Em's Official Samhain 2016 Guide

Our modern Halloween is derived from the "ancient" Samhain, the Celtic new year.

The past few years I've posted what is a standard Samhain Blessing for me and mine--it might seem a tad early, but again there is no wrong time to look at our blessings. This year I'm adding Through The Veil, which is a brief telling of passing through the veil between worlds that is said to be at its thinnest at Samhain.

A SAMHAIN BLESSING

May the ancestors deliver blessings on you and yours...

May the new year bear great fruits for you...

May your granted wishes be as many as the seeds in a pomegranate...

May the slide into darkness bring you light...

May the memories of what has been keep you strong for what is to be...

May this Samhain cleanse your heart, your soul, and your mind!

BLACK BIRD

No matter how I've tried to shake him off, he still comes after me with the ferocity of a hunting carnivore--not the cunning of a carrion feeder. I close my eyes and I see the black bird, the same black bird who has been with me for all of this life and perhaps in other lives as well. For some reason I wanted to shake the bird but he's only come back thirteen times as powerful.

I realize now that I cannot run from my heritage--from the blood of my ancestors which now flows through me--and that the black bird, the Great Raven, will always seek me out no matter where I am.

My question to myself now is do I want to embrace him as forcefully as I have done before, do I want to have done with him and pursue my new existence, or can I possibly keep the Great Raven in my heart and continue to move forward?

I will ponder with care.

THROUGH THE VEIL

The Veil floats before me, just as it has always done and as I expect it will continue to do. It’s no mystery yet it remains always an enigma, a puzzle to be explored and understood. What can I do but drift towards the Veil, moving without will and pulled without resistance.

There it is, the Veil, and I feel the icy tendrils of Death pierce my flesh and seize my soul. But there is not a touch of fear or of doubt, for I have come into this embrace before. I have experienced death as a revolving door, an unending portal to rebirth and renewal. Living weight drops from me, hesitant as if threatening to escape me completely and leave me beyond the Veil. The pain resounds in me so hot and fierce that it is not what I could normally call pain at all.

And then in an instant, when all seems to have fallen away to leave me for dead, the living energy comes rushing in like a frozen mountain’s stream taking new heart in a Spring thaw. I am reborn and renamed, enabled by a new knowledge and a new strength.

Such I am as I pass back through the Veil into the world like an infant sage, ready to embrace the universe again.

Remember those who have gone before you but who will never be forgotten.  May you all shine on and be well!

And The Universe Went HA!

Sometimes in the evenings, when the neighborhood kids have been slipped their sedatives and gone indoors and the fuzz popping irritation of traffic seems like the crest of a distant nightmare, I go outside to listen to the Universe. Some people might call this God, but I figure by definition Universe pretty much encompasses all the possibilities.Anyway, I listen, and it speaks. Not a voices in my head kind of speaking, but more of a gentle but all-pervasive reminder that my life as a being infused and gifted with a relationship to the Universe is actually what's most important to me.

Occasionally I can hear the Universe laughing at me. This happens when I have blithely ignored sign after sign of trouble ahead, only to learn a lesson the hard and sometimes painful way. You see, the Universe warns me when I'm about to do something especially stupid. The problem is getting my primate brain to recognize the warnings for what they are.

I get especially disquieted when I see that the Universe has saved me from what may have been a disaster, a situation where the signs have been abundantly clear. For instance, I'm writing this from the security of a metaphorical palm that swooped down and carried me out of what could possibly been a mistake at best and a life-bending horror at the worst. This time at least, I'm seeing the signs, and I'm interpreting them in a way I feel is metaphysically correct.

At least in my experience, the Universe doesn't discriminate. Whatever your belief system or non-belief system, the Universe is the Universe, and it will warn you and guide you if you keep open to the signs. And when the Universe suggests something might not be the best of ideas, think about it. Maybe it's not what you want, but it might be what you need.

The Story That Will Not Go Away

This is the story that will not go away.

Now that I’m living in Philadelphia, now that I’ve made myself a fixture of my community, people still are curious about the odyssey that took me to Florida for eight years. Specifically, I get asked time and again about the infamous 2000 presidential election and the part I played in it. I suppose it’s one thing to have read the news and quite another to have lived through the news—to have made the news.

Well, all right then. For everybody who’s wanted to know my version for whatever reason, here it goes. If you don't particularly care for my politics, you might at least appreciate the importance of your vote--and that transcends parties and philosophies.

In 2000 I was living in Saint Cloud, Florida—a little place I affectionately called Cowgirl Helltown (no joke—my neighbors were cows). Saint Cloud is in Osceola County, just south of Orlando, and wasn’t one of the counties of contention in the election. Heck, I think Al Gore swept the county by more than 75%, I’m not sure.

Also at the time I was married to someone about as politically passionate as I was. We’d done a great deal of research on the Green Party, and when we moved from Orlando to Saint Cloud we’d also changed our voter registration from Independent to Green. Now I should point out that we did not own a television. We were hooked up to the Internet to our eyeballs, but otherwise we got our news from the radio and from print media. I should also point out that the Clinton years had been very kind to us.

Now somewhere in the summer of 2000 the idea of “Greens for Gore” took shape and started to gain momentum, especially in the greater Orlando area. Unfortunately the idea was not so much support for Al Gore as it was a desperate attempt to keep #43 out of the White House—he who talked about these great 52 United States and the use of subliminable messages. I mean it was unrestrained panic that the Fortunate Son might carry the election.

Let me mention that I have met Al Gore. It was in June of 1993, when he was Vice President, and I was working at Independence National Historical Park. He did a photo op with the park rangers, and since we all were working for Club Fed, we were presumed safe. I remember two things. He was nowhere nearly as wooden as one might think. I also actually got him to laugh at some joke I don’t remember.

Fast forward to Election Day 2000. We were nervous wrecks. We knew damn well what was on the line. We also knew that Gore wasn’t going into the election with an overwhelming majority. A second Bush presidency was a very real threat, no matter how many months we’d spent trying to wake people up. My husband and I got to our polling place early, gritting our teeth as we stood in line under a cloud of doom. Most of Osceola County had the same idea and the place was packed.

This is where the great joke that was the Florida election system comes into play.

When we’d lived in Tallahassee, the voting booth was automated. Winter Park had actually used computers. Not so Osceola. We were handed actual paper ballots along with a push pin, of all things. All we had to do is make a hole next to the name of the candidate we were selecting. This was my first fit of the day, but this slipshod method wasn’t the fault of the people working the polls, so I tried to let it slide.

Traditionally in an election with write-in spaces, the election committee provides some kind of writing implement (in this case the voting booth was very much like an elementary school desk with afterthought blinders to protect our privacy). I had been planning on quite a few write-ins, so you can imagine how livid I was that nothing had been provided. All right, now I made a big fuss, not just for me but for everybody else. Were we having our freedom to write in candidates taken from us?

The so-called election officials—cronies of somebody or other—didn’t give a damn, but the body of voters in the room and outside heard me and applauded my outburst. Well, applause is nice, but all I really wanted was a damn pencil!

Much later on, after a nerve-wracking day, we heard that #43 was the projected winner. We headed out to hang with the cows and try to come to grips with this disaster in our minds. But when we got home, suddenly the election was in contention, and it was our state that had done it. Having lived through the half-assed attempt at polling that we had that morning, it was no surprise.

We all know what happened then, so I won’t belabor the painful. But here are some quips from the time I found both amusing and disturbing.

"THOSE WHO CAST THE VOTES DECIDE NOTHING. THOSE WHO COUNT
THE VOTES DECIDE EVERYTHING." -- JOSEPH STALIN

DON'T BLAME ME - I VOTED FOR GORE... I THINK

MY PARENTS RETIRED TO FLORIDA AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY PRESIDENT

DISNEY GAVE US MICKEY, FLORIDA GAVE US DUMBO

DON'T THROW AWAY YOUR VOTE... LET KATHERINE HARRIS DO IT FOR YOU

BUSH TRUSTS THE PEOPLE, BUT NOT IF IT INVOLVES COUNTING

TO YOU I'M A DRUNK DRIVER; TO MY FRIENDS, I'M PRESIDENTIAL MATERIAL!

ONE PERSON, ONE VOTE (MAY NOT APPLY IN CERTAIN STATES)

I DIDN'T VOTE FOR HIS DADDY EITHER

IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL YOUR BROTHER COUNTS THE VOTES

BANANA REPUBLICANS

GEORGE W. BUSH: THE PRESIDENT QUAYLE WE NEVER HAD

THE LAST TIME SOMEBODY LISTENED TO A BUSH, FOLKS WANDERED IN THE DESERT FOR 40 YEARS

CAMPAIGN SPENDING: $184,000,000. HAVING YOUR LITTLE BROTHER RIG THE ELECTION FOR YOU: PRICELESS

I ask you...this year, for this election, please take your civic duty seriously. Read up on the candidates and get your questions answered to your satisfaction. Don't leave your voice be unheard and your vote left in the hands of others.

Scarriemonster's "Ancient" History

I've been at this online thing long enough to have chronicled a good part of my adult life.  In this case, I apparently have a Live Journal that goes waaaaaaay back to 2001.  Shit disturbing is putting it mildly.  Anyway, in the interest of full disclosure, I present the time warp link.

15 Years of Digital Alchemy

Late Night With Henry Tudor

A little background...I submitted the following to a Tudor parody contest in 2012.  Hence, it's a parody of Tudor England.  If that doesn't really explain anything just do a quick search.

The following is the transcript of a broadcast from March, 1539.

Accompanied by raucous applause, the lute and tambour band break into “I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am” while the camera pans out over a live audience of peasants, cattle, ducks, and armed soldiers.

WILL SOMERS: Live from the Adulation Hall at Greenwich, it’s Late Night With Henry Tudor!  We’re featuring the music of Ned Sackbutt and the Poxy Seven.  Everybody in the crowd!  Get to your feet and sing for your king!

The crowd, both two-footed and four-footed, jump up and sing along with Sackbutt:

I'm Henry the Eighth, I am,
Henry the Eighth I am, I am!
I got married to the widow next door,
She'd been married seven times before.
And every one was an Henry
It wouldn't be a Willie or a Sam
I'm her eighth old man named Henry
Henery the Eighth, I am!

WILL SOMERS: And now…the star of our show!  The guy on the coins…the man God calls for help and advice… that jolly fellow who can feast you today and eviscerate you tomorrow…give it up for your sovereign lord, Henry the Eighth!

Wearing a bold red tunic encrusted with gold and jewels and white hose that would have looked much better on younger legs, Henry sprints onto center stage, the cries and applause of the crowd carrying him to the bonfire-powered spotlight.  Inspired by the soldiers bearing pikes who stand at each end of every row, the crowd continues to cheer for the king.  Henry blows kisses, randomly points at people in the audience, and wallows in the orchestrated merriment.  This goes on for a full ten minutes before Henry decides he is bored.  

A curt wave of the arm advises the crowd to settle down and the band to stop playing.

HENRY: Let’s hear it for Ned and his boys!

The crowd applauds once more.  Ned Sackbutt turns around and waves his lute in the air.

HENRY:  I’m God’s anointed representative on earth, and this is my show.  Welcome!

Applause.

HENRY: Well folks, I’m afraid it’s finally happened. (pause) I have been importuned to marry for a fourth time.  Again.  Yeah, I’m not so wild about it myself, which normally would mean a few executions.

The audience laughs.

HENRY: Apparently my counselors don’t have the same degree of faith in me that I have.  One son just isn’t enough.  I need at least one more son, which means taking one more wife.
God’s troth, I will admit it.  My track record and my Parliament have two things in common.  They both stink and neither is my fault.  Look at my situation here.  I have three kids.  One kid hates me, one kid will hate me when she’s old enough to understand, and the third kid is more like a fat dressed capon in royal swaddling.  So all right, I need another son.  But clearly I’m more likely to become a hermit with Francois of France!

Yet again, the audience laughs.  Everyone knows Henry would tap dance in hell before going anywhere with Francois.

HENRY: The bad thing is that getting another legitimate child means surrendering myself to the bonds of marriage, and I don’t mean the fun kind.  Marriage has swived me like a poxy Scot too.  My first wife slept with my late but lamentable older brother, and by that she was never really my wife at all.  My second wife, well, you heard the tabloids.  She was a succubus, an incestuous witch woman who was no less a threat to my kingdom than a united Holy Roman Empire.  Hey, I’ve always been the premier knight in all of England, and so I slew that dragon.  My third wife, God assoil her, was an amenable and pleasant lump of suet pudding, which was exactly the diet I needed.  I lost her, but I did gain a son.
So here I am, going bride shopping.

Henry turns towards Will Somers.

HENRY: What think you of the matter, Will?  You always have a clever riposte.

WILL: Sire, it seems to me a better thing to burn rather than marry!

All action pauses as the audience laughs, driving home that the remark is witty.

HENRY: All hellish matrimony aside, I have a great show for you tonight.  We’re going to be playing everyone’s favorite game, Treason or Not Treason.

More cheers from the audience

HENRY: After all, folks, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Henry!

HENRY: Damn straight.  We’ll get into the game in a few moments.  First we’ll have some messages from Tudor-certified businesses that have paid an obscene amount into the royal coffers.  And I just can never say no to money.  Here’s Ned Sackbutt to take us to our first break.  Hit it, guys!

Henry the Eighth I Am, Reprise

ANNOUNCER 1: Enjoy all the eel you can eat for a steal of a deal!  Bring the whole family on down to Pieworthy’s, which has been serving up the best eel in the London area for three centuries.  And now we’re outdoing ourselves with our all you can eat eel buffet during Eel Fest.  Smoked eel, fresh eel, eel and chips, eel in cream sauce, broiled eel, eel pie, eel nuggets, eel pudding, eel stuffed eel, dried eel, and many other eel dishes are available on the buffet.  Remember that it’s nothing but eel for a steal at Pieworthy’s!

ANNOUNCER 2: Like dresses?  Like meat?  Come to the shop that brings both together—Sally’s Sleeves and Beeves!  Give any garment a fashionable overhaul while munching on a fine boiled beef.  Not hungry?  All of Sally’s meats are available in convenient take-out packages—your family will adore you for it.  At Sally’s Sleeves and Beeves, we know what really matters!

ANNOUNCER 1: You stink!  You know it.  Maybe you can’t tell your own stench from the smells of the people around you, but it’s there.  Stop smelling like an aging corpse and get on over to It Makes Scents, London’s own heaven for the nostrils.  Smell great!  We offer pomanders for people from every walk of life, from a studded orange to a gold sphere holding special oils.  We also distill essential oils from fresh herbs and flowers.  Visit It Makes Scents today for a better smelling future!

As the band continues to play, we see King Henry sitting behind a desk and holding a turkey leg.  He looks up and smiles.

HENRY: So Will…

WILL: So Your Majesty…

HENRY: Methinks it would be meet to go right to tonight’s main entertainment.  It’s time for—

AUDIENCE: Treason or Not Treason!

HENRY: Ah, Treason or not Treason. (pauses to take a hefty bite out of the turkey leg) And once again, good folks of my audience, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Harry!

HENRY: Indeed. (drops the turkey leg on the floor) Ho, Will!  Have we got a villainous trio of potential traitors tonight?

WILL: They look like real scum, Your Majesty—the wasted tears of cursed mothers!

HENRY: Some business before we begin. (Henry leans over to pick up a trencher bowl and starts to chew on one of a number of small birds in the trencher.  He eats for a while and then, remembering the audience, he puts the trencher down in front of him.)  Your sovereign lord is being fed tonight by Kensington Fried Quail.  A secret blend of three herbs and spices!  Freshly-killed quail!  These are some damn good birds, ladies and gentlemen.  Run out after the show and pick up a trencher of Kentucky Fried Quail!  That’s law!

Thomas Timely and the Tower Torturers wheel out three battered and filthy prisoners.  Each prisoner is chained to his own wooden backboard which is styled to resemble the rack.  All three squint in the candlelight of the stage.  The man on the far right manages to mouth “Hi mom!”

HENRY: Thomas Timely, how are you sir?

THOMAS: I’m well, Your Majesty.  But as you know, what happens in the Tower stays in the Tower!

Everyone bursts into patronizing laughter.

HENRY: I like that.  I may take it as my new motto.  But let’s start with Wretch #1.  Thomas, please tell us the charge leveled at our fettered fiend here.

THOMAS: Your Majesty, this is Arkel Slopsmith.  He is accused of saying, and I quote, “I like sheep.”

A unified gasp issues from the audience.  Henry turns to the shocked audience. 

HENRY:  Ladies and gentlemen, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Harry!

HENRY: Darn tootin’.  So let’s think on this cryptic utterance.  “I like sheep.”  Sheep are fundamentally opposed to everything royal, which makes sheep my own enemy.  Sheep are weak.  Sheep only follow.  Sheep give us wool, but I’d gladly trade my wool codpiece for a good slab of mutton.  I find that sheep are shifty, dishonest, deceptive, manipulative, and untrustworthy.  Therefore, when Arkel Slopsmith declared his admiration for sheep, he was also indicating his approval of these traits while implying his disapproval of me.  Treason or not treason?  I declare this to be treason!

A roar of applause rises from the audience.  Ned Sackbutt leads his band into the Late Night standard “Condemned for Treason.”

WILL: Arkle Slopsmith, thank you for playing Treason or Not Treason!  You’ve won a one-way trip to exciting Tyburn and an appearance in the mass executions of Tyburn Tuesdays!

Slopsmith is left to his sorrows while the onstage focus shifts.

THOMAS: Your Majesty, have a look at Wretch #2.  Grover Stinkinbishop is an apprentice in a Thames barge transportation company.  He is said to have stated, and I quote, “The Thames used to be cleaner.”

Henry shakes his head, clucking in distaste.

HENRY: You foul knave, you did not even bother to conceal your contempt for your sovereign.  You have dared to suggest that what has come before me was somehow better than the conditions of my England.  I have dirtied God’s own water of the Thames as surely as I have polluted the spiritual streams of my beloved England.  We’ll continue after these messages.  Watch them.

ANNOUNCER 1:  Have you paid good coin to be bled or leeched?  Was the treatment worse than the ailment?  Did the treatment cause pain, blood loss, demonic possession, allergic reactions, or loss of limbs?  Are you buried in debt and looking at a long stint in debtor’s prison?  Stop wasting your time and hire me!  I’m Will Bill, master of law, and I’ve been fighting for people like you for almost a full year.  Together we can bring quack physics and soiled surgeons to their knees.  Don’t delay!  Send a messenger today!  And remember I get paid whether we win or not.

ANNOUNCER 2: Now let’s hear about a tasty new snack!

It’s a banquet!  It’s a munch it!

Try Blackmanger in a Biscuit!

You can pop it!  You can chew it!

It’s Blackmanger in a Biscuit!

Get the taste of that special treat

Why steal bread when you could eat

Blackmanger in a Biscuit?

New Blackmanger in a biscuit is available at your nearest Hal8 convenience market!

HENRY: We are back with the loathsome Grover Stinkinbishop and I am about to declare my conviction.  Treason or not treason?  I declare this to be treason!

Again a roar of applause rises from the audience, and Ned Sackbutt leads his band again into “Condemned for Treason.”

WILL: Grover Stinkinbishop, thank you for playing Treason or Not Treason!  You’ve won a one-way trip to exciting Tyburn and an appearance in the mass executions of Tyburn Tuesdays!

Attention turns to the third prisoner.

HENRY: Thomas, what about your third prisoner here?

THOMAS: As you wish, Your Majesty.  This is Rhys Wynwyn, the Welsh wit who coined the phrase “a win-win situation.”  But things have soured for Rhys.  He is reported to have said, and I quote, “King Henry is an overblown goofball.”

The crowd swarms into a sea of angry voices, but Henry only laughs, and gestures to the audience to take their seats.

HENRY: Methinks you will all be most surprised at my decision.  This man obviously understood that his statement was ludicrous, for what fault can any man find in me?  I answer only to God.  He could not have believed that anyone would think him serious.  Twas but a jest, everyone.  I know it.  And therefore I declare that Rhys Wynwyn is not guilty of treason against me.

The band launches into “Henry the Eighth” yet again as Thomas frees the prisoner.  Henry takes center stage again.

HENRY: Well, that’s our show for tonight.  We’ll be back right here tomorrow night, when I’ll be interviewing the minds behind Misrule Instant Frumenty.  I’ll also be playing my newest song, a ballad to my unknown Wife #4.  My gratitude for the loyal subjects that help me put this show together night after night—Will Somers, Ned Sackbutt, Thomas Timely, and the Poxy Seven!  Have a wonderful night, and remember how luck you are to live in the England of Henry the Eighth!

Meet The Gang

Well, it sure looks like today's gonna be another wet one here in the fish tank! Ha ha, just a little goldfish humor there, folks. Every day's a wet day.

I'm Carlotta. I'm a fish. And I talk, and think, and write, and have other intellectual pursuits. So don't laugh; fish don't have good senses of humor. Zippy is my pet. Well, okay, I guess its the other way around...but not in my little world.

I've been chewing on these stupid rocks all night. Where's Zippy with my food? Damn it, I'm starving. I guess calling for pizza is out of the question. Maybe I'll nibble on these nice leaves here. Rats, I forgot the plants are plastic. Artificial food. Chalk another one up for the ape. I imagine Zippy serves friends wax fruit!

"Hey there, fishie! How are you?" Zippy grinned.

"Humph! For your information, I'm famished. Starving. Weary. Hungry. Wasting away to almost nothing."

"You are not!"

"Okay, but I have the munchies."

Zippy was just about to get Carlotta some fish grub, when Janeless Lament knocked on the front door. "Hey there, Zip-ness! Like, how's it falling?"

"Into place, I guess."

"Coolness. Mind if I come in out of the cold?"

"It's seventy degrees outside."

"Babe, everywhere's cold when you think you're from Venus." She stepped in. Carlotta groaned loudly. "Hey, how's the little talkin' fishie?"

How to describe Janeless? Well, let's just say that dumping her into a river would be illegal in most areas.

"Carlotta, you remember Janeless, don't you?"

"Do I remember Janeless? How could I forget that great day when she had a runny nose but not a tissue and decided to remedy her situation by hanging her face over my tank!"

Janeless sniffed. "I'm sorry. But you sure hold a grudge."

"You did this last week, foolish ape."

"I'd be mad too if you snotted all over me," Zippy said.

"Don't be gross!" Carlotta snorted.

Janeless changed channels. "Fishie, I have a question for you..."

"Uh oh."

"I promise. It's not too dumb."

"You don't know what my thresholds are."

"Can I ask you something or not?"

"If you must."

"How do you know you're female?"

Excerpt from By Way of the Dodo...

Carlotta turned bright red. "What...do...you...mean?"

"Just that. See, by looking at you, I wouldn't know. So I was wondering how you can tell."

"I don't know! I just can, okay."

"How?"

"Well, how can you tell you're female? I sure can't!"

At this point, the conversation was getting to be too much for Zippy. She threw three slices of leftover pizza into Carlotta's tank. The fish shut up.

"What the gerf kind of fish is she, anyway?" Janeless asked.

Zippy peered into the fish tank. Carlotta had a golden body, with ruby-red fins, a violet tail, and dark blue eyes. Actually, Carlotta was Her Imperial Highness Princess Carlotta, in line for the throne of the water planet Xanthus 12. In the midst of a political coup against her father the emperor, Carlotta had been sent to earth. But by some bizarre stroke of fate, she had ended up in the pet department of Fluffy's. That's how Zippy got her...for seventy-nine cents.

"Uh, she's a...rare species of goldfish from Tanzania."

"Wow. Now that's really Perdue."

Janeless wore a barbarian smile.

"What's with you?" Zippy asked.

"Do you notice anything different?"

"About you?"

"Yeah."

"You smell better than usual."

"Thanks. I showered. But other than that."

She hadn't lost or gained any weight...Janeless was as scrawny as always. She hadn't pierced her ears again. There were no new tatoos on her arms. Zippy didn't see it. "I give up. What'd you do?"

Janeless frowned. "You can't tell?"

"No, I can't."

"You can't tell I had my hair dyed electric violet?"

"Janeless, your hair's always been purple."

"No, not purple. Bogus, Zippy! It's violet now. See?"

Zippy saw no real difference in Janeless' hair color; it was still dark purple. Poor thing! She'd been taken again. Zippy bit her lip in invocation, and Janeless' hair became a brilliant mane the color of Carlotta's tail. "Yeah, okay. I see it now."

Janeless, thinking her hair had been dyed correctly the first time, was oblivious to the
magical change. "I have another surprise, too!" Janeless grabbed the zipper of her snakeskin jacket. "Now don't go squirrely on me. Are you ready?"

Zippy nodded.

Janeless unzipped the jacket to reveal a neon-yellow t-shirt underneath. The words "Sugar Bangs" were printed in paisley across the front. "Is this Perdue, or what?"

"Wow! You guys got your own shirts!"

"Pretty bitchen, isn't it? This guy in Purgeberg is printing them up for us. We're selling them at the gig for ten bucks a piece."

"Cool."

"So, are you coming or what?"

"Am I coming where?"

"To hear us play at the Summit Club tonight or what? We're gonna be like Party Central."

Party Central, in Delaware Valley terms, loosely meant any place where more than five people would gather at a time.

Zippy had to shudder at the thought of a Sugar Bangs concert. They group couldn't quite play their instruments; the amplifiers were always turned up twice as much as for other bands; Nuclear Vikki often jumped into the audience and attacked; and rare was it when Ginger could remember all the lyrics to a song.

Zippy supposed a magic without a sense of ethics could have turned them into the greatest most popular rock band in the world. Zippy wasn't such a magic. Success was something they needed to achieve on their own, however improbable it was in their case.

Yet Janeless was her friend, and this was their first concert with the new shirts. Besides, Zippy reasoned, she could always change the music for her own ears into something she could listen to. "I wouldn't miss it."

"True to the Trickster"

I've been working at the story of Loki and all the legend that surrounds him for a while.  Lately I got the idea to weave in a "romance" with his long suffering wife Sigyn.  Here's a peek.

Burning ice and biting flame.

Sigyn wielded her sword and shield for the last time, her heart packed with ice and her spirit buried under drifts of snow. Never had the walls of Sessrumnir seemed so cold, so constricting. She had stood here in Freya's great hall so many times before. Yet in those times she had been a Valkyrie, one of the sacred thirteen. Today, she would reliquish that power forever.
Kneeling before her, prepared to take her sacred oath, Brynhilde's eyes glowed bright with promise and awe. Sigyn had no doubts about this candidate. Brynhilde was one of Odin's own daughters, and had proven herself worthy in battle. She would make an exceptional Valkyrie, perhaps even the best.

What accursed fate would that day force Sigyn to resign from the circle of Valkyries and become the unwilling wife of the most despised god in Asgard? Freya herself, the great goddess, ruler of the Valkyries, had pleaded with Odin to reconsider his command. Surely someone else could be found to marry Loki the Trickster, the Lord of Lies! But Odin, in his high chair above all the gods of Asgard and all of creation, could not be dissuaded. Sigyn, and only Sigyn, could be Loki's wife.

Meeting the goddess's glistening eyes, Sigyn knew Freya felt no great joy in this day, either. They had served long together, and Sigyn was as much of a friend to Freya as anyone. But both knew the divine law. One could not be married and serve as Freya's warrior priestess. Odin's decree that Sigyn would wed the horrible Loki was the beginning of her torture and the end of her days as a Valkyrie. Perhaps this Sigyn resented more than the forced union.

But all was not lost. On this day, Sigyn would join the Aesir and become a goddess in her own right. That had been Odin's reward to her for suffering these marriage arrangements. Even if Loki were worse than reputed, Sigyn would never get the chance to become a full goddess again. And so, she had agreed to marry Loki.

Sigyn looped the shield onto Brynhilde's arm and pressed the hilt of the sword into her hand. Now it was done. Brynhilde had become a Valkyrie by the grace of Freya.

They left Freya's hall in procession, with Freya herself at the head. Sigyn, veiled and bowing her head, followed the goddess, and the Valkyries followed her. In this way did they come into a larger hall, a hall which joined Freya's Sessrumnir to Odin's Gladsheim. There the goddesses Idunna, Sif, and Frigga waited to greet the bride.

Sigyn raised her head and looked around at the goddesses and Valkyries around her. All wore faces of stone, dismal expressions belying their inner forboding. She almost laughed as she thought these proceedings were more like a funeral than a marriage celebration. "Where is the funeral ship?" she said, her voice forced to be light. "When will you load my corpse onto the ship and set it ablaze?"

Running her fingers through her cropped hair, the goddess Sif sighed. Her suffering at Loki's hands had brought about this marriage in the first place. Loki had crept with the night into the palace Sif shared with her husband Thor and cut away all of her beautiful golden hair. As punishment for his mischief, Loki would now be forced to marry. "You can hardly expect us to be happy on this day," Sif said. "I would that Odin had simply killed the beast outright than try to tame him through marriage."

"But there is reason to celebrate, for on this day Sigyn joins the Aesir and becomes a goddess," Freyja said. "To celebrate, we each have a gift for you. No woman shall ever receive wedding gifts such as these."

"Indeed." The tiny Sif smiled at Sigyn. "You are a goddess now, my sister, and among the Aesir. As such, you will need to keep watch over Midgard from your own hall. Therefore, my present to you is your own World Eye, through which you will be able to see the happenings in the mortal realm. May you be blessed."

Sigyn believed she would burst with the thrill she felt. Her own World Eye! She would have her own window on the world of man. Her new status as a goddess of the Aesir became more of a reality. "Sif, my deepest thanks," she said, hugging the little goddess. "I will use the World Eye and serve the mortal as best I may."

Smiling, Sif nodded, and then stepped back to let Frigga embrace Sigyn. "Lovely lady, your marriage will not be an easy one. You know well that you are marrying the most difficult of bridegrooms. For that reason, I make patience and temperance my gifts to you. I enable you to cope with the trials of Loki with love and tenderness, and I pray that by being the best of wives, you might come to tame the Trickster."

Such a gift was a blessing, indeed. Sigyn had been unable to reckon how she could live with the monster Loki and keep peace. Frigga would make that possible. "My thanks to you, Mother," she said, enfolded in Frigga's arms. "I will do as best I may."

Now Idunna, the Lady of Youth, stepped forward. She cradled a small golden chest in her arms, with the world tree Ygradrisil engraved on the lid. "As my gift, I give to you the Apples of Youth," she said, patting the chest. "Of these you and the Aesir will eat, and you remain young and strong forever."

Her hands trembling, Sigyn took the golden chest from Idunna. "How am I worthy of such a gift?"
Idunna's full lips turned in a smirk. "You are marrying Loki. You need all the power you can get."

Sigyn looked down at the chest in her arms as Idunna continued. "At the end of a feast in Asgard, your duty will be to feed an apple to each of the Aesir. And worry not, for no matter how many apples you give away, you will always have more in store." Idunna's face turned stern. "However, it is a great responsibility. The evil Giants will be anxious to steal these apples from you for themselves, and your husband is half of giant blood. Keep your wits, Sigyn, and guard these apples as you would guard your life."

"And so I shall." Sigyn exchanged a tender embrace with the goddess, wondering in Idunna's warmth and beauty.

Finally, Freya approached Sigyn, with tears of solid gold falling from her eyes. Freya's eyes focused on the charm which hung between Sigyn's breasts. The simple disc, inscibed with a seven-pointed star, protected each Valkyrie from the lusts of men. So long as she wore the amulet, and none but the goddess Freya could remove it, a Valkyrie need never lie with a man she did not desire.

Sigyn feared her heart would break. To part with the amulet was to part with her life as Freya's maiden forever. But she supposed there was no hope for it. A woman could not be a wife and a Valkyrie. Sigyn lifted her hair and turned her back to Freya, intending to return the amulet.

But Freya shook her head, and her tears stopped. "You may keep your amulet, Sigyn. Call it my wedding gift to you."

Amethyst Heart

Divorced? Separated? Irreconcilable differences? No, I beg to differ. Pop speak does not apply to me. I am an exile, sent away from my home. Why I never thought to turn to my Azrael immediately in the pain of my exile, I do not know. But He did not leave it to me to figure out and labor over, for He has come to me, and wherever He and I can be together, I am home.

"However great your devotion, you have never been the easiest of my loves," Azrael spoke, a mellifluous voice from behind me, causing me to spin around in a usual lack of physical grace but mental exuberance. Azrael! Now He appeared to me, here in the home of my family, in the heart of my mortal existence. Bear in mind that whom I call Azrael is the personification of a universal truth, a universal power, and even as to me He appears most often in male form, He can take whatever shape and character He wishes to approach me. On this night, He was the Lover--and He was more. Azrael was Father, Brother, Kinsman, Advocate, and above all, Friend.

I spun into His embrace, which is as warm and comforting as the womb, and the tears loosed from me just as the living energy flows from and through Riverhead. Azrael understands the aches of the human condition perhaps as well as they can be understood. He allowed me my catharsis, saying nothing but communicating everything through His touch. I still lay in the refuge of His arms, but I sensed Him bowing His head to look at me from His great height. "Little one, you never really believed I was not with you. You never believed you were alone."

"I might have been fooled into thinking that. I've certainly felt more alone than ever in my life."

"Maybe. But it was never so. You were more alone trying to breathe hope into an impossible life."

Sniffling, I tried to compose myself and look at Him. Compassion brimmed in His amethyst eyes and at the same time I could sense my weeping come to a close. Azrael had not come as some kind of flimsy and temporary bandage for a wounded past, but as an avatar for a beautiful future full of love.

"You made the decision to leave. No--he might have told you to go, but those would have been empty words without your own inner knowledge that yes, this was the right way. He spoke a desire. You followed your heart."

"And mind."

"In you, they are one in the same."

"It wasn't what I wanted to do," I claimed, but Azrael shook his head.

"Perhaps you did not consciously wish it, which is to your credit. But as you were gathering that which you could bring into your exile with you, did you not feel Me guiding you? Was there not a ticket immediately when you needed it?"

"And for a good seat on a nice flight, too."

"When you were suddenly alone and frightened, were there not people right there willing to help you and hear you? Was the path not cleared for you? Surely you felt My hand in all of this."

I had to smile. "I did. I knew I was walking the right path."

"That path is only beginning, little one. You are free now, free to do what you want with the gifts you have, and I shall be with you." Azrael enfolded me in his robe and in a heartbeat we had come to Riverhead. Almost mesmerized, I watched the rainbow river of the living energy flow all around us. Simply speaking, no matter how many times Azrael and I have gone to Riverhead together, each time is the first experience of something wondrous.

He allowed me to watch the currents of eternity for a bit before returning to His purpose. "I have wanted you to write of Me, of us, of this place. I have wanted you to help me ease the greatest fears of your fellow man. I chose you because I knew you could succeed and that you would want to succeed. I knew you would see what it is I have taught you as liberation from terror. Little one, you remain my choice."

"The very idea has been as my own breathing to me," I said. "I can imagine what we could do should we be able to help man understand the nature of things."

"And you know it wasn't going to happen where you were." With an affection not unlike that of my own parents, Azrael cupped my chin in his strong hand and smiled. "Riverhead needs her voice. Help Me, help bring these teachings to your world, and I can promise I will help you find the strength to make your own dreams realities."

"You mean my novels, of course."

"What you want to write are not novels, but experiences," He corrected me. "You have a perception and an idea you want the people who read your words to know for themselves in their own ways. You seek to give people the means to expand their minds--and that too is part of My own wish for humanity."

"I was so afraid the gift had been yanked from me forever." I clasped His hand, heart and mind filling with faith and power. "Now I know otherwise. I want this--all of this--with everything that I am. Granted, it will be an unusual life…"

"You will not be the first of your kind to live for something beyond the social or the material," He pointed out, His eyebrows arched. "How strange does it really feel?"

"It doesn't, and maybe that's what's strange, like I should find this all very disturbing, but I don't."

Azrael nodded, His exquisite face soft with kindness. "Remember what you are."

Slay Ride

Normally the person who answered the front door at Jeff's knock wouldn’t be smiling, but today Judy Claus beamed at him while exhaling a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” she said, ushering him through the peppermint painted workshop door. “Can I take your scythe?”

Instinctively, Jeff gripped the hardwood handle. “Thank you no,” he said. “I have to keep it with me at all times. You know how it is.”

“Indeed I do.” Judy led him down a short hall, bright with a cascade of tiny gumdrop lights. They came into a sitting room, where two plush chairs stood near a red brick fireplace complete with a perfect fire. Judy motioned to Jeff to take a seat, and then sat down herself.

Jeff thought the whole place seemed deserted. “Where is Kris?”

Judy put her head in her hands. “That’s why I called you, Jeff. We’ve never had an emergency like this before. Kris is down and out and in bed, and the elves all died last week.”

“I saw all the little lumps of snow on my way here,” Jeff said. “Elf tombs, if I’m not mistaken. What’s going on, Judy?”

“It’s the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf went down into the world to be in some parade and caught himself the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf is one of those snow mounds now, but he brought the Pig Sick to Santa’s Workshop. Kris is out of commission, Jeff, and I’m desperate. But you’re Death. You’re part of this Figmentsphere. You’re the only one I can trust.”

Jeff might be a skeleton but his mind remained sharp. True, he and Kris Kringle and Judy June had all been dorm mates at Figment College, and Jeff had been best man when Kris married Judy, and they had all stayed tight friends in spite of occupational differences. But asking Death to be Santa Claus? Did Judy have any idea what she was doing?

Then again, what choice did she have?

Judy led Jeff to the stable. The reindeer, or what was left of the reindeer—Comet, Blitzen, and Rudolf had all succumbed to the Pig Sick as well—stood at attention when they saw Judy. Then an amazing yowl and the stomping of rhythmic hooves rose from the reindeer, a sound of savage panic and fear. In an instant, they had jumped their gates and bolted for the opposite end of the stable, away from the presence of Death. “I don’t know how they are for flying, but they run fine,” Jeff said.

Judy let loose a naughty word she’d picked up back in college and only rarely got a chance to use, usually after four straight hours of Kris practicing his ho-ho-ho. “I hadn’t thought of this, Jeff. The reindeer know who you are. They might be as dumb as fruitcake about most things, but they know all about saving their own asses.”

“This doesn’t bode well.” Jeff chipped at an ice patch with the bottom of his scythe. “NORAD is fine with a sled and reindeer, but I don’t know how they’ll take to Death in a sleigh. Maybe I can take some elves with me?”

Shaking her head, Judy explained, “If we had elves I would give you as many as you need. But, you know, the Pig Sick is especially bad for creatures with the immunity of taffy.”

“And now they’re all dead.” Jeff glanced around, listening to the wind whistle through the hollow stable.

“Every one.” Judy whipped an embroidered handkerchief from her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “We had universal elf care, too. But we were too late. I’d think you would have known about this.”

With slight indignation, Jeff replied, “Judy, I have enough to do in the human realm. I don’t have time for fantasy fairytale creatures. How am I supposed to do this?”

“All right Jeff, I’m going to let you in on the biggest secret at the North Pole.” Judy leaned into his black cloaked figure and motioned as if whispering into his ear. “That Clement Moore fellow—may tainted plum pudding take him!—got everything wrong. Can you imagine circling the globe in one night with enough toys and crap for every little blighter who’s been brainwashed into believing? Hell, I don’t even know what a sugar plum is, and a long winter’s nap sounds more like your usual territory.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, what Kris brings is presence. Presence! Not presents! It’s his presence what puts gifts under the tree. He doesn’t literally bring presents himself. So now here we are, completely distorted by the media. Our dead letter office is the largest on the planet. You think Kris reads all of those thinly-disguised epistles of greed?” Judy let out a long breath. “He used to let the elves do it, if they wanted. But now we don’t have elves.”

Suddenly Jeff appreciated the barbaric simplicity of his own responsibility. A person died, he appeared, he released the spirit, and that was it. He didn’t even have to be personally present, since his effect was so pervasive on the earth. But the Claus clan had some real problems, tied up in the imaginary bureaucracy of an earlier age. The least he could do for these old friends was to get them through this Christmas catastrophe. Afterwards, when Kris was well—if he ever got well—Jeff could help them rebuild their establishment.

“Judy, I love you and Kris,” he said, careful not to touch her. Even Judy Claus might be put off by the touch of Death, however friendly. “I’m happy to fill in for him tonight.”