Silence is a trigger for me. I’ve tried to stop using the word trigger because it’s become such a joke in modern-day, but that’s what it is. When people don’t talk to me and I have no context for why, I tend to think I’ve done something wrong and I’m being punished. This mostly comes from bad relationships with peers and partners. My family never punished people with silence. If someone had fucked up, my family made sure they knew. But peers and partners have ghosted me, given me the silent treatment, avoided me until they decided it was time to blow up. Therefore, I require a lot of reassurance that I’m okay when things go quiet.

Silence has been coming up a lot lately. I have a partner who, when they fall into a serious depression, they shut down and don’t talk. When they first did this, I thought it was because I’d told them off and they were punishing me for being honest about my feelings. I have friends who, in an effort to deal with their own deteriorating health, have logged off the internet. I talk to people less and less each day and it scares me. I retreat into myself and I don’t even feel comfortable in my worlds at the moment. I have been struggling to write in these plague times.

Trying to find comfort in fantasy has always been a way of handling triggers for me, but the sheer volume of what I’ve been dealing with has made it hard. It’s like everything I’ve been dealing with, from bills to animal deaths to work struggles and relationship struggles, refuses to be ignored. And I have to acknowledge it in silence.

Newsletter Replacement

I believe that these posts I try to make each week should replace my newsletters. I used to send out newsletters quarterly, but the read rate was so low for the work I put into them that weekly blog posts just seem more efficient for me.

Newsletters were mostly to inform you readers of my latest projects and animal ambitions. With the loss of so many of my critters in such a short amount of time, it’s actually kind of painful to report the losses. I’m down to just my seven ferrets, ten rats, my horse, five cats, three dogs, and four lizards. That’s still a lot, but it’s nowhere near as many as I had a year ago. Rats come and go so quickly, but between rehoming and losing and burying so many in 2019, I need to just love who I have and let them go as their time comes naturally.

I’ve been just posting new playlists I make to twitter as they come, and drawings I’ve made to instagram. It’s just easier for me to designate information to the different sites. Here, I feel I can be as personal as I wanted to be in my newsletter.

Please utilize my contact box if you have questions or topic suggestions. I’d be more than happy to share whatever I’m able to. Thank you ❤

Being a Druid

I grew up Southern Baptist, but the church wasn’t always welcoming to me. I believe in God, but not the God of their Bible. I believe in a genderless entity, a creator and a destroyer who can make and unmake our world, whose gift of free will has made people misrepresent them. I have pieces of my Christian upbringing with me always, but for as long as I can remember the church has been a forest or a field or a river for me. Never a building.

For as long as I could remember, the Sundays I loved were the Sundays spent on the back of my horse. My mom and I are both highly sensitive people, and animals and nature ground us. In recent years, I’ve turned to the one practice that makes sense to me: druidry.

I thrive in routine and practicality. What I deem practical doesn’t necessarily mean Diana agrees. She’s still very much Catholic, but it seems like a divine plan to have her be the one to encourage and help me find my way on my druidic path. I practice all three branches of druidry: bard, ovate, and druid tradition. I write, sing, and craft, as well as practice husbandry and healing. I’m trying to be a better part of my community. My fear of people slows me down in that respect.

I’ve built my altar and am halfway through my first Book of Awen, a grimoire of sorts. My next desire is to make a staff. It has been a blessing to realize what gifts I’ve been blessed with my whole life, and difficult to reconcile that I still have much to learn about them. But in times like these, I know that being able to read and tend to the land and its inhabitants is of utmost importance. My practice goes hand in hand with becoming the prepper I’ve always wanted to be.

Magic isn’t a matter of fiction for me. I hold the belief that science is just magic explained. One day, we’ll know all the answers, but until then why deny energy. Energy, empathy, premonition, divination are all as real to me as my gardens and creatures. There may not be a direct explanation for me right now, but I’m sure one exists. Learning divination and how many ways things can be interpreted has been an adventure for me, especially when I’m still relatively skeptical. But my writing has power because I make it so. Why can’t scrying be similar?

I have loved my druidic journey and I hope to continue learning. If I practice nothing else, I at least hope to always practice kindness, understanding, and the very witchy threefold rule.

Grindelwald Rant

I shall start this by saying this is my opinion. That should be obvious, but I still feel the need to state it because it’s about to get scatterbrained. I need to rant, lads.

So I missed last week because I didn’t feel I had anything noteworthy to say, but oh boy my dad never should have shown me Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald. I gave it a chance if only because I really love the character Newt Scamander and highly relate to his love of creatures. I also love the characters Tina, Queenie, and Jacob from the first movie. What I didn’t care for was the need to include Grindelwald, whose only importance is owning the fucking Elder Wand for a time and being the Voldemort before Voldemort existed. Get that shit out of my magic Steve Irwin time.

I was apprehensive of watching the movie, but with quarantine, boredom, and attempts at proving that I’m not just a hateful critic (massive fail on my part here) with a degree, I gave it a chance. I loved the parts with the creatures. I loved the special effects. I loved Newt. There were parts I loved about this movie, but the rest I could just cut the fuck right out. I will be vulgar, I’m dropping professional and just being angry right now because that’s what this piece of shit deserves, not an analysis.

My good friend Sarah over at Mad Zombie Productions on Facebook told me ages ago that JK Rowling is a one-trick pony. I believed her. I really did. She couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone when we were already in love with her series (need I even say its name?). Harry Potter wasn’t perfect, but he shaped a generation and had kids my age awaiting their letters to Hogwarts, so I’m willing to forgive the vast majority of its rather grievous mistakes. But between this sure to be series and the wretched play and the bullshit website Pottermore, I’ve had it up to here with Rowling’s ability to ruin even the best of times. As my love loves to say, she’s a one-woman argument for the death of the author.

I can talk about how much of a shit person but a decent character Dumbledore is till I’m blue in the face. Same with Snape. Both of them, upon analyzing their treatment of literal children, are cringeworthy, but I’d be lying if I said their deaths meant nothing to me. I loved them, flaws and all, and that’s something I need to make clear here. Newt is a well-fleshed out character. He has quirks, he has desires, he has a fucking life that I can see and feel in Eddie’s performance. Johnny Depp, all controversy aside, is a FANTASTIC actor too, but Grindelwald just ain’t it for him. Grindelwald just doesn’t belong in the same story as Newt. What is it with Dumbledore handpicking people to fight his battles for him? What is it with the alleged greatest wizard of all time needing people half or even a fifth of his age to continue his legacy when he’s perfectly fucking capable?! Dumbledore, get your shit together, I’m begging you. At this point, what even MAKES you the greatest wizard of all time?

We can talk prophecies and such, but if this pair of movies has proven anything it’s that established lore doesn’t matter when Rowling needs money. Hell, Pottermore told me that established lore meant nothing to her. In the first Fantastic Beasts Tina’s wand locked magically with another wand. That’s only supposed to happen between wands made from the same materials, i.e. Harry’s and Voldemort’s. This is supposed to be something unique to them. Clearly, it’s no longer relevant. Being able to cast magic without saying the word is supposed to be rare. Guess what, not anymore. All of this I could ignore. I can’t ignore the existence of SPOILER Aurelius Dumbledore.


I have SCARS! SCARS! from the Layton franchise pulling this shit, and here the fuck Rowling is, pulling this SHIT. It is such a weak, baseless, unnecessary money grab and attention grab. I cannot forgive such slacker writing, such awful writing. I could have overlooked literally everything, the pointless inclusion of the Lestrange drama, the shitty arc of Newt and Tina ‘breaking up’, the blatant racism Rowling feels in casting only Asian characters when their goals are to be used in the end, oh the complete bullshittery that is making Nagini into a person, ALL OF IT! I could have overlooked all of it had we not gotten fucking Aurelius fucking Dumbledore.

That . . . is a lie. I will not overlook one other thing. Y’all did Queenie dirty. Y’all did that beautiful angel dirty by having her, a woman whose absolute love of her life is a No-Maj, side with Wizard Hitler 1.0. Really? In these trying times?

In conclusion, JK Rowling is a retconning, greedy, fucking TERF. She can eat my ass.

Depressive Musing

Have you ever been told you’re important and your body just rejected it? Like, not just your mind but your whole being rebelled from the inside out screaming no. Or maybe, it wasn’t so much a scream as a whisper so persistent and hushed that only a skilled self-hater could hear it.

My self-loathing is cleverly disguised. Not to anyone else, but to my own head. I tend not to notice when I’m being terribly self-depricating. It must be pointed out to me, and even then I may deny it. There are many parts of me that I find unattractive, inefficient, unkind, or even broken. I refer to myself as being broken in many ways, but most visibly in friendships and relationships. I see myself as never being enough or doing enough.

I’m lucky to have people who tell me what I’m worth so often. Friends, family, lovers, all tell me what I’m worth. And, I do know what I’m worth. However, it is an uphill struggle to get my head and my heart to agree on the aspect of a complete me.