Rain drops beat against my window, as low thunder rumbles in the horizon past the palm trees. I think about all the places this water has been. What experiences it’s shared. My mother-in-law lies in the other room with a lesion that could kill her at any moment, fixable perhaps, but we wait for a charity to find us funding.
I think about the rain, rage boiling in my gut. I think about how many skies these clouds drifted over.
I think about you, Reader.
I know you, or perhaps, I know experiences we probably share.
I know what it means to be hungry, what it means to live without power or water. I know, as surely as you do, the fear created by a landlord and the violence created by the police.
Perhaps you remember one of your parents crying, as I do, because you have no food and there is no money to get any. Perhaps you recall the time your father spent his life working for a company, enjoying the perks of being their best salesman. Maybe you remember later how he got injured on the job, and was then thrown away as if he never even mattered. Perhaps, in your younger days, a spark that never died caught tinder in your belly when officers terrorized your friends and ended up putting your brother in the hospital. Maybe it was a boss who extracted every bit of profit from your bones yet refused to give you enough money to survive.
Perhaps our stories are not the same dear Reader, and yet our hearts beat in unison. Between us exists that unutterable solidarity of having been there, that same belonging that soldiers have that can’t be faked. You and I have been there, done it. We can see it in each other’s eyes.
These things we survived made us who we are today.
For both you and I these experiences helped strengthen us, helped forge our personalities. We bastard children, we valorous tramps were thrown to the wolves and given nothing but our own wits and will to survive.
And we did. Though plenty of us perished to drugs, death, depression or dependency, we have survived.
It was in this Nietzschean struggle against the powers of the world that we learned, often by force, the TRUE nature of this planet, of this country. In those moments of bleak despair an obsidian forge was built in our hearts, and tossed into it was every lie and piece of propaganda we had been fed since we were children.
To us the holy sacraments of Flag and Country, Dollar and Economy, Jehovah and Hierarchy were reduced to mere ash, cast out upon the winds formed by our screams of RAGE. We would not settle, we would not be subdued, and rather than play the hand we were dealt we began to demand the whole deck. It was only a matter of time before the Spirits found us, those willfull souls who refused to bend and yearned for something greater.
And yet…not all who know the spirits are like us. Not all have been born in struggle, in tempests, and many still have no fucking clue what is going on. These destitute of vision would gladly bind you in chains AS PART OF YOUR SPIRITUALITY to some ideal, some ideology, some spook that was implanted in their head in the first place!
They are nothing more than CHILDREN misdirected who play with witch hats rented on weekends!
A planet in catastrophe and a species on the decline, and there are those among us who with religious faith unparalleled by century-old monastic orders proclaim that “all will be well” or that, contrary to our own eyes, if we just “work hard enough” we’ll all be alright! What’s worse is those who have walked hand-in-hand with spirits are among them!
Our very existences refute their theories!
Where were these magical merchants of capitalism when you and I were hungry? Where where they when the door had to be locked to keep out the landlord? Where were they and where was the GLORY of this entire wretched and filthy system to be found as we sobbed together in darkened rooms, unsure of how we would survive the next day?
“Because we — violent celebralists and passional sentimentalists at the same time — understand and know that revolution is a necessity of the silent sorrow that suffers at the bottom and a need of the free spirits who suffer in the heights.
Because if the sorrow that suffers at the bottom wants rise with the happy smile of the sun, the free spirits who suffer in the heights no longer want to feel the petty offenses of the shame of vulgar slavery that surrounds them.” – Renzo Novatore
These dupes and willing servants of modern slavery will have you spending your days summoning money to pay your debts, rather then be free of them; to sweeten your boss, rather than seize your workplace; they would craft you tools to hide your self before your “superiors” rather than leveling all class distinctions!
These daft ones, these blind seers! You who proclaim to be “liberated,” to manifesting your “inner will” are mere laughing stocks. Your “true wills” are nothing more but focus-grouped and carefully tested marketing schemes, your mind a portal to another world yet wrapped in logos, shrouded by flag-draped prison bars!
Are they kin of ours, dear Reader? These aloof ones, these titled “wellborn” who haven’t seen a day of desperation, let alone a week, year, or LIFETIME? Abandon their temples, these deluded witches that tell you that you’re “muddying the waters” between religion and politics; vacate the premises of ANYONE that would dare to sell you the idea that your LIMITLESS POTENTIAL and your practice that literally WARPS SPACE/TIME is to be used for getting ahead in the corporate ladder!
NO, a thousand times NO I say!
Whoever said magical training brought wisdom was a knave! All around me I see individuals so proud of their manifestations, yet unable to imagine a world beyond the current one!
Do not let yourself be ensnared! Do not let yourself be sold to these sell-spells!
Is it ignorance that makes them so? Perhaps some wizards, safe in middle-class suburbs or high rise city lofts are too far removed from empty bellies and the terror of a cop’s baton. Could it be stupidity? What irony, that so many so named “illuminated ones” fall prey to Nationalist propaganda or corporate advertising, images of fake people loving fake things for fake reasons enough to sway what atrophied free will they had!
Walking ashtrays, flicked with butts neither lit, smoked, or enjoyed themselves but by other ideas that live through them!
But you know better….
Perhaps in your trance states you’ve heard the painful yelps of the planet or the groans of the human spirit as it writhes in chains! You saw bloodied faces made by badges and ropes strung up in closets, BUT THEY TELL YOU IT’S ALL ALRIGHT. How can magic be non-political when my very existence is at the mercy of the forces around me unless I repel them? Was it political when Marie Laveau used her nearly goddess-like abilities to stop the New Orleans police from raiding her home? Was this NOT an Insurrection of the Individual against the State? Louisiana itself bowed before her, and no civil authority would dare to question her, to molest her.
Do we not desire this freedom? Is this not our ideal?
We vagabonds, we tortured, we bottom of the pyramid say YES! But among the magical folk there are those who do not share our vision, fools who either deny they have been lied to or greedily devour those same lies and lose their Unique.
Do you want to know the truth?
Those fools that would deny the pain that has forged your very existence, would doubt that there are MILLIONS of us, that would disbelieve every fact, figure, and statistic you might give them revealing that each and every injury is something SYSTEMIC and NOT ISOLATED, all while remaining wedded to a dying ideology, are in fact OUR GREATEST ALLIES!
Their indifference only fans the flames of fury in our hearts, dear Reader. Their indifference allows the cancer to spread and forces more souls to be raked across the coals of Capitalism!
And it is this suffering, this pain, that is our greatest gift, for in it all the lies The Blind Ones still stutter are instantly burned to cinders! Before we became well-read, before we found our philosophers, we knew our path: our politics rose from indignation, our theories from nightmares of insignificance, and our dreams built on struggles of Insurrection!
Take heart comrade and let them never steal your fire, and in the face of any who might question your motives may you deliver the most derisive LAUGHTER.
“And laughing, we keel the bow of our pagan will to enjoy always strained toward the full integrity of life.
And we write our truths with laughter.
And we write our passions with blood.
And we laugh!” – Renzo Novatore
Make no mistake: your liberty will be seized upon everywhere, and many choices will be far from freely made. The difference is this: the Blind Ones will teach you how to make your choices more comfortable and how to bear the taste of a whip on your back. The Free Spirits may too have to kneel, but they do so not with indifference or being the best servant of the house, NO! The body may bear the lash but the spirit is never touched, nor is her pride, owness, and desire to be free from such beatings whatever the cost!
AWAKEN! RISE UP! My words are not for the many or the well-mannered but the dispossessed and ready!
State, Capitalism, these phantoms and the spaces they occupy are the great Nothing of our magical focus!
To those who know not our struggle, may they have the blessing to endure them!
To those that do, may we have the glory to abolish them!
Dr. Bones is a 9 year practitioner of the Southern occult tradition known as Conjure, Rootwork, and Hoodoo. A skilled card-reader and Spiritworker, Dr. Bones has undertaken all aspects of the work, both benevolent and malefic. Politically he holds the Anarchist line that “Individuality can only flourish where equality of access to the conditions of existence is the social reality. This equality of access is Communism.” He resides in the insane State of Florida with his loving wife, a herd of cats, a house full of spirits.