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I am working on this new video. Other than that, I can't think of anything to do.

I started my new journal and have been writing in it, and almost every day. It's a leather journal, and it's nifty.

If I had a car, I would be going places like to the mall or to the beach or anywhere out of here. I am too messed up to drive.

The Imaginary Man

    I am by default,
Silver--wearing my triple cross
And you are by default

Forget about me. I doomed you so violently.

Catch a Rainbow

   I am Elvin, belonging to a race of warrior people (who parade themselves in bright greens and pastel oranges) and who follow a man with broad set shoulders and a wry grin. This man is Sir Bolg. I live in a crimson palace made of sand, that was painted with rose oil. Sometimes I drift through the music that my servants play on their lutes, flutes, and violas. I believe that magic is everywhere, and exists within and without the stronghold that reality has set before my future fathers and mothers.

Here in my sanctuary, I can make my offerings in peace. My offerings of shells, stones, branches, are to the Gods of Sea and Insight, of the music and magic of midnight and to the warriors that sail on distance ships. Still, my silent peace is all that I have to offer. Lighting the bright candles, I feel the energy just pulsing through my fingers and melting into the wax candles.

"May you accept my offering, as it is for Sir Bolg of the firs and fires."

It is Mabon, September 22nd, the Autumn Equinox. I have decorated this wine colored altar with the four blue flames at their wind points. I watch them flicker as the crackling of the flames at the wind points, and peer into these windows to another world. The wind rushes into my soul with a gust and then all hush falls upon me. I listen, and the crow speaks to me. She tells me of the war coming to the Sand Castle and of the journey I will take in due time, when I will return home and resurrect our old ways with the pirates and Prince Sam of darkness.

The ritual lasts for four days and four nights. I practice my wanding, and carve flutes out of hollow bones. The night is pure and full of starlight. I plan to meet my King when I have finished my preparations for the secret journey to the Otherworld. In the otherworld, things are not what they seem, as I will risk having been enchanted for eternity by the Dark Lords of the Otherkin.

The beauty of autumn is that when everything is dying it is in a sort of spiritual reverie. For this is the time of rebirth and resurrection.
This is a beauteous time for worldy attainment and goals, for changing ones life and renewing the old. I take my leather journal out from it's bag and place the beautiful dark brown book upon my lap. This is when I should best form my thoughts into words, and not the language of the trees or ancient tree Ogham of the Druids. This is a time not for Elvish singing, but for mental clarity. To find strength that is all I have and journey to the otherworld, the Human World.


Brigit guides me as a snow Owl through the jagged amethyst hills and the snow capped mountains on Isoltania, the narrow bridge that no human but only the Bright Ones and rarely elves must cross to get to the compass bridge to get through Isoltania to the Narrowlands in Almost Human World. This is the realm where the Otherkin comingle and celebrate their righteous livelihoods.

It is getting cold, and the sun is starting to sink near the swamp. If I can't catch the golden thread which leads me to the bridge, I will be engulfed in snow and ice for eternity. This is why my fair lady Brigit is guiding me on this dangerous journey. I had only prayed and invoked the guardians the four days before my journey would have begun. The snow owl glides beyond the trees, and my feet feel cramped and sore as my leather boots are letting snow in. I feel such courage to get there, but have hardly any or no resources as this journey was not known by any of the Elven Folk at home.

When I make it stumbling down the path to a bridge, at first I wonder if this is it. Is it the actual bridge, I wonder. The bridge is a mere rope bridge to the other side of the mountain, coming to the edge of the hill I realize that it's not very far down from the bridge, only a few feet. So I begin walking, when suddenly a man grumbles from beneath the bridge and I hear a "How do you do miss?" I am wondering where the grumbling sound is coming from when out pops this strange looking midget, who couldn't have been a troll for he had no horns or hoofs.

"Be careful, miss, it's very eerie out and here's a question. Take a way the whole and some still remains. What am I?"

"Hmmm. You are wholesome indeed!" I reply and he smiles the tips and imaginary hat at me, "I will be your guide."

The Pagan Path
The Pagan Path
~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Today I have woken, and as I rise from my bed
Clear the sleepiness from my head,
I walk outside where the shadows sing of death
And er the morning, early beings reside beneath
To walk the pagan path is to sing a dark song
To dance the pagan dance is sweeter then any one
Her beautiful face is not haunting to me
But light brings me peace, her enchanted springs--poetry
Though the demons and darkness remind me of the past
Pan takes me far into his home at last
The Lady of the Forest speaks through the bird's songs
We are creatures, we were not just humans-- that's wrong
Waiting for worlds between worlds we sleep
For the full moon is yellow and is calling me to the deep
The palace of Jesters, to the kingdom of peace
In the world we have forgotten, the old ways of the trees
of our ancestors who remember how we came to be