Category Archives: Shrines


Mardi: Herbal-WiseMugwort has a long standing history as an enhancer of psychic powers.  It also has other properties that can be helpful when one is in need of strength, stamina and healing.  Unlike many other herbs, mugwort’s uses seem to be relatively well agreed upon by the different magickal disciplines.In Europe old wives, who were often the wise women of their towns and villages, used mugwort to aid their psychic abilities.  A weak tisane made from the leaves was sweetened with honey and drunk before reading cards, scrying or casting lots.  Note that mugwort is not recommended for ingestion when one is pregnant or nursing.  The same infusion, without honey, was used to “wash” cards, crystal balls, mirrors and runes.  A pillow stuffed with dried mugwort was thought to improve psychic power.Mugwort is said to improve stamina and strength if sprinkled in a person’s shoes.  While this is done in hoodoo with no particular ritual, Scott Cunningham tells us that the best results will be achieved if the mugwort is picked before sunrise while uttering the words tollam te Artemisia, ne lassus sim in via.In hoodoo, root workers burn mugwort on charcoal with frankincense or copal to encourage the aid of benevolent spirits.  Similarly, Wiccans burn mugwort with sandalwood to increase the efficacy of vision quests and psychic readings.Catherine Yronwode of the Lucky Mojo Curio Co. says that a red flannel mojo bag filled with mugwort, comfrey root and a St. Christopher medal will protect long-distance travelers not only from injury and illness but also from pesky annoyances like cancelled flights and lost luggage.In eastern countries, particularly China and Japan, mugwort is considered curative.  Incense made with mugwort was used by the Ainu people to expel disease, as the spirits who caused illness were repulsed by the smell.  Carrying mugwort on one’s person was also a balm for a myriad of ills, from headaches to insanity.  Bonne chance ~Header: Untitled illustration by Olaf Hajek

via HoodooQ: February 2012.


Generac – Control Your Power, Control Your Life.


Generac – Control Your Power, Control Your Life..

a batallion of peonies shoot pollen at bees



    Full metal flowers. Ventitre gradi.
    E’ primavera e invece e’ estate. Mi sono scottato. Dentro il sangue. Brucia questo caldo incendiando i colori e io ne sono trafitto. Non so da che parte girarmi. Mi strugge la sabbia sotto i piedi. Mi schiaffeggiano i potenti cespugli di ginestre giallo pieno lungo i bordi delle strade. I papaveri amarantati stesi come braci ardenti nei campi. Gli occhi mi fanno male per tanta bellezza. Vorrei gridare oppure ridere e invece mi tuffo nell’acqua.


    Posso berlo tutto il mare?


    E’ una droga. Inebbriante, cosi’ tossica. E’ questo profumo che mi costringe a dovermi contenere. E’ la mia vita passata che preme contro la pelle che conserva la memoria di certi gesti fatti in spiaggia. Il rastrello di metallo alla sera come un rito mentre si tolgono le impronte, le ultime dei bagnanti. E poi finalmente soli, il sole che cala come la fetta di limone nel rhum, il mare che si acquieta, il silenzio, qualche formina di bambino smarrito dopo una lunga giornata iniziata quasi all’alba. In fondo il bagnino e’ un eremita, un guerriero di un esercito formato da ronin. Ci trovavamo a volte a correre lungo la battigia dopo il lavoro, squadre speciali dell’elemento acqueo, come custode il cielo.


    Perdonatemi se vi parlo ancora del mare, non riesco a capacitarmi che hanno vietato le arbanelle di acciughe, vorrei fare il pescatore da grande. Mi aspetta un gozzo. Lo rendero’ unico. Trasportera’ fiori da una baia all’altra affinche’ le donne possano piangere. Ma di gioia e tenerezza. E un giorno verra’ una brezza leggera, profumera’ di fiori di zucca fritti e sugherelli, ci prendera’ per mano e ci fara’ volare sopra distese di violette.


    Sta marciando l’estate con passo fermo e deciso verso i nostri cuori.




    Full metal flowers. Twenty-three degrees.
    It ‘s spring and instead’ summer. I burned. Inside the blood. Burn this burning hot colors and I am pierced. I do not know which way to turn. Consumes me the sand beneath your feet. I slap the powerful full yellow gorse bushes along the roadsides. Poppies amarantati spread like hot coals in the fields. My eyes hurt for so much beauty. I want to cry or laugh, and instead I dive into the water.


    I can drink all the sea?


    It ‘a drug. Intoxicating, so ‘toxic. And ‘this scent that makes me having to hold. It ‘s my past life that is pressed against the skin that keeps the memory of certain gestures made beach.The rake of metal in the evening as a ritual while removing the fingerprints, the last of the swimmers. And then just finally, the sun sinking like a slice of lemon in the rum, the sea calms down, silence, some shaper of missing child after a long day began almost dawn. At the end of the lifeguard and ‘a hermit, a warrior of an army made up of ronin. We were sometimes running along the beach after work, special teams element vapor, as guardian of the sky.


    Forgive me if I speak yet of the sea, I can not comprehend that have banned arbanelle of anchovies, I would like to be a fisherman to be great. I expect a goiter. I’ll sink ‘single. Will transport ‘flowers from one bay to another so that’ women can cry. But with joy and tenderness. And one day will be ‘a light breeze, smell nice’ of fried zucchini flowers and sugherelli, we will take ‘hand and we will do’ fly over stretches of violets.


    Summer is marching with firm and decisive step towards our hearts.




The Pleiades Legacy shows that from early days there were many variations of a ‘sky-god’ religion and that related traditions, and legends, passed through the ages from one culture to another. The so-called ‘star beings’ were the gods in Ancient Mesopotamia, and in other countries, and early traditions tell us how many craft they came here in and how many of them visited Earth. The texts say that they were of similar appearance to man and they also describe their clothing. Some of the equipment of these ‘gods’ was adopted ,by rulers, as ceremonial, regalia and it has remained so ever since. These sky-god traditions explain many of the mysteries of the Early World, such as the purpose of Egypt’s Great Pyramid, and they still linger on in the names of commercial products, sayings, and the titles of some films and books.

Where some find the greatest riches, Medjugorje?

What is the transcendental whirl?

Saint Anthony’s Hospitaler


Here at St. Anthony’s Hospital, Jesus lends a hand.  If only he could turn that into wine and send it down a shoot towards me.Here at St. Anthony’s Hospital, Jesus lends a hand.

If only he could turn that into wine and send it down a shoot towards me.


My Lucca Queen of thee Camellias

Italy / Tuscany / Sant’Andrea di Compito

Back to Avalon

I remember going to parties in LA and this song was blaring.  My lush, wicked, wild youth living above the art movie house that True Romance by Tarrintino was filmed at, and it seems to be site of Tarrintino’s faves.  He used to sit in my cafe and write and i was totally oblivious.  My sole job during my youth was not giving actors and famous people any clue that I may recognize them and believe me it infuriated them.  I was in my own ostrich little world with my head in the sheltering sands while i worked the Eldorado espresso machine.  I had a system of listening to as much music and grooving along, smoking cigarettes while I poured almond and chocolate syrups for chocolate egg creams or Italian sodas.  On occasion as I am still known for, I would let a rip roaring signature laugh during an emerald road banter streak. One day I notice?  At first i could not possibly imagine what she was laughing at?  Then I realized it was like the Supremes and each woman had their intellectual beat nik rebel without a cause groove.  By night upstairs in the inner sanctum and near speakeasy was where only the insiders could go, all accept for of course my Mother.  We had a surrealist manifesto macabre den where a dozen people would come over and jam, making collages, writing poetry, painting, singing and Jim had his radio inside of his birdcage.  Jim who was a great poet slept in the cemetary one night and an own fell out of a tree and died on top of his head. Jim had an incognito bond with this dear owl and used every feather and talon as an homage in art pieces or poems.

My mother really was the high priestess, every 6 hours like a treatment she would recite a poem she had written and everyone was wont to do the same.  My mother then would pretend to make omelettes with beautiful crystalline multi colored marble eggs and just sighed.  When it was time to party?  We had a huge yellow Buick which belonged to our designated driver Snapper with a red afro. Going all over the hills of Hollywood and seeing the laboratories of Doctors in their mad scientist lairs I saw very odd creatures in formaldyhyde  jars.

Lots of underground singers like Candy Cayne and a friend wore the late John Belushi’s navy fedora with it’s polka dot band. I was known to go to 6 clubs in one night and then before the wee hours we listend to Brian Ferry.  It is so elegant, so lush and now i appreciate it more than ever.  I miss those days but not the excess of party lack of mercy.  6 years of foreign films and second run movies?  We all ate dinner in the theatre and it was grande.  I miss those days but I simply love New York.


egg sleeps, dreams.

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