malica ĝojo

Long time no write, ĉu ne?

Since I last wrote, there have been some sources of anxiety and there have been some reasons for relief and happiness.

Went to the Chinese buffet tonight with Leah and her mother just to be together. As dinner drew to a close, Leah started asking questions about hepatitis C. I thought it was weird as she kept asking about blood then sexual fluids. Pat, my mother-in-law, asked what was going on and Leah said that her junkie friend Robert acquired hepatitis C.

I immediately became disgusted by her. Junkie Robert, I feel like Trump writing like this, was someone she met at the Ocean County Beach Sweeps. If Lisa Walling is to be believed, Leah already blew or fucked him behind my back. Robert wound up moving back to Kansas to pursue a woman named Brooklyn where he fell back into using intravenous drugs, then going in and out of rehab. He died twice, but NARCAN brought him back.

A year or so ago, I performed a rite to ensure he never returns to New Jersey. I had a fetish for him, his ancient Jeep which he left behind, and stood in front of it gazing into the windshield. A lens from a floodlight was on the hood. I wove my curse then slammed my first down upon the hood. The lens split in two, not perfectly, but close enough. I never touched the lens, it merely bounced up off the hood and down again.

I took it as a sign that the magick worked. I went inside, felt my “god” voice come out of my throat and I challenged god about whatever control he has over the situation. In the end, I said Junkie Robert will never return to New Jersey.

In that time, again, he died twice and came back with the help of NARCAN. He went in and out of rehab.

I put two and two together, Leah being beside herself that her beloved and precious Junkie Rob who may come back to New Jersey one day now has hepatitis C which means her designs or fantasies may not come true without putting herself and her health at risk.

I picked my fortune cookie, removed the fortune without reading it, consumed the cookie, then read the fortune.

Now I’m just angry. More furious. I can’t lose my faith in my magick. But moreso I’m told not to engage in schadenfreude.

I still wish this rodent will die.

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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