A Moon in Scorpio Competition!

Filed in Astro Gaga

Cast yourself. You are the spell.
—  T. Thorn Coyle, Evolutionary Witchcraft

I totally agree with that. In fact, i think i tweeted something similar recently, not realizing it was a thing. And anyway, here is a competition.

The cover-woman of this Seventies Occult Magazine is your AUNT. What is her name, what is her sign, what was her life like? Did she have hobbies, husbands, wives, children, a penthouse, a chain of nudist colonies? Did she conceal a mood disorder behind the trappings of Seventies suburban witchcraft or was she WAY ahead of her time and she actually built a computer behind her shrine?

Did the other ladies in her circle think she was a bitch or did she go straight from high school top mean girl into being Queen of her Coven?  Or was she just trying to project ‘witch vibe’ to get this cover gig in the hope it would lead to something more rad but then she got possessed by a bored time-traveling Babylonian priestess?

Do not hold back. Entries in the Comments please and the three winners will be announced when the Moon gets to Sagittarius.

The prizes:  A Mercurial Key Ring

An Astro-Flash

A Wealth Wallet.

 

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69 thoughts on “A Moon in Scorpio Competition!

  1. This is my aunt! She’s a 3rd Decan Sagittarius. She used to be awesome…taught me how to read auras, had a Colonial ghost in her house with a daughter who died from a horrid epidemic, had weekly appointments with her psychic for life guidance. She had 2 bad marriages & a daughter who is embarrassed by her. So now she drinks too much. She has a boyfriend who is an alcoholic & unfortunately, I think she is also. She keeps trying to get her drinking under control, but cannot let go of it altogether. She has lost a lot of her spark, but she’s still in for a good conversation on the supernatural.

  2. Auntie Titula’s “New Direction”, after Neptune’s curtain dropped & having been turned down for the role of Darrin’s temptress Boudicca in “Bewitched” (although she did appear in Season 6 Episode 24, The Generation Zap), was to fully embrace her truest nature & talents. As a Moon-Pluto Aquarian with Venus-Uranus in 12th H Capricorn, she nailed it, too. She was not devoured, body nor soul, by her chosen industry. Quite the contrary, her pockets were lined generously by her many devotees, all the while she was cleansing & fortifying her self-awareness, & stoically enrapturing the patriarchs, one wiccan trick, at a time (well, not always one). I recall a remarkable past-life event she once shared, about how during the Inquisitions, she had had a 3-some with Jakob Sprenger & Heinrich Kramer. After the 2 misogynistic monks sobered up, they penned the Malleus Maleficarum (Witches Hammer), a wholly slanderous, fictitious text that, in essence, stated all witchcraft comes from carnal lust, which in women is insatiable. Auntie Titula told me the truth was that, the Witches Hammer was the 2 monks favorite position from the night before, & that they decided to condemn her (& others like her), to cover their Christian guilt, & because one of them couldn’t get it up most of the night. Yes, my dear Aunt Tit was quite a lady; a smoldering beauty who could multi-task with the best of Virgos, as seen by her use of red candles that brought her power against her enemies AND sensuality, not that she needed more of that! And like her revered idol Marie Laveau, she too had a pet snake named, ‘Zombie’, whom she entrusted to my care upon her death. After Zombie left this world, I had him cremated. I release bits of his ashes in her memory each year at 0600, 6 June, as I dance joyfully throughout her mugwort garden, & remember how she taught me to simply, “Do me.”

  3. Penny was born to immigrant parents in the suburbs of New York City in the mid 50’s. She had perfect hair, perfect skin, and all the boys adored her. But they bored her. She was a restless spirit with just a touch of sadness behind her big expressive eyes. She always felt like she was missing something in life. Raised in a staunchly religious household, with puritanical old-world values, in an era of radical feminism, she was torn between the two messages with which she was constantly being bombarded. “Be a nice girl, get a husband, settle down, raise a family” versus “You’re a woman, hear you roar.”

    When she graduated high school she decided upon an art major, ever having been enchanted by the bohemian lifestyle the artists of the era seemed to be living. Sheltered as they were, her parents allowed her to enroll at Parson’s School of Design in Manhattan because it would be “close to home”, which made them feel their little girl would be safe. But NYC in the 70’s was far from safe. Penny found at long last the excitement she had always been seeking, surrounding her in every sight, sound and aroma the city had to offer. She loved her art, and stayed vigilant in her studies, staying up long into the night painting and sculpting, a Libra on the Scorpio cusp, she couldn’t quite decide what medium she loved more.
    But when she wasn’t in class or doing her homework, she was exploring the city, going to galleries and clubs, and bumming around with other art students. As was inevitable, surrounded by art students, she started to model for fellow students. Soon, she was discovered by an older gentleman who would become her patron, mentor, and lover. They’d spend long late nights, beginning with her modeling for him, his canvases a madness of passion and color. There was joy, and wine, and cigarettes that left her raspy in the morning, and oh the parties, and the beautiful people, and quasi celebrities, and laughter, so much laughter.
    And then there was “the friend” … relentlessly he lavished her with attention, complementing her for her beauty, her spirit, her soul, and asking why she was wasting her time modeling for drawings and painting when he spirit was obviously meant for the multidimensionality of film. Slightly hesitant, she smiled and made excuses until her lover began encouraging her to try something different and finally she relented. She took to the set nervously; unfamiliar territory and bright lights, and costume changes, and the resulting B vampire movie, full of requisite busty females with bitten necks and perilous screams, went largely unnoticed.
    Soon, she was lost in a haze, consumed by the industry. It fed a part of her that had always been starving, the electricity of the people, the chance to be all those things she could never be, and she didn’t even seem to notice as wardrobe became less and less of an issue, and he co-stars became her lovers, sharing their addictions as well as their beds. Her patron lover abandoned her as she sank deeper into depravity, addicted to the attention, as much as the drugs. School slipped through her fingers. Her parents disowned her, and soon she was couch surfing, or wandering the streets as a ghost. One night, late in the evening she caught a glimpse of something flapping in the breeze pressed up against the side of the brownstone she was passing. Reaching down to pick it up, she saw it was an old copy of New Direction, the one with her on the cover. There was already just a touch of foreshadowing of what would come in her eyes. Eyes no longer dressed in pastel blues and heavily lined in black. Eyes tired and sad. She sat down on the curb and leaned up against the light post, dropping the magazine into the gutter. Her eyes slipped closed as the needle pushed reality away. The polce found her there in the morning, cold, long gone. They didn’t even recognize the woman on the cover of the magazine, though one of them stuck it in his back pocket to read the “erotic fiction” later, on his company paid break. The wind blew softly, tousling her hair. Tomorrow was her birthday and fall was here again.

  4. She’s not actually my aunt, but my great aunt: Auntie Lisa. She was accused of witchcraft (which in all likelihood she indeed practiced) and was burned at the stake at the tender age of 23.
    She was brutalized by men who ravaged her body (she was gorgeous) and hated for her good looks and gentle nature by envious females.
    She was a Cancer Sun with Libra Rising, Venus in Cancer and Moon and Mars in Scorpio. She was born gentle but people seeking thrills at her expense pushed her to seek protection from humanity itself through supernatural means.
    Though she never married, she had many men who gave in to her every whim– the problem is, she really had none. All she wanted was a simple life: to tend to her sisters– for whom she cared for as they were all orphaned and she was the eldest child, her animals (she loved her pigs and ducks) and her hobbies (crocheting and cultivating her garden). She also enjoyed solo walks by the lake in the evening to unwind. But men chased her like a prized possession. Her womanly charm never went unnoticed and though she was too self-conscious to exploit her own gifts (a pretty face with mysterious eyes, a tiny waist, amazing boobs and ass), she seldom succeeded in deflecting attention from herself. She was relentlessly hunted by strong, virile men who wanted to possess her– and though many had her body, none had her heart.
    The women of her village didn’t like her because all the men were in love with her. Though most of her liaisons went unnoticed, rumors abounded and many women in that little village became consumed by an unfounded hatred toward a woman who was truly gentle at heart and only really wanted to be left alone to care for her sisters and animals and make her living as a seamstress.
    Eventually a coven of wanna-be’s formed brought together by their contempt of my great auntie Lisa. Soon strange things began happening: Auntie’s ducks vanished mysteriously one night and were later found horribly tortured and decapitated; her beloved piglets drowned in the lake nearby a few weeks after. Auntie Lisa also began to experience prolonged bouts of illness and bizarre physical ailments like partial paralysis of her legs that put at stake her ability to put bread on her family’s table.
    According to my mother, one night a very old man came knocking at their door. The man was actually a powerful warlock who had been the husband of the midwife who had delivered the sisters (auntie Lisa and her younger sisters, that is). The midwife had taken care of the sisters after their mother’s death and had always had a soft spot for aunt Lisa whom she credited for helping to heal her (the midwife’s) husband with some of her young blood (long story, we won’t go there.) Anyhow, a bond had been formed between the old warlock and auntie Lisa. The warlock knew the wanna-be’s were trying to harm Lisa, and he’d been trying to protect her ever since, but his fragile health prevented him from doing more, so it was time for Lisa to become initiated. Auntie Lisa was afraid, and initially refused. But as more misery continued to befall her and her loved ones, she came to the realization that her only way to regain control of her life was to do as the warlock said, so she began to immerse herself in the dark arts.
    She was a natural, even demons loved her—- and soon, she was wreaking havoc on the same people who had once tried to destroy her and her family. But her success in the dark arts was short lived. Soon after her initiation and subsequent practice, a young priest came to town and fell in love with her after paying her a visit for alterations to her robes.
    He was young, and handsome and pure. Auntie Lisa, who had only been in love once before, knew this young priest could have been her better half— but she was too tainted now to fall in love and start anew. She began to experience a severe conflict and she put down her guard. The treacherous coven that hated her took advantage of the moment of frailty to launch a massive offensive attack. Later that week, Auntie Lisa was found “guilty” of practicing dark magic and burned at the stake. She was 23 years old. She was the sister of my mother’s mom, and the warlock was my mother’s father.

  5. Her slave name is Lynn, but she goes by Esmeralda now. If she was an early 20’s mega-babe in the 70’s, she’d probably be born in the late 50’s or early 60’s. I’m going to say she has a Scorpio ASC, with a Scorpio Neptune and Moon conjunct it – both planets in the 12th house. She’s my straight laced mother’s twin sister. They’re both Virgo Suns. Esmeralda went to all girls Catholic schools and eventually went to Bryn Mawr College. In spite of being surrounded by the fairer sex her whole life, she has a magnetic pull when it comes to men gravitating around her. She’s bisexual and only humors men for the societal advantages. She has an on-and-off-again soul mate – her exotic Egyptian history prof at Bryn Mawr. There’s only a 25 year age gap between them. She’s childless for now but she does own 3 pure bred Ragdoll cats named Ozzy, Buddy and Elton.

  6. I had been having the dreams for almost a year when things began to shift gears.
    It was Fall and we were helping to move Grandma out of our childhood home into something smaller, something more manageable for an 90 year old widow who was still quite capable of living independently, but retired her housekeeping skills quite some time ago in the Tudor house my family had lived in. It had belonged to our grandfather on our Dad’s side.
    After long debate we decided that, rather than sell it, we’d take up the project of turning it into an Inn. After all, the neighbourhood in its present incarnation could roost such a large building, housing tourists and tenants alike, quite lucratively.

    I was up in Grandma’s bedroom, emptying out the last of her unwanted belongings. None of us had been in her bedroom in years. There’d been no reason to. She had taken surprisingly little from it aside from the bed, dresser, a fraction of the clothes she owned and a few small keepsakes. The rest weighed on the room heavily. Without having any of the stories that went along with items I was inclined to view my Grandmother in a hoarding light. I wondered too, about myself, since I wasn’t able to leave any of the boxes unopened and reviewed, any of the clothes that looked to fit me untried; nor could I refrain from handling almost every item I had to pack longer than was necessary to pack it. I could have had the room cleared in a day or two, but instead I made it my last week’s mission.

    I had this burgeoning and ever growing sense that there was something in this room that asked for my attention. Something in need of collecting. It grew as the week went on. As did the dreams. Always these dreams were the backdrop for my interactions with a woman. The first few, back last October, it was only her eyes catching me from a distance. Piercing in their softness, cautious in their blinks. As the dreams continued I’d try to get closer to her, but I only succeeded in following her (and her heady scent – I had never smelled in dreams until she came along.) into new, sometimes baffling places. Places I couldn’t understand. Places not on the earth, but in it. Sometimes above it. Places that welcomed me in a way that said ‘you belong’, so in turn I felt the burn of knowing them, along with the frustration of not.

    The week I spent clearing the bedroom, I would dream myself alone with this woman, sitting across from her at a table covered in papers with writing I couldn’t make out. She’d say things like ‘Decipher your work with the hands.’ or ‘Time to get back, it’s been such a long time.’ Then everything would dissolve into passing faces and vague events, all sketched out in pen scribbles.

    I was coming up to the last few boxes in the closet, trying to keep my focus and my calm. What was this feeling? That’s when I found it. That’s when I felt it. It wasn’t in any of the boxes. It was tucked away on the top closet shelf. I had bent over to pull out the last two boxes in the corner when what felt like a bucket of very warm water was dropped directly above me. Gasping I fell to my knees in surprise. I could feel the water, but my eyes told me I was dry. Looking up, the shelf above me was soaked, but only the corner. My chest began to burn as I got up, reaching on my tip toes as my hands curled up to the shelf, blindly patting. I felt the edge, the rounded edge of something. I couldn’t get a grip on it, each time I tried it would just rotate a bit.
    Grumbling, I kept trying and then I felt a divot. Just big enough for a fingertip to curl into. Pulling it towards the edge I gently brought the box down and walked over to the window.

    Resting against the wall I admired this box. It looked like a hat box, of moderate size, but upholstered in white suede. It was sleek, mysterious and absolutely beautiful. It was then I noticed my heart racing; all a sudden the sounds of the street came in and the noise of people around the house came rushing back. My nerves twittered. I took a deep breath and blew hard out of my pursed lips as I got up and ran to the door to close it, lock it. I stared over at the box. It looked like the moon had come to rest on the floor. I wanted to cry. I felt as if something was being returned to me, something I didn’t know I was missing or had lacked. It was strange grief and reconciliation at the same time. Steadying myself I returned to the box and sat down.

    I untied the thin leather string that was looped in a figure 8 around two small knobs on the bottom and top of the box. I gently tried to lift the top up, but it wouldn’t budge. Then I noticed the small circle on the opposite side of the box. It twists open, I thought. Gently nudging the top side away opened up the box.

    The smell hit me first. I felt instantly drunk and even vowed at that moment to find a way to always smell like this. A perfume diffusing neroli, vanilla, white sage, tangerine, and mandarin.
    This was the scent in the dream, covering my body, entering my body. All I could do was moan.

    Inside the box lay some papers mostly. The ones on top seemed to be language keys, glyphs and letters, numbers and words. I put them aside and then, there she was. Staring out at me with the very same midnight moss eyes and stamen eye lashes from my dreams. It was like looking at my dream, holding her in waking life, only in waking life she’s framed in by the edges of a magazine. Some strange magazine from the 70’s called ‘New Direction’, that looked to be half erotica, half occult and wholly intriguing. ‘Hot Coffee au lait – ole! Dream girl’, ‘Witch Girl’ being some of the headers.

    ‘You’re my dream girl love…’

    I heard myself scream out a bellyful of terror as the woman came to life on the cover and spoke these words. My pitch drastically increased when I found myself unable to let go of the magazine.

    ‘Calm..’ She spoke gently and firmly, holding up one hand with a symbol on her palm. I recognized it, it was the symbol for males, a little circle with an arrow on it, like a bomb. I did calm, at least audibly. I could feel my blood coursing through my veins in a tremolo pulsation, slowing itself steadily as my unblinking eyes fixated on the woman.

    ‘Hello Edie,’ she said. ‘I’m Flo.’ She waved at me with her other hand. On this one was a strange looking ‘P’.
    I continued to stare at her, likely looking dead to the world, but inside I could feel myself rearranging, images began to float up behind my eyes and something told me to remain as still as possible, else I get in the way of whatever was happening.

    ‘Hello,’ I replied simply. Flo smiled. ‘Good Edie, good, keep doing what you’re doing. Just breathe. Everything is going to be alright, you’re in no danger, I promise.’
    The red candles near her were moving in and out of view from the edges of the magazine.

    ‘We’re related Edie,’ Flo said.
    ‘You came looking for something in your dreams and I’ve been searching for you in mine. I have what you’re looking for. I’m also your Aunt.’

    Images rolled up into my mind. This woman is my father’s younger sister. She’s never been mentioned by him, by anyone. Just before my Grandparents married, having met through Flo who was friends with my grandmother, Flo had also fallen in love with a man. When she brought him home for everyone to meet, something went terribly wrong. Something about the man repulsed everyone and the discomfort was palpable. Flo was intent on marrying this man and her Father forbade it. Promising disownment if she followed through with it. The family had always been close and Flo’s brother could see the pain in his sister as she came to her decision. ‘If my past cannot honour my future,’ she said, ‘Then my future will not honour my past.’ When she left she embraced her brother. His fiancee was the only one to see her whisper something into his ear.

    ‘Who was the man?’ I asked out loud, staring down into the magazine.
    ‘The man who helped me with my everything.’ Replied Flo
    ‘Everything you need to know is in this box. Your Grandmother will have some information for you as well. If she says she doesn’t know, she’s telling the truth.’
    Flo turned her gaze slightly, something caught her attention, out of my line of sight.
    Gazing back she said, ‘I love you so much Edie. We’ll meet again when it’s time. You will find what you seek. Hold faith.’ Then she seemed to pause, freeze again back into just an image on a page. I blinked and there was a loud knocking at the door.
    ‘Edie? Edie, are you okay?’ My brother’s concerned voice was close to the door.

    It wasn’t until a few months later, after Grandma was settled into her new home that I went over to visit with her. I had been consumed with the contents of the box. Within a short time, astrology had entered into my life, along with a few new characters who seemed to meet me first in dreams, then appear in my waking life. Some people, some not. I got quiet real quick when out and about for fear that while I was talking with one of these non people it’d look like I was talking to myself. All of them though I was beginning to realize were an aspect of myself. Rest and solitude helped keep me from going completely bananas.

    Having poured the tea my Grandmother sat down and I immediately slid the magazine across the table to her. Her eyes lit up. ‘Flo!!!’ Then she caught herself. ‘How…where did you get this Edie?’ ‘From a box in your bedroom closet,’ I replied.
    ‘Where did it come from?’ I asked.

    Grandma stared down at her old friend tenderly, shaking her head slowly. ‘I don’t know how it could have gotten there, what box?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter.’ I said, remembering Flo’s advice. ‘What can you tell me about your friend Flo?’
    Grandma paused, almost the same as Flo did when she finished talking. Something moved through the room and Grandma waved an arm gracefully in front of her, placing her hand down on the magazine, then staring up at me with wide eyes and a childish grin.
    ‘Flo is your Aunt,’ She beamed excitedly ‘She’d be 88 by now. She was a Virgo rising with Neptune, Libran Sun and Aquarius Moon. She was born October 13, 1929, 2:16AM, here in Washington. She loves you very much Edie. Oh oh, and since they wouldn’t be on any of the old charts, be sure to look up the Liliths and Psyche. They’re going to come in handy for you.’

    I sat stunned for a moment, but again felt that nudge to get out of my own way.
    ‘Who else does she love Grandma?’
    ‘Ooo, all of us dear, all of us, she s the biggest heart you could imagine,’ she replied
    ‘Truth be told, she’s probably been shaping this family more than we have.’
    ‘She loves whomever has the markings that make them part of her family.’
    ‘What are the markings?’ I asked
    ‘They are many, some of which you’ll be able to deduce with charts, but others only she knows.’
    ‘What did she whisper to Grandpa the night she left?’

    Grandma went silent for a few moments. It seemed as if there was a lot of energy moving through her, trying to fit itself into a comprehensible stream that could fit through such a small space that was her mouth.

    ‘That she’d agreed to her future that lay beyond the physical bodies of their family. A future that was full of a love that was too vast for our senses to fully grasp. That she would always be safe and for him not to worry, but to always hold faith.’

    I could feel tears welling in my eyes and saw them fall from Grandma’s. She had gazed to the magazine while she spoke this message, then turned to face me again.

    ‘Flo spent her life alongside Mulshin, that man, expanding herself to hold the Divine Feminine, and He, the Divine Masculine. She’d been given this hefty task, made all the heftier to have to be taken up in the times in which she was born. They never had much money. Flo worked at many things, simple things like modelling and secretarial work, where she didn’t have to speak too much and could both listen to the people around her and tune in to the beyond.’
    ‘She and Mulshin were conduits for things to come.’

    This all seemed too much to take in at once. My body screamed with all the energy coursing around us.

    ‘What about me, Grandma?’ I asked ‘Do you know where I fit into all of this?’

    ‘Why Edie, haven’t you figured it out?’ she inquired.
    ‘Flo is passing her channel on to you. I’d never say it or know it beyond this point, but your birth could have only happened by her helping hand. You’ve got to pick up where she’s getting ready to rest. You’re about the same age as she was when she left. Different times call for different shapes, a new cast……Dream Girl.’

    It was morning when I awoke. I could hear birds outside of my window and the early rays of the sun filtered through the curtains. Before my eyes opened I felt a shifting next to me and an arm wrap itself around my waist. Panic set in, but quickly dissolved into the most comforting liquid calm I could only describe as love. I turned over, wide eyed and there the most beautiful face I had ever seen met mine. His eyes open, welcoming, waiting.

    ‘What is your name?’ I whispered.
    ‘Mulshin.’ he relplied. ‘What’s yours?’
    The sound left my mouth before I could think.
    ‘Flooooooo.’

  7. Rather than write a story, this reminded me so strongly of a song from my childhood which I think tells a better story than I can think of. My then step father would sing this song, and play it on the guitar. He was an alternative, artist type whose house was filled with his surreal paintings, the contents of which defy description in mixed company and a short paragraph.

  8. My Aunt Mary

    This was my Aunt Mary… she was a Virgo, with Scorpio Rising, & Moon in Taurus buried deep within in her 8th House… & She was the most powerful rootworker in our small town built down in the valley of mountains. She taught me everything i needed to know about potions… & just how much real forest honey made in the hives where our Sun could not shine was the most potent & powerful for her most famous, and authentic, love potions. Sweet on the lips & pure to the Heart “❤️” Her lamb milk soaked roots for curing the ailments of many were a hit in our little mountainous town. She was our town’s own little, precious secret.

    It was not strange to see license plates from all over the country parked at gas stations, restaurants, and local Spirit juice bars. All were… “just passing through”. But, many knew they were here to obtain Aunt Mary’s most earthy, attention-to-details sorcery. Like i said, she was the best of the best. A walk with her through the night, deep into the forests, proved to me well just how much this was true as i heard the spirits of those unknown to me awaken and call out to her from the trees they slept in.

    i was a young one back then… learning my own style of necromancy through my beloved aunt who had the gifted green thumb of magic.

    Many, many years later while browsing in an occultic bookshop i passed while driving through the country (the week of a Full Moon in Scorpio no less), my eyes glazed over a stand of spiritual magazines & there ~ my beloved aunt stood staring back at me. Her eyes piercing as always in her hypnotic gaze.

    How had this photo come to be ? Who had taken this photo of her, in her sweet perfumed ritual room ? Why.. it must have been one of her many admirers. My beloved aunt, who never once sought fame & preferred to remain in the backgrounds of shadows, had found some newfound fame on the cover of a magazine. i had to wonder, how many of her dear clients had stumbled across this very magazine and recognized the face of a goddess staring back at them ? Those clients who couldn’t conceive and had conceived, those clients who were heartbroken and had indeed found love again, those clients who were ill and were made well… those clients who were cleansed of magical workings gone awry by those of the dark arts. My beloved aunt who brought joy and happiness to those many souls whom passed through the valley of our small mountainous town.

    i picked up a copy of the magazine and proceeded to checkout. i laid the magazine in the console of my car beside me as i watched a thunderstorm begin to roll in behind us. I said a prayer and whispered into the winds , “i love & miss you my dear beloved Aunt Mary. Come… join me on my journey across this beautiful country-land, as we say Hello to the Spirits awakening from their slumbers, bidding adieu to the Day, and rising to Greet the Waxing Full Moon Night.

  9. The Moon and distant Neptune were aligned and Magic felt very real suddenly to Evie, my mothers youngest sister. The Irish blood was obvious in both but Evie was special, with powers she didn’t understand and a deep knowing that remained unquestioned. There was always talk in the family, other cousins with a touch of the fey they called it.

    A pink gold glow lit the ocean, the Morning Star low over the horizon the Sun yet to pierce the soft morning. The air was sweet with honeyed bush flowers. Mixed with oils on her skin even the air around her felt charged with sensuality.

    She had dressed lightly, the silk brushing against felt electric. She felt the elemental empathy of the deep sea the pull of the tide, the rolling waves were breaking gently on the long white beach,

    The music stopped, feeling a magnetic pull her eyes lifted and as the moment expanded, she had no thoughs only wonder at the bluest eyes she had seen.

    How long she remained like she wasn’t sure. A few seconds? Unable to look away, the intimacy as instant as it was unsettling, how had the simple everyday things she used in her love spell created this power?

    • The 70s were so saucy. It really was a time of liberation. A veritable kaleidoscope of a society. What happened ? Everything now is so serious and divided. We were a total rabble who loved to party !

      • Everything follows automotive design. Great raucous V8s to quirky Mokes n Beetles. Now everything is ‘world’s best practice’, ‘underpinning co-efficiencies’, BMIs, ‘economies of scale’ and ‘blandishment of brandishment’.

        Me? I still eat oatmeal porridge…of which l will share with you (Apols to Bob Marley)

  10. Aunty Dee was born in Newcastle. Her full name was Delores. A Saggitarius, I’ve heard she was relatively normal till late adolescence where she not only joined a bikie gang but became involved with its rather notorious leader.

    She developed a keen interest in the Occult, and when Spider ended up in court on drugs charges, rumour had it that she had either cast a spell to help win the case or slept with the prosecution.

    Or both.

    “Sex can be a spell” she told my mother with a wink over irish coffee.

    I guess you might call her a “Bogan Sex Witch” but she was much more that that.

    She started out posing for the cover of Easy Rider, sans clothing, so it was little suprise when she graced the cover of “New Direction”. But it was the only cover Uncle Spider kept framed on the wall of the Pool Room.

    They are still together after all these years and his bikie activities have calmed down somewhat. I have every faith in her sex magic.

  11. Tante Winnie, next door ceramicist, grower of potent herbs (including the hideous weed fennel) and earth mother extrordinaire. Topless and tanned. Raven haired and stunning. Toured Australia before it was a thing. Driving in a combie with two siamese cats and a buff DJ. Visiting remote indigenous communities making friends and art, before it was a thing. Collected sea shells along the WA coast. Removing the tangle of the DJ and returning like a fresh breeze and stepped into a modelling/advertising gig at David Jones with an office in a princess tower with a massive antique clock just above and outside her window. New man, the epitome of raw masculine chivalry . Making babies and all things ceramic. She gave me my first book Peter Max’s Thought which explained the power of positivity and creativity, I was 10. She gave me a black seesucher wrap-around skirt, before it was a thing. Forstered me through teenage angst. Lent me her children (also called birth control) to make tie dyed t-shirts with for a few days at a time. Her children, my cousins are Organic gardeners, an Organic chef/biodynamic winery owner, and a gen Y sweet earth mother unsure of her every step but doing a bloody fantastic job. Her mother Tante Winnie was there for me and mine and hers, before we knew we needed her. 70 something now but fit, clear eyed and groovy. Still lighting incense and evoking the goddess with each word and step. ♡ LOVE YOU Tante Winnie. XxXx

    • Scorpio, moon in aries (like me) has a fascinating chart. Lived in swimmer bottoms for two years when 7-9 in Majorca and therefore tri-lingual. Has turned from Raven haired to Henna toned. A stunner.

  12. this is aunt ruth, the one whose looks most belie our jewish heritage.
    she had a most unlikely marriage to a greasy hells angel with a heart of gold.
    she had a son, but her dalliances with her own sex as a result of soft porn movies she made for extra cash caused her proud husband so much embarassment he simply made off with the child, leaving her heartbroken.
    i never could get her to open up abt her astrological knowledge…but she would always read my tarot.

  13. Honestly I thought I’d managed to expunge all of my old modelling work from the archives! But then Neptune in Scorpio in the 8th is always the spiritual sexual psyche of the collective unconscious laid bare. I should have saved my back catalogue !

  14. Vanulla wasn’t always my auntie. She was once ‘that’ girl. The dental assistant at La Canal clinic in Paddington. I’m not sure what is was about her that brought men to their knees ? Ok, .. I did 🙂 but I was way too young and far beneath her total hotness to ask her out. She was probably 30 ? I was 18. I began to obsess. I’m an Aries with Venus in Taurus, Asc in Gem.. (When I astrothemed those aspects only Pepe Le Pew came up but I’m nothing like him ok !) I played it cool, I’d see her nearly every morning sitting in her totally crazy hot dental nurse uniform and then it happened. Walking towards the cafe that morning was my cancerian uncle Joe. He was my mums youngest brother, only 14 years older than me. My total mentor in all things female. He looked at me and looked at her and she looked at him and sometime later she became my aunt. Turns out that Auntie V is both beautiful and mysterious. Scorpio sun, Pisces asc and libra moon. She is a goddess. They aren’t together any more. She was never going to stay and he knew it.

  15. “Life is a mortgage,” I remember her saying with resignation and a tinge of bitterness. She added “I pay it off in daily installments.” That was my Scorpio aunt all over, the poet, the witch, the one whose voice rustled while her eyes roared like the ocean at high tide.

    Imagine my surprise when I came across her on the cover of an erotic magazine, two red candles burning at the sides of her exposed breasts, as if they stood guard, warning “Touch them and you’ll burn.” If an over-excited spectator did not get the candles’ message, they would surely catch on when they looked at her eyes.

    Her eyelashes spiked with heavy mascara and eyelids covered in gray– those eyes were the battlements of a fortress looming under a gray sky. A black bird circled over that fortress, swinging and dipping its wings. You knew there were cannons in the shadows.

    You knew this was a woman who paid her debts. If you touched her, you would pay.

  16. You heard about my crazy Aunt Fanny!? You know the Cancerian one with Gem Rising and moon in Scorpio? Acid tongue. She made a living bootlegging microdot acid trips in peppercorn grinders carved to look like Easter Island heads to dance parties across the world, until she came across a shaman in the Amazon, who taught her about plants of the jungle.

    Fanny it turns out, was the first incarnation in this dimension of a genius alien overlord whose people have been trying to contact humans over a millenia to create an astral pathway between our worlds.
    As such, on her awakening to this realisation of self, she was the recipient of an ancient technology in the form of herbal lore. Unfortunately before she had time to create the alchemical, living, breathing magic that would connect our earth to alien worlds, a BHP tractor came and tore up the local forest to make room for another type of highway – for petrol tankers.
    Despairing at the irony, her brilliant soul turned its attention on those who had destroyed her plant technology and she began channelling great darkness and anger.
    Aunt Fanny used her new psychic powers to fight the evil shadow entities, demons from cruel dimensions, called on by the satanic ancient families that own the conglomerates, churches, banks, petroleum, big pharma etc in retaliation. When this task seemed endless she spent a few years in bars frightening random drunks with shards of pure truth between her cups.

    Finally Fanny ended up in the red deserts of central Australia where she made flowers essences after the rare rains once a decade; Fanny sold them to Hollywood superstars for serious coin. They seemed to rejuvenate and enliven the most botoxed of faces, uplift the spirit in merriment and melt the most stubborn fat off any thigh. But mainly she meditated, rewrote the very code of our planet and drank herbal tea.

    Happily for me she took time invite her nieces up to stay and I spent many happy holidays scouring the desert for quartz and mookite with my sisters.
    At night under the brilliant stars she would remind us of her true nature, ancient ruler of forgotten worlds, her voice would deepen and take on archaic and oddly syncopated patterns of speech as she described the mechanations of time and space.

    She disappeared some time ago. Evaporated into the nothingness? Crossed a bridge to her spiritual home? Sometimes I see psychics and a message comes through from her. She’ll be back.

  17. I found my aunt through ancestry.com, well sort of. You see, I had Pluto transiting my 4th house cusp. I didn’t know the impending transformational doom I would endure because of a transit to my house of ancestors. I should’ve known better as the ruler of my fourth falls into my 12th house. You know, the house of karmic debt! And tie that in with a Saturn return in Saggo and I should have known that I was about to go through the kind of karmic hell we all call a real bitch.

    As an Aries, I have to admit that patience has never been my strong suit. After weeks of waiting for my bloody results to come back, I grew angry. As a Scorpio Moon, I started to plot my revenge to blow up the database of the hellish website for not sending ME the DNA results on what I consider a timely manner. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands and cast a spell during the next Full Moon. Not only would Mars be out of bounds but the lunation would also conjoin fixed star Sirius.

    As the Moon waxed, I began the spell, chanted to Mars, made my blood sacrifice and as I was about to add wolf volva’s (don’t judge, it’s even in Picatrix), I suddenly found myself surrounded by wolves and a woman from the cover of this 70’s magazine!

    I awoke to the sounds of Drum & Bass and the feeling of wolf venom seeping into my bloodstream.The woman appeared once again and said, “My name is Rhea, priestess of Lord Saturn. I bring suffering to those who disobey the cosmic feminine laws. I will give you mercy, as you ae my niece will allow you to live one human day each month when the Moon enters her burnt path in Scorpio.”

    So here I am today, in my human form on a Scorpio moon. I found out she is a Scorpio rising, Pisces Sun and lunar Aquarius. She has Venus in Pisces so I hope she finds compassion to release me from this spell but she also has a volatile Mars/Pluto conjunction in Taurus. I would also like to do right by her and tell you that as the lunar goddess of Saturn she appears as a wolf, not a lion. She is a fierce, protective, shapeshifting psychopath that descend from Marseilles, France. HELP

  18. My Aunty Renee, her real name was Raylene, which she loathed, and her brothers always called her Sunshine, which she also loathed. As a teen in the late 60’s, with Uranus opposing her Pisces Sun, she decided to be Renee. Pluto followed the same transit a few years later and she morphed into a new persona. With Scorpio Moon & Ascendent and Leo MC she was a gentle and charming child, though with a tendency to pouting sulks.These tactics were replaced by a slightly sinister seductive charm and guile, and a sharp sarcastic wit. She flattered those who pleased her and did her bidding, and subtly persecuted those who did not.

    She married 3 times, and had many lovers but no children. Her first husband, Marco, whom she married at 17 was a handsome loser and she left him when his gambling left them too often destitute. Her second, Beau, had racehorses and while the horses were winning life was a whirlwind of fancy hat race-days and frothy champagne. He left her for a young swimsuit model, and her secret interests in occult matters developed after this. She played guitar and sang new age songs at local parties and festivals, read cards in a local cafe, and did some magazine modeling. She studied astrology trying to understand herself and her relationships. She joined a coven and the boss witch, Marlene, soon became her lover. The New Direction cover was during this period of her life. The day of the shoot they kept telling her to look mysterious and seductive, but she eventually became so irritated that the look projected more resentment than charm.

    After that she started getting offers for porn pics and movies, but she never went there, although her coven often had some pretty wild parties. The sex party scene in those days often saw young women being badly abused, and her coven were carefully selective about the men they invited to their parties. When Marlene’s parents died suddenly in an automobile accident and she inherited the farm, Marlene Renee and most of the coven moved there and set up a health spa and retreat for women, called Midnight Cowgirls, referencing the midnight seances they loved to host.

    Renee became bored of rural life and of female company after several years and moved back to the city. She was by then quite well-known as a psychic and knew that her 3rd and last husband would soon appear in her life. Henry was a Libran artist and poet, with flowing dark locks and a long beard already streaked with strands of white. He was quite famous in the inner city for his avante-guard paintings and plays, and they were married in a glamorous new agey wedding in the park.

    Renee began to publish some pretty wacky novels which did well in those strange days and provided her a living, but her real love was psychic reading, which she continued to do into her middle years, when I knew her. She and Henry moved to Brazil and we heard nothing of her for many years. She returned to the city in the late eighties after Henry died of yellow fever and moved into a studio loft apartment that she shared with a menagerie of animals, and started doing psychic readings again. As this menagerie increased she later moved to the outskirts of the city and lived in a large sprawling and half derelict mansion with fruit orchards and an apple cellar. Her animal companions by then included a puma, capybara and python, as well as chickens, cats, geese, guinea pigs, goats and horses. She took in rescue animals before it was a thing.

    I loved to go and stay with her in the holidays, although my mother always questioned me closely about what went on there. My father, her favorite brother, loved her dearly and laughed off my mother’s fears. ‘How’s your Aunty Sunny ??’ he’d boom and we all laughed. These days in fact she has become much more of a sunny personality, with her long grey hair wild and a raucous laugh.

  19. Jelena Dragkovic, born in Salem, Oregon on a cold winter morning in March, was never what you could call conventional.
    Her best friend as a small child was Spike, a stray cat she protected from less compassionate children who liked to throw rocks at the ugly creature. Despite having two older siblings she preferred the company of animals to people, and once she was able to live on her own she took in strays of all kinds, animal and human.
    Her parents didn’t talk about their past but Jelena knew they had escaped Serbia after WWII, the only proof being the foreign language they used when they didn’t want her to understand what they were saying. They told Jelena she didn’t need to know any language but English as she had no reason to ever return to their mother land. Jelena had to admit her parents could have picked a worse place to settle, but while she walked to school on rainy mornings she wondered what her life would have been like thousands of miles away.
    From a young age she had vivid dreams with an ocean and ancient stones she had never seen. Her mother seemed upset when she would describe them to her in the morning, admonishing her to focus on her school work and put her strange dreams out of her head. Jelena found it hard to let them go. In high school she channeled her dreams into her writing with the encouragement of her English teacher, Ms. Galloway, and Julie finally had an outlet for all the things she couldn’t share at home.
    When she graduated she moved to Portland, using her dark looks to bring in tips as a bartender at Club 21, a dive-bar notorious with the locals. She took lovers as it pleased her, keeping them at arm’s length but letting the good ones stay with her occasionally (if they were nice to her animal friends), and saving most of her energy for her work. The bar where she worked was formerly a church and in the early mornings after everyone else had gone home Jelena could feel that she wasn’t alone. Lights would flicker and the glasses sometimes clinked in the cupboards but Julie wasn’t bothered by the company. She liked this time of day/night best, and it was while cleaning up as the sun rose that she came up with her best ideas for her writing, connecting to dreams she had forgotten.
    After a few years of sleeping days, working nights, and writing in the early morning, the dreams she had always had, of foreign oceans and mountains and forests, and waterfalls became more intense, and she woke up with the voices of women in her head, telling her to go “home”. When Jelena called her parents, as she did biweekly, her mother finally told her she didn’t want her to go so far away, nevermind back to where so many bad things happened but understood if she felt she needed to, giving her the name of their tiny village across the ocean, Jabukovac. To pay for the flight Jelena allowed her latest lover, a photographer who was crazy about her and her menagerie, to take her picture for his friend’s magazine. Jelena felt more shame at being featured by a publication that published low quality writing than by posing nearly topless.
    While Jelena was overseas her lover fielded a lot of inquiries about “the girl on the cover”, he was just as curious about her as everyone else. She didn’t write him or anyone else while she was away. She came back after four months, even quieter, if that were possible, but more grounded and aware. She didn’t like to talk about her time there, but she said she would never forget it, and she seemed to forgive her parents for trying to keep her away from their past. She went on to publish an account of a young woman who learns magic in the old country, taught by a coven of women who couldn’t speak English but who communicated through ancient songs and chants, teaching her how to summon spirits and heal. Jelena stayed with the photographer but refused to be photographed ever again, something I found confusing as a child. She founded an animal rescue that eventually had several off-shoots and continues to write, and I visit her every summer after I visit my parents in Seattle. Although she’s older she still has the same penetrating gaze that seems to take everything in. She keeps daily journals that no one, not even her partner, is allowed to read. I wonder what secret wisdom they hold.

    • Jelena was a multiple conjunct Virgo woman! I worked as the chief editor at New Direction and she sent numerous emails to take down her photo because of the writing. She terrorized the magazine and the writers until it was one day magically shut down.

  20. My Antie Sylvie was born Sylvie Fox Smith in Duluth, MN at 1:48 AM on February 17, 1955.

    Her Aquarius sun tense in hard opposition to Pluto in Leo. Her lessons were those of her generation: excess, greed and wanton selfishness. Sylvie was a school nurse by day; buttoned up in peter pan blouses and cat-eyed liner. In the evenings she would drink absinthe and moodily throw cards until her phone rang. She was involved in several swingers clubs in town and her favorite for releasing her from her 12th house demons had a secret society fetish. Sylvie liked dressing up in cape and mask and ascending the steps of the old Victorian manse. She would pull the tasseled bell rope and glide inside, other life forgotten.

    I didn’t know who Sylvie really was growing up. She chain smoked long thin cigarettes at Christmas and gave my father feather kisses on the cheek with barely suppressed venom. But more and more I sought out her company and started visiting her on my own in my teen years. Her bookshelf became my sanctuary and I surpassed the occult yearnings of my aunt who had mostly dabbled in ceremonial sex magic.

    I miss her terribly. She was visiting me here in Oregon and passed away immediately following the totality. Maybe it was a window into her next adventure. May her spirit live on.

  21. Sandra liked older men. But she was always ashamed of it. When she was a schoolgirl, and her mom dressed her, it was always in cardigans and below-the-knee plaid skirts.

    She hated every minute if it, and more than anything longer to be a woman worshiped by the men she fantasized about.

    On a spontaneous road-trip to Hollyweird, one such man caught her eye. He was handsome, rocking an afro, a mustache and not too many gray hairs. He held a camera up and asked if he could take her picture. She smiled her sweetest smile and he let a single flash rip. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Are you a model?”
    “No,” she replied.
    “You should be. I’d love to offer you a longer shoot. For free.”

    He might have been hitting on her.
    He was most definitely hitting on her.
    But she was twenty and it was the most exciting thrill she had ever felt.

    He had more make-up and women’s clothing than she imagined any man should have. He let her play dress up for hours. She let him watch. He must have taken hundreds of photos. They made love until dawn.

    This one, his favorite ended up on the cover of this magazine. Everyone wanted to know the beautiful new model. Sandra had a new career, which she accepted with glee.

    She traveled to Paris and ultimately married a successful banker. A trophy wife of the highest degree. Though she never forgot the photographer who made her a star. And she never forgot how he made her feel when he took these photos of her.

  22. This is my aunty Agnes or Aggy to us. Aggy’s a Triple Conjunct Sun, Moon and Venus Leo all in the 5th House. She was pretty young when she did the photo shoot for this magazine. She got drunk one night after a few too many moets at a family dinner and told me about it. She’d met this hot photographer while she was out at a party on the beach one night. They drank shots of flaming Black Sambucas that he lit with his gold zippo lighter. She said she noticed the lighter had some kind of witchcraft symbol etched into it. She said he was really protective of it and wouldn’t let her touch it. He clammed up whenever she asked questions about it. By the end of the night she was running down the beach lighting up her sparkler nipple tassels while he chased her (or the lighter). She never really explained the sparklers and how she got them. Anyway it’s probably not important. She said the photographer was the sexiest man she’d ever laid her eyes on and the witchcraft thing just made it even more exciting. He took her to his studio that night and asked her if he could take some professional pictures of her for some magazine. She said they only spent that one night together drinking, smoking, taking photographs. She fanned herself while she recalled that bit. Anyway it seemed hot photographer had a real thing for witchcraft and was keen to get Aggy into this. She of course was totally into it until another women showed up. Aggy reckon she was totally decked out, head to toe in witchwear. There was not an inch of colour on her! Aggy whispered. The hot photographer was so amused by his girlfriend’s sudden entrance and the look on Aggy’s face that he took a photo of her and it landed the cover. Anyway Aggy said this photograph launched her career and she became the hottest cover women in the 70’s and 80’s for all the top occult magazines. Aggy said the secret to her success all came down to her resting witch face.

  23. Her name was Lilith, and she wasn’t really my aunt. She was my Uncle Adam’s first wife. She was rather wild, which was always a great source of contention between her and my uncle. They were only husband and wife for a short time, but I remember her being the life of the party at family gatherings. Much to my mother’s consternation, she was the first person to introduce me to the arts of makeup and seducing boys. She was the kind of woman who made wives hold on to their husbands a little more tightly. She loved her freedom, and she would fly away at a moment’s notice, usually to some exotic locale by the sea. After a particularly nasty fight with my uncle, she left him for a man named Sam, a heavily tattooed member of the Hell’s Angels. When he wasn’t on his bike terrorizing the common man, or locked up in the slammer, he ran an exotic pet store. He had a penchant for all sorts of poisonous snakes. Sam and Lilith seemed to be a better match than she and Adam, but sadly her relationship was even more short-lived with Sam. I saw her many year’s after her departure from my family, when she told me that her only regret was never having children of her own.

  24. Catherine – less an Aunt of mine than a friend of my father’s who knew a water sign kid when she saw one, had a fledgling raven to attend to back at home, and was starting to feel more than an edge of impatience. The team at this magazine shoot were getting on her nerves. Greg, the production assistant, kept staring at her chest despite his feeble best efforts, and expecting her to laugh along with it when she caught him looking. The man was about 45 but he was behaving like a 13 year old. The shoot director kept calling her ‘Cathy’ or worse yet ‘love’, paternalistic, like a creepy neighbour. A woman versed in the ways of men who turn wierd in the presence of someone attractive, thinking they are the first ones to tell her so, she wore an expression of profound neutrality so as to mask boredom. The photographer – a true professional – was the only person she had any faith in. It probably helped that she was the same photographer who’d done Catherine’s swimsuit shoots 8 years ago and was the only woman on the books for the entire New Direction publishing team. They had to keep her – her covers were the only ones that sold out consistently.
    This job was going to cover Catherine’s costs to self-publish her Guide To Deeper Living and the purchase of her house – it had a Yew tree and space for a giant medicinal herb garden, and the site was perfectly situated on her Moon line which intersected with a druid site 30km due north. This was worth it.
    It was here that I used to come and visit after school – I’d wander through the herb garden and get to know their uses, the poisonous and the strengthening ones, she taught me how and when to use them, and when not to, and they became as familiar to me as the phases of the moon.

  25. Ha, you’ve managed to stumble upon the family secret – this is Aunt Morticia. Auntie Em as we lovingly call her is my mother’s oldest sister and a 33rd degree Illuminati witch; the High Priestess of all the East Coast chapters and a close personal friend of Kris Kardashian. During the 1960’s when she was in her late teens, she spent time with a band of Romanian gypsies who had taken up temporary residence in the ruins of Vlad The Impaler’s old castle nested high in the Carpathian Mountains, She has always spoken so fondly of her time with them – it was they who first taught her The Olde Ways. In the 70’s she relocated back to The States and met Uncle Rex – the Undercover Satanic Private Investigator who would become her husband – at the Playboy Mansion in LA. She had been hired as a sort of witchy den mother to keep tabs on Hef’s bevy of blonde, busty beauties but the joke was on him as she had secretly been teaching all of them all a particularly powerful form of tantric sex magick to manifest an exit from the gilded cage of the Playboy estate. She met Rex at one of the many galas at the villa – unbeknownst to anyone, he was actually there at the behest of an ex boyfriend of one of the Bunnies who had accused the modern-day courtesan of being a devil-worshipping spawn of Lilith and wanted to dig up enough dirt on her to force her to come back to him. Once Rex met Auntie Em it was all over, though – he was so bewitched by her beauty that he completely forgot about his mission. The rest, as they say, is history!

  26. i am going to pop in to judge these tomorrow….as exhausted from Mail Chimp Time Warp fuqery.

    And someone asked if i am ever biassed in choosing people from their Gravatar or identity and the answer is no, i read the comment entries from my dashboard, which doesn’t have the gravatars or images, just the ip addresses and i go purely on text + style, not identity…

  27. A month in, and Delilah was already plotting her getaway from the suburbs.
    There were only so many milquetoast swinger seance ouiji parties one could throw for fuqs sake. With Jupiter on her Scorpio north node she realized suddenly that there was not a moment to waste. She packed a light bag of caftans and waltzed her suede knee high boots to the airport. Next stop Tehran.

  28. Aunt Lydia was born at the bottom of a well, during the dark moon, bearing a Scorpionic 12th house stellium encompassing Sun, Venus, Saturn and Mars, and the mark of the beast. That night was so cold even the rocks huddled together. Aunt Lydia, Aunt Lydia turning in the dark, eyes opening, eyes shut, wings that flap overhead, the sudden gust of wind in an otherwise still night.

    Aunt Lydia who I turned to when I thought I’d lost my heart and my way.

    Aunt Lydia gave me the answer: In place of my heart a lock with no key, in place of my tongue a small snapping lizard, in place of hands two birds that fly away, and after seven months with call and text barring I might be allowed out in public again.

    I light a candle to Aunt Lydia, destroyer of ships and hearts, wrecker of best-laid-plans, the siren singing in the rocks. I see her eyes hover in the dark, twin tunnels leading to the same bad end. I put the phone down. A moth drifts towards the flame.

  29. Eulogy Poem

    Ladies and Gentleman, come gather around
    I’ll tell you a tale that knows no bounds

    Admission is free for this twin blockbuster day
    Part one even comes with hot coffee au Lait.

    Part two is a ripper, filled with bedtime stories……….
    Please meet “Suki” my aunt in all her witchy girl glory.

    Born with Sagittarius and a Scorpio moon
    Her English upper- class upbringing gave her no room
    to spread those desires she so haughtily repressed.

    Until one cold Winter’s evening, whilst minimally dressed,
    Robinson Crusoe came to her plight, offering his best.

    He was shabbily dressed and bore no shoes on his feet,
    But he smelt so naughty, there was no chance of defeat.

    Miles across the lake, they commenced their new life
    Where Suki began performing at Le Grind circus each night.

    She read aloud Simon and Carol’s erotic bedtime trips
    To the strangers who would pay extra for her private ‘hostess strip’.

    Then according to witnesses of this exotic fable
    One evening a man with a paunch came to be seated at her table.

    Her perchanced to be her father…

    And so the legend goes
    He came into blows with young Robinson Crusoe.

    They hastily drew their swords in the spirit of fair play
    But an infuriated Suki threw herself between them
    And, thus, is gone to this day.

    RIP Aunty Edna, otherwise known as “Suki”.

  30. As always, terrifically hard to choose just three winners – i ADORE the wit and whimsy on here…

    So here are this week’s winners and congratulations! Please email me to ‘collect’!

    Astro-Flash- Alouetta
    Mercurial Key Ring – The Lovely Duckling
    Wealth Wallet – 5 Star Sag

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