#god bless modge podge

[didntthenightend]

[lonesomenebula]

A sudden need

So I have no idea why but today (9/19/19) I felt the need and urge to write about stuff here. My main blog has just become a modge podge of fandom stuff and I need someplace to talk about my witchcraft and just day to day things. So I guess I'm gonna do that here were I feel safest.

One of the big things I've been dealing with a lot as of late has been the Divine and personal issues within myself. As I've been practicing a year now (still feel like I know nothing) I have looked into Divine guidance as I have so many issues with getting myself started. So I've sat down and did some soul searching and while I am not sure they have chosen me (I'm super dense and oblivious to signs) k have always felt a pull to Hades since the moment I heard his name, before knowing anything about him I felt a connection that's lasted since childhood. Persephone took long for me to get the hint but I feel her love in every breath of sweet spring air and warm fall days. As this, I have dedicated myself to them. Which is rad that my fiancee and I both practice in the Greek pantheon ( she had a special bond with Hermes and well she's working on her Matron but I think it might be Aphrodite as I've noticed a lot of signs from her but don't feel they are meant for me).

One of the big things I've been chewing on is what I need to work on as a person and then applying that into my craft. An example is my anger. I ha e a lot of pent up agression, and while I will be seeking a psychiatrist for help on the mental wounds that cause it I am going to my deities for the spiritual healing. I know ares is probably a better God to go to as war is often breed by anger but anytime I worked or communed with him it only exacerbates the issue.

I asked myself was Hades angry that he pulled the underworld? If yes why and how did he handle it, how can I too learn to let it go? Was Persephone angry? When she releases her furies how does she again find her peace of heart and mind?

Things like this have been weighing on me. I have also been trying to figure out the language of love between both my god and goddess and myself, do they know? Do I ? How do I express it and how do I reciprocate.

Anyway I think this is a good start and I'll update as things go, but I am not committing to a day by day log as I know who I am and do not wish to disappoint myself when I fail to do so

Blessings!

[charlieslowartsies]

When your gf wants a Bonnet Funko and you can’t find any but you sure as hell can find a used BonBon and paint it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Also god fucking bless modge podge can i just)

[vivaciousyellow]

re: beyond embarrassing personal ramblings

dear victoria,

first of all, thank you for writing and sharing. i feel like i’ve been participating from a rather unusual kind of third party perspective, in a few very select snapshots of your uncle’s story through your posts. the way i’ve been able to see it to such an ultimate end from this vantage point has felt especially poignant and faintly unsettling.

so.

it’s taken me more than a month to finally put a response together.

which is mainly just, i have answers to exactly zero of your questions. i feel like when i first read your post and began reacting, i had things to say. but in the ensuing month-long, personal and  exhaustive, emotional rollercoaster ride - a particular thrill i’m still strapped into - and my concurrent journey of netflix binging to absolute denial (that little river in northeast africa doesn’t hold a candle to the lengths i will go through to keep row-row-row-my-boat-ing down my favourite psychological coping mechanism. i will die in this disgustingly polluted river of toxic, industrial-grade hormones and emotions. but not before first dying in this confusing and overdrawn parenthetical of metaphor and idiom. you still with me? cuz i’m not with me. #ImWithHerOrReallyJustAnyoneButHim), i’ve lost all my words. i apologise in advance for the intensely meandering nature of my authorial voice at the moment. and tbh the length and verbosity of my sentences are probably gonna be even harder to sludge through than usual, given my current modge podge vocabulary of a fifth grader.

what’s that they say? byelingual?

but rereading your post, the displays of grief that you described resonated with greater frequency (physics?) the second time around. i’ve been thinking a lot about performances of grief, as well as my own inability to pinpoint what exactly my tears are mourning. with each instance, i’ve become increasingly aware of how heavily and leisurely psychic tears move down my skin, and increasingly less aware of what a physical disturbance sobs are, the way each convulsion becomes the most unique ab workout, and the way they hack through the air in such a loud, clumsy way. honestly my lacrimal glands have pulled so much weight this past month and a half.

who says i don’t lift?

so, a shout-out to them. my most dedicated partners-in-crime. the crime of dramaticisms. of intensely gorging upon a neapolitan combination of guilt, shame, and self-pity day after day after day. which, by the way, are chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, respectively. don’t ask me why.

my sister told me a few mornings ago, in a call that lasted 5 tissue packets, 62% of my phone’s battery life, 105 minutes of sobbing, and innumerable, patient assurances, something to the effect of, “to be able to feel so profoundly sad is something special.” i forget her exact wording, as i might have finally resorted to blowing my nose at this point, which has the power of expelling everything out through my nasal cavities, including my sense of hearing and dignity (i have found that, like peeing, snot comes out like a fire hydrant...in sometimes unforeseen directions, with unforeseen force…? that one conversation i had with hira two years ago truly left a ridiculous impression on me), but despite having to wade through the infinite cesspool of self-hatred that has become of my limbic system, that one expression of hers struck some resounding harmonic chord within me.

it was in c# minor, if you must know.

observing this “sadness” has become somewhat of an exhilarating experience (oh wait, already made this comparison, re: emotional rollercoasters). i feel like i’ve been steadily losing my ground and only just recently realised how it has completely vanished from under me. the proverbial magic carpet under which i have been sweeping things has disintegrated under the pesky gnawing of invasive thoughts.

and literal dust mites. i have neither cleaned my room or done laundry in weeks.

as i sit nestled at my unhygienic lowpoint, my sister suggested i write things down, so here goes some subpar, emo dear-diary-ing. hopefully my self-awareness acts as some kind of quality control but no promises. also everything will be in metaphor. sorry not sorry. but also really sorry. (there can be no end to the number of disclaimers, qualifiers, and apologies i need to say for posting all my feelings and thoughts on the internet.)

i remember complaining to david in early december that i felt so so homesick and i didn’t know what to do with it. i was complaining to a lot of people, compelled by some monstrous yearning and intense nostalgia.

my parents generously bought me a ticket.

to my utter surprise and complete delight, i only cried once. and brilliantly, mom and dad didn’t seem to notice. which is the always the biggest of blessings. or they’re just infinitely more intuitive and tolerant than i give them credit for. i also have to thank 姐 for that.

there’s a word doc i started the first day i step foot here and last edited mid-november that i was going to write for confessions of a mask (mishima yukio) and masks (enchi fumiko). not really addressing the actual material of either book, but rather just borrowing the titles. i wanted to do something with relating language, and language barriers, as a type of mask. something about my identity crisis as an asian-american. something about the genuine happiness amongst mixed feelings i felt about being mistaken as “nikkei.” something about the genuine envy amongst mixed feelings i felt when i heard my caucasian(-looking) cohort relate how she was mistaken as happa by the locals because of her conversational mastery over japanese. something about my own surprise, hearing from friends about the impressions i first gave off here.

once upon a time, long long ago, it all started with imposter syndrome…

to no one’s surprise...

anyway i think i need to end this post here. unfortunately however, this will most likely not be the last of my vague, emotional ramblings. something needs to come of this moment of my life. maybe if i record it, i’ll be able to figure out what i did that suddenly made everything feel so wrong.

i don’t know. i’m just so tired of treading the line between giving no fucks and giving all the fucks. more than anything, i hate that i’ve become such a cliched. but also i just wanna say, nihilism is overrated.

so i’ll probably look back on this in a couple months, or god forbid a couple years? and find all of this exceptionally mortifying. but in the meantime, while i’m stuck in this limbo where the future has become unimaginable and insurmountable, here are my fragile feelings.

love,

ying