![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(Character sketch for a Hunter game....)
So I knew I was special from an early age, right? Yeah, I know everyone thinks there special, except maybe those flinching ones who hide in the corners at school hugging their bookbags to their chests, but I knew I was. I mean, Ma and Pa always told me I was special, but that’s like their job, right? I know it sounds cheesy as hell, but it came to me in a dream. I’m a bit of an oracle, when it comes to dreams, so when I dreamed about the Great Eye on top of ye olde pyramid, and how that eye scanned all around like the freaking Eye of Sauron until it lit on ME, well, yeah, of course I knew I’d been singled out. By what exactly, I wasn’t sure, but there’s a reason the unknown is called the occult. I was singled out for life as an occultist.
It is my intention to be every bit as great as those old-timey occultists, like Hermes Trismegistus, Edward Kelly, John Dee, or even Gerald Gardner. The way I see it, by the time I’m really old, like at least 30, I will be famous. Well, famous in small circles. It’s not like Joe Blow knows who the hell Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, but anyone who’s heard of the 23 sons of Enochian magick sure does. And they’ll also know me, Whitemoon Longfeather, and I’m sure there will be lots of magi clamouring over my limited edition, human skin-bound grimoires.
So like I was saying, I had that dream of the Great Eye when I was 7, and ever since then, I’ve devoted my life to the occult. Well, as much as I can, at least. It’s kinda tricky when you’re a kid in Chicago, surrounded by mundanes. I actually flunked out of grade six. How could I give a shit about social studies and gym class when there’s alchemy and rituals to study?
I don’t exactly have friends at school, but that doesn’t mean I’m one of those kids who flinches in corners with my book bag. Nuh-uh. When those Abercrombie and Fitch types start mocking me for not sharing their questionable fashion sense, I just go inward.
I can astrally project, you know. It’s not entirely wise to leave your body when it’s being pummelled by bitchy cheerleaders, but sometimes, it’s tempting. There’s a certain amused clinical detachment I put myself into. I float up by the ceiling tiles and watch the blonde ponytail brigade trip me to the ground and spit on me “accidentally.” They don’t know what’s coming, but it is most certainly coming. Karma’s a bitch, you know. And bitches’ karmas are even bitchier. I picture teenaged pregnancy and dumpster babies and stripper poles, and don’t you think that’s just my active imagination. That’s pure, unadulterated prophecy, yo.
Now, I’m not completely without friends. Thank Cernunnos for the internet. Yeah, I said Cernunnos. He’s the god of the hunt, and there’s a lot of hunting to be had online. I’ve participated in various usenet groups since I was the ripe old age of nine, and I guess you can say I’m a bit of an internet guru. There’s a lot of total bullshit on the internet. Chances are, you’ve seen some of those websites about witches with spinning pentacle gifs and shit, saying stuff like “so mote it be,” yadda yadda yadda. Well, most of it is crap. But if there’s one good thing about crap, it’s that it makes excellent fertilizer. And in the middle of all that shit, there are some seriously good ideas growing. I’ve seen mixes of Santeria and Osatru and Dianic magick so crazy-brilliant that they’d make your third eye blink so hard you’d feel it in your red chakra.
Anyhow, as I was saying, I’m kind of a big deal on the internet. Not only did I participate in usenet groups devoted to a whole buttload of occult topics, but I moderated some LiveJournal, DeadJournal, and MySpace groups on modern shamanism, cybermagick, practical urban druidry, etcetera. And I have a VampireFreaks.com account, too. Yeah, I’m Whitemoon Longfeather on there. I’d say for you to go look me up, but it’s pretty obvious you already know who I am, anyway.
I got pretty good at web design. Although I used to do all my coding old-school-style, on notepad.exe, nowadays, I’ve finally given in to some HTML editors. They’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. I am proficient with HTML, DHTML, CSS, Java, JavaScript, and even do my own graphical rendering with OpenGL. I’ve made some pretty sweet 3-D renderings of Stonehenge, the Great Pyramids, and those Easter Island dudes. Hey, a girl’s gotta have hobbies, right? Plus, my skill set is gonna land me a sweet, high-paying job. I need money, and although yes, I do know some excellent money-making spells, but when it comes right down to it, having the right skill set works a whole lot faster in the world of finance. Let’s face it. Primo witchery ingredients aren’t cheap. If you think they are, you tell me where you can get a genuine hand of glory for less than a year’s allowance.
I don’t have a lot of friends in meatspace. Most of my posse run with me online. There is Lotus Wolfblossom, the proprietor of the Monkey’s Paw on Mercantile Street, though. She and I are like this, if you know what I mean. I guess she’s kinda like my mentor. She’s the sorcerer, and I’m the apprentice, but not in that Fantasia Mickey Mouse with the mop kind of way. Naa. She doesn’t get me to do the cleaning stuff. She does get me to help with the book orders, powder and philtre creation, and I’m also the web mistress, of course. In exchange, she gives me full access to her library. It’s a good one. She has this sweet old Victorian house with a widow’s walk and everything. The place is full of books, and not all of them trade paperbacks by Llewellyn Press, either. She has some serious stuff. She even has dusty old treatises against witches, like a reprint of the Malleus Maleficarum, which would be funny if it hadn’t ended up lighting a bunch of fires under a bunch of witches’ feet. The Burning Times were bad news, and there are lots of witches who are afraid it’ll happen again, what with the Bible Belt being let out a few notches and all. I know some of those kooky Christians are pretty freaking scary.
They can’t even tell the difference between a pentagram and a pentacle, for Brigid’s sake. In the meanwhile, I can’t help but crook an ironic eyebrow at their use of such phallic imagery. It’s not exactly arcane knowledge that a crucifix is shaped like a wiener. I mean, c’mon. And it does have its roots with the ankh, which was absolutely a fertility symbol, marrying both the female and male regenerative organs in its design. They just pulled off the round part of the ankh and stuck it around the heads of their saints, instead. Go figure.
But I digress. Lotus Wolfblossom’s place is a treasure trove of occult paraphernalia. She actually has Aleister Crowley’s toothbrush. No, seriously. It might not be worth anything other than as a curio, but it’s still pretty darned cool, don’t you think? She has other stuff, too. There are body parts in formeldahyde, including a two-headed foetus. Don’t tell anyone, though, because I haven’t yet looked up the legalities and all. She even has a book which she says was bound in human skin. It’s kinda nasty, but it’s also cool. I’m pretty sure that’s a bellybutton on the spine. It’s all written in Enochian, which is the language of angels, in case you don’t know. I’m fairly certain no angels had any hand in this book’s creation, though.
Way back in the 90s, she took off for a while to the bayou by New Orleans and studied voduin. She’s the number one reason I know my prophecies about the blonde ponytail brigade will come true. You just don’t mess with the apprentice of a voodoo queen. That’s some seriously bad juju.
To top it off, Lotus is a paranormal investigator. She makes her own Kirlian cameras and does ghost photography, and she has all sorts of fancy equipment for poltergeist telemetry. She consults for ghost movies, too. Her advice has been used for The Blair Witch Project, Feardotcom, and The Grudge 2, and a few books and tv shows. Though she’s not a spirit medium herself, she sometimes teams up with one: Norman Laramie. Norman’s pretty old. I think he’s almost 40, which is even older than my Pa. He’s a bit of a dork, and he likes to talk with this fakey British accent, but sure does know his stuff. He taught me how to tell when people are faking at seances, and how to identify real ectoplasm. In case you’re wondering, it’s pretty gross. It kinda reminds me of what it might be like if a blue whale had a yeast infection or something. Yeah, like I said. Gross. I never expected the occult to be so gross or messy, but that’s life, right? We’re born in a sploosh of gross, and when we die, we turn into another sploosh of gross. It’s just the cycle of life. The Christians say from dust to dust, but I know it’s really from sploosh to sploosh. And when you become a ghost, you just keep on splooshing.
I have a cadre of friends online, of course. Mostly, for security purposes, we don’t know one another’s meatspace names. There’s Ghostdancer_8, Daemonik, and Aspirate (yeah, people keep calling him Ass Pirate. Not the best handle, for sure). I’m honestly not entirely sure where they’re from. They use an IP switcher, and I haven’t been arsed enough to try to figure it out. I really don’t care. It’s enough that they’re there when I need someone to bounce ideas off of, and when it comes right down to it, they’re good friends. They’ve helped me through some pretty tight times, and I hope I can do the same for them if they ever end up in the shit, too. And they totally turned me on to some sick retro tunes. Daemonik got me listening to stuff like Type O Negative, The Electric Hellfire Club, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult, and Project Pitchfork. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We’re all in a coven together. And yes, you can do that online. It just gets a little trickier than casting circles in the flesh. It’s a good thing symbolism is cheaper than components, right?
So I start grade nine today. Like I said, I flunked grade six, so I should be in grade ten. It doesn’t help that I’m super mature for my age. I’m 14, but I could totally pass for 17. I actually kinda had a boyfriend from the University of Chicago, sorta, but I left him at the frat house because the place was gross. I mean, I don’t like the Benetton kids at school, so why would I think Iota Delta Lambda frat boys would be any better? Look at them, thinking they’re so posh in their Ralph Lauren pastel Polo shirts while they do keg stands and pass out in their own vomit. Idiots. Besides, I don’t exactly fit in with my TRIPP bondage pants and Emily Strange shirts. I prefer to dress with a bit more individuality. Besides, Ralph Lauren and pentacles just don’t mix. They look pretty stupid together.
I can’t wait until I’m finally in high school. That’s when Ma said I’ll finally be allowed to dye my hair black. I think I’ll wait a few more years until I dabble with sex magick, though. I’m saving myself for the right magus. You never know, though. I have to leave myself open to change, right?
Anyway, gotta jet. Class starts in a few minutes, and I have to brave the ponytail gauntlet. Laterz.
So I knew I was special from an early age, right? Yeah, I know everyone thinks there special, except maybe those flinching ones who hide in the corners at school hugging their bookbags to their chests, but I knew I was. I mean, Ma and Pa always told me I was special, but that’s like their job, right? I know it sounds cheesy as hell, but it came to me in a dream. I’m a bit of an oracle, when it comes to dreams, so when I dreamed about the Great Eye on top of ye olde pyramid, and how that eye scanned all around like the freaking Eye of Sauron until it lit on ME, well, yeah, of course I knew I’d been singled out. By what exactly, I wasn’t sure, but there’s a reason the unknown is called the occult. I was singled out for life as an occultist.
It is my intention to be every bit as great as those old-timey occultists, like Hermes Trismegistus, Edward Kelly, John Dee, or even Gerald Gardner. The way I see it, by the time I’m really old, like at least 30, I will be famous. Well, famous in small circles. It’s not like Joe Blow knows who the hell Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, but anyone who’s heard of the 23 sons of Enochian magick sure does. And they’ll also know me, Whitemoon Longfeather, and I’m sure there will be lots of magi clamouring over my limited edition, human skin-bound grimoires.
So like I was saying, I had that dream of the Great Eye when I was 7, and ever since then, I’ve devoted my life to the occult. Well, as much as I can, at least. It’s kinda tricky when you’re a kid in Chicago, surrounded by mundanes. I actually flunked out of grade six. How could I give a shit about social studies and gym class when there’s alchemy and rituals to study?
I don’t exactly have friends at school, but that doesn’t mean I’m one of those kids who flinches in corners with my book bag. Nuh-uh. When those Abercrombie and Fitch types start mocking me for not sharing their questionable fashion sense, I just go inward.
I can astrally project, you know. It’s not entirely wise to leave your body when it’s being pummelled by bitchy cheerleaders, but sometimes, it’s tempting. There’s a certain amused clinical detachment I put myself into. I float up by the ceiling tiles and watch the blonde ponytail brigade trip me to the ground and spit on me “accidentally.” They don’t know what’s coming, but it is most certainly coming. Karma’s a bitch, you know. And bitches’ karmas are even bitchier. I picture teenaged pregnancy and dumpster babies and stripper poles, and don’t you think that’s just my active imagination. That’s pure, unadulterated prophecy, yo.
Now, I’m not completely without friends. Thank Cernunnos for the internet. Yeah, I said Cernunnos. He’s the god of the hunt, and there’s a lot of hunting to be had online. I’ve participated in various usenet groups since I was the ripe old age of nine, and I guess you can say I’m a bit of an internet guru. There’s a lot of total bullshit on the internet. Chances are, you’ve seen some of those websites about witches with spinning pentacle gifs and shit, saying stuff like “so mote it be,” yadda yadda yadda. Well, most of it is crap. But if there’s one good thing about crap, it’s that it makes excellent fertilizer. And in the middle of all that shit, there are some seriously good ideas growing. I’ve seen mixes of Santeria and Osatru and Dianic magick so crazy-brilliant that they’d make your third eye blink so hard you’d feel it in your red chakra.
Anyhow, as I was saying, I’m kind of a big deal on the internet. Not only did I participate in usenet groups devoted to a whole buttload of occult topics, but I moderated some LiveJournal, DeadJournal, and MySpace groups on modern shamanism, cybermagick, practical urban druidry, etcetera. And I have a VampireFreaks.com account, too. Yeah, I’m Whitemoon Longfeather on there. I’d say for you to go look me up, but it’s pretty obvious you already know who I am, anyway.
I got pretty good at web design. Although I used to do all my coding old-school-style, on notepad.exe, nowadays, I’ve finally given in to some HTML editors. They’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. I am proficient with HTML, DHTML, CSS, Java, JavaScript, and even do my own graphical rendering with OpenGL. I’ve made some pretty sweet 3-D renderings of Stonehenge, the Great Pyramids, and those Easter Island dudes. Hey, a girl’s gotta have hobbies, right? Plus, my skill set is gonna land me a sweet, high-paying job. I need money, and although yes, I do know some excellent money-making spells, but when it comes right down to it, having the right skill set works a whole lot faster in the world of finance. Let’s face it. Primo witchery ingredients aren’t cheap. If you think they are, you tell me where you can get a genuine hand of glory for less than a year’s allowance.
I don’t have a lot of friends in meatspace. Most of my posse run with me online. There is Lotus Wolfblossom, the proprietor of the Monkey’s Paw on Mercantile Street, though. She and I are like this, if you know what I mean. I guess she’s kinda like my mentor. She’s the sorcerer, and I’m the apprentice, but not in that Fantasia Mickey Mouse with the mop kind of way. Naa. She doesn’t get me to do the cleaning stuff. She does get me to help with the book orders, powder and philtre creation, and I’m also the web mistress, of course. In exchange, she gives me full access to her library. It’s a good one. She has this sweet old Victorian house with a widow’s walk and everything. The place is full of books, and not all of them trade paperbacks by Llewellyn Press, either. She has some serious stuff. She even has dusty old treatises against witches, like a reprint of the Malleus Maleficarum, which would be funny if it hadn’t ended up lighting a bunch of fires under a bunch of witches’ feet. The Burning Times were bad news, and there are lots of witches who are afraid it’ll happen again, what with the Bible Belt being let out a few notches and all. I know some of those kooky Christians are pretty freaking scary.
They can’t even tell the difference between a pentagram and a pentacle, for Brigid’s sake. In the meanwhile, I can’t help but crook an ironic eyebrow at their use of such phallic imagery. It’s not exactly arcane knowledge that a crucifix is shaped like a wiener. I mean, c’mon. And it does have its roots with the ankh, which was absolutely a fertility symbol, marrying both the female and male regenerative organs in its design. They just pulled off the round part of the ankh and stuck it around the heads of their saints, instead. Go figure.
But I digress. Lotus Wolfblossom’s place is a treasure trove of occult paraphernalia. She actually has Aleister Crowley’s toothbrush. No, seriously. It might not be worth anything other than as a curio, but it’s still pretty darned cool, don’t you think? She has other stuff, too. There are body parts in formeldahyde, including a two-headed foetus. Don’t tell anyone, though, because I haven’t yet looked up the legalities and all. She even has a book which she says was bound in human skin. It’s kinda nasty, but it’s also cool. I’m pretty sure that’s a bellybutton on the spine. It’s all written in Enochian, which is the language of angels, in case you don’t know. I’m fairly certain no angels had any hand in this book’s creation, though.
Way back in the 90s, she took off for a while to the bayou by New Orleans and studied voduin. She’s the number one reason I know my prophecies about the blonde ponytail brigade will come true. You just don’t mess with the apprentice of a voodoo queen. That’s some seriously bad juju.
To top it off, Lotus is a paranormal investigator. She makes her own Kirlian cameras and does ghost photography, and she has all sorts of fancy equipment for poltergeist telemetry. She consults for ghost movies, too. Her advice has been used for The Blair Witch Project, Feardotcom, and The Grudge 2, and a few books and tv shows. Though she’s not a spirit medium herself, she sometimes teams up with one: Norman Laramie. Norman’s pretty old. I think he’s almost 40, which is even older than my Pa. He’s a bit of a dork, and he likes to talk with this fakey British accent, but sure does know his stuff. He taught me how to tell when people are faking at seances, and how to identify real ectoplasm. In case you’re wondering, it’s pretty gross. It kinda reminds me of what it might be like if a blue whale had a yeast infection or something. Yeah, like I said. Gross. I never expected the occult to be so gross or messy, but that’s life, right? We’re born in a sploosh of gross, and when we die, we turn into another sploosh of gross. It’s just the cycle of life. The Christians say from dust to dust, but I know it’s really from sploosh to sploosh. And when you become a ghost, you just keep on splooshing.
I have a cadre of friends online, of course. Mostly, for security purposes, we don’t know one another’s meatspace names. There’s Ghostdancer_8, Daemonik, and Aspirate (yeah, people keep calling him Ass Pirate. Not the best handle, for sure). I’m honestly not entirely sure where they’re from. They use an IP switcher, and I haven’t been arsed enough to try to figure it out. I really don’t care. It’s enough that they’re there when I need someone to bounce ideas off of, and when it comes right down to it, they’re good friends. They’ve helped me through some pretty tight times, and I hope I can do the same for them if they ever end up in the shit, too. And they totally turned me on to some sick retro tunes. Daemonik got me listening to stuff like Type O Negative, The Electric Hellfire Club, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult, and Project Pitchfork. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We’re all in a coven together. And yes, you can do that online. It just gets a little trickier than casting circles in the flesh. It’s a good thing symbolism is cheaper than components, right?
So I start grade nine today. Like I said, I flunked grade six, so I should be in grade ten. It doesn’t help that I’m super mature for my age. I’m 14, but I could totally pass for 17. I actually kinda had a boyfriend from the University of Chicago, sorta, but I left him at the frat house because the place was gross. I mean, I don’t like the Benetton kids at school, so why would I think Iota Delta Lambda frat boys would be any better? Look at them, thinking they’re so posh in their Ralph Lauren pastel Polo shirts while they do keg stands and pass out in their own vomit. Idiots. Besides, I don’t exactly fit in with my TRIPP bondage pants and Emily Strange shirts. I prefer to dress with a bit more individuality. Besides, Ralph Lauren and pentacles just don’t mix. They look pretty stupid together.
I can’t wait until I’m finally in high school. That’s when Ma said I’ll finally be allowed to dye my hair black. I think I’ll wait a few more years until I dabble with sex magick, though. I’m saving myself for the right magus. You never know, though. I have to leave myself open to change, right?
Anyway, gotta jet. Class starts in a few minutes, and I have to brave the ponytail gauntlet. Laterz.
