Goddess, was nearly identical to Varda, albeit a tad more sci-fi in her relationship to the stars.  My mind was boggled, and it still is, even though I came to learn the root of the similiarities.  


It wasn’t until three years later, when I began to study theology and various theories, one of which was genetic memory, that I understood the connection between my stories and those of JRR Tolkien’s.  It wasn’t a connection that involved just myself and Mr. Tolkien; it was one that encompassed a great swathe of the Fantasy literary world and the whole of human myth, be it supposedly dead myths of ancient Greece and Sumeria, or the living religions like Hinduism and Judaism.  They are all retellings of a very tiny collection of stories that speak of humanity’s commonality.  And the connection doesn’t affect just nations or tribes, or even families; they affect individuals.  We all have the capacity, and often the compulsion, to create our own personal myths.  This is what I was doing with the Rhyllan folk, and their sister races, the Tarmi and the Thranodiena ~ all three of whom comprised the descendants of the divine Dėaghydhe.


In 1993, I was tasked with deciding on a Craft name, because I had decided to become a Dedicant in the Temple Hecate Triskele.  I opted for Tinhuviel, adding the “h” for numerological purposes.  Artanis was a name for the Tarmian Goddess of the flora and fauna, tightly connected with bears, owls, and lizards.  It wasn’t until about a year later, I discovered that Artanis is also Galadriel’s father-name!  So this is why I feel that Tolkien’s works aren’t simply fiction.  They have an ancient magick within them.  They have the power to bring people together and, sadly, because of their religious nature, they also have the power to pull them apart.  Such is the way with spiritual works.  JRR Tolkien wanted to create a mythology for England.  He certainly did that, but he did so much more.  He enriched the mythologies of people around the world, so much so, that scientists have named an entire ancient human race after one of his own.  That speaks volumes to me, and it should to any student of JRR Tolkien’s work, or human memory in general.


I know it’s an impossibility, but I would love to know the origins of the stories that are obviously of such great import to our species, that they have been retold for thousands of years, and are as beloved today as they were from time immemorial, with no small thanks to JRR Tolkien.


May. 24th, 2017 07:09 pm
tinhuviel: (Doomsday Clock)

If I am correct in my forecast of the final eradication of the republic of the United States, those of us who are, have very little time left to truly speak out against the current atrocities and the coming abominations.

After I am finally settled in the new pad, I plan on getting more involved, hands-on, locally.  Until that's possible, I'm doing what I can online. That means telling people as often as I can what the true nature of these fake Christians is, how they can fight it (while they still can), and what resources they need to research my dire warnings for themselves.  It also means standing up to Donald Drumpf and his fascist regime, using the same weapon he uses to disseminate his vile propaganda:  Twitter.

I try to troll him at least once a day.  I'm hoping everyone who reads this and see the examples of my efforts, decides to do the same thing. Maybe if he's trolled enough, he'll shut his tweeting pie-hole.  Maybe his insecurity from reading such responses to his activities will cause his blood pressure to shoot up and give him a fatal stroke. Better yet, maybe he'll finally lose his mind from all the pressure, and take out his entire administration and family before he offs himself.  I don't see a more ideal way of draining the fucking swamp in Washington DC.

But the pushback has to start now because, as I said, I doubt we have much time to freely express ourselves in this country.  The clock has been ticking since the evangelicals began blurring the line between church and state, beginning in 1980.  That clock is running out of time.


Apr. 15th, 2016 03:19 pm
tinhuviel: (Angry Writer)



The faithful condemn, they condone persecution,

as the suicides plummet with nowhere to turn.

For, if Christ cannot love them, then why should they live?

And, if God won't accept them, then they'll just have to burn.


There is only one faith and one road to be traveled,

which leads to that mountain where Man may find love.

But there's only a handful of rich men and preacher men

Able to lie and reach Heaven above.


So the suicides have to be burning in Hell now

and those of us left are just souls lost in sin.

And we're told by the faithful how evil we are

and that we must give them money to be born again.


But I can't help but think that, if Christ came to Earth now,

a pauper, hippie, a heretic man,

the faithful who worship him would crown him with thorns again,

call him a sinner and drive nails in his hands.


And we who have wandered a world without meaning

would find there a martyr who, for us, his life lost,

then our children will reign in some bigoted future

and impale the same outcast on the hypocrites' cross.


©Tracy A. Evans / 31 August, 1990

tinhuviel: (Nathor)

Around 2 AM this morning, I was watching and looking for more of Marina Abramović's performance art, when I happened to come across a picture of her bottle-feeding a baby tiger. My mind was instantly transported to the Wiccan Charge of the Goddess. For those who may not know what the Charge of the Goddess is, it is a poem written by Doreen Valiente, for use in Esbats and Sabbats, and most usually spoken by the High Priestess presiding over the ritual after having drawing down the Moon. The version I'm using here is Starhawk's adaptation of the Charge, because her version was the first I ever read.

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, Who of old was called Artemis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Arionrhod, Brigid, and by many other names:

Whenever you have need of anything, once a month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me Who is Queen of all the Wise.

You shall be free from slavery, and as a sign that you be free you shall be naked in your rites.

Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth.

For My law is love is unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens the door of youth, and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the cauldron of Cerridwen, that is the holy grail of immortality.

I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal, and beyond death I give peace and freedom and reunion with those that have gone before.

Nor do I demand aught of sacrifice, for behold, I am the Mother of all things and My love is poured out upon the earth.

Hear the words of the Star Goddess, the dust of Whose feet are the hosts of Heaven, whose body encircles the universe:

I Who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters,

I call upon your soul to arise and come unto me.

For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe.

From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return.

Let My worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.

Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.

And you who seek to know Me, know that the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without.

For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am That which is attained at the end of desire.

I'm not sure why I've latched on to Ms. Abramović, connecting her with the Divine Feminine, but I can say this is the closest I've felt to the Great Goddess since 2011.  It could just be that I resonate with the archetype Marina's carriage emanates.

I'm nowhere near acknowledging the existence of any sort to any deity, but I have to admit to myself that I'm not an atheist.  By the same token, the revelations and theories that seem to have exploded in the science communities over the past few years give rise to a kind of wonderment of existence, of being a part of living, sentient organism.  It is believed that information is never lost.  It can be transformed into something we can't see, but it is not gone.  In some form, everything is still cradled within the cosmos.


Combined with that theory, the line in the Charge, From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return, has given me a level of comfort I thought I would never feel again.  Not since 2011.  How long will this last?  I do not know.  Could it magnify and allow me to return to the Craft?  I do not know.  Is it simply a fleeting subconscious attempt to cling to the memories of a time when I felt much more in control of my life than I am now?  Perhaps.  Still, I do not know. Will I ever know?

I do not know.

Spirituality, however, is not something you know.  At least it shouldn't be.  Unwavering certainty is the pathway to religious extremism, which is about as far from spirituality as a person can get, in my opinion.  A person has to believe enough to engage in spiritual practice of any sort, and I know deep in my bones that I am not there yet, and may never again be.  Some may suggest I cast or find a Circle and see where it takes me, but I can't do that.  I always took my responsibilities as a High Priestess very seriously and I feel being involved in a ritual of any sort would be hypocrital of me.  I tried to explain this - unsuccessfully - to the Mother Unit and Matt, when they tried to get me to attend a full moon drum circle.  Since rhythm and song were intrinsic in my own rituals and the ones I led in Hecate Triskele, and this drum circle is held on every Esbat, my conscience won't allow me to get involved.  I would feel like a phony and a liar to myself and everyone with whom I've practiced since embracing Witchcraft, and everything I'd ever believed or done within that context would be worthless, devoid of any sincerity.  That's something I cannot and will not do.

That said, I think it would be wise of me to avoid Marina Abramović for a while.

Edit:  The background image I used for the Marina Charge is an artist rendering of what scientists believe the universe looks like.


Jul. 9th, 2015 06:29 pm
tinhuviel: (Spork)

A friend on Facebook shared this story with me a few months ago - thank you FB Friend! I can't remember who twigged me on to this, so please speak your peace, if you see this. It's one of those stories that kind of sticks with you and may be in your final thoughts before you die. I'm copying the very short narrative here on the Cliffs, but all credit goes to MeanPete, and I'm linking back to his original post. Click this breathtaking painting by Polish artist, Zdzisław Beksiński to be taken to Hell's origins.  Scroll down to read.


There was no pearly gate.
The only reason I knew I was in a cave was because I had just passed the entrance. The rock wall rose behind me with no ceiling in sight.
I knew this was it, this was what religion talked about, what man feared .. I had just entered the gate to hell.
I felt the presence of the cave as if it was a living, breathing creature. The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed me.
Then there was the voice, it came from inside and all around.
"Who are you?", I asked, trying to keep my composure.
"You know", the thing answered.
I did know.
"You are the devil", I stuttered, quickly losing my composure. "Why me? I've lived as good as I could".
The silence took over the space as my words died out. It seemed like an hour went by before the response came.
"What did you expect?"
The voice was penetrating but patient.
"I don't know .. I never believed any of this", I uttered "Is that why I am here?"
I continued: "They say the greatest trick you ever pulled was convincing the world you don't exist"
"No, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world that there is an alternative"
"There is no God?" I shivered.
The cave trembled with the words: "I am God"

tinhuviel: (Spork)

When I was still in The Pit, enjoying the interactions I had with a handful of sane music business homies, I often entertained a scenario where a snorkel of voracious, pissed-off weasels methodically skinned her alive, leaving her ravaged, bleeding form to get all manner of unwanted attention by creatures in the forest, who take their janitorial duties quite seriously.  To be honest, that’s too good for her.  Some people who are reading this post, can attest to a lot of what I’ve been saying about her since 2002, and I will attempt to communicate my memories of that. Essentially, we were at war with one another, not just work-wise, but creatively, business savvy (she had it all over me on that), and every single worldview to which each of us clung up to this very day).

This is someone who used the collective office phone to have a raucous conversation with a sales rep about she would have no clue on how to live on a $20-30K yearly budget, where all of her employees who were managing just that, listened on in disgust.  This is someone who began threatening me with termination if, for the next 6 months, I had to drop out of work for even a half day.  Aunt Tudi's doc appointments were a mess to reschedule and find other transport if I couldn't figure out how to work around the situation.  On top of that, since my cube was right outside her office door, I was always the first one she'd come to each morning to say "G'mooooooorneeeeeeuuuunnn" and pretend civility.

And she loved to stand outside my cube and laud conservatives and everything they've ever done.  One of our bitchiest fights was one night, when we were working over on promo campaigns, news came on the radio that Ronald Reagan had finally dropped dead.  The Mistress had a sad.  I said, "Thank fucking god.  It's about time that piece of shit dropped dead.  The world suddenly seems lighter and happier."  She was scandalised, and began chanting all the good things he supposedly did for America.  I shut her arse down with no mercy when I interrupted her to state that I was part Jewish and to watch a POTUS lay wreaths on SS officers graves after doing a PR tour of Bergen Belsen.  "I was glad when I found out he was losing what little fucking mind he had, and I'm glad he's dead.  I hope he suffered before the end, and I hope he's rotting in hell now."

We didn't speak for a couple of days.

Then a few months later, she was complaining about all the immigrants to me and the lady behind me, Joanie, who is Laotian.  Being appropriate is a foreign concept to the Feudal Mistress.  I let her say her self-inflated piece, which she ended by saying:  "Besides, if they want to come into this country, they need to speak its language!"

To which I replied, "Oh, wow!  I didn't know you could speak Cherokee!  Let's hear you say something."

Screen Shot 2015-05-23 at 5.24.53 AM.pngI was rewarded with two more days of peace and quiet. Before I left BMG, I purchased a special tee shirt I wanted to wear in a photograph with the Feudal Mistress. Politically, she may be a 9-volt battery, but she was pretty sharp when it came to passive-aggressive innuendo.The expression on our faces say it, don't you think?  What I want to try to write about regarding our ongoing war that ended with the day the tee shirt I bought specifically to have a farewell taken with the Feudal Mistress, leaving no doubt in her mind that the entire front of my body is screaming murderdeathkill in a mild-mannered public service announcement.  Whoever said that a picture speaks a thousand words should be honoured, or sainted, or given a So Good and True You Are, We Wish to Bestow upon Your Person, this Cliché Master's Medal of Honour.

"What is this all about?" You might ask.

It gets image heavy from here, so let's have a courtesy cut, shall we? )

Honestly, I haven't felt this Sithly in a way too long.  Maybe the Duggars are good for something after all.

tinhuviel: (RepLogo)

~Through Us the Way into the Sacred City~

~Through Us the Way into Nights of Heat and Weirdness~

~Through Us the Way to the Illuminated Ones~

~Sheer enthusiasm made Us~

~And Passion and Poems and Sex~

~Before Us nothing but Excellence can endure~

~For We are the Gateway to Excellence, Deviance, and Delight~


tinhuviel: (RepLogo)

The World’s Second Best Pop Group with a Bald Singer
By Dave Segal (‘Creem’ June 1987)

“…Shriekback have opted to make a different kind of music – one which exalts human frailty and the harmonious mess of nature over the simplistic reductions of our crude computers.” – liner notes to Big Night Music. This thing called Shriekback is a strange beast. Trying to describe them gives me one hell of a headache. The new Shriekback music (it’s called Big Night Music but it could just as easily be called Small Morning Music) screws with rock critics’ rote jargon. If you wanted to be crass, you could label ‘em an intellectual funk band with gospel/cocktail lounge pretensions. Unlike most Anglo-Caucasians who funk around with black styles of music, Shriekback throw a skewered light on what, in pedestrian hands, can be a brain-numbing genre. You can attribute Shriekback’s uniqueness (no lie) to keyboardist/singer/lyricist Barry Andrews.

Andrews has full control of Shriekback now that Carl Marsh has departed with his Fairlights and drum computers for solo obscurity. Pared down to a trio (Dave Allen, he of the Zeus-like bass playing on Gang of Four’s first two LPs, and Martyn Barker on percussion toys), Shriekback have for the most part ditched Marsh’s vision of a “harsh disco reality” and gone for a rococo/eclectic sonic gumbo that’s as slippery to grasp as Eno’s skull in a bathtub. There’s a slickness to the Andrews/Gavin MacKillop production on Big Night Music, but don’t let that trouble yer noggin. It’s a good kind of slickness; Andrews has a Byrne-Enoesque aesthetic that enables him to craft exotic pop of excessive fussiness (‘Black Light Trap,’ ‘Running on the Rocks,’ ‘Sticky Jazz’) or of severe sparseness (everything else). You could call this The Soft Album without too much controversy.

Oddly, some of the songs sound better with the volume turned down. Perhaps because he can’t sing very well, Andrews often resorts to an intimate whispery delivery. Very nice and relaxing, this voice. And he’s a clever gump, too. It’s not by accident that wispy, gentle toons sit cheek by jowl with swollen brassy epics; and then out of nowhere will sprout a pretension-deflater like ‘Pretty Little Things,’ which sounds like Prince on helium and dexies. I tell ya, listening to Big Night Music is more fun than working in an abattoir on a humid day.

Andrews has the serene monkish demeanor of the Keith Carradine character in the Kung Fu TV show. Before Shriekback, he was in XTC from ’77 to ’79, and he also played with Robert Fripp’s League of Gentlemen in 1980. He’s a peace-lovin’, broad-minded intellectual dabbler wearing a black floppy hat and a long black coat. We had a civilized chat amid the delicately bubbling jacuzzi water inside a swanky Detroit hotel. Andrews proved to be more stimulating than a week’s worth of The Dick Cavett Show.

CREEM: Why did Carl Marsh leave Shriekback?
BARRY ANDREWS: He wanted to do solo things, really. Carl’s quite a self-contained sort of bloke I don’t think he ever found it easy working with other people. The band was becoming a two-headed beast that was tearing itself in half. Oil and Gold (released in ’85) suffered from that. A bit of schizophrenia between the Carl direction and my direction. I like things when they’re soft and vulnerable and maybe even a bit maudlin. I like a certain amount of crying into my Guinness.

Did Marsh’s departure cause a change in your sound?
Definitely, there was a sort of opening of the sluices. When Carl left, I felt like, firstly, I’ve got this huge canvas to work with on the whole record. It’s all gonna be my words, my tunes. So instead of it being this common denominator area we could inhabit with Carl, what the three of us could agree on was actually a bigger area because there were fewer things to filter out. I wanted to try doing something very simple and direct and emotional, like ‘The Cradle Song,’ Just trying out every option and seeing what’s possible. There’s a certain amount of experimentation that doesn’t work, but a whole lot that does. Normally we wouldn’t have even dared to try. Big Night Music is diverse. I don’t think anyone could complain about it being too homogenous. I think there is a coherence to it that we’ve never achieved on a record before, with the possible exception of Care (released in ’82)

Does everyone have creative input into the words and music?
I’m the sole lyricist. On the new album, Dave confined himself to bass playing, Martyn did a whole lot more than he’s ever done. He plays all the drums and does lots of percussion. So he’s actually responsible for quite a lot of the textures. I’m really responsible for the way the whole thing sounds and the structure of the songs. I can’t imagine collaborating with someone on a song. It would be like having somebody advise you while you’re having sex with somebody (laughs). There’s so much that just happens in your head. It’s quite a fragile process and it’s not something I could easily involve someone with.

Your lyrics have a stream of consciousness to them…
A stream of unconsciousness…(much laughter).

Sometimes it’s brilliant and at other times it leaves the listener baffled. Maybe they’re too oblique for universal understanding.
Maybe that’s a valid criticism. I don’t go in for any kind of broad political commentary.

You write more about personal things?
I don’t know if they’re even personal things, really. What I try to do is create an entity with sound that has not existed before. The songs are meant to be things you can walk into and walk around, that have their own kind of smell and atmosphere and texture. They’re not meant to be billboards or television programs. Or newspapers. The lyrics aren’t the point any more than the bass drum pattern’s the point. You might have a very good pair of kidneys but that’s not your whole story, is it?

If I asked you what ‘The Reptiles and I’ is about, could you tell me?
I can tell you what I was trying to do. It’s what it is for you definitely. That’s a nice fatuous answer, I suppose, and it’s what it means to me. And that’s about as far as it goes. I had this idea of using a lot of lists that I found in Webster’s Dictionary. A list of languages, elements, proverbs. I liked the idea of a bunch of verses that were lists. I was trying to create a nursery rhyme that would work in an adult way and would have that sort of darkness about it, that sinister kind of thing that the best nursery rhymes have. I’m really a little kid sitting at the foot of the great god Language. I’ve really got no command over it. I pretty much take what it gives me. I get excited by all the different ways people speak in the same way. I get excited about all the different cultures people can have, all the different ways of being in the world. It seems very rich and diverse and brilliant. And it inspires me.

Were you influenced by any writers?
I steal a lot. I’m a complete bastard for that. I’ll tell you the dead ones. I’ve ripped Shakespeare off something rotten. I’ve had my way with T.S. Eliot. Martin Luther King. The Bible. Certainly bits of the Koran. Complete verbal beachcomber.

At least you’re taking from great sources.
Oh yeah. That’s what they’re there for. To get crunched up and recycled. I don’t do it in any cynical way. It’s like doing a cover of a band’s song that you really think is a good song. It seems silly to wrack your brains when somebody else’s said it so well. I just rip it off. Shameless, really.

Have any current songwriters influenced you?
David Byrne’s approach – when I was a bit more uncertain about writing lyrics – he seemed to offer quite a good little cubbyhole to hide in, where you could get away without saying anything at all as long as it sounded all right. But on this LP, I got less and less satisfied with what you could do with that and more interested in what would happen if you pushed the thing up toward the light a little more. So things like ‘Cradle Song,’ ‘Reptiles,’ and ‘Gunning for the Buddha’ are like little narratives, stories, which I’ve never attempted before. Getting into the old Tin Pan Alley thing. People like Gilbert and Sullivan and the English music hall singers. Popular Victorian kitsch. Edwardian parlor songs.

Shriekback is often labelled an intellectual band.
It’s high time we burst that bubble.

Are you college-educated?
No. It was between making a choice of being in a rock’n’roll band or going to university.

Are you religious?
I don’t belong to a religion. I don’t have any faith, in that way. I do have a strong religious sense. It’s difficult to say without it sounding pretentious. I have a sense of awe of a kind of religious veneration or worship in the presence of what is around – people, mainly, the rush and energy of people and what they can do and build and keep going on and having babies. Just what it is to be alive. There’s definitely a force that moves us on in a mysterious way. I said to someone once that I feel about religion the way I felt about sex when I was 12. You know there’s something going on, but you don’t know what the fuck it is!

To read more about Shriekback's music and career, please visit their website (sign up for the newsletter for free downloads) and Tumblr. You can also join in our conversations over on Facebook. And, while you're at it, pick up a copy of their new album, Without Real String or Fish!

tinhuviel: (Bible)

According to the writer of this article, Christians Are to Blame for the War on Christianity. That's the name of the article. Personally, I would have made a distinct difference between the two groups, and there are two groups - true followers of Christ and extremists who slander him for their own gain. This is perhaps the best article I've ever read on the matter, though.  The issue is spelled out under no uncertain terms, and it should be a wake up call to the Christians who suffer the tyranny of these horrible people almost as much as the rest of us. Eventually, though, the xtians, as I call them, will turn on the Christians as well, just as we've seen in the Muslim world. It's all the same, just with different names, and its driving force is power and insanity.

I am pasting the entire piece here, in the event it disappears from Huffington Post, or anywhere else it may be featured. The link to the article itself is in the title below.

Christians to Blame for the 'War on Christianity'

Some Christians believe that being anti-Christian is the only acceptable form of bigotry left in America. Outside of the absurdity of the vast majority of the claims offered as "proof" of this fallacy the hypocrisy necessary to make such a claim is phenomenal.

For example, noted conservative pundit Ann Coulter once stated, "liberals always play the victim in order to advance, win advantages and oppress others". While such tactics are hardly exclusive to liberals the supposed "War on Christianity" represents the pinnacle of all self ascribed pity parties.

Christians comprise just over 78% of the U.S. population, which is a significantly higher percentage of the population than the "angry atheists" who only account for 1.6%. What are these poor Christians to do when faced with such overwhelming odds against them?

The problem is that Christians have spent so much time pretending to be victims that they have become oblivious to their own indiscretions.

Spurned HGTV stars David and Jason Benham offer and excellent illustration of this point. The brothers took to Fox News to pen an article discussing how they were dropped from the station for standing by their "Biblical beliefs". Of course the problem wasn't that they were against marriage equality. The problem was that they funded and organized an anti-gay rally because ironically they felt that these "militant gay activists" shouldn't be given the opportunity to express their view that there is nothing "demonic," "veil," or "destructive" about being gay.

cut for courtesy )

- Dale Hansen for The Huffington Post

tinhuviel: (Thiyennen)

Here is a passage from a manuscript I never incorporated in the Relics Trilogy. It's the last entry in a journal found on a bank of the Po in Turin, Italy. The entry is incomplete and the Canadian journalist and paranormal investigator, Isaac Steugler, has yet to be found.  I was considering making it a sub-plot of 'The Augury of Gideon', but I think it may better fit the new book. We'll see. In the meantime, here is Isaac Steugler's last known writing.

Rarely does an investigative journalist have the honour to stumble across something so incredible that he questions his own sanity at discovering such revelations.

Such is the joy and plight of this writer.

In the past, I’ve investigated and written texts about the hidden mysteries of The Talmud and Kabbalistic traditions. I’ve researched the source of the majority of our modern belief systems: the Sumerian society and their interactions with beings they considered to be gods. I’ve delved into the many traditions of Celtic worship and their latterday descendants, Druidism and Witchcraft. And I have walked the secret halls of the Freemasons and their Hermetic and Enochian brethren.

I thought I knew all there was to know about the occult, the arcane, the obscure. But I was wrong.

Since I found some ancient scrolls tucked away in one of the Cathedral's caverns, my life and all in which I thought I believed has turned upside-down. If these scrolls are legitimate (and all evidence points to the fact that they are), I have found absolute proof that Vampires exist, and have long been a part of some arcane conspiracy that reaches all the way to the world governments and dominant religious institutions. They may even solve the mystery of the Shroud, given their close proximity.

I'm returning to Ontario tomorrow, getting in touch with an associate of mine who should be familiar with this text. She can hopefully translate what I can't, and twig me onto someone who can run tests on the scrolls' antiquity.

These are exciting times for

Perhaps Mr. Zeugler ran afoul of Cadmus Pariah...


To learn more about and, if you wish, purchase The Vampire Relics, please click on the picture below.

tinhuviel: (Ornate Triskele)
"...but don't talk to me about how things happen for a reason, don't talk to me about how you're going to pray for me, don't talk to me about how Jesus saves. If that were the case I'd have a whole lot more of my loved ones around me right now."

(to read the Huffington blog post, Atheism Reaffirmed, from whence this quote came, click the lovely picture above.)

This one perfect [portion of a] sentence flawlessly describes the point at where my lifelong spiritual journey has been going since August 2011. When I began studying Witchcraft in the late 80s, I was particularly struck by the notion that praying or working magick for someone who neither asked, nor gave their permission for you to do so can, at the very least, be perceived as unethical when looking at the deed through the Wiccan Rede. As someone who grew up in an area of America where "I'll pray for you" was a phrase that implicated two very different messages (1. I care about you and only want the best for you in these difficult times and 2. Just you wait - you'll get yours!), I began refraining from imposing my spiritual inclinations, if only indirectly through prayer/magick/whatever, without explicit permission to do so.

When Aunt Tudi died, I was bombarded with declarations, all of which were well-intentioned from people who truly care about me, of: "I will pray for you." Her death had already hurtled me into a crisis of faith, so the innocent efforts on the part of friends and family, fell on increasingly resentful ears. Most of the time, I felt violated in a very profound way, by the very people who meant, and still mean, everything to me. That one simple sentence tipped the balance of my Agnostic Paganism onto a burgeoning Agnostic Atheism. The emotional and psychological landscape in which I found myself, and still do to a slightly lesser degree, found no presence of god, goddess, or anything in between. I began politely requesting that people leave me out of their communications with the deity or deities in which they believe. Most everyone understood why I asked this of them. Some were offended, but came to accept and honour my wishes. A minute number were determined to carry on with their activities, feeling that my request was born out of aftershock, immeasurable grief, and misplaced opposition to faith-based efforts on my behalf, their logic being that, once the initial trauma eased, I would be grateful to them for keeping my spiritual back when my own belief system had been shaken to the point of abandoning it altogether.

The reason why I'm posting this quote and link, and adding my opinions regarding its subject, is to add some perspective for anyone who is suffering in some way, or knows someone in crisis of any kind. The issue of spirituality and the countless religions that have sprung from it is probably the most sensitive in human culture. Before you inadvertently have a hand in someone's loss of faith, think as objectively as you can in a wholly subjective situation. Pray on it, if that's how you address the moments in life that leave you unsure of what you could or should do. Listen to your inner voice and, most importantly, listen to the one for whom you want to pray or hold ritual. Just being there for her/him could be the best thing for them, and may eventually restore faith on its own terms.

I would like to make clear that this is not directed solely at Christians, even though Jesus is mentioned in the sentence that resulted in this post. It is for anyone of any faith to take to heart. With the exception of extremists in any religion, I think that believers are good, well-intentioned, and beautiful people who do what they do out of love. But humans, as is our nature, make mistakes in the name of love. This is a chance to avoid making another one.
tinhuviel: (Bible)


Aggressive Stupidity (noun):

A practice most often encouraged by an extremist minority found in any religion, who are not satisfied to be alone in their struggle to fully embrace and encourage fatuous mythology, which eventually results in participating in unsavoury activities of which this list is but a small portion:

  • Vote rigging.

  • Rewriting history.

  • Picketing for the sole purpose of badgering the people around them

  • Rewording or omitting passages in their own holy book to better reflect their own dogma.

  • Threatening and defaming naysayers, most especially if the targeted individuals are often in the public eye.

  • Obstruction of people’s rights with which they disagree

Supporters of and participants in this movement work toward manifesting their primary agenda, which is to remake their nation(s) into a theocratic state that will impose the ruling minority’s dogma on the vast majority who wouldn’t otherwise take notice.

Adherants to Aggressive Stupidity are present in every religion and, unfortunately because they are the most raucous, they get the most attention, and even get their way, if it means they would just shut the fuck up.  Other than the title by which they identify, these groups are almost identical with one another, even if groups under the Stupidity umbrella often fight one another, and do so publicly, accusing their enemy du jour of crimes both feuding parties enthusiastically commit.  (Tea Party, please meet your brothers from another mother, the Taliban.)

They seek out the weak to use as proof of god’s displeasure with man, to further bills criminalising homelessness and poverty, giving free rein to those keen on dehumanising them, and eventually manipulate some of them, most of whom were suffering from a religious variation of Stockholm Syndrome into becoming agents dedicated to perpetuating propaganda, which serves to justify the totalitarian occupancy of already defeated nations, and increase the crusade budget with the intention of instituting a global theocracy.  When you're hungry and desperate, you're more prone to accept the tenets of those who give you bread.


Listed below are some of the tools and weapons used by the Aggressively Stupid to aid in the forging of a government based on the idea that the minority has the right to exercise authority over the majority:

  • Support of and/or participation in discriminatory behaviour, claiming that some actions, opinions, or beliefs are ordained by God.  Such discrimination polices and many others instituted by the new government are often brutally enforced by an increasingly militarised policing body.

  • Monetary contributions to political campaigns that are sympathetic to many, if not all, hot button issues about which the Aggressively Stupid obsess.

  • Erasing the lines that separate Church and State by passing out voter guides in church and pamphlets sharing the “Good News” at secular events such as concerts and conventions.  Another example of these tactics used by extremists is the funding of lobby groups that will help advance the budding theocracy’s influence over the population.

  • Unabashed recruitment and conversion to assist in either growing the controlling body or encouraging unwavering loyalty alongside compulsive witness bearing, all in the name of God.

  • Bullying and shaming in the attempt to silence rebellious individuals, omit from history any behaviour or activities deemed deviant by the ruling elite, and making nonconformity illegal.

  • Attempts, some of which have actually been successful, to reinstate the old pecking order originally blueprinted by god himself, that affirms man's dominance over anything else that is not human or does not have a penis.  Of course, this declaration is referring to white men only, according to the extremists.  Everyone else is subject to the whims of the future theocracy's officials.

It was Aggressive Stupidity that led to Yeshua’s death, which is, in equal measure, tragic and ironic, considering today’s coteries and megachurches full of Aggressively Stupid acolytes, some of whom use his name to promote their agenda, would doubtlessly be the first to scream for capital punishment of this heretic who dared to challenge the authority established in his name.

tinhuviel: (Default)

(From a post made on The Vampire Relics' Facebook Page with some extra added mental meandering that happened after the fact.)

One of the themes that threads throughout all three books is that of Absolution (it's important because of the capital A!). I'm not referring to just Christian absolution but the essence of the word itself, sparking the human imagination to entertain the possibility, or feel secure in their faith to believe without question, that forgiveness for anything is possible. One of the sub-hives, the Hive of Redemption, established by Thiyennen, took the idea of absolution to a whole other crazy level with many of its members, including Thiyennen, resorting to behaviour seen in the travelling Flagellants during the Black Death. This twisted version of what may achieve absolution is studied in depth in The Augury of Gideon, when Thiyennen and his allies capture and imprison Cadmus Pariah.

Of course, all of this is only my opinion, and I respect and will aggressively defend your opinions on the matter, because that would be only fair. The nature of true absolution, in my opinion, partially based on personal experiences, is one of being accepted and loved for who you are, faults and all, and being able to return to a possibly simpler (as in uncomplicated) point in your life, when you could embrace wonder with abandon, and be shed of guilt that only serves to break spirits down rather than build them up. Absolution happens when you no longer accept such programming imposed on you from almost the point of birth throughout your life.

A song by Eliza Gilkyson, entitled 'Emmanuel', is very close to what I have believed in the past regarding redemption and absolution, and it still has an effect on my beliefs (or lack thereof in recent years). Superficially, the song would appear to be Christ-centered (this is different from Christianity-centered in my world, so just bear with me), it addresses the longing we all carry, regardless of religious or spiritual persuasions, to return home, or to the past, or to some place or state of being that existed before we think fell to the lies of shame and sin that weigh much of the modern world down. Even that storyline, documenting the spiritual enslavement of humanity, shows up in 'The Blood Crown', the fault of which is clearly placed at the Apostate's door.

The first time I heard the song, at work in 1993 (I was inspecting the CD the song is on), I listened to it from a Christian perspective, although I am not Christian, based on its title alone. Assumptions are easily made, are they not? When the words sunk in, my first interpretation was of a reality where the fallen angel Sammael is welcomed home by Emmanuel after going through incarnations of humans, animals, and even things (a rock, at one point!) before he could bring himself to revisit the music he had made prior to leaving in pursuit of the glories and tragedies on Earth. This interpretation dictated the last picture in the video.

The bigger story the song tells isn't one that heaps guilt, fear, and ultimately spiritual banishment if you don't toe a particular line on the listener; rather, it gives the message that, even after you've experienced and done all you feel you need to, both the good and the bad, the door will be open when you want to walk through it to whatever you believe is there ('What Dreams May Come' is an example of what I'm trying to communicate here). From that perspective, the song does not belong to just one faith. It belongs to all faiths and all levels of spiritual sentience, including Atheism, human and non-human. It is non-judgemental, and can be enjoyed on a purely secular level, particularly from a psychological viewpoint. Liking and agreeing with Carl Jung may help here, too.

I believe that's truly the only way absolution or redemption can be achieved. It's an acceptance and a presence of old knowing that we tend to lose in the physical realms, and many may perceive such acceptance and old knowledge to be an external phenomenon, which is completely acceptable, but I think it also is present within everyone and everything. All that said, even though my history with the song predates all three books, 'Emmanuel' is definitely a strong musical presence in 'The Augury of Gideon', considering both the song and book address the concept of cyclic returning so that healing may follow.

I believe that Eliza Gilkyson achieved something greater than all of us, including herself, when she wrote this song, and I think it's one that should be shared with as many people as possible, not as a means of conversion of any sort, but as a campaign to allow us to not only forgive one another, but to forgive ourselves.

The video is one of my much earlier attempts at movie-making, so please overlook the general sorry mess it is. The song is rare and the album it's on has been out of print for ages, so there's more people than not who have never heard it. My making the video was an attempt to rectify that crime against good music. One thing I did want to draw your attention to, regarding the video, is that the pictures used, with the exception of the last one, are all tapestries or tile mosaics in the Byzantine style, or at least that's what Teh Intarwebz told me when I started collecting images for the vid. Byzantine art was a major influence on the physical appearance of the Tarmi, specifically because of the eyes of the people in the art. If one did not know, one might assume that everyone in Byzantium had gigantic alien eyes and, as a teenager when I started mapping my personal myths, I got all caught up in the what-ifs that arose in my mind from studying the art. (And why hasn't Ancient Aliens addressed such possibilities yet?) Using these images for the video helped me tie in the importance of the song to my own mythologies.

So, if you're still with me after this godawful ramble, I hope you enjoy the song, and I encourage you to share it people who may benefit from the non-demoninational and/or secular message of hope that it is never too late to embrace the absolution sitting around waiting for you to pick it up. It's inside you already, despite what you believe or don't believe. You were born with it, it's still there, and it'll be there until you die, if you're an Atheist, or continue on with you, if you believe in the existence of afterlife and the many flavours in which such beliefs come available. Even if they don't need a message like that, but do appreciate good music (and who doesn't?), I feel the song would be a gift to them, as well.

If you want to learn more about Eliza, she has a website: http://elizagilkyson.com/

I also made second crap video using another song from the same album, this one focusing on any number of pagan histories after encountering invading religions, sung from the viewpoint of a priestess who lived such a history, but the song is specially focused on the Divine Feminine, as it is represented in the song by the catch-all Goddess name, Diana. It's called 'I Become the Moon' and it also had an effect on the writing of the Relics trilogy, especially 'The Blood Crown,' which features the Tale of the Blood Moon, whose narrative focuses on the triumph of the Apostate over the remnants of Tarmian civilisation, and the subsequent tragedy of humanity losing its way in the wilderness of the conquering magus' lies.

And if any of this inspires you enough to want to read the books, here's the link to them, for your continued convenience: THE VAMPIRE RELICS ON AMAZON.

tinhuviel: (Augury)

It's been one of those days.

Everything is irking me right now. Frustration levels are in the plaid zone.

I can't access very old video files with the tools I have at hand, and won't be getting any help via the two PCs in the house. Not without a 4-hour long sermon on everything I'm doing wrong from someone who seems to not know diddly-shit about Mac and how different it can be from the realm of PC-dom. I did find the original VHS tapes, though, so I'm biding my time until I can get them converted to DVD and MPEG. I need to do that to preserve them anyway. There's a place in LA that charges $10 for the conversion, but I'm not certain I want to send the tapes away. I'm gonna hunt for someone local, so the vids will be in my possession at all times, or most of the time.

Yesterday, I read an article about that dick cheese, Pat Robertson. I shared it on Facebook. Earlier, I got a comment from a long-time friend, a lady with whom I worked at BMG, who found me on FB a couple of months ago. She was a titch defensive, not of Pat Robertson, but of the church as a whole, and its tax exempt status. We got into a tiff about it. I don't mind differing opinions or beliefs, but the whole religion thing is one of those hot-button topics that will send me spinning into a fury.

So, yeah, I'm enjoying an emotional repast of Sithly rage today. This might help me write today, though, so I'm just gonna ride the wave, and see what happens.

tinhuviel: (Bible)

When I was as young as three years old, I believed without question the existence of god. At four, I began wearing a towel on my head (don't go there with the jokes...), held down by a plastic mixing bowl, to pretend I was a nun. I also attended temple a couple of times with the Mother Unit. I got my first taste of wine there. Mogen David FTW!

At the age of five, in my first grade class, we were all required to recite psalm 23. Since my family was of mixed faith, and not excessively religious (I was probably the most "devout" at that time), I knew no bible verses by heart. I was the only one in my class not to get a silver star by her name. Looking back, this was my first experience with indoctrination in a setting that should have been more in line with the law of separation of church and state. It was mortifying, to say the least. I remember crying all the way home and staying up well past my bedtime to memorise the psalm, but was never called on in school to clear my name as a godless fiend. During this time, I also got it into my head that I wanted to be a preacher.

Aunt Tudi explained to me that I couldn't be nun, because I wasn't Catholic, and female preachers are few and far between, and usually weren't respected or listened to. So that was that.

A few months before my sixth birthday, my family exploded, when the Mother Unit requested a divorce. During this time, a pastor started frequenting the house. He'd take me for rides in the car on occasion, and we'd sing the BINGO song. While he was showing the face of a concerned man of god during this difficult time in the family's life, the family comprising of the Units, Granny, and Aunt Tudi, he was discreetly fleecing anything of worth from an already desperately poor family. I didn't find out that last part until years later, but I had always wondered why he suddenly stopped visiting, especially when I felt I needed him most, after the break-up was finalised and my Father Unit had a nervous breakdown. It turns out he got what he wanted, which was pretty much everything we had had as a family unit.

While I was being verbally terrorised by the Father Unit, as he instructed me to despise the Mother Unit for all she had done, and telling me she had never loved me, otherwise she wouldn't have left, I prayed fervently to a god that never seemed to hear me. I felt adrift. I never felt safe. When I got to see her, Granny would tell me the story of Job, and that all I needed was to hold on to my faith, and eventually everything would be okay.

But it wasn't. I had my home, my neighbourhood, my parents, and my favourite grandmother and aunt taken away from me, until the authorities decided on what to do with me. By the time I was seven, I was living with Aunt Tudi and Granny, in an A-frame chalet in Black Mountain, North Carolina. I still wanted to believe in the existence of a higher power, so I began reading the bible frequently. Aunt Tudi bought me a Rainbow Bible. I still have it...I think.

I remember reading about Gideon in Judges, how he wanted proof of the existence of god, and put the deity to a test. This verse, Judges 6:39, impacted me:

And Gideon said unto God, Let not thine anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.

I figured if Gideon could do this, and be answered by god, surely I could too. It was in the bible, so it must be something that was true and could be repeated. I got a dry washcloth and, placing it in the very back of my closet, asked god to let me know he was with me, that he did listen to me, by making the cloth wet by morning.

Morning came, and I rushed to the closet with hope and expectation. The cloth was dry.

I could not bring myself to say there was no god. Atheism is still unthinkable in the Southeast United States, but back in the 70s, the very word itself was an abomination. I could not not believe in god. But I learned a new word - agnostic. From 1975 until 1988, I was an agnostic. That doesn't mean I didn't have spiritual experiences. I had a few throughout my life, like the revelation of Durga at the age of five, and the irrefutable holy feeling upon seeing the beginning of the movie Xanadu, featuring Jeff Lynne's music. Even Star Wars triggered a spiritual reaction in me, which I found out later was a very natural one, considering the use of archetypes and stories older than even our most ancient ancestors.

In 1988, I began studying Wicca. I felt like I'd come home. Here was a spiritual place that you carried within you, a way of life that held everyone (male, female, human, non-human - all life) in a kind of reverence. It renewed my belief in magick and the possibility of a life of wonderment. By 1990, I had become a New Age Fluffy Bunny. By 1992, I was a High Priestess in the Caledonii Tradition. Even though I eventually turned to solitary practice and dropped the Wiccan label, preferring the cognomen of Witch, my faith never faltered.

Until 2011. On August 25th, 2011, I was catapulted into the gravest spiritual crises I'd ever known. It was different this time. I didn't feel as though god/dess was not listening to my prayers; rather, I found I had nothing to say to any deity. If people would ask, I'd nonchalantly say that I was going through a spiritual crisis or that I was a Pagan-leaning agnostic.

Monday will mark the third anniversary of Aunt Tudi's death. When it happened, people wanted to pray for me, or pray with me. They tried to comfort me with praise of god/dess. I felt myself being offended and angry, not just with deity, but also with the people who seemed to crawl out of the woodwork to use my tragedy to turn me to god. On Christmas Eve, I called my Aunt Josephine to wish her a merry Christmas. I was only four months out from losing Aunt Tudi, so the wound was still raw (honestly, it still is). Instead of giving me any sort of comfort in her own way, instead of even wishing me a merry Christmas back, Josephine proceeded to tell me that I needed to get right with god; otherwise, I wouldn't see Aunt Tudi in the afterlife, as she was in heaven, and I was definitely headed for hell. That was the last time I ever talked to her.

Three years on, and where am I as far as my quest for a higher power or my need to commune with deity? In all honesty, I would have to say that I've crossed that line between agnosticism and atheism. With all the horror I see in the world now, I prefer the idea that there is no god as opposed to one that seems to revel in the continuous abject suffering of its creations. I have no patience for any of it, in whatever incarnation people claim it exists. I want no part of it.

Now some may say that this is simply my own version of the descent of the goddess, and they can believe that all they want to. If I've been descending, then this post is the end of my journey, because I don't plan on ascending. There is nothing up there for me.

So yeah, I think it is pretty safe to say that I am an atheist. Looking back on my experiences with the spiritual world, I can see now that it was an inevitability.

tinhuviel: (Bible)
So one of the many "Christians" in South Carolina had the misfortune to post this over on Facebook, at precisely the moment I'm feeling my most inciteful.

 photo 1017453_570773309704932_1901702337_n.png

And I was compelled to speak my mind.

Even if I'm Gay? Even if I'm not a Christian? Even if I've had an abortion? Even if I enjoy the occasional beer? Even if I've had sex and have not been married? Even if I curse like a sailor? Even if I call you Goddess, because I can't conceive of a 100% male deity? Even if I don't vote Republican? Even if I'm an Atheist? Even if I've stolen money to feed my family? Even if I play Dungeons & Dragons? Even if I believe our dominion over the earth and its animals means I should protect and cherish your creations, instead of exploiting what you've so generously bestowed upon us? Even if I actually practice what I preach all week, not just on Sunday? I'm just trying to see the small print on this letter. I don't want God's lawyers to sue me for a breach of contract. I hear he can afford the best.

Kids these days...


Nov. 9th, 2012 07:31 pm
tinhuviel: (Bible)
When I was a very young child, starting around the age of 4, my dream was to be a nun. I just wanted to go around singing to people and healing them, have a personal relationship with god, and wear a fashionable veil. That bubble was burst when I found out I wasn't Catholic. So I figured preacher might be a better fit anyway. That bubble was burst when I found out you had to have a winky before god would even look at you. I began to wonder if any of this was nothing more than bullshit. I remember hearing a Bible story where someone tested god's presence by leaving a dry clothe out at night. If it had no dew, it was proof that god existed. I could totally be getting this wrong. Whatever it was, I thought I could get my proof in the same manner. I placed a dry rag in the closet and prayed that, if god existed, it would be wet in the morning. I had all manner of faith that it would be wet.

I was wrong.

The next morning it was dry as could be. I was 7 and that was the morning I began to question the nature and existence of god. I wanted desperately to believe. Something about the myths and songs from various cultures always brought me a kind of peace. Science fiction began to fill a hole in my myth that god just could not anymore. Even when I discovered Witchcraft and felt the Divine Feminine for the first time in my life in 1989, it still wasn't completely enough for me to suspend all disbelief and give myself over to a higher or otherworldly presence.

When Aunt Tudi died, I encountered two people too busy with their church activities to help me deal with some issues. The screamed hypocrisy to me. It wasn't god's fault; rather, it was the flaw of people trying to follow in god's footsteps. What else could I say? But there was a part of me who resented it all. God had taken away my way of life. God had taken away my willingness to live. God had stirred a strong longing for human extinction within my breast. And those friends I though I had, they'd been transformed into Stepford Wives for Christ.

I've always considered myself a student of spirituality, an agnostic looking for a place near deity where I could finally rest and learn. I'm further from that place than ever before. For the first time in my life, I'm looking more logically at atheism than I ever did blind faith. When you stare into the dead eyes of the woman who raised you and you find no indication where she my have gone, if anywhere, atheism has a valid argument. When all the Hypo-Christians circle your broken spirit to get you in their church when you're at your most vulnerable, atheism looks like a lot sweeter deal.

I don't know that I believe anymore more. I don't know what I want to believe. I don't know if I want to believe anything at all anymore. And I'm too tired of all of it to be a good agnostic and seek for my place in the universe/


Sep. 4th, 2011 11:12 pm
tinhuviel: (Barry - Elf)
The family and some friends went up to Craggy Gardens on the Blue Ridge Parkway and scattered Aunt Tudi's ashes. We also scattered the ashes of her beloved dog Sheba and I poured two litres of 7-Up upon the site, since that was Aunt Tudi's favourite drink that she drank all the time. I then took the kids, Steven, and Blake's girlfriend up the Faery path so that they could see some of the suspected Faery homes that are nestled along the path.

Upon my return, I found crosses etched all over the stone that marked where we scattered Aunt Tudi's ashes. I hid my hurt and rage at this, since Aunt Tudi was most definitely not an xtian, so I asked for the scissors Janice used to etch the crossed into the stone, and I carved a Pentagram and a Triskele into the stone in amongst the crosses. This would balance out the variety of faiths to which Aunt Tudi had been exposed and the bits of each religious tenet she took with her and found relevant to her own path. If I could have remembered it, I would have etched the symbol for the Unitarian Universalist Church on the stone because, if she were anything, it was that to which she was closest. I'm going to get that symbol and return to the stone to etch it into the rock for her, because that church was very important to her.

I thank Lady Neith for that and I always will.

After the scattering and before the Faery walk, we all said something in Aunt Tudi's honour. Little Michael and I were the last to speak. He offered up prayer to the xtian God, then I spoke of mine and Aunt Tudi's relationship, her system of belief, and then I recited "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary E. Frye. I handled it all pretty well and hugged tightly those who lost it, especially Blake, who had always been very close to Aunt Tudi.

I'm spending the night at home tonight, by myself. The spirit of Aunt Tudi is with me and I don't feel so terribly haunted and wounded. A strange peace has settled over me for right now, like I'm blanketed by the Goddess and she is coming to me in the form of Aunt Tudi. I'm going to stay here on the love seat and watch TV until I fall asleep and then, tomorrow, I'm going to a cookout with the family after I try to get the house in order. It's been almost two weeks now since anything has been done, and the house looks like a pipe bomb has gone off in it.

It's time to get myself together and get ready to leave for a while to help in the healing and to reunite with loved ones I have not seen in much too long a time.

Pod People

Sep. 1st, 2010 02:53 pm
tinhuviel: (Frustration)
There's been something bothering me for some time now, and that's friends who've suddenly "found Jesus" and become drones of the church. I've had two friends do this. I don't normally mind it when someone finds their way closer to a higher power but, when you have a total personality overhaul, I have to wonder if what has happened is healthy. One friend mentions church every chance she gets and the other friend talks about nothing but his church. He is completely unrecognisable from the friend I once had. Why do people do this? I mean, I can understand a person wanting a personal relationship with deity, but why are some people prone to giving over who they are for the chance to get nearer to god/dess? It's baffling to say the least and saddening as well, because I'm not sure our friendship can survive this if it lasts for any length of time. I'm not being superficial here, as this has been going on now for over a year. You found god? Good for you. Just don't lose friends because you've turned into a pod person.
tinhuviel: (The Joker Blogs Ha)
[livejournal.com profile] luvthyjoker sent this to me. I had it ages ago, but lost it when I left the Pit in 2005. I'm putting here and Facebook for safe keeping.

Taoism: Shit happens.
Hinduism: This shit happened before.
Confucianism: Confucius say: Shit happens.
Buddhism: It is only an illusion of shit happening.
Zen: What is the sound of shit happening?
Islam: If shit happens, it is the will of Allah.
Jehovah's Witnesses: Knock, Knock: 'Shit happens.'
Atheism: There is no such thing as shit.
Agnosticism: Maybe shit happens, maybe not.
Protestantism: Shit won't happen if I work harder.
Catholicism: If shit happens I deserve it.
Judaism: Why does shit always happen to me?
Televangelism: Send money or shit will happen to you.
Rastafarian: Smoke that shit.
tinhuviel: (Alpaca Lips)
For [livejournal.com profile] brujah.

Don't click if you're easily offended by language or religious irreverence. Thanks for finding this, [livejournal.com profile] filmkitty!

tinhuviel: (Kelat and Dmitri)

In my late teens I began to fashion out of my perception of the world and the people that inhabited the world an idea of how souls fit in the the Great Scheme of Things. It was at this time I began to actively seek some sort of spiritual path that would allow me to explore the nature of souls in the way I saw fit. The only path that even remotely met my needs at the time as Wicca, the Temple Hecate Triskele of the Caledonii Tradition to be exact. Quite the mouthful, eh? I was a dedicated Dedicant and faithfully adhered to the tenets of my Fluffy Bunny phase. In short, I was intolerable. But there had always been a part of me even when I wanted to be a Christian preacher (before I knew girls weren't really allowed) and had full intention of boozing it up every Sabbath at Temple, that needed to have an active part in ritual. A girl tends to become conflicted when she's raised in both the Jewish and Protestant faith. A girl become agnostic.

And this girl remained agnostic even throughout my education as a priestess in the Caledonii Tradition. There were always two things that never failed to fascinate me: Angels, and their different incarnations that spanned human faith, and the nature of souls. The apocryphal writings of Enoch held a particular fascination for me and it was Enochian Magick that brought me to the Book of the Law. From there, I became even more conflicted. My Fluffy Bunniness was burned away by the introduction of Chaos Magick and the tenets of a more practical form of viewing the world and Creation itself. Gnosis, Thelema, Chaos, and the accounts of Angels as written by Enoch began another quest for knowledge and understanding that I came to realise resided only within myself. That's hard to come to grips with, considering I held little faith in myself. But enough of that.

The Soul Train rolls on )

tinhuviel: (Sheriff Obama)
Aunt Tudi and I are back from her Nephrologist. His name is Dr. Mohammed Ebrahim. I don't know if he's a Muslim. To assume that his is because of his name and country of origin would be stupid of me. He asked us where we were from and I told him Asheville, NC. Then he asked how long we'd lived down here. I told him we'd been stuck in SC for 28 years in 2 days. He thought it was hilarious that I had it down to the very day. I explained to him that people may not believe how much of a difference 70 or so miles can make, but it was like a different world down here compared to the more liberal and open-minded Asheville. He laughed again and said with that gorgeous accent of his (I have this thing about accents), "I know exactly what you're talking about, being a foreigner."

Well, that prompted a lengthy conversation about how ignorance breeds narrow-mindedness. Feudal systems designed to keep the masses ignorant came up and he got to talking about how that mindset was still very prevalent in pockets all over the world. It was a very refreshing conversation. The man has a wise head on his shoulders and I'm very glad he's Aunt Tudi's doctor.

When we got home, Aunt Tudi turned on the news and we heard part of President Obama's speech to the Muslim world, and I was heartened by what I heard. It was the cherry on top of an enlightening and thought-provoking afternoon. Hopefully, someday, ignorance will be overcome worldwide. Either that, or humanity will destroy itself. Either way, the world will be a better place.
tinhuviel: (Joker_Glare)
Part the third.

cut for some triggery stuff, mainly of a religious nature, so careful! )
tinhuviel: (Maul)
Thanks to everyone for giving me your name suggestions. I'm still mulling it over and may even make a poll comprised of all the names so I can choose the name that gets the most votes. Me? I got nothin'.

I've been overwhelmed with anxiety today. Having no money and no sure way to get into school is driving me to distraction. I got a very vague letter from GTC Financial Aid about my options, which makes me feel like I have no options. If I'm reading it correctly, though, I need to get my transcript from Wofford before I can proceed with anything. The admissions part of the this has to be completed before I can talk to FA about how much money I should expect to get after all my groveling.

This Middle East thing is getting on my last damned nerve too. I've gotten to the point where part of me wishes that North Korea would send one of their practice nukes to the region and turn the entire area into a gigantic glow-in-the-dark crater. How can prophecy be fulfilled if the area the prophecy is about is obliterated off the face of the planet? I know that's extreme. And it's really wrong for me to say anything like that, considering my connection to the Jewish people and Israel. My biological mother is Jewish, which makes me Jewish by right. I've attended Temple and I pretty successfully keep Kosher 99% of the time. I'm not a practicing religious Jew, no. I have issues with YHVH. I think that Yahweh/Allah/Jehovah/the Demiurge is the primary reason the Middle East has been so fucked up for so long. You generally cannot embrace peace when you're actively worshiping a volcano war god. The Jews have been persecuted for way too long for no reason at all, but I think they've fallen victim, particularly in Israel, to the First Law of Physics: For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. Israel has become the oppressor because the homeless nation has been so oppressed. I think that, because of religious affiliations, Israel has been given special dispensation by the world's "superpower" to be the bratty kid in the neighbourhood who thinks they can be snotty to all the other kids around and never be punished. Everyone is focused on the soldiers taken by Hezbollah and Hamas, but they rarely mention the men taken by the Mossad. Again, the First Law of Physics. Now, Israel is complaining that someone hit them back and have begun launching missiles. Hezbollah does the same thing. And I hear The Fixx ringing in my bruised brain....."one thing (one thing) leads to ano-o-other." The only way to stop the progression of act triggering act triggering act is for an outside act to bring it all to an end. Kim John-il may be the one person who could take care of matters.

If there's no Mecca, where can the Muslims bow? If there's no Jerusalem, the temple cannot be rebuilt. No Megiddo, no Armageddon. This would not only bring an end to a conflict that can end no other way, but it would also shut up the Dominionists who are actually trying to bring about Tribulation to hasten the return of their Messiah.

My views may be a bit unpopular, but what's new? I'm just sick of it all. Stupid humans with their stupid little religious disagreements. They all need to get over themselves or be vapourised for all eternity, amen.
tinhuviel: (Dubya)
Our Esteemed Fuhrer is making his speech tonight, attempting to convince those of us with brains that all is well while, at the same time, doing the Arsenio Hall "hoo hoo hoo!" to his Right Wing Dominionist cronies over the complete takeover of what was once a relatively decent nation. Sure, America has always had its problems (that's why I've identified as an expatriate since the early 80s), but what country doesn't? But now......now it's like a bad joke using all the longtime threats of Fascism known to anyone who has ever read 1984. Yeah, I'm a little disillusioned, bitter, and generally surly about the whole situation and am praying ever more fervently for the Alpaca Lips to come and reset the Order of Things.

So. The State of the Bunion that was once a Union, but is now a mere achy callous on the tender toes of Mother Earth....

  • We are continuing to assert our status of Collective Ugly American around the world by enforcing torture, illegal imprisonment, and warcraft without good reason.

  • Our Blue Hairs (Senior Citizens) are being driven slowly mad from trying to figure out their new Doublespeak Prescription Plan. Many are going without medicines that help save their lives. Now I'm all for keeping these menaces off the roads, but going about it like this is just cruel and unusual.

  • The Supreme Court has been tipped in favour of the likes of Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell. I've heard that Sam Alito is rereading The Handmaid's Tale to jazz up his spirit for his new position while all women of childbearing age should be practicing their new position in our happy little Right Wing Dictatorship.

  • Civil Rights takes another blow by losing Coretta Scott King as the young people of today are oblivious to the social ramifications presented by the Sixties. Young people are unaware that the Right Wing sabotaged what should have been the dawning of the Age of Aquarius by filtering addictive substances into pods of the Resistance, turning these hopeful revolutionaries into wraiths and turning the movement into a joke. Not to mention their killing Kennedy and Mrs. King's husband, Martin Luther. See where it's all gotten us?

  • Factory farming is still a fact.

  • The devastation of logging is still a fact.

  • Factories continue to belch filth into the air while individual smokers get blamed for causing cancer. Brilliant!

  • Women continue to die from ovarian cancer while scientists work tirelessly to create a new anti-impotence drug or figure out some way to stop and/or reverse male pattern baldness.

  • Our schools are being hijacked into teaching Creationism under the guise of Intelligent Design. Doesn't anyone find it funny that we were supposedly created via Intelligent Design, but we're being led by a barely evolved primate possessed by Legion? And we thought Legion only picked on swine. Silly us.

  • Reality TV is still holding the majority of the televiewing American public hostage while it perpetually sucks out our brains like the lifeforce being pulled out of Podlings by hungry Skeksis. I've come to believe that this is the main purpose of Reality TV, to do just that so we won't have the ability to fight back in any real capacity, just like the Podling zombies. Am I comparing the current administration to a pack of husk-dry Skeksis? Why, yes, I think I am.

  • Unemployment has reached ridiculous levels while we're being told on the news that the economy is going great and jobs are being created every day.

  • More people are losing health insurance every day while healthcare prices continue to rise at an exponential rate.

  • More people are dependent on drugs, particularly anti-anxiety and depression drugs, but we're being assured that life is great.

  • It's rumoured that America won't see it's Tricentennial, but would that really be a big loss now?

Okay, that's my State of the Bunion. More honest and, hopefully, more entertaining that Dubya's upcoming expulsion of vomit-inspiring lies. May he, his puppet-masters, and all of his cronies rot in the most stinking bowel of hell there is. Amen and Hallelujah.
tinhuviel: (Steamed)
I got my car title in the mail today. According to the envelope it was mailed on 9 January not 28 December like I was repeatedly told by the flunkies at Capital One. So I won't have to go grovel at the DMV for a title now. If I ever do business with Capital One again, please someone kick me in my unmentionables.

Saw Lisa about my knee. She took X-rays and even I could see all the arthritis in there this time. They don't do injections at Family Physicians, so I now have an appointment with a new orthopaedist next Friday and a prescription for hydrocodone to see me through until I can go see him/her/it. There are what looks like spurs coming from my femur and touching my lower leg bone (can't remember its name 'cos I'm a medical idiot). I just know my cartilage is totally knackered.

Video and adult stores are being raided as I write this, and having videos and DVDs that "cross the line" seized by law enforcement deputies. Who judges what crosses the line? There's something just wrong about this. I mean, there's some porn out there that I would prefer not to see, but shouldn't that be up to me and any other individual? Censorship pisses me right the fuck off. Especially when "authorities" talk about "crossing the line," but never explain what line it crosses. Instead, there's the implication that this is a Christian area with "Family Values." Guess that's why SC is a leader in domestic violence. All those fucking Christian family values in action... You can't watch Seymour Butts get it on with a coterie of bimbos, but you sure as hell can smack your bitch up on Friday nights after getting drunk 'cos, come SUUNDEEEE, you'll be fergivvin' and can continue your reign of values-laden terror for the week to come.
tinhuviel: (Alpaca Battle Cry)
I just suggested to her that she write her own book on a subject about which she probably knows more than anyone else. There are so many spiritual paths out there that are woefully ignored by publishers. It's like, if you aren't a member of a cookie-cutter religion, then your hope of doing much research is right out the window. That got me to thinking about the path I'm on. I even did a search online for anything remotely resembling Apocalyptic Paganry. Ain't no such critter, yet there quite a few Endtimes prophecies out there that aren't Judeo-Christian in nature, particularly in the Native American faiths. And let's not even start with the Mayans and Aborigines. There should be a book written about it all. Maybe I should be the one to do it. It'd take a ton of research by proxy, but it may be worth it. Personally, I believe that Pagans worldwide should be made aware of the signs of the Apocalypse that are all around us. The End of the World won't just happen to Christians, people! White Buffalo Woman is waiting to be acknowledged and Kali is rattling her bones.


Dec. 8th, 2005 08:21 pm
tinhuviel: (Bible)
That's the Redneck Hell. Rednecks don't go to Hell. They go to Heck. There are levels of Heck. There's Suburban Heck where the high-falootin' crowd hangs out and gossips about each others' clothes, hair, and Lee Press-on Nails. Then there's the Boonies Heck where the snaggle-toothed hillbillies roam about playing jaw harps and banjos. There's the Heck Trailer Court where people who've been on the Jerry Springer Show and/or get drunk and have throwdowns on Friday night assemble. And then there's the Inner Ring of Heck, which is also known as South Carolina.

You don't go to Heck in a Handbasket. That's for folks en route to Hell. You travel to Heck in a 1970's grey primer-finished Ford pick-up truck with tires two sizes too large. It's the Heck-mobile and the only resemblance to a handbasket is the light blue plastic laundry basket that's in the back of the truck with an inch of water in the bottom.

You don't burn in Heck. You swelter. It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

Most televangelists don't go to Hell; instead, they can be found in Heck. They sure as Heck ain't in Heaven! Heck is overrun with polyester-clad, money-grubbing Bible-thumpers who proudly display their bad toupees right after Wednesday night services.

So that's Heck.
tinhuviel: (Dog o'Doom!)
There are some days I'm tempted to convince people I have Tourettes Syndrome just so I can curse people in public and make a scene of my rampant misanthropy without severe ramifications. People will just say, "Oh, she's got Tourettes. Don't mind her." And I can be left to my own devices and wallow in my ocean of expletives.

National Geographic Channel is showing this documentary on exorcism. It's thought that a lot of people who were accused of being witches or being possessed by the devil in the middle ages were actually just victims of Tourettes Syndrome. I wonder how many people diagnosed with Tourettes today are actually possessed by demons! Surely it can go both ways.

While some lucky folks are enjoying seasonal snowfall and are prancing about in their Winter Wonderland, I am experiencing balmy temperatures and thunderstorms. Mind, I love thunderstorms. I adore lightning and I'm inspired by tempests, but not in December. I want some frickin' Winter for once, dammit! I'm tired of living in the South where the only inclement weather we get is the occasional ice storm. I want a buttload of snow, a foot or more!

The last really fantastic snowfall we got was in 1988. It was in January of that year and the storm started when I was at work on third shift. The snow was coming down so thick and fast, we couldn't see our hands before our faces. Timothy told us that, if he did a donut in the parking lot, we could go home. So we all gathered outside and watched Tim do a fantastic donut in his orange Cherokee Chief. I barely got home that night. By the time I got in, there was about three inches on the ground, and I only lived 2.5 miles from work. When morning came, we had over a foot of snow and the whole of the Upstate was essentially shut down for over a week. It was glorious.

Watching this Evangelical exorcise demons, then accept tithes in the form of Mastercard, makes me want to manifest a demon of my own and go kick his ass in the name of god. Surely drawing on demonic power to off a shithead who is victimising the most ignorant among us is doing god's work, right? The end would justify the means in such a circumstance, I'll wager. People like this Evangelical deserve to be pounded like a veal cutlet on network television. That would be prime entertainment!

I'm having this undeniable desire to go camping. I think when I get the 401k money, I'm going to purchase a tent and two sleeping bags for the purpose of taking Aunt Tudi up to the Smokies for a camping expedition. I'd prefer to go back to Mills River, but I hear that area is now being "developed" and is no longer accessible by campers. But there are abundant camping opportunities in Western North Carolina. It's just a matter of finding that perfect spot.

There's just something supremely peaceful about dwelling in the forest and cooking beans over an open fire. And, if you're lucky, going to sleep to the sound of rushing river water right beside you. Yes, I must go camping this Spring.

Right before I fell asleep last night, I looked down at myself and this is what I saw: Chester at my feet, Shmoop between my knees, Riley up near my head, and Smidgen on my chest. I looked like a scene edited out of an old Hee Haw show. It'll be the same thing tonight. The beasties may change positions, but they'll all be on the bed with me, enjoying the warm cosiness of my blankets and watching a movie with me. Shmoop loves to watch TV.
tinhuviel: (Nathor)
Reading about the Yezidi, the Nephilim, and other religious/paranormal/spiritual matters, I got to thinking about what I believe....truly believe. My Inner Skeptic demands that I remain astride the spiritual fence. When I was still quite a young child, my dream was to be a preacher of some sort. I would stand at my makeshift pulpit and utter the mysteries of god and the universe to my amused family. I was also enamoured of the Judaic services wherein I was allowed to approach the altar and receive a cup of wine. It was all so mystical in my mind and I wanted to be a part of it. Then I heard a story about this man of god who was lost in the desert and began to doubt the presence of his deity. So he placed a cloth from his head on the dry desert floor and prayed to god, saying, "If you're with me, give me sign." The next morning, he awoke to find the cloth soppy with water. The water kept him hydrated long enough to get him out of the desert and he never doubted the existence of god again. Upon reading this, I felt it would be the perfect way to receive my own sign from god, in whom I completely believed. I just knew the cloth I put in the closet would be waterlogged after I prayed. The next morning, I found a bone dry cloth in my closet. I was 7 years old and was instantly introduced to agnosticism. To be honest, I've been agnostic ever since. So it's difficult for me to assign true belief to anything.

There was a mantra my Craft Mother taught me back in 1990: I believe in everything, nothing is sacred. I believe in nothing, everything is sacred. Pretty much, I adhere to that mantra. But there are some things that I can say I believe without too very much doubt.

So, here's what I believe, or at least what I think I believe.

  • I believe in a Creative Force, genderless, mindless and mindful, curious about its origins, and astonished by its ability to create. I believe that this thing shattered and, in shattering, created everything that we now perceive and an infinity of what we can't even begin to perceive. Each of us (by us, I mean every person, animal, bug, plant, star, asteroid, germ, atom) is a piece of the shattered force, each carrying a piece of the puzzle to help it figure itself out. What else could an agnostic believe in but a deity that's thoroughly unsure of itself?

  • I believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life forms. I believe some of them have been visiting our planet throughout history and have been misconstrued as gods/messengers of god by us dumb humans. To a point, I believe that they have taken advantage of our mistaken assumptions regarding them and their motivations by encouraging such beliefs.

  • I believe in cyclic time and that all of us are perpetually living and dying on an infinity of planes and realities.

  • I believe that the reality in which we live is malleable and made manifest by our own imaginations and limited perceptions.

  • I believe that the animal kingdom is far more intelligent and wiser than we, as a species, can comprehend. Our own inability to understand our fellow Earthlings leads us to believe that they are inferior to us, but I really think it's the other way 'round.

  • I believe that music is the most pure of methods of communication, being the language of the Creative Force.

  • I believe schizophrenics and savants tap into a world that very much exists and is closer to the Creative Force than "sane" or "smart" individuals could ever conceive.

  • I believe love is a concept that we, as humans, have difficulty understanding and expressing.

  • I believe that everything we currently know and think we understand will radically change and/or end in 2012.

  • I believe that powerful people have manifested powerful entities that have long subjugated not only their creators, but all who've had the misfortune of encountering them.

  • I believe the governments of this world know more than they let on.

  • I believe the religious powers of this world know more than the governments. What I wouldn't give to plunder through the Vatican libraries.

And that's about it. Like Mulder, I want to believe. Like Scully, I have difficulty doing so without a flatbed Ford full of questions.
tinhuviel: (Pentagram)
Why is a thoroughly Pagan movie like Legend airing on the PAX channel, which is owned by Pat Robertson? Isn't this an obvious indication that Mr. Robinson cares more for money than his tinfoil-thin morality? Or maybe he's allowing this to be shown to draw in us godless heathens so we can enjoy the endless hypo-cristian adverts in-between acts of this absolutely wondrous movie?

I need to check out David Bennent on imdb. The only movies I've ever seen him in are The Tin Drum and Legend. He makes a fantastic Elf. Aye, true dat. I need to get the European version of Legend on DVD, the one that has the Jerry Goldsmith score and the extra Faerie footage. There are so many good things about this version, the best of which is, of course, Tim Curry. He's simply magnificent as Darkness. Hell, he could be Darth Maul's long lost daddy.

Now there's a thought to ponder at length.
tinhuviel: (Spork)
I just found this essay I wrote at the Darth Maul Estrogen Brigade a couple of years ago and thought I'd post it here. Not only is it what I believe to a great extent (not only on a Star Wars level), but it also includes one of my favourite bits from any libretto ever ~ the eloquent and infamous intro to 'Big Night Music' by Shriekback.

Tales from the Darkside )

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