I Hope You’re Staying Dry: Hurricane Party, Sex, Drugs, and Witchcraft

This past weekend’s
Hurricane Party
Skate gang is
Sola, Samuel, and Swamp Bunny

Wake on Alligator’s couch
Sweet voices from the shower
You have a soft side Sola,
My Best friend with her fiancé, Cheshire Cat.
I am glad he treats you well
You rise together early morning
Playful in the shower

When I’m with you we
Pass the best days of my life
We spin dizzy colors
Bleed together and
Sting my eyes
This is Not a Drill
I am in Love with Mr. Alligator
And he is your fiance’s best friend

It is July there is a Hurricane in the gulf
Soon we will feel the sky shaking
Hide in Uptown, New Orleans I know I am not
Safe here yes, I am better off by my parent’s up North
Yet here I am and can you guess why?
I long to sleep tonight in the quiet dip in the sofa
Where you rest your head when you come Home,
Alligator, I long to stay by our friends
Dysfunction and drugs and playing
The Game yes, I love you in plain sight

In the mid morning
Sola and I wander to Tree of Life to
Pray for Rain to Cleanse our Sins
We pose each other in hot pics
For Insta she plants palms in
Damp peat moss in decay she
Kicks her feet up in an arc
Handstand against a low branch
Yoga, muscles, and curves
Unapologetic #ThirstTraps

We suffocate as we heal as Tree of Life
Tosses Spanish Moss in my open diary
Throw me something Ma’am
I take the moss home with me, because
You gave yourself of your free will
Unto me, you placed yourself inside
My diary you demand to lounge
Deep in my unconscious and you
Surface in my dreams in
Sexual fantasies I enjoy
Thinking of Alligator when I am with
His Best Friends I am
Aroused by the idea
Of them feeling envious of our
Tense desire our burning eyes

Tree of Life commands us to
Weave Magic
Into the tapestry
Into the sky
Sola and I gather moss for spell work
For darker days

I ascend her
Straddle her solid beneath me
“Girl You’ve Got To Trust Her
Or this will never work okay?”
Palms on bark, focus on her branch
In my eyes of ancients past
I’ve gotta trust what is directly in front
There is no fear in this moment
“I can’t look down or surely I will fall.”
Succumb to flying to
Standing on tippy toes to
Steal a Kiss her sun kissed leaves
Leave her blushing you always
Leave me wanting more
But you’re not here, are you Mr. Alligator?
And so I climb her more.

Back home it is late, late
Samuel turns off the TV and
Hushes the boys to let me sleep
In the nook of your body’s heat
I still feel you here
You slept here weeks ago
When are you coming home?

The next night we discover an
Alien Planet
Rich folk’s grass
The good kind on the
Golf Course at Audobon Park
Carpet exposes we are miniatures
Ant specks crawling under a
Purple and orange sky observes
Ancient oaks pause
Here and there as a
Humble Hurricane passes by
He arrives in finality and marvels
Me and the Gang
Break Federal Curfew
Indulge in rebellion
Punk Rock jacket I created
To show you who’s boss
I am the #SwampThot
Sola takes a photo of me
Stretched seductively
Across the slick keep- out sign
We give Zero Fucks
Piss on the pampered lawn of
Old Money New Orleans
Generations of dirty Money
Lavishness fetishized from the
Blood and sweat of Slaves,
Walking home on St. Charles
A blacked out car skids by
Samuel says they “must be moving
A couple Kilos.” Since “now would
Be the perfect time.” Says a cop
Follows in disguise.

Back home: Samuel presents a
Fancy case his wide smile with a flourish says
“Swamp Bunny, You Need To Smell This Weed”
My face betrays my repulsion my
Lack of experience with his decadence
Unintentionally personal insult
He has lost the ability to relate that
I cannot be impressed I make a
Mental note to tell Alligator,
He will be in stitches over this one.

Morning and Sola, Samuel and I blade
Audoban park in full lucidity
Of daylight we are
The Coolest Kids you’ll ever see
Who wouldn’t kill to hang with us?
Rushing past Blaring
Nasty music Dressed to
Impress Styled to Terrify
Moves to Testify
Samuel says he feels like he’s flying
I say I feel alive

Afternoon and we encounter a Vigilante Weatherman
At The Fly on the Mississippi River, says
He prefers to be called an
Armature Storm Chaser
I could not resist asking about
His homemade wind sock
Broken Sexton from Party City after Halloween Sale
Red Hair and freckles, eyes squint
Points to the Eye of the Storm
In the distance
Draws us a diagram on a
Stained Chinese Takeout Menu
I dare not correct him, bite my tongue
Struggle to keep from laughing that
Everything he has said is wrong, wrong, wrong.

The sweetest moment the
Hard candy on my tongue
Was a 5 word text from my Alligator
“I hope you’re staying dry.”

Night falls: Cheshire cat shows me
Patient bubbles in molten
Butter teaching me to make
Edibles Sickly Golden
Marshmallow and 90s children’s cereal
Always Watching Everything and Everyone
He takes it all in, I wonder
Does he have a choice? I wonder
Can he rest at night?

Hurricane Barry 2019 I spent with
My Best Friend Sola, with Samuel and
Cheshire Cat, cuddled in my Crush’s bed

And here in my palm,
I take home a mason jar of
Hurricane Water I gathered in heavy mugs
On the brick by her potted garden
Sola adds Brandy to keep it fresh
Now colors honey sharp to save for
Witchcraft for dry days
One for me and one for you.
And a boy for me and a boy for you.
How could I want for more.

Sweet Fear Aquarius

A softer desire. Sweeter,
quieter affection. You move slow,
make sure I enjoy you.
Can we be little creatures together?
I’d like to burrow into you, into soft Earth,
Can we make love tonight?
Like the Wind,
You want to see so much, cannot
Sit still, I must respect
Your nature, my lover I can only
Pray that you choose to stay

You are the Wind
Also the steady Breath
Come home to the body
Bringer of seasons Messenger of
Tidings of Summer heatwaves you
Howl through my bones Love
You hurl sand grains in the
Eyes of distant armies you
Blow the Sea from shore to shore
Your waves
Overpower my body and
I let you caress me on the porch by the Sea.

You are always here
Come home to my body Deep
Belly, throat, mouth and lips
Fill me to my lungs and nose
Make me wonder if
I will survive the pleasure of your fingertips
Assault of my lips, tangle my hair
I want you. There is your
Voice from California I heard
You’re still singing. Alone or
In a crowd I don’t care just
Keep fucking singing
Fuck till we’re gasping
Fight till we’re screaming
Keep sending me paper letters
Crisp leaves falling slow carried
In your palms across Mountains across
Prairie. Home to New Orleans.

We’re not so far away,
Really
I can still hear you singing.

Feel your chest rise and fall, my sweetest Aquarius if you can’t tell me, please whisper in my ear. I will pause the turn of the Earth to create quiet enough to hear you. I will breathe over your chest, kiss your lean stomach, I will put goosebumps down your spine.

Caus your voice is the one I want to hear right now. Yours alone. Ours together I’d bet we will make music, we’ll make Magic.

& if it makes you happy maybe I will float with you, steadiness as we pause here and there to plant seeds and

Running again we are panting, we are
Always laughing we
Make love we are gasping and
Fingers dig into each other hold on
For dear life I fucking promise I won’t let you
Blow away
& you finally held on
You returned to your body
We sighed together
Ragged and Terrified
Stop Running
Catch your breath
Please come home

I’d part the Red Sea if I could find a way into your heart
Navigate the Mountains between us
Not the hurricane, not the tornado
Will be a reason anymore find the
True reason for running off
Stop pushing me away
Breathe in, let go
Come home.

July 2019

Sola and I Revel in Our Power Over Men and in the End We Choose Each Other.

Last weekend I found myself
In the lap of a beautiful woman
Warm and high we
Float serenely on a
Large pool toy of Nesse,
Amongst the Nerd Babes
Wild party @The Drifter Hotel,
A popular alternative nightlife venue it is
Almost Summer Solstice
In New Orleans, Louisiana

Neon lights slide across our
Dewy skin, rainbow beach balls
Deflating aliens float by,
Fellow revelers lounge
Sip cocktails and daqueries as
90s pop vibrates our bones. Feet
Lull in the warm and lightly salted water.

The beautiful woman beneath me keeps me warm.
I feel her skin, she is
Topless she is my Best Friend
We gaze directly up to the cloudy sky,
Midnight pollution the city makes it
Difficult to see many stars
Yet here I am, with you
Looking anyway

She took me out tonight she got me high bought me a soda helped me eat a falafel gyro she lent me a swimsuit and listened to me spill darkness from my chest and into the void of the sky that we stared deep into on this night, we glimpsed from the edge of the cliff we saw our reflection in distant nebulae in the eyes of god we were no longer mad at each other because we made it out alive. We know our love is greater than the pain this world can provide.

I love her

The crowd follows our every move. All eyes
Desire to see us kiss. All men
Imagine touching our bodies.

Sola, all curves, perfect
Hourglass figure, olive skin,
Giggling over a cute guy that told her
He thinks curvy girls are sexier. She is
Charming, dirty blonde hair, vivacious
Boundless Joy and a love that Gives as much
As fears and I,
Waist length dirty blonde hair to match
Pulled half up in space buns memory of
Magical Girl. Black roses, holographic
Pentagrams, and a Lavender rosary which
I nibble on to take selfies and
Wonder how offended or aroused he would be
To see his Crush half nude with
His Savior in her pouty lips.

We strut past the pool to
Get drinks and All Eyes are on us
We know how beautiful
We are Lillith
Tempting prophets to connect
Holy Pleasure to their Sin

Tonight, Sola takes care of me,
Accepts the Mother Role with
One hit of her bong
Found myself
Too high, needing her help,
Forced,
To accept her help

Perhaps, in truth
An excuse to accept help a
Tangible reason a valid reason to Need

Often I Need help
Physically Eating
When high, food cannot travel
From table to mouth my
Quiet hands forget that journey
Lose their way in between
Maybe I can ask to be fed I can
Ask for someone to notice
How I struggle how my tired
Hands get lost.
Pray for Rain.

Healing us both,
Role reversal for just one night
With a kindness that brought me close to
Tears, she taught me how to
Light the household bong with
A patience I struggle to trust
I knew I had permission to take my time to
Make mistakes. I knew she cared.

Sola: the nurturer, the patient teacher, the mother
Holding space for, forcing me to receive.

Please, never leave me
I will love this woman till the day I die


June 2019

The Serpent

Here I lie it is 2019 and I never imagine things would come full circle with myself alone in perfect symmetry in the middle of my bed, an enchanted room I have created and in which I make magic in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Half of me is lit by Magdalena’s dancing flame, a soft gold as I fall asleep, the other side lit by white roaring lighting, wild and loud. And all the while my lost love Maynard chanting and this magic builds in my delicious room. Mer de Noms on shuffle and no, I am not triggered at all. I shine. Basking and swelling, humming prayers as I slip into sleep.

Full circle

Sweet child, if you could only see me now. Maybe you do, maybe that’s why you hold on.

Invite to the Viking Camp

Chelsea says she’s invited to the Viking Camp of Stone Wolf Coven, says they told her to stop by if she heard drumming in the night, and I can come if I walk with her by her tent first to drop off her swimsuit and pick up her smores supplies to share at the Stone Wolf Fire.

            Terror is equal to a molten curiosity in me.  A cloudy night, darker than you’d ever walk back in the city, dark as entering a great sea. A post ritual exhaustion thick in the air, but radiating and smoldering coals burn on a few more hours into the night. Chelsea, the lamb in the darkness, her small lamp spilling across faded grass as she leads us on.

I’d loved her as soon as I saw her, felt her rush and she is so much like Sola I can’t hide the magnetic pull. We’d met just the night before at Gryhpon’s Nest Camp in Springfield, Louisiana, not far from my home in New Orleans. My fourth stay at this private campground, with my Pagan community for the sacred holiday Imbolc which doubles as my birthday and I now have 30 years.

            All the way to the back of the property she leads me, brave and focus ahead, says we need to look for the big tires: the true entrance to the camp.  Bare feet find twigs and we navigate through partially trodden bushes and briars that have been gently parted over and over again and lull loosely back into place. 

            Low murmer of voices in the near distance.  Chelsea turns off her small light and slows her steps.  A warm light illuminates her brassy blonde hair and our bare feet are grateful to find a straw softer than I knew existed, covering the large area in a thick blanket, freshly placed down as a soft and clean carpet. 

            Chelsea holds a last weakened vine open like a curtain for me, as the low murmers fall to a sudden halt and we are left with the songs of crickets and we know we are being watched, they know we are here. 

            My fear grows to an almost unbearable pressure but it is too late to turn back, we see their figures, pale faces offset with dark hair and dark clothing.  They circle tightly around a large cooking fire, wooden shields and bright flags hung from the makeshift walls.  A maze of temporary buildings fill a large dip in the field that is Gryphon’s nest, they stay close to the Cypress Swamp that circles us. In a collective trance they gaze deeply into the fire, ritual plants wearing off and a welcome back to ordinary reality.  Women in chairs with young men on the straw floor, leaning back into the women’s laps. 

   Animalistic terror but I cannot turn back and Chelsea is with me,
she would not hesitate to step through the fires of hell for a lunch with Hades. Tired Viking men maintain a loose grip on their handmade axes, carved with protection sigils.

            The Viking king stands to give us a booming welcome with an order to make ourselves at home.  Warm, and fetching us his personally aged burnt honey mead, served in a bison horn and passed around.  The men shuffle their seats to offer us the best spot by the fire, passing us apple wine and a pipe.  The young Vikings pick up their conversation, lightly teasing and joking with each other.  Chelsea insists I tell of the 2 dreams I had the night prior, as they are a popular tale circling Gryphon’s Nest this Imbolc holiday.  I flush at the attention but speak as they watch me.  Smiling, they poke fun at my eels and we laugh together.

            When Chelsea’s marshmallows emerge, a man is commanded to fetch us roasting sticks, which turn out to more resemble harpoons, and the soft candy looks comically small, stabbed and perched above the flame.  The king declares his boar brought out, and a large shank, hooves and hair and all is placed on the fire and he sits back, satisfied.  He speaks with me for a long while as his wife dozes next to him and sweet young men shyly meet my eyes from across the heart of the fire.

Arise!

Thanks for joining me, I’m excited to share my writing, and grateful to have a platform to organize and display it. My plan with my content is to focus on true stories about my experiences in New Orleans, Louisiana surrounding various spiritual communities, as well as stories of women in my life and snapshots of mundane or meaningful moments. The catch is that my writing is enhanced with elements of fantasy blending with reality. If there are any major changes, I will make a note at the end of the story or poem.

Each moment another chance to wake up again, and again.

Krewe Du Vieux

Saturday, sacred night Sola and I go to the Marigny to Lower Decatur in the French Quarter, we walk 7 blocks through our dirty streets it is a warm February night it is a young night yet.  We wear our best and most extravagant and weird and sexy and wrong.  We are attending the infamous Krewe Du Vieux parade, it is Carnival Season in New Orleans, Louisiana


There are saints in white and gold lace dripping from crowned heads they are blindfolded they hold scales and are lit with soft glowing lights in their hair, they are Dr. Sandra Ford, Lady Justice.  They peer knowingly at the crowd and slowly march past with a solemnness that is unusual for a parade like this. In dizzying contrast, next arrives a giant paper-mache Putin holding a baby Trump like a tiny screaming sock puppet meanders by, fist in ass.  Next is a float and marchers that parody the construction issues in NOLA they carry signs that say on one side “stop” and on the back “twerk”, and the crowd, eager for revelry, obeys the turn of the signs as squealing women wearing nothing but caution tape march past.

Nuns and priests and the pope himself saunter by with paddles, spanking the crowd’s asses if you bend over to receive. 

They hand out weed wrappers and lube and all handmade throws.  The parade is entirely walking, save for small human or mule drawn floats.

              We get drinks, a whiskey and ginger ale for me and a vodka cranberry for Sola at a new “goth” bar, used to be Pravda so long ago, used to be a lesbian Riot Grrl bar before that, Sola says.  Inside men place themselves close to me at the bar side, inviting a hello from me as I ignore and turn to my best friend.  Not out of boredom or lack of attraction, but not wanting to deal with men lately. Outside, and a tall and handsome punk man with a lavender mohawk, not spiked, jokes with us and playfully flirts.

              I fall in love with Sola over and over again I watch out for her when she goes to the restroom and we talk about fear of men.  Katie joins us, she is so small in the crowd and can’t see the parade.  Eventually I help her to the front, and she is alive, a local through and through.  Archer and Edward join us, both a little insecure but radiating anxious smiles, and  I am thrilled to see them.  Next floats by an alien in bondage with a giant green penis, gagged and hung high above the crowd, Sola and I scream and beg to be abducted.  It says, “In space, no one can hear your safe word.” Sola gives her weed wrappers to Archer, her fiance, and hands a couple packs of them to a fellow parade goer behind her because at Carnival we share.S

Edward, strange but kind. Sweet but not forcing his charm.  Authentic.  Small diamond earrings, nice shoes, some type of chain around his neck but under his tee shirt, peeking as it lays across his neck and collarbones. Skin of his kind face a little affected by faking many smiles.

Says people don’t respect new money but he is just as excited to tell us all about his pet bird.

Does not pretend to be tough or to be a good guy.  They ask us girls if we want to go to their office in the CBD and hang out on the rooftop patio, with a view of the whole city.  They offer us beers and iced coffee on tap.

              How. Could. I. Say. No.

We walk and walk and the crowd fades from locals to tourists, Sola and I climb the streetlights and she twerks and tourists want to stay a bit longer in New Orleans, Louisiana.  I’m jumping and climbing on anything I can, and we arrive at a chic building, elevator up, up, on a sterile and dead quiet shared office space.  All windows, all glass you can see everything, dozens of rooms, floors and stairs up and down and real succulents it is a jungle it is empty and horrifying and I am lost and I want to cry I am stuck on a landing the doors are locked it’s glass all around me and drop off to floor so so far below there is nowhere to hide I hear Sola calling I don’t know where, an infinite soft echo her voice a hallucination. In my head I imagine myself folding and crumpling and crying and hair messy and makeup running and Edward or Archer finding me and consoling me and telling me it’s all going to be okay and they pick me up and just hold me.

Here this is my reason to cry, here I have found my chance.  A valid reason to request comfort.  A fear you can see and measure.

Sola finds me and we ascend to the rooftop patio, I awake to a perfect mist a gray embrace holding the skyscrapers together, remaining in comfort the Holy Ghost, lingering low and spending time with the children.  The city on fire of mist and the fog illuminated by the shallow and excited breathing of our shared ecstasy, wild beauty.

              Sola is so beautiful; this light does her justice and I insist on taking photos of her and she offers to take some of me.  I hear a voice calling and Archer hears it also, a person stands somewhere in the infinite possibility of surrounding sky scrapers, with infinite reasons to be speaking into the darkness.  On a ledge near the edge I lie flat on my back and push up, hands and feet and back curved high, I enter a full and deep wheel, with my leg and toe extended directly up.


This electricity carries us to Archer’s car where we enter and they play loud 90s rap

      and Katie rises like the moon, like the irrepressible sun, refusing to stay quiet, through the window and shouts at the tourists,

the passerby through the CBD and French Quarter and we laugh and laugh until we are all hoarse and Archer is so happy and I scream a joke at a cute Pedicab driver and we laugh and all go home and sleep very, very, deep and well.

              There exists a part of me in terror in Archer’s car with Edward up front and I think of what they could do and if I am in danger and I tell myself that one is Sola’s fiancé and the other a close friend and Katie and I will be okay and I choose to let those thoughts pass by and I cannot lie that part of that fear is thrilling too.