I love Halloween!!!

Last weekend I ordered several cheap wigs online  - a pink bob, a “Storm” (X-men) one, a black one with red (like lipstick red) highlights, and this multi-colored 80′s rocker mullet number. The site said they would absolutely be here by today, and now the site is all screwed up (php problems, I know ye well), and I can’t find a phone number to call them and check up, and the wigs aren’t here. Bastards.

You've seen this one before, but it seemed extra-appropriate. This is me (and my brother) worshipping Satan and encouraging the curses of a thousand demons to come down on us.

Oh well. They could still come later today (***fingers crossed***) or, if not, they’ll get here eventually. In that case, I’ll just sprinkle the photos into blog posts from time to time as I’m inclined.

Meanwhile, in honor of the holiday, it occurs to me that putting razor blades into an apple or poisoning a snack-size Snickers is so passe.

Plus, there’s the whole ‘spending the rest of your life in prison’ thing to contend with – and probably not one of those nice prisons where they put embezzlers –  and where’s the fun in that?

That’s why I was so glad to find this article by Kimberly Daniels, founder of Spoken Word Ministries, entitled “The Danger of Celebrating Halloween.”

It turns out it’s much, MUCH easier to ruin some little kids night (that’ll teach ‘em to dress up like The Little Mermaid or Spiderman) than previously thought.

Allow me to share entirely too much of this illuminating piece of, um, journalism. I think you, like me, will be glad you’re armed with this information before the trick-or-treaters start showing up at your door (unless, of course, you’re not American, in which case that will probably  not happen. I tell you though, you guys are missing out. Some of my happiest childhood memories involved trick-or-treating):

The Danger of Celebrating Halloween

Halloween—October 31—is considered a holiday in the United States. The word “holiday” means “holy day.” But there is nothing holy about Halloween. The root word of Halloween is “hallow,” which means “holy, consecrated and set apart for service.” If this holiday is hallowed, whose service is it set apart for? The answer to that question is very easy—Lucifer’s!

Word.

The key word in discussing Halloween is “dedicated.” It is dedicated to darkness and is an accursed season. During Halloween, time-released curses are always loosed. A time-released curse is a period that has been set aside to release demonic activity and to ensnare souls in great measure.

So is this ‘time-released curse’ thing like the time of the year when The Real Housewives of Orange County is on? You don’t want to watch it, and you kind of hate all of them, but you find yourself standing in the kitchen watching it, and perhaps even while part of your brain is like “Turn this shit off! This is terrible! Stop! No more! I can’t take it anymore! You’re losing brain cells!”

I’m totally vibing on this time-released curse. The Real Housewives of Orange County have ensnared my soul…but for only a few months out of the year.

During this period demons are assigned against those who participate in the rituals and festivities. These demons are automatically drawn to the fetishes that open doors for them to come into the lives of human beings. For example, most of the candy sold during this season has been dedicated and prayed over by witches.

I grew up near Hershey, Pennsylvania and have been through the Hershey Chocolate Factory tour countless times and they NEVER show this (obviously standard and critical) part of the candy-making process. They never even mention sorcery or witches or dedications. I feel cheated.

It’s no wonder those Krackel bars don’t taste how I remember. Most Hershey chocolate is made in Mexico these days. It must be the distinct flavor of the south of the border bruja witchcraft I’m picking up on. More shamanic/Don Juan the Nagual, less Mother Earth paganism.

I do not buy candy during the Halloween season. Curses are sent through the tricks and treats of the innocent whether they get it by going door to door or by purchasing it from the local grocery store. The demons cannot tell the difference.

Stupid demons.

Even the colors of Halloween (orange, brown and dark red) are dedicated. These colors are connected to the fall equinox, which is around the 20th or 21st of September each year and is sometimes called “Mabon.” During this season witches are celebrating the changing of the seasons from summer to fall. They give praise to the gods for the demonic harvest. They pray to the gods of the elements (air, fire, water and earth).

So what exactly is found in a demonic harvest? Is that a normal harvest but with evil overtones, or is that just a bunch of gnarly stuff no one wants to eat?

For me, a demonic harvest would consist of nothing but celery (which I detest),  green bell peppers (which mess me up something fierce.), and mushy apples.

Mother earth is highly celebrated during the fall demonic harvest. Witches praise mother earth by bringing her fruits, nuts and herbs. Demons are loosed during these acts of worship. When nice church folk lay out their pumpkins on the church lawn, fill their baskets with nuts and herbs, and fire up their bonfires, the demons get busy. They have no respect for the church grounds. They respect only the sacrifice and do not care if it comes from believers or non-believers.

I just cannot get over how naive I have been.

Of course. Pumpkins are the root of all evil. Pumpkins and mother earth. Pumpkins and mother earth and fruits and nuts and herbs and baskets and church folk. I should have known.

The gods of harvest that the witches worship during their fall festivals are the Corn King and the Harvest Lord. When we pray, we bind the powers of the strong men that people involved in the occult worship.

If I was an evil entity, I would pick a scarier name that the Corn King. He should consider a change to something like “Skeleton Warrior” or “Death King.”

Same goes for the Harvest Lord. How about “Demon Lord” or “Harvest Annihilator”?

Halloween is much more than a holiday filled with fun and tricks or treats. It is a time for the gathering of evil that masquerades behind the fictitious characters of Dracula, werewolves, mummies and witches on brooms. The truth is that these demons that have been presented as scary cartoons actually exist. I have prayed for witches who are addicted to drinking blood and howling at the moon.

Holy crap!

I think my dog might be a witch! He, too, is addicted to howling at the moon.

No wonder he’s always trying to get at the candy…

While the lukewarm and ignorant think of these customs as “just harmless fun,” the vortexes of hell are releasing new assignments against souls. Witches take pride in laughing at the ignorance of natural men (those who ignore the spirit realm).

You had me at ‘vortexes of hell.’

Decorating buildings with Halloween scenes, dressing up for parties, going door-to-door for candy, standing around bonfires and highlighting pumpkin patches are all acts rooted in entertaining familiar spirits. All these activities are demonic and have occult roots.

I had no idea my pink bob was demonic.

Is it wrong that I’m still excited about it?

The word “occult” means “secret.” The danger of Halloween is not in the scary things we see but in the secret, wicked, cruel activities that go on behind the scenes. These activities include:

1. Sex with demons
2. Orgies between animals and humans
3. Animal and human sacrifices
4. Sacrificing babies to shed innocent blood
5. Rape and molestation of adults, children and babies
6. Revel nights
7. Conjuring of demons and casting of spells
8. Release of “time-released” curses against the innocent and the ignorant.

Holy hell. What kind of neighborhood does this lady live in?

If you ask me, somebody had better stop writing bizarre articles and start a Neighborhood Watch program.

Another abomination that goes on behind the scenes of Halloween is necromancy, or communication with the dead. Séances and contacting spirit guides are very popular on Halloween, so there is a lot of darkness lurking in the air.

Somehow I thought necromancy had something to do with having sex with dead bodies? I guess you start by contacting them in a séance, and it’s a slippery slope from there…

p.s.

A million, billion, trillion thank yous to The Fat Geek for fixing my blog this morning!!!

Once again – as you may have logged on and found – it went kerplooey, and TFG worked some witchcraft of his own and raised it from the dead. I am a stone cold idiot when it comes to technical blog stuff, and I guarantee it would still be down without him (and I would be having a conniption fit). THANK YOU AGAIN!!!

p.p.s.

If you must know how the story ends (it had to do with renouncing demons and throwing out candy), you can find the original article here.

Straight from the cold, mean streets outside my massage therapist’s office comes Fu Manchu!

My dad Photoshopped Fu's eyes from evil red to blue for me. The red eye is extreme and rather sinister-looking.

Weighing in at 6 pounds, 3 ounces, Fu is an intact, male chocolate point Himalayan with an oral fixation. Seriously. I didn’t know about it until this morning, and it’s kind of creepy. He took a chunk of my shirt into his mouth, and working his little brown feet like there was no tomorrow, started sucking.

Hmmm…

Not so much.

Hopefully the dog is into that, because I think he’s going to have to find an alternate resource with whom to get his freak on.

At any rate, Fu Manchu – previously known by a name that reminded me of The Taliban and thus had to go – hopefully does not have leukemia or some horrible, unfixable illness. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for imaging bad things for sport, it’s just that he was running a fever at the vet yesterday, and she got a little grim.

He's like a little Jawa!

As far as we know, he’s about a year old, has never been vaccinated, and has been living off the land for about two months. I find this rather shocking for a cover-of-Martha-Stewart-Living-pure-bred-long-hair feline. I suppose I always figured cats like that would just explode into a pile of fairy dust or at least find a sad grandma to mooch from if abandoned, but I guess not. Or maybe Fu is just dumb? If so, he will make an appropriate addition to the stupid pet menagerie I’ve got going on, currently featuring the cheerful and idiotic Dozer (who, appropriately enough, is licking the couch as I type this.)

Anyway, having roughed it the last few months, Fu was in less-than-stellar shape.

After dealing with his ear mites, chin acne, and a minor abscess (so much for the ‘free’ new pet exam), he was given a week’s worth of antibiotics for the fever. Presuming it is gone by then, he’ll be neutered on Tuesday.

Dozer thinks this is the best thing EVER.

And Tuesday cannot come quickly enough.

Did you know that intact, adult male cat urine is a biological weapon?

Seriously, it is so unspeakably horrible, I don’t even know where to begin.

But let me try…

First off, the cat himself, despite being a super cute little fluffer bunny, smells like piss. Scratch that. He REEKS of piss. It’s almost like he rolled around in filthy litter and then dumped a bottle of ammonia all over himself.

Secondly, his use of the box (which thank god he knows how to do) – just a single time – renders it something so foul, so abhorrent, and so beastly that I think he could land in a part in the next Saw movie. Saw VII: You’ll Wish You Were Dead.

He smells, but I wuvs him.

Lastly, there is almost nothing I am more judgmental about than walking into someone’s home and being blown away by the stink of cat pee. And now I am mortified that this little cutie boy is going to render me one of ‘those people.’

You know.

The ones you walk by at Target and think, “Did I just smell cat urine?”

That’s why until he’s neutered on Tuesday he’s either in the crate or in an unfinished basement room. I am a soft-hearted rescuer of poor, helpless animals…but I’m not a sucker.

In conclusion, lest he sound rather awful, let me assure you that Fu Manchu is extremely sweet and laid-back dude. I went ahead and ordered him a tag for his collar today, thus making him official.

Welcome Fu!

It’s nice to have you on board…once you stop stinking.

I know this video is kind of overplayed, but I had a long day with my new cat (an abandoned, intact, male Himalyan who smells like a urinal. Say that three times fast.), and thus I am still laboring at chapters. I have this dream of having the book done before I head to Bermuda next week (Did I tell you I’m going to Bermuda? I’m helping a friend who is moving over there. Technically, all I’m really doing in the ‘help’ department is transporting one of her cats, but whatever, it still counts. I’m helping.) and if that’s going to happen, I’m going to have to work like a madwoman every day through Tuesday.

It’s not an impossible dream. It’s just a really, really stupid hard dream.

Some dreams taste like creme brulee. This one tastes like burning. And tired. And old bread. At least at this point.

So where was I?

Right. Phoning it in.

The new cat – post on that tomorrow, no worries – threw me off schedule a bit, so I have to make this quick. Thus, without further ado, and in something of a nod to yesterday’s post, check this out:

I don’t think I’ve ever seen an entire episode of Oprah. In fact, my only ‘memories’ of the show are snippets I saw other places – Tom Cruise on the couch, the time everybody was given a car, and of course the whole brouhaha with The Corrections guy, Jonathan Franzen, although I don’t think he ever actually went on Oprah – so anyway, I don’t really watch the show, but I love this.

This is my primary ‘kick it into gear’ song on my runs right now, and just makes me feel amped up and happy.

Moreover,  I’m infatuated with the visual idea that one person’s enthusiasm and joy can spread to thousands. I almost wish I’d thought of this, but then again, I don’t know nearly enough people to pull it off…

p.s.

Was it just me, or the first time you saw this did you feel kind of bad for the lady dancing all by herself?

I averted my eyes a little, in sympathy and a wee bit of judgment, like, “Fool.”

Wherever you’re sitting or standing or lying or reading this from right now, some kind of mystical web has tied you to me.

We’re interconnected, and we will always be.

Perhaps that sounds fantastical or even absurd, but I assure you it’s not.

Somehow you found this blog, and for some reason you are reading these words. If you know me personally or in “real life” as it were, then we probably are already tied in notable or clear ways. If not, then some random string of words you typed into a search engine somewhere fueled the magic carpet that brought you here to my little island.

It strikes me lately that this humble blog has become something of a mecca for wanderers, travelers, seekers, and lost souls, which is quite fine by me . I have been all four (both literally and figuratively) from time to time in my life. Occasionally all four at the same time.

Still, I never cease to be amazed or touched or grateful for the remarkable people who stumble across me here and decide to stay put or even reach out. Case in point, someone recently informed me that they typed “What is the meaning of life?” (or some similar search) into Google and up came a picture of me in Iceland which led them here.

What kind of cruel god plays tricks like that?

Seriously though, I am obviously not the meaning of life, although I do like to think I have some decent clues as to what it might be.

I think the meaning of life is love and faith and art and dance and music and song and the stories that make up our lives. I am, in some ways, nothing more than my stories.

At the same time, it’s hard to explain what I’ve learned: I feel that each and every one of us has a song in our heart. We’ve come into this world and chosen this time and in this place to sing it.  That song doesn’t necessarily translate to to fame or fortune or creative pursuits or business conquests, and that’s okay. If you ask me, your song is simply what you value and work to your highest potential to live up to every day – good relationships, generosity, gratitude, kindness, humility, service,  grace, or simply being loving and kind when it don’t come easy.

Life is without meaning. You bring the meaning to it. The meaning of life is whatever you ascribe it to be. Being alive is the meaning. –Joseph Campbell

Once in a while someone materalizes on this blog and sends me an email and shares some snippet or story or even great pain in their life, and it’s such an amazing thing to think that somehow we are all connected like this. The blog makes it tangible, but it exists nonetheless.

That stated,  I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been trying to do for the last year and a half and shine my light as brightly as I can. I hope my words continue to reach people and touch them and give them a laugh or some hope or even just a temporary distraction. I think perhaps, for me, that is the meaning of life. To touch as many people as I can and leave them a little better off than before they arrived.

And to you, whomever you are, thank you for reading this, and thank you for being a glow, a blaze, a luminescence, and a ray of light in your own right.

Shine on…

[featslider]

It’s only 10pm, but damn am I tired.

I say *only* 10pm because of my new – temporary – lifestyle. I call it “run like the wind or until there is no more wind and you choke for a little while in a dramatic fashion before dropping dead” and it involves doing everything one would normally cram into a full day…plus editing (a.k.a. largely re-writing) two chapters – or 25+ pages – a day.

You may fancy yourself a superman and declare that quite doable, but trust me…it’s cruel and unusual.

However, despite the mental agony, I’m hanging in there and getting it done. This is week two of three, and it’s almost halfway through week two…so help me God.

It's hard to determine if he's doing this because he loves me or because he thinks he owns me. Or something nefarious in between.

And all this despite the fact that there’s a gigantic, furry 100-pound animal smashing himself up against my right (dominant) side and lying on my arm and his ear is twitching against my finger and basically he’s cramping my style literally and figuratively and physically and factually and objectively and in a way that is sweet but annoying.

What I’m trying to say here is that he’s cutting off circulation to the right side of my body, but I love him so I’m letting him do it.

Because that’s what love is.

Sucking it up even when your beloved is really, really, really irritating you.

Right?

That’s what love is?

Right???

But enough whining about the semi-domesticated mammal encroaching on my personal space. It’s time. It’s always time. And so once again it’s time to go back to editing…

See you on the New York Times Bestseller list! Next fall work for you?