The Manchurian Candidate

I’m at that point, following a recent move, where I’m not quite confident enough of our decision to move here,  to drill holes in the wall, to hang the things that call our house, “home”; or bold enough to ask my landlady for permission to do it.  Out on the shelves, forming general, house-move clutter and demarking the current perimeter of my life, are the things I would love to have back on my walls; a Ganesha we brought back from Darjeeling, a mirrored sconce that I painted with glass paint to represent the suites in my Hallowquest tarot deck; a tiny, brass, goat bell that links us back to our quinta, 10 years ago and Poppy, our first goat experience.


Some of the other items that ended up on the shelves are my tarot workbooks, my old photo albums, a bag of seeds for planting, my Reverence Valada bag and mirrored bag (bought at Boom Festival 2004) that contain my current knitting work in progress.  Notably absent – there are no art materials and there has been no art of any sort since we arrived here.

The title of this blog refers to this blog episode I am listening to:



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