Masterful: first edit

It’s been a very active past couple of months here at Casa Logos.

Unseasonably cold weather, winter tires, plumbing situations, dentist appointments… There have been other major developments, though I’ve only shared them with my Patreon members, as is the case with many things for me online nowadays.

Social media wise, I only use Twitter at this point (apart from Undercroft, for those in the know); I do so on a limited basis as well. I finally quit Instagram because of its policies, which impede a free-flow of exchange and discourage participation in general (they prefer a mostly passive audience open to advertising), because of its censorial FB blandness, because of its maddening dumbphone-centric limitations, and because I’m utterly burned out on social media, thus much more selective of what will get my time and attention.

Less social media has resulted in my being more relaxed and happier. I write, read books, listen to records, watch movies… I do what I love, most of which is analog, tactile, and personally gratifying.

I’m tired of having technology pushed on me; I’m tired of its pervasive, relentless, invasive hunger and demands.

The other day, I went to the mall to get some errands done, and it was fun, even though the place was crowded. I enjoyed getting what I needed and watching clerks put my items in various bags. I enjoyed getting a new scarf at Roots and chatting with the person who helped me find what I was looking for (their scarves are thin, soft, and warm). I enjoyed walking around. I enjoyed placing my stuff in the car.

Masterful is finished: I am now in the midst of the first edit, usually the lengthier and more elaborate edit. This book has been longer in the making than anything I’ve written so far, and it’ll no doubt be my most satisfying book to date.

This week, the weather became a lot milder, and the snow that fell at the beginning of November has melted away, which I don’t mind at all.

In addition to working on my Masterful edit, I’ve enjoyed devoting myself to my 2019 70s Festive Extravaganza. There are gifts under the tree, After Eights in the dining room, and it’s all a source of immense pleasure to me.

I’ve also been adding Baphomet sigils to my collection of infernal jewelry, courtesy of the magnificent Satanme website. Their sigils, and all their products, are first class in every way.

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I will be ordering another beautiful black wig soon, and there will be devilish self-portraits (my Patreon Serpents will see them first, and in some cases, exclusively).

More Masterful news soon.

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Masterful: completion nears

I have begun writing part six of six, which is entitled “he wasn’t yours: sublime serpent, come forth.”

As I get closer to finishing Masterful: Severus Snape, a Jar of Cockroaches, and Me, my most gratifying and important work to date, I am filled with exhilaration and a sense of personal triumph.

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This book is the culmination of the past fifteen years of my life. In a broader sense, however, it’s been a lifetime in the making.

This book is a Snape-infused memoir. I write about Severus Snape in a way that has never been done before, in a bold and often shocking manner. As one person who’s read the first draft has said, “It left me speechless.” She also said, “There are so many people I want to recommend your book to” and “Gives me so much to think about. Again, wow.”

In this book, I also write about living with PTSD, about the legacy of domestic violence, which is what I witnessed during my entire childhood and adolescence, about leaving Judeo-Christianity and Orthodoxy in particular, about revering oneself, about emancipation and personal power, about saying “no” to bullshit, about putting one’s existence and what one loves first and foremost. I write about having an infernal worldview, about the symbolic light-bearer and his (our) “live deliciously” stance.

I am no-holds-barred in this book. And I’m just getting started. There will be another Snape-themed book after this one.

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My Patreon continues to grow, to my immense joy. I’ve spent the past year refining it, and now it’s precisely what I want it to be. Once Masterful is published, I’ll be spending a great deal of time writing essays for it: infernal thoughts for infernal people. A few of these will be public, but the majority will be Members Only.

One of the excellent people who recently became a member is my longtime friend and extremely talented artist Ben Wu, who just started his own Patreon. I highly recommend you join it, and mine as well.

Ben Wu Loves You: is creating Letters, zines, books, and a little bit of chaos

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Logospilgrimis creating infernal books, essays, and art for discerning individualists

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Ben really gets what Patreon is all about. As he wrote to me, “Having experienced the Patreon venue through your page opened my eyes. It is more intimate and helps me be in the moment. Unlike the endless memes and static of facebook and instagram. Both of which, too, have rules that make it hard to be seen without having to pay them for a sponseres spot.”

I’m still unable to comment and like IG posts from my desktop, and my disgust with that platform is absolute. Unlike what they claim, it isn’t designed to be “social media.” In actuality, it’s an inherently passive exposure to advertisement: if you participate “too much” or “too quickly,” you’re not doing what they want you to, namely, providing the free content that enables them to determine the advertisement you’re supposed to stare at and respond to, you’re troublesome, expendable; content and activity that doesn’t fall within “good consumer” parameters is undesirable.

Furthermore, they have no respect for their users whatsoever. If you “break” one of their so-called rules, if you don’t dance according to their tune (whatever it even is), they don’t contact you, they won’t tell you how you dared to offend them, and contacting a living person at IG is impossible. When I was researching the matter, I saw countless people desperate to get their accounts back, or desperately trying to figure out why they were blocked from commenting. The advice they got was along the lines of, “whatever you do, don’t upset the mighty IG further. Just be good, stop doing anything at all there for a while, cower a bit, and hope you’ll eventually regain their favor.” If you’re not what advertisers prefer, you might as well not exist.

It’s enough to make you want to throw up. As I wrote on Twitter, I don’t like being treated like shit as a rule, so they can suck my balls.

Just when I thought I couldn’t despise FB more, lo, I despise it more.

It’s very likely that I’ll delete my IG account in the not too distant future.

As a result of all this, I’ve been using Twitter more. As nutty as Twitter can be, it’s less restrictive. It’s possible to make lists there, it’s easy to block problematic people instantly, it’s much easier to have exchanges, there’s less censorship. The most eccentric and creative people tend to be on Twitter.

My main focus will increasingly be my Patreon.

As Ben wrote to me, “You’ve given a lot of yourself through your writing and art and I have, too. I think folks would probably appreciate things more if they pay in some way.” I couldn’t agree more. I’ve shared my work, my writing, my life, for over a decade. It was time for a platform like Patreon for me. I am worth what I do and give. In Ben’s words, “I’m glad your Patreon helped give you the encouragement needed. It means a lot to have visible, tangible evidence of people’s faith in you and what you do.”

Masterful wouldn’t have come into being without all the changes I’ve been through, without the evolution that now gives me the ability to say, “My work, my time, my creativity have value, and I won’t settle for anything less than respect and appreciation.”

The more I grasped this and esteemed myself, the more I defined my Patreon, my goals for it, and what I wanted to share there. When I was going through some of the most difficult times of my life these past couple of years, it was Patreon that kept my eyes on the prize of writing and publishing new books, of creating. Of asserting and affirming myself.

I have emerged from my recent trials a fiercer, stronger, more passionate and determined individual, and my work is reflecting this. If those who read what I write are fiercer and have more reverence for themselves because of my words, all the better. Responsibility to the responsible.

Those who contribute to my time, efforts, and endeavors will fully savor the forbidden fruit of my time, efforts, and endeavors. Those who enjoy what I do, who participate and contribute, I treasure. At another time in my life, I would have thought, “How dare I ask for such things?” but now, I dare. Millions of dollars are poured into the coffers of the bland mega corporations of mass entertainment; a dollar per month basic access fee for my original, risqué, innovative content, for my dark magic, is definitely more than fair. It’s a fine privilege.

For a number of years, I let myself be an All You Can Eat Buffet; now, I’m devoting myself to my VIPs. I still give, but I ask as well. Hail Satan!

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There’s no place online like Patreon now, and that’s where the bulk of my online activity is.

As Ben puts it, “When IG cut its shine and I checked out your Patreon… as I said above, it changed me and I felt like I’d found a pleasantly wicked corner of the internet, a place to hang my horns, and I haven’t felt that way in years.” This mirrors my feelings about Patreon exactly.

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Do you know what feels good? Not taking shit. Knowing your worth. Knowing who’s good for you. Being your best self and living your best life.

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step forth, Cunning Serpents

Masterful will soon be completed. I’m at work on part five of six. I’ll be in the editing process in September.

September… Am I the only one who’s excited about autumn? Definitely not.

In other news, my activity on Instagram will now be minimal.

I’ve felt ambivalent about that platform for some time (especially since it’s been owned by Faceborg). Generally, I prefer using my desktop, and Instagram makes this barely possible. A few days ago, I was suddenly blocked from liking posts and commenting on them while using my desktop. No reason given. I could “report” the message if I thought it was unwarranted, not that a single thing resulted from these so-called reports. I could, however, continue liking posts and commenting on them if I was using my dumbphone.

I did some research and read that Instagram was blocking me because I had liked too many posts in too short a time (right), and it suspected me of being a “bot.” This block “punishment” typically lasted between 24 to 48 hours. Well, if I wished to use my desktop, that is.

I call bullshit. Guess what I can’t see at all when I’m using my desktop to look at my Instagram feed? Advertisement. Am I not really being “punished” for failing to do what I’m supposed to be doing on Instagram, being fodder for advertisers? No wonder the platform won’t allow you to post photographs from your desktop.

Instagram cares about your content insofar as it’s useful to advertisers (most of whom live in the 1950s and are terrified of female nipples). Otherwise, they don’t give a fuck about you. They couldn’t care less about creativity. Case in point: it’s impossible to contact Instagram to find out what their sudden, cryptic “blocked” message is all about, and their “help” pages are absolutely useless.

And let’s not even bring up the algorithm factor.

So, fuck it. I don’t need this garbage.

When I publish a new book, I’ll post a photo of it on Instagram, and that will be the extent of my activity on that platform.

I continue sharing links to my work, and retweeting the occasional, interesting 70s-oriented image, and keeping in touch with a few people on Twitter (a platform where there is more freedom), but my activity there is greatly reduced compared with my earlier Twitter days.

This is better. It’s increased my well-being.

Since I stopped using Instagram, I feel less tense. And I didn’t even use it that much.

As I’ve mentioned before, those platform are designed to keep you on them for as long as possible, as often as possible. To accomplish this, they instill a kind of anxiousness when you’re not using them, when you’re not keeping up with them and “neglecting” people you hold dear. It’s quite insidious. What if someone close to you posts something important, and you miss it? Get back on the platform, quick!

Instagram is a “free” platform, except it isn’t. It feeds on you, and exploits your friendships. It siphons your time and energy.

I’m done with this noxious, corporate social media culture.

From now on, my online focus will be my Patreon, and this website. I’ve recently revamped my Patreon, which is where I’ll be sharing photos, news, essays, and more, on a regular basis.

Here are my Patreon tiers:

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Some posts will be public, but most won’t.

I’ve had this Patreon creator account for over a year, and it took me a while to figure out how to use it (not to mention that I was dealing with a number of crises and exhausting situations), but now… Now I’m truly up and running, and feeling excellent about it.

One of the things I recently shared on Patreon was exclusive news about an upcoming book. The cover of said book will be funded in part by my patrons, who are members of my Society of Cunning Serpents. The essays I write all deal with living like the god you are, which takes self-knowledge, productive pride, and a powerful inner core. I write about living deliciously, living boldly, living in accordance with what is most important to you. There is a price to pay for this, without a doubt. But I for one wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you’re a member of the Left Hand Path, you can also find me on Undercroft.

And now, back to Masterful.

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bring on the spring equinox

It’s almost the middle of February, right? March. March will be here soon.

I’ve been thinking happy spring thoughts because for the past few weeks, brutal winter weather has been kicking my ass and wringing me dry. Storms, piles of snow, freezing rain, freezing cold. Relentless shit. Right now, the sound fierce winds outside my window is making me shiver.

It’s all been chipping away at me. I have no energy. Simple day to day tasks are a challenge at the moment.

I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time hidden beneath blankets on the couch, and watching more movies than I have in a while.

And I stare at my toys a lot. My toys give me such joy.

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So anyway, I’m behind on a number of projects, especially Masterful, the main current project.

I am, however, on schedule as far as Patreon is concerned. Among other things, I’ll be sending my second and third tier members some old school Valentine cards this month. Patreon continues to bring a smile to my face. I love having exchanges with my subscribers, sending them physical copies of my work, sharing thoughts, photos, excerpts from my books, and news with them. It’s a pleasure. Once I get some of my energy back, even more so.

My Ello posting was short-lived, again. Mostly because I’ve had it with social media and virtual whatevers as a whole, the two exceptions being Instagram (my activity there is sporadic/moderate), and a breath of fresh air, a new platform for infernal-minded individuals, Undercroft. No algorithm driven bullshit, no data mining, none of the garbage that’s endemic online these days. No censorship, no idiocy. No conflict addicted jackasses, no click bait mindlessness. At last, an alternative to the sad outposts that now compose the vast majority of the Internet, that dreary corporate wasteland and batshit crusade factory.

Undercroft is actually interesting. What a novelty! And there are a few other worthwhile places, such as The Reprobate.

On that note, I need to go warm myself up, put on a few layers of sweaters, and organize my macramé supplies. In a couple of weeks, I’m giving a tarot reading (delayed due to weather etc).

Weather and exhaustion aside, in most ways, my life is better than it’s ever been. I savor my life and live it how I want to live it.

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a treat, and some thoughts

Here’s a chapter of Rascal that I shared on Patreon yesterday (a public post, for members and non-members).

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AVARITIA

(greed)

You desire, you indulge yourself, you relish good things, tasty things, rich things, colors and textures and scents—in this world.

Of course, it happens in this world.

This “fallen” world, according to some.

It’s not fallen. It’s the world, the real world, our only world.

A world of fire and water, of terrible storms and soft mornings, of loss and grief and joy and pleasure. A world of horrors and wonders.

What hurts us is terrible; what feels good is wonderful. This is natural.

It’s up to us to make this natural world as wonderful as it can be.

This won’t happen as long as we believe in the existence of an intangible, supernatural, otherworldly afterlife where nothing will ever harm us. An inhuman, unnatural world.

If you want to sell the story of invisible realms where everything is “perfect,” you need unhappy people. In this scenario, nothing is more problematic than a person who enjoys life and its pleasures. Even simple pleasures are troublesome.

Being happy and grateful in this world is to disdain the worthier, imaginary, divine panaceas.

Some people believe pleasure in this life is a sign of divine favor and a preview of the truly mind-boggling splendors awaiting humanity in the other world, the phantom dimension. Peddlers of cosmic mansions piously take the money supplied by countless people who hope they’ll start off with an opulent earthly mansion of their own as well.

The majority of religious systems don’t operate like this, though. They say, “Don’t worry too much if your life sucks. The next one will be better… as long as you do and believe what we tell you, that is.” They don’t want people to be utterly miserable, but they don’t want them too at home and content here on earth either.

Pick up your cross. Your begging bowl. Your mental hair shirt.

If you’re oppressed or abused, if you’re being treated abominably, rejoice. It’s a privilege, really, an opportunity, a blessing. Blood and suffering pleases the almighty; it’s his idea of a pleasant aroma. Tortured, stir-fried saints are held up as the most admirable of people, the most worthy of imitation.

If you’ve been abused, if you just barely manage to hold your traumatized mind together, if you’ve been told a million times that you’re worthless, a lot of crazy shit can make sense. A pie in the sky helps you survive and hang on a little longer.

Just remember: don’t be greedy. All the fat is the lord’s. Set your mind on the things above, not on earthly things.

Oh yeah?

Fuck the things that are above.

There are no such things.

Flush that mystical crap down the toilet.

Emancipate yourself. Believe in yourself. Avenge yourself.

Happiness in this world is a combination of luck and doing what you can so you and at least some of your fellow humans live as happy a life as possible. Happiness often requires a great deal of effrontery. You’re in pain, you’re going to die, things don’t go the way you want them to, but you dance all night anyway.

It’s tough. By fuck, life, being alive can be tough. Sometimes it seems like we’re always teetering on the edge of disaster, and we know the end is a breath away.

My philosophy is, have a glass of whiskey, smirk at the camera like a badass smart mouth decked out devil, and when the time comes to go over the edge, to take that final breath, think, well, it wasn’t all bad, was it? This ain’t so bad.

At least I lived. I had a moment.

I’m greedy for that moment. I want what the moment has to offer, all that my moment’s got.

This crucial greed means I figured out what I want, what I want my moment to be all about.

I want all that I’ve got, to be the star I am.

The greed I speak of involves risk. It involves the unknown. No one can decide what your life means for you. You have to decide. You have to choose.

You’re not being swept by a common wave. You’re not afraid of being alone. There’s no universal, one-size-fits-all solution. If you go where everyone else is going, you won’t experience your moment.

You’re drafting your map. Use what you have, change what you can, and create your best life.

Do whatever you can to enrich your life, to exult in yourself.

Each of us is our own ultimate earthly thing.

For too long, it was difficult for me to think this, let alone celebrate it. My mind was in a cage; my heart was bleeding from too many cuts.

It’s never too late to dare to turn your back on all the shit that brought you down.

To reclaim yourself: this is excellent greed.

Regardless of what any abuser tried to drum into you, you belong to yourself.

You’re not anyone’s possession.

You’re the captain of your existence.

Whatever you’ve been through, however much psychological conditioning you’ve endured, if you reach this liberating threshold, you can be sure self-ownership has always been there inside of you. You’ve always been a rascal.

They couldn’t quench your flame entirely. They couldn’t starve it forever.

The day I bust out of the mental jail of self-forgetfulness—of self-neglect and self-hate—the person I am began to shine forth into the world.

An outrageous, confident, inquisitive, playful, genderfluid, flamboyant, girl/boy tomboy.

A person who slowly but surely began to say “no” whenever it was needed. A person who said “yes” when she wanted to say it. My decisions were now in line with self-respect and true wisdom: human wisdom.

I stopped treating myself like a second thought.

No more torture, no more tears. No more damaging attempts to love everyone except myself. I stopped wondering if I was pleasing to a twisted, silent invisible it that required proof of my love by means of cruel, nebulous, and absurd tests. I loved those who deserved my love.

I adorned myself with gold necklaces and was a human being, flesh and bones, blood and water, at home on earth, my real home.

I am of the earth, and I love earthly things. I love myself.

The next few days are going to be impossibly frigid here, ugh. Mr P and I will be comfortably hidden from the elements tomorrow and Monday however, so there’s that.

I enjoy sharing photos on Instagram and I’d say it’s a new form of Livejournal (sort of) for me because a number of the people I knew on Livejournal are on Instagram, but the latter throttles its feed with algorithms or whatever, and of course the textual aspect of Instagram is minute, so… And it’s highly smart phone oriented. I can’t for the life of me understand why anyone would want to be glued to those things all the time.

In related news, I’ll definitely be renewing my subscription to The Idler this year.

I started sharing things on Ello again, because it’s one of the few remaining platforms that celebrates the arts, unique, original thinking and creative freedom, and isn’t terrified of flesh.

But, as I’ve mentioned repeatedly, Patreon is my online focus these days. I greatly enjoy using that platform, and I enjoy the exchanges I have with fabulous members there. The enthusiasm and support of members invigorates me, it feels wonderful, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Masterful will be my best book yet. I am discussing Professor Snape in that book, but it’s not exhaustive character analysis by any means; it’s more of a personal memoir.

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2019: projects, desires, goals

As I’d hoped, the holiday season was an exceedingly pleasant time for me. And it helped me hone in on precisely what I want to do, how I want to live, in 2019.

My use of Twitter will continue being stripped down to the bare bones: sharing links to logospilgrim.com updates, Patreon updates, and a few retweets here and there. That’s it.

I’ll use Instagram a bit more, but not that much more, to share photos and keep in touch with certain people.

I will update my main website, logospilgrim.com, once or twice a month.

I’ll focus my online time on Patreon, as I wrote in my previous blog post.

I decided to make the physical material I send out to second and third tier members as simple as possible (though third tier members also get copies of everything I publish, and exclusive items): a monthly copy of my newsletter Quiet Times, and a copy of my zine Stay Home Vagabond, which I have simplified (shorter, artwork on the cover, handwritten, photocopied content, colored paper cover that’s easier to fold than cardboard). Creating, and mailing, physical content is quite time and energy consuming, and after I sent the last batch of zines, I was exhausted and felt overwhelmed at the mere thought of doing it again and again and again (for an increasing number of people!). The logical and practical solution was to simplify the zines, which are important to me and which I very much want to send to my Patreon members. I firmly believe in the importance of material creations, of physical products. And I have nice handwriting.

I recently gave my Patreon account a new look. The other thing I’ll be doing on Patreon in 2019: first tier members will have access to some of my blog posts, photos, and online essays, second tier members will have access to more of them, and third tier members to all of them. On occasion, a post will be accessible to members and non-members.

The Patreon model appeals to me tremendously. What I do is, indeed, worthy of support and remuneration.

The Internet evolved (if one may put it that way) into something that spouts the following harmful message: content must be free, unless it originates from a mega-wealthy giant corporation. Of course you need to pay to see a film and so on, but not if the film, the artwork, the text, and so on, was created by a “minor” person with little influence/funds/power etc.

Hence the heft of platforms like Twitter, Faceborg, and others. The whole idea is to profit from the efforts of users, who offer everything, or practically everything, they post for free: their ideas, thoughts, lives, moments, art, writing, creativity, their selves… Like hamsters on a wheel, they give these platforms life and momentum: the energy of users fuels advertisement-driven algorithms designed to keep users running on their wheels, going nowhere, while the platforms, who demand free content, gorge themselves on the spoils, on the lifeblood of users who are lulled into believing that virtual is better, that their lives, their identities, their creations, their relationships, are only worth something if they’re dumped into the all-consuming electronic stream. The “likes” are bait designed to hook users and give a spark of pleasure and reassurance to their brain. “Here’s your Monopoly money, you’re someone now! Have some Coke.”

As Tom Hodgkinson, the founder of the brilliant publication The Idler, puts it,

We are true believers in the “pay to subscribe” business model rather than the “free but you become a target for advertising” approach. Paradoxically, getting it for free leads to slavery where paying for it leads to freedom.

Tom, incidentally, wrote an excellent article about Faceborg, which you can read here: With friends like these…

And then, there’s the tyranny of electronic devices drawing us into an omnipresent virtual “reality”—you must always be available, always “on,” always answering, always listening, never “missing” anything. Pay attention to those alert sounds, pitiful serf. Your blood is drained away, and you begin nourishing yourself with the insubstantial feeds that scroll by without ever stopping. You become an addict, a drone, a slave. You’re flawed if you don’t keep up. You’re uncaring, defective, defunct.

Absent. As though you didn’t exist.

This is foolishness, and I won’t have it.

This year, I’ll write more books, starting with Masterful; I’m getting back to work on it this week. Then, there will be more. And I’ll write about what delights me. I’ll write short books in my rambling Beat poet way, and a number of them will only be available to patrons. Their support gives me vitality, resources, and encouragement. For less than the price of a cup of coffee a month, members have access to my work: that’s not too much to ask. Yes, I will have at least that much nerve. And I too support fellow creators there—it delights me to do so.

Patreon has given me a great deal of verve and confidence, more so than almost anything else since I began independently publishing my work. 2018 was my first year having a Patreon account; in 2019, I’m ready to make it into something marvelous.

I love to be alone, and I love to communicate. I resolve this paradox by writing. Writing is my activity, my voice, my lifeforce. And I value it, more so than I ever have. I value myself. I enjoy writing, but it also demands much of me, without even factoring in the depleting trivialities and stresses of daily life.

This year, apart from my writing, I’ll focus on playing the violin; reading tarot; making macramé (I stopped after certain incredibly intense and life-changing events took place, and I’ve only just begun to get my bearings back); reading; photography; creating art; enjoying my toy collection; enjoying my life how and where I choose. I’ll frequent local businesses, drink hot apple cider at vibrant nearby cafés, savor the silence at the local library, stroll down the main street with my backpack and notebook.

I feel good. Strong. I make decisions based on my needs, preferences, and aptitudes. I choose my life. I choose myself. It’s a good place to be.

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70s Festive Holiday Extravaganza, tarot, life improvement

Although the past couple of weeks have been a bit tough (many appointments, severe shoulder pain and the anxiety attack that went with it, furnace problem and the PTSD spike that went with it, early snow), my 70s Holiday Bubble has been even more glorious this year than it was last year.

I began right at the start of November. And I’m so glad I did. One month wouldn’t suffice to enjoy the bliss of the Festive 70s environment I created in my cozy home.

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I’ve filled the house with delicious scents and sparkling joy. I’ve gotten boxes of Pot of Gold chocolates, Black Magic, After Eights.

Classic holiday albums have been playing on my turntable, my 1975 Eaton’s Holiday catalogue is on the coffee table. Total Environment delights. Presents are wrapped in cheerful paper and displayed beneath the tree. One of these gifts from me to me (“It’s just what I wanted!”) is something I hadn’t had since I was a kid: a Barbie doll. But not any old Barbie: a stunning, 70s-tastic 2018 Holiday Barbie.

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It’s the perfect touch to my 70s imbued Festive Season.

I love sitting in the living room, with the fireplace station on the television, while gazing at the happiest tree I’ve ever had. The beautiful, glittering, colorful but much smaller tree I had there last year is now in my lair, because this year, one tree simply wasn’t enough.

All of this has been so sweet to me… It’s sumptuous.

In other news, because I’ll be focused on Masterful for the next two or three months, my Stay Home Vagabond zine has been temporarily put on hold (producing it is more time consuming than I’d anticipated, especially since I expanded it); during this book writing and publishing period, my second and third tier Patreon members will receive Quiet Times newsletters and Mini Poster Prints.

As part of my most recent life improvement strategies, one thing I’ll be doing much less effective immediately is social media, specifically Twitter and Instagram. Twitter has become a maelstrom of negativity and downright lunacy, and whatever one shares there is almost immediately swallowed up by the tsunami of input that is Twitter (of course, that’s the idea: it’s so you keep tweeting and trying to stay on top of the endless barrage of tweets, a virtually impossible “task”). I’m exhausted by this. Utterly. I’m sick to death of it. And Instagram is… meh. It’s very app oriented, and I dislike using my smart phone. On top of that, Instagram actively limits the number of followers who actually see one’s posts (unsurprising: the loathsome FB platform acquired IG).

I’m just… I’m so fed up with it all. It’s life draining. It sucks your energy dry. And for what? I’m rather over this internet Sisyphus deal. I’m not interested in trying other platforms (I’ve already done that ad nauseam).

The world of Twitter and the real world, the material world, are two vastly different things, and I much prefer the latter.

Yesterday and the day before, I was in full recuperation mode due to the stress of the last two weeks. I jotted down notes, enjoyed delicious food, watched movies, relaxed. I barely touched social media, and I felt, well, happier in general. I’ve been ambivalent about social media, social networks, for so long, and increasingly so these past few years… From now on, I’ll be using Twitter mostly to share links to my latest Patreon and WordPress (logospilgrim.com) posts. When I do photo sessions with my phone, I’ll share the results on Instagram.

My online activity will center around Patreon and this website. If you like what I do, if you’re interested in my books and art and photography, please follow this website (via WordPress or email) and/or my Patreon account (some of my Patreon posts are accessible to non-members).

When I want to let my thoughts wander and look at happy things online, I’ll be on Pinterest.

My preferred way of staying in touch with friends is by subscribing to their blogs (via email), or becoming a member of or following their Patreon accounts. Note: I don’t do the YouTube thing much.

So, there it is. I’m going to focus on what works for me.

I’ve been getting back to tarot, to reading it professionally (which I did many years ago). This has been a source of immense pleasure to me. Once I picked up the tarot again, I realized how much I’d missed it.

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I created a tarot page here on my website (still under construction), but I will be giving precedence to live readings. I’ll have a limited number of reading appointments per week.

More Masterful news soon. And eventually more Mozart story news as well.

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