Magic Vs. Magick

Living Boho

When curious people are researching wiccan practices they often find themselves reading about Magick, wondering why it’s spelled differently than they’ve known their whole lives. I know I had trouble adjusting to the extra letter at the end. Once I got further into my practices, I realized that the word “Magick” is a simple way to seperate definitions.

To be magical is to deceive for entertainment means (think magician). To be magickal is to recognize and accept the wiccan way and become one with the magick of nature. Put simply, Magick is the outcome of wiccan practices.

However, things can become more complicated because Magick can mean several different things to several different witches.


As an eclectic witch, my idea of magick may seem off to some people; but that’s the point. Eclectic witchery is gathering beliefs and traditions you relate to and creating something that suits you. That’s what…

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Adrian Blevins: My Mother’s First Husband

Vox Populi

My mother’s first husband, who was the first mentally ill person I ever met, rents storage spaces all over D.C. He saves in crate after carton after crate: paper towel tubes, his son’s second grade science projects and college term papers, broken air conditioners, hammers, screwdrivers, curtain rods, weights, spatulas, pots and pans, old cans of paint, drills, sandwich bags, magazines and books and paper clips, window panes and big, long rolls of pink insulation and leather gloves and half-empty cans of shoe polish and arm chairs and tube tops and baby aspirin and vinyl records as well as the files of the court records (as well as their Xeroxes) of what was said before the judge between he and my mother more than forty years ago. When I saw him a couple of years ago, he was standing in my sister’s dining room organizing boxes of National Geographic, which…

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Stress devours all…

Thoughts are killing me.

Ideas… of what to do and where to go.

I’m beyond stressed. I feel I am failing my daughter. I’m an unfortunate mess of I don’t know’s  and what the fuck’s…


I face possible homelessness because I can’t find a job, and even if I do I doubt I will pass the credit check. What does this mean for me? I will lose EVERYTHING I hold near and dear to the shattered mess I call a heart. I’ve exhausted all resources…. I’ll lose my daughter. I’ll lose my family, both of them. I’ll lose the Girls Next Door, and the club… I’ll lose what dignity I have left. Eventually I’ll lose my sanity because I won’t have insurance, meaning… I won’t be able to afford my meds. I’m lost, so very lost….


I suppose I  could go live with old man in Ohio. But his wife hates me, bad enough that her hysterectomy was my fault… then I’d end up homeless in Waverly, OH. For the win, right?


#frustration #life

For Girls and Grief | Abigail Staub

I once stood in the same place. Her words moved me, I love this.


The first girl I ever kissed had a mouthful of luring words and veins full of Percocet.
I wore the potent perfume of pineapple vodka on my breath and wilted forward into her lap,
all curled up at the edges like a water-logged book.
We were perched on the end of a leather couch in someone’s basement and the television flickered and buzzed to mask the
piercing pounding of my heartbeat against the rib cage.
Her voice lilted softly in my ear, “Do you want to kiss me or not?” but my skinned, purple knees quivered as I questioned what people would think
when they saw me tangled up in the limbs of some Venus,
and not softly swallowing the saliva of a sweaty, calloused boy.
That was how it was supposed to be,
when you were sixteen with red lips and black stockings,
slurring empty proverbs to strangers.
Still, I…

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Can’t stop thinking…

We were happy, right?

What happened? Why did it come to you running to her? What did she have that I didn’t? You wanted to ask me to marry you not even 2 months before, I would’ve said yes because I wanted it too. Why can’t I stop thinking of you? Of us? Of the last two years?

Why can’t you leave my mind? Why do you still have the power to make me cry?

You haunt my dreams… my thoughts… my every breath. How do I make you disappear? How do I block the memory of you?

I gave my all. I tried so very hard to save you from your thoughts. I wanted a family with you Did I make you happy at all? Did you ever find solace in my arms? My embrace?

Why are you still on my mind? And why can’t I make you leave?

I am grateful, now fuck off.

This pretty much sums it up in a nut shell.

Mama Said

It was some time between midnight and 3am. I was dead asleep. I’d fed the littliest at midnight so it was after that, and it was before he woke up for a feed at 3am. This hardly matters, because that time of night is Hell unless you’re pashing, happy drunk, smoking in a bar, dancing, or on drugs – y’know, generally having a fulfilling life that doesn’t involve milk dripping out of your breasts or playing the fart or shit game. So, I’m asleep and I feel this tiny hand on my face and then there’s a kiss on my forehead. And for a second I’m confused like – did the tiny one do that? He’s only four-weeks-old? Is he a mutant? That would be amazing. And then I realise it’s my big baby and I pull him into my arms while still asleep and think “oh he’s delicious”. But…

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Past, present & future…


Back against the wall, sliding down as the tears begin to fall. Why does it happen this way? When does it stop hurting? 
I go through journals; pages and pages of bad decisions, stains on the pages from tears, and quite a few regrets. I know they say to never regret your past, but what if you fucked up so bad that you wrecked your future? I am who I am today because of those regrets… I get this. But, had I stayed in school… I could have been done with Med School by now. Had I stayed in Colorado in 2006….. a little boy might have had the chance to actually know his mother. So many horrible, painful memories of what happened and what could have been. Funny thing, this evil called regret. You know you shouldn’t, but the what-if’s are just to good to pass up.
Two years gone this week. We’ve been through so much. But some things can’t be forgiven. I now face my reflection and wonder where to go from here.

To the future??? Buckle up, I guess.