the strokes of one pen

J. S. Bach fountain pen By Jose Camões Silva (J. S. Bach fountain pen) [CC BY 2.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve found that it is easiest to communicate through a number of blogs and media. I think that’s just inevitable, as a blog develops a vibe of its own, and that actually affects what you can most easily express though it. So I have developed a few, and their activity tends to fluctuate according to where I am at.

For those that might be interested, these are my main blogs:

Summer Thunder you’ll probably be most familiar with if you are reading this. It’s my oldest blog, and has quite a lot of my development and ideas traced out on it. It’s the closest to the “machine code” of Mo’s output. Process as well as product. Similar is Summer Thunder on YouTube, which is where I park my videos.

Maroon Moon is a more personal blog, under my ID as MagickPig. It is part journal and part poetry, as that is sometimes the only way I can communicate. More and more it has become a poetry blog.

Magick Pig is a blog dedicated to the subject of sexuality and its overlap with magick. It’s not very active at the moment (not so surprisingly really), but it’s still an idea I care about. It’s a mature content blog.

The Devil’s Pig is a journal, from my point of view as a 60 year old religious Satanist. It’s informal and I enjoy doing it.


For Set

African painted dog, Lycaon pictus By Derek Keats from Johannesburg, South Africa (African painted dog, Lycaon pictus) [CC BY 2.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

I have not turned away from you

My ancient

When I saw the black moths

Fly from my hands

Trying to heal my husband

And the circular flapping

Of crows wings

My fire, my will

The sprouting leather  from my back

Such a solitary road ago


Implacable Red Father

Poised, Ass-Dog faced

Father of my pig nature

Crime I shall never feel shame in

Proud beyond pride

Am I for your presence


Great preservation

Coffin of my kin

Life of my corpse

Blessing of my sex

King of my wasteland

Oasis of my humility

I would not turn from you

In my love

And I have not

centre of the wheel

on marriage

Maroon Moon

In Summer we walked through wafty seeds and dandelion heads

Ate by the lake, and smoked in the shade

And like everyone (at least me) looked for Sun or Moon

In kisses and coitus, the deer in the forest

And lonely tracks to the Tor

Stand up I say, if you be married

As blade and leather take toll on you

One by one

Grasp hands as if before battle

Let Saturn betroth Saturn

In Winter’s bite and man’s hearth

Walk the field of stubble, together

And know

This is how your marriage is true

And your magick become deeper than Nature

marriage of saturn

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Pride London, 2018

Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of me and my husband’s handfasting, which we did for ourselves in Virginia City NV. It was also this year the date for the Pride March in London. I had not been on the march in years, as it’s a difficult thing to attend for someone in a wheelchair with chronic pain. We last went to watch in 2010. This year I wanted to go for Phil. His original Yahoo ID was “gaypridebear” when we met, and gay pride was very important to him. He was a brave and generous man, and I’m very, very proud of him.

I went with some close friends, and we went with the Queer Alternative group. Though it’s free, you have to register to go on the march, mainly for the sake of organisation and coping with the massive numbers attending. You can go as an individual (while that’s available), but there are a lot of places that go to groups. I’m not much into groups, but they do make the march more interesting, and give a chance for collaborative creativity. The Queer Alternative group were mainly (though not exclusively) Goths, and they were a very welcoming and fun bunch to go with. I left once we got to Piccadilly Circus to get back to my dog at home. Here is a video of us walking to the start of the march.

the elements of a path

Three buffaloes heads above water in Si Phan Don By Basile Morin [CC BY-SA 4.0 (], from Wikimedia Commons

Recently I did a video in which I gave a recounting of where I’m at in terms of my work, linking it in part to the four elements. I just wanted to do a little further description, which might show how it integrates for me.

Earth is the most material and external element in many ways, and in earth I would put religion, form, physical practices. This is why I associated Satanism especially with earth for me; not because it is only earth, but because it is my religion. On official documents, I’m a Satanist. On the next census, I’ll be down as a Satanist. If I’m asked my religion, “Satanism” is the accurate answer.

Water is the element of communication with the invisible, the spirit world. It is the “soul” of a spiritual path. In my video I mentioned Michael Bertiaux here, because he has taught me more, more simply, than pretty much anyone in this regard. It’s the poly in polytheism, the image in imagination, the psyche in psychology, the conduit of the liquid messengers of hormones, the moistness, and sweat and spurt of sex.

Fire is the element of individual sovereignty, and I see this exemplified in Thelema, which is a flowering of the Satanic spirit for me. Fire in the belly of the Earth, fire in the unconscious, fire that turns solid to liquid, liquid to vapour, that rips the shell off particles, coalesces, purifies. Fire that eats the world and births every mineral richness.

Air is the element of ideals, application, crisis and peace. I think it is probably the most idiosyncratic side of a path. Air seeks answers, final resolution, a comprehensive sense that can be communicated. This is why it needs to be empty, so as not to entrap in limited meaning that fabricates certainty. I associate this with the Maat Current for me personally, and it is of course my own expression of it as a Satanist.


Hotel Dullemond Laag-Soeren by Apdency [CC0], from Wikimedia Commons

With my husband translating out of his body (“death”) everything was and is over. It was luminous and obliterating, and blessed, and would have been utterly harrowing, had he not been so beautiful, and we so one.

With his death everything was over for me personally, and remains so of course. That is the plainest, simple fact. But I was still here, a body, with a biography whose story was now finished, and the appearance of being here.

When I say “everything was over”, I mean personally, and mundanely. And it is a relief. Not my husband’s death, but in a sense our dying together.

There is just work. What’s left. And it is actually very freeing.

Operating in the world, and with people is another matter though, I’ll certainly admit that. Honestly, no one is at home. No viewings and small talk. I’m in the sea, under the waves, or in space. The house is here, but the lights have all changed colour, and it is very quiet. It’s not natural here, and my absence loves it.

I wrote in a poem last November:

Eros and Psyche hit highway 50 long ago, to do a magick. You and me, that was my Great Work. You ride us however you want, my bull.

Phil was my Great Work in this life, and in him I found the doing of my True Will. I actually realise that explicitly. The ship has reached its destination, and we continue. It’s just my life has ended, that’s all, not us.

Now it’s just the work, service, spirituality, art.

Until the old house with its praeternatural interior lighting falls in.

But hey, I’m not there anyway. How cool is that.


Hotel Dullemond Laag-Soeren by Apdency [CC0], from Wikimedia Commons