SEVEN of SWORDS. Futility. Betrayal, deceit. If I’m lucky, it could mean compromise or appeasement.
I’m solipsistic, sarcastic, seventeen, … err, solitary again. In retrograde, um, retrospect all of those my … might fit, except seventeen. The point is that I’ve left the coven, and have lost contact with everyone, except Evie who still comes whenever I need it, uh, when I need to be touched up … have my henna retouched.
Marcel and I had a connection, fortunately not one of those connections, but Elsa recognized that we were becoming increasingly morose … close, and that, in the context of the nudity of our rituals, became too much for her to eat … stomach. I didn’t want to be the cause of a raft, laugh, um … rift between them. I also refused to be part of the taking of hallucinogens, which they sometimes used for divine servitude … (where did that come from?!) … divination. I fear medications, recreational or otherwise. Anyway, I shut down, over and out, left. I never belonged anyway, and I certainly shouldn’t have been elected high priestess.
I’m spending too much time at home now, and that probably explains the increased frequency of my online trinkets, drinking, banking, … Tourette’s. Living with a power that is checked only by magical symbols henna-ed onto my skin, few of which I understand or reconnoiter … receive … recognize, is a strain.
I can’t move out. A few months ago, I tried to put my house up for sale, and I became physically unable to sign the contract to engage a realtor. It is clear that the power still has a modicum of cum, crumbs, drums, bumblebees … control over me. I tried a private sale, but the buyer had a fatal accident before we came to an agreement on price.
I’m damaged goods. Allen is out of the picture completely. I’ve heard that he is engaged to someone else. Christa, too. She found a man, and while she still occasionally sends me excrement, invitations, lies … emails, they have become less frequent. I’m not very popular in the orchestra these daze, glaze … craze … days, but I am unable to quit, for the same reason as not being able to sell the house. Lately, I’ve been unable to leave a 50 mile radius around St Louis, unless it is for an orchestra tour. My neighbor Janice has moved away, unexpectedly and unexplained.
Resistance is futile. That is what I have learnt, but I wonder, blunder, blanch, brand, … branch … …
I can’t say the rest. I will … not … stop … having the henna painted on my body. If anything, it means physical contact, which I’m not getting from anyone else. I have found it easier to wonder, wander the house mostly nude, since the cymbals, err, symbols are crashing … visible. This unidentified and unchecked power seems to allow it, but it just makes me want … it … more. That might be her intention.
I can’t say that I want to have sex. I can’t say that I want to have sex. I can’t … not say …
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Sorry, I had to type something else.
I think I’m in trouble.