Author Topic: Conservatives Worry Feminists Are Using Witchcraft To Destroy Trump  (Read 1374 times)

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Offline Fun With Matches

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Re: Conservatives Worry Feminists Are Using Witchcraft To Destroy Trump
« Reply #30 on: January 16, 2018, 09:04:39 AM »
@ Calandale: Ahhh.
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Offline Fun With Matches

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Re: Conservatives Worry Feminists Are Using Witchcraft To Destroy Trump
« Reply #31 on: January 16, 2018, 09:07:53 AM »
Do you still do any of that stuff except the freezer spells?

On occasion I do. No bad stuff, I follow the rule of three (wicca), I burn mostly lists of things or feelings I would like to let go of, or things I would like to see come into my life.

The thing IMO that I find most helpful/comforting about that isn't really the ritual but the fact that it makes you slow down and really think about the things you want and don't want in life.

That’s true, writing down what you really want, and being specific about it is actually quite hard. You have to get really specific and what you have written down afterwards changes so much after what you first wrote.
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Offline Lestat

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Re: Conservatives Worry Feminists Are Using Witchcraft To Destroy Trump
« Reply #32 on: January 16, 2018, 09:57:52 AM »
I get what you mean.

I forget the word, I think it was in a gaelic  dialect that an old friend used, who went to the place to help me lay down further binding rituals on the place and the thing called. But the two who came with me described feeling 'like a tsunami, a wave, only crawling, oily and thick, black and greasy made up of screaming human faces', thick, cloying, like the smell of burning grease or fat. Like something that at once moved like lightening in speed, but at the same time, slow, oozing, crawling, swamping the senses.

Someone I brought in who was into astral projection, after binding this fucker as best we could, tried and pulled back with tears in their eyes, poor fucker was shaking like she'd just seen her own family raped and killed by a knifeman. She tried to do this projection thing of hers, and pulled out fast, like, spent time preparing, although not looking too happy about it, despite being willing to try and help us in a joint effort, but she, after her preparations, was out like a gunshot's sonic crack looking like she had just been dragged through hell. Literally. She wouldn't speak of it to us, she wouldn't talk about it, never did. Just wanted us to help her to her feet and get the fuck out of there, and then stay close with her, after closing a circle together with the blades we used as athames (mine was an old wwI or WWII rifle bayonet, wish I still had it. Pigs took it. Although I did cleanse it with salt, water, earth, air and fire, finally, aether (what one would call spirit, not the chemical ether, aether, the intangible fifth element of binding being, if that makes sense) before using it as my ceremonial blade, given it was a military blade, old shortsword-style, about a foot long, double edged, wooden handle type bayonet, so had likely taken lives. It needed cleansing before ever being used, because of its origin and likely uses.

I haven't practiced anything in a long time, although I still read up. That...thing..though. Something the fuck was up in that place afterwards. People use to go there to party, teen groups we never knew or had owt to do with. Never saw ANYONE go in to that place after calling up what I called up. Over the wall, yes. But straight back out again, going to find somewhere else to get drunk. Not once did I ever see anyone go there and stay there, even after the binding. I reckon, assuming such a thing did indeed get called up, that it was bound, but not banished. Not for want of attempting to do so. But there was a feeling of 'this is a STRONG force, and blacker than darkness. Stygian, chaos, virulence, crawling, vile, and yes, I would use the word 'Evil', with a capital fucking 'E'. You think I'd go back to those flats and try explain why I wanted in, carrying a blade, black candles with drops of my blood in them and carvings in other alphabets of various sigils, salt and pure rainwater pre-blessed, saying, hey, can I come in for a moment, I'm sorry to bother you but there is potentially something heinous and vile, called up from somewhere you don't even want to speak of or think about, hanging around, and have you ever wondered why for so much of the time, those flats had 'for sale/to let' signs on them? well I'd stick to wondering because you don't want to know the answer to your question, and I am that answer'

Somehow, FWM, I have a distinct feeling that if there were tenants at the time, the likely response would be 'no you can't come in now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops and tell them there is a fucking black magick practitioner with a short sword strapped to his belt carrying a book full of very evil things at my doorstep, armed and dangerous'

Or, if I'd gotten the friends together, a bloody coven at their doorstep.

Would  YOU have let me in, if you were a little old lady living in some nice new flats coming with a free filthy swamping, oily, crawling necrosis-made flesh-composed slew of screaming human faces?

The others, some were more experienced light practitioners than I, by a fair shot, and the way they reacted when they went up and tried anything...gives me the creeps, makes my skin crawl even thinking about it now. And this was a decade ago at least. Whatever the hell that thing was, it was, is, an abomination. A filthy, awful, soiled, repugnant, diseased chaos-diarrhea turd antithesis of all that is good and wholesome in this or any other world. Complete with the cloud of black, bloated flies that accompanies your average physical turd, only...worse than flies. Far, far worse, even the tiny minor little things they would be individually. A foul stench almost, filled that place after some of that ritual work I did there.

The grimoire, it covers good and neutral magickal workings, practices too. But it also contains some of the blackest of the black, and the truly foul. And the thing called upon, it wasn't angelic, thats for fucking certain. Made the building feel sick and weak and ill. Like it was sapping the vitality of the place, and people who would go in it for any length of time, especially if they tried deliberately to make a connection to it. The poor astral projection girl, shit, she looked like she was going into shock from blood loss. Did the best we could to make the atmosphere happy and comforting, our company and friendship, etc. when we helped her get out of there physically.

Shit, even if I COULD get permission to just go back in there and do what I felt like....there ain't no fucking way I'd go near the place. Not after some of what happened.
Beyond the pale. Way, way beyond the pale.

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Re: Conservatives Worry Feminists Are Using Witchcraft To Destroy Trump
« Reply #33 on: January 16, 2018, 11:36:52 AM »
Oh it wasn't a wiccan shop. They typically sell all white arts stuff, difficult even to find a readymade black candle that isn't just a cheap piece'o'shit layer of black wax on a white candle. Which I find hypocritical at best if one WERE to want to engage in such practices, I should think any self-respecting perdition-spawn would be outright offended if called in a circle made of black candles white on the inside, LOL.

And don't worry FWM, I left out the details. Aside from the basics, and the target dying of cancer not long after. But yes, that was some very, very, very dark material in that book. I still have it as part of my library of many things, my own personal book-emporium. I'd be damn surprised if a wicca store would even allow that book in stock, the things in it you'd shudder if you read some of it. Hell I would. Not at first, but after actually employing some of the ritual material in the blacker parts of the book. That was, just as you describe, the blackest of dark. It was crawling with evil. And the worst part of it, was that BA entity, it WASN'T bloodthirsty. No, not at all. It was an unquenchable, ever-hunger for suffering, for slow torture, for misery and pain. Bloodthirsty, would just be happy with ripping somebody to little pieces with a thrown tray of knives in a horror movie. This thing was worse than I've ever seen in any horror movie. I'll never forget the words growled in that gravelly, deep bass toned voice, from a 13 (just about) year old girl 'touched by another, forever be MINE!', as though the words weren't coming from her mouth, but being ripped from the air using her mouth as a way to vomit it forth out into the world. She didn't know the place had been used. Shit, she didn't even remember saying those words. I can still picture it now, in my head, the way she snarled and shrieked and shat those words forth, vomited them up from god doesn't even WANT to know where. No good deity anyway. I don't know to this day how a girl with her normal voice, could physically shape those sounds with a female barely teenage larynx and vocal cords. It was vicious, oily and at the same time, hollow and slow, despite the speed they were voiced and spat out like a mouthful of diseased, mouldy clotting rancid milk accidentally gulped. There was an eerieness to it, an echoing, slow, mournfulness yet delighting in virulence.

Only way I can describe it, aside from haunting, which seems too blase' about it, is Arch-Vile. And I mean to make no reference to the hell-being from the 'DOOM' series of videogames. Arch Vile, is the best wording I can think of that fits what she said. Or what was said with her. Not said BY her, but said WITH her. As if picking up a tool and using it, like a rusty chisel to strike sparks from flint rocks. And at the worst part of the same time, with a touch of her feminine young voice to it.

Creepy. As. All. Fuck. If you'd heard it, at the time, you'd never forget it, and you'd want to be sick at the sound of it. At one and the same time, with a melody to it and with a brutish grunted, coughed-up, vomited forth ruptured abscess full of hatred, as if playing a violin strung with human sinews with a bow made from the rotting scaly hide of a puff adder which had died from slow, painful disease resulting in its having starved to death.

I still can't forget it. I doubt I ever will. And yet afterwards the girl herself, she just kept walking on, after pausing, at least until later when she was thrown through the air, as if someone had picked her up by the throat and chucked her like a casually tossed snowball, she paused briefly to 'speak' those words, honeyed with the produce of a beehive fed upon the nectar of hemlock and aconite, and dripping with venom and pus, then carried on walking, as if nothing had happened. Like I'd asked her 'what the fuck did you just say' and she turned round, looked at me as if I'd lost the plot, since she hadn't said anything at all.

 I might have to get it out just to have another read of it though, now I'm reminded of it. The book, I mean.

Lets just say though that no, your bloody well right I don't plan on putting that....that THING into use again. Certainly not that entity. Lets just say there are things that one should or can freely do on Samhain, and some that you really fucking shouldn't.  Pretty sure you've guessed precisely which category that working falls into.

IIRC the girl, that was one year after, again on Samhain night. And you'll never have seen somebody research bindings and restraining of things without bodies so sodding fast in your life before. Or after :P

For something (the book) as unusual, and from the smell of the paper, the look and feel of the bindings (of the book) quite old, the low price tag was, looking back, with hindsight, rather conspicuous, although it wasn't at the time.

As for whether its ended...I don't know. All I know is that everbody I knew then with any experience in the left hand path, or wiccans, both coming together, all to bind that thing, the thing that I would know now as the Arch-Vile, by feeling of its nature, the thing that defies all my logical, scientific knowledge from the chain of events post its being called upon and directed to perform a task (and at that a bloody bad one that I shouldn't have), yeah, that'll do it. It isn't It's Name, bloody buggery no, I don't know what is, and I don't WANT to know what its true personal name is (if something that is not a person can have a personal name.), at least, the Name that applies to It and It alone, that I don't know or wish to ever hear spoken by anybody who does.

But for short, as a reference point, 'the Arch Vile' fits as good as any. Feels like it fits evil like a well worn leather jacket. Hell is comfy in the term, like a pair of Tartarus's favourite well-worn-in boots.
Beyond the pale. Way, way beyond the pale.

Requiescat in pacem, Wolfish, beloved of Pyraxis.