![]() If you want to measure dick length do ceremonial magik. ![]() If you want a truly deep spiritual experience do shrooms and then chill in comfort and darkness. It was either that or listen to Don Lilo Briquette tell a room full of people they don't do magik unless they are good at something that he is also good at. ![]() The first was a lecture titled “Goddess Thelema”, and since I've always liked the Book of the Law, and always had a soft spot for Thelemites, I thought I'd go check it out. I had the notion of going to two lectures in the afternoon. I actually like this idea of hospitality suites, truly a marketplace of ideas, as long as you have the scroll. I really needed to conserve my ability to tolerate having people around me without being a total asshole. I had hours of being at the Double-tree Inn near the San Jose airport with the faeries. If you're an actual introvert, you know that means that socializing doesn't energize you like it does an extrovert, it enervates you. Not because I thought they were bad people or anything. The last thing I wanted was actually to talk to anyone. But that's all it was, neat stuff you can buy.Īpparently there are these things called hospitality suites in which various groups are just, there, to provide you with what I'd have to figure is information on what their deal is. I don't want to go into it, you've heard it all before I'm sure. Here you can buy three wolf moon t-shirts and books about native spirituality written by white people. ![]() It is kind of like the Portland Saturday Market, except inside, with 1/50th the vendors, and all vaguely witchcraft themed. So being that I now had nothing but time to kill, I decided to see what all the vendors had to offer. Accidents happen regularly on the 17, you'd figure statistically it would have to happen at least once, but nothing. I'm surprised a bus load of Facebook fucks haven't died from the conditions regularly seen on that road. Sadly, it was in the morning and my car needed oil, and I hate going over the 17 with an active service warning, or any problems with a car really. I had gotten there too late to attend the eco-activism talk that I wanted to support because that was the kind of shit these so called Earth children would have been into had they not been full of pillow stuffing. Anyway, I got there, parked illegally like everyone else apparently, that was fun, and payed my forty to know the story. And we actually have fairly cheap rent for what we get. I work in the California cannabis industry, and needless to say I and my wife have ascended to California poor, wherein you make good money but it all gets chewed up in rent. Fluff balls that wear three wolf moon t-shirts. ![]() The Bay Area Pagan community kind of sucks, and its worst elements collect at Pantheacon like filling up a sack. Miraculous! I'm just as human as anyone else, and so spiteful joy awaited me on a Sunday. But how could I not go, for at least half a day, to the last Pantheacon? Like showing up to see a tumor go into remission. I had gone once around ten or eleven years ago, and decided I could just skip that whole Bay Area Pagan community. What could I say that hasn't already been said by Rhyd and Alley? A few years ago, when I had seen that Rhyd would be there, I just said to myself, ‘It's too bougie there, you're not going to have a good time.' I almost went, but being it was Pantheacon, I decided I'd rather shoot my dick with a pistol than go, and prayed that the Lares look out for him. I smiled, “I know right, that's the first thing.” And then I gave her a truncated version of what you'll read later if you make it to the end of this account. She scrunched her nose up, “Forty dollars?”. I gave her my phone with the itinerary or whatever you call it. She scrunches up her eyebrows and replies, “No, what's that?” “Thank the gods”, I replied, “It's awful, you're better off not knowing.” My friend is a witch that dances her spells, like in the remake of Susperia. I walked into the lab my friend works in. ![]()
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