1.
I get a wee bit naughty when I’m high.
2.
Everything is beautiful.
Stars take on a new kind of beauty, forming celestial matrices I marvel at,
peak my existence.
Music tango’s a discourse; ecstasy, sorcery, mischief & mayhem,
my mind’s eye pulsing in time to rhythmic sex, swirling into everything & everyone around me,
sensing freedom.
Sparks untangle in my psyche & I am forgiven my sins. I traverse the esoteric alchemy of my mind, body & soul, caressing everything alight in you
& nothing else matters.
3.
I’m turning into a tradie.
Either that or a hippie, except I refuse to stop using soap even when my nasal passages fail to deliver the final blow.
I love wearing perfume, Tuscany per Donna in particular (except I’m running out), a floral oriental with sweet, woody undertones that matches my mood.
I’ve never understood the mentality of ‘Eau de Naturale’ when everyone else has to pay through the nose.
I burn Sandalwood for peace when I’m pottering around my home making her pretty.
I look like a tradie though these days, complete with hi-vis shirt, hobnailed boots and fluro socks. No make up.
I’ve let my long hair, grey naturally like a witch; an interlude between lives only donned for that special occasion once in a blue moon, when I speak easy.
Perhaps a Dharma Bum or a tradie with hippie/witch tendencies? It doesn’t really matter – I scrub up ok.
4.
‘Mirrors, mirrors closing round
By my will you now are bound.
Whatever ill you seek to do
Reflected back six times on you’,
says She, the Witch.
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