21-Pepper Rum in the Rain

For those of a hoodoo persuasion, it has been a wet night in the boneyard. Purple candles and 21-pepper rum in the rain. The saving grace is that you get a lot less Halloween cemetery tourists when it is pissing down. Of course, today is just part of the Season. The heart of the action is Fete Gede when there’s no trick or treat contingent to worry about.

It seems somehow fitting that we are coming up to the end of the year and beginning of the new within hoodoo. Exchanged the last emails and texts with AM today. Heartbreaking doesn’t even begin to cover it. Being Halloween and with her being an Irish lass, this was always a big day in the calendar. I have no idea how I’m going to get through Christmas, New Year, Valentines and the anniversary of our engagement/my birthday.

In between being a maudlin old bastard, I did get a small amount of work done. With Stephen Grasso’s help I have put together a flier for the book for QuestCon on Saturday. I’ve worked in the words of a certain CIA agent (‘We will seek redress if your course of action is publishing those details’), Andrew Collin’s ‘I don't believe he’s managed to get away with what he has’ and ‘Buy it!’ from The Observer.

Laughter today came from learning of the existence of a Christian song with the lyrics:

‘I like bananas, I know that mangoes are sweet
I like papayas (PAPAYAS!), but nothing can beat
The sweet love of God

You can search for the tropics to find a fruit that's new
You can swim in the ocean, until your face turns blue
But look no further, I'll tell you what to do
Just open your bible to Galatians 5:22’

Even if your world is disintegrating at 20,000 feet, how can those lines and the knowledge that someone thought the best metaphor for Christ’s love was that is was better than the taste of papayas, not bring at least a ghost of a smile to the lips?

Camomile and The Claws Of Axos

The insomnia is constant, but last night was the worst in years. After the turmoil of seeing Anne-Marie Forker for the last time and taking the rest of my stuff from the flat, not even three mugs of camomile and honey and the usual soundtrack of DVD commentaries could get me to sleep. To make it worse, they put the clocks back, so I had an extra hour to endure. Hopefully, tonight will be a little easier. Bone-deep weariness and The Claws Of Axos might win out over fear and sense of loss.

I suspect I’m not going to get much work done ahead of going into hospital on the 17th. I’d love to think that I’d get the iboga selling document done and after more than 13 years, finally sort out the Bill Hick’s interview within the next two weeks, but I also know that being in this much of a black dog, creative work will become a subset of surviving.

I've no desire to look at my current situation of impending surgery and the heartbreak of losing the love of you life after seven years in Pollyana mode, however, it has had some benefits besides rapid weight loss. I’ve enjoyed support from friends who I had not previously realised how much they actually cared for me. I’ve even found myself able to ask a couple of them for help. Asking for help is wonderfully out of character for me as I’d usually much rather give aid than receive it.