Tuesday, July 29, 2014


I'm not sure if I ever recorded my thoughts on last year's haunted-house movie The Conjuring, but in case I didn't I'll sum it up here: it was half of a good movie.

(The first half, to be precise - the 70s vibe was funky, the haunting was creepy, and the characters weren't horrible. Buuuut then we got old grandma leaping off a wardrobe like Spider-Man and the super casual glossing over of "oh, the original house owner was a witch who KILLED HER BABY FOR SATAN and hung herself" and I was just done.)

In the film, our first introduction to our 'demonologists' is when two 20-something girls are explaining that they are being terrorized by a haunted doll. Apparently someone thought that this was scary enough to warrant its own movie despite the doll not being voiced by Brad Dourif.

Now, like The Conjuring and indeed The Amityville Horror, this movie - Annabelle - is supposedly based on a case investigated by Ed and Lorraine Warren.

Ed and Lorraine Warren were, by most accounts, full of shit.  More so than your average ghost hunter, even. Ed has been described as a bully, and was clearly not remotely interested in any serious research - apparently he had a copy of the Simon Necronomicon in his Occult Museum, and would tell people it was one of the oldest and most evil Books of Shadows.

Oh yes, the Occult Museum in The Conjuring is real. And Annabelle the haunted doll lived there! Here she is:

Image source. Oh yeah, baby.
It's a motherfucking Raggedy Anne.

Have you SEEN the doll they're using in the movie?

THAT'S PRE-POSSESSION. While I understand that the idea of Raggedy Anne chasing you down a hallway is pretty goddamn stupid, who in their right mind buys that terrifying piece of shit for his unborn child? If the father of my child walked into the nursery with that thing I'd be like, "fuck, I might be having a moron child because its dad is so stupid..."

Trailer here. Like, really dude? And she keeps the thing. I realise this is set in the 60s or 70s, but no WAY were you high enough to think that monstrosity was appropriate for a newborn.

At any rate, the film will no doubt continue to cast the Warrens as intelligent do-gooders instead of the attention whoring nutbags they were. (Lorraine, let's not forget, went on to appear on Paranormal State as Ryan's mentor. No wonder every case turned demonic.) I'm not going to list the accusations against the Warrens, because other people have done it already! Here a few podcasts which feature some people who are more in the know than I:

Monster Talk - the Warren Omission

Irreligiosophy - Ray Garton Interview.

Seriously, though. Fuck that doll.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

A change is as good as a rest.

Miss Frances the cat has a favourite sort of toy: foam balls. She likes them because she can pick them up with her mouth, and she can bat them easily with her little clawless paws. The problem is that she would roll them under the bookshelf under my window, and so get them caught under the radiator. I'd have to pull the shelf out to rescue them. Today I was trying to find a place to move the bookshelf to that would solve this problem. Buuuut....

When you have a small apartment, there's only so many places you can put things. So I wound up moving the entire apartment around. Of course.

There also happened to be a thread on the pagan forum I frequent about "your faith in your home decor" today. I'm not a hugely religious person, but there's ample evidence of the shit I'm into all over the house.

This is where keys and spare change go. Cheap plastic tray + modge podge.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

ice age

The Capricorn full moon can mark the end of a long run or dry spell. Perhaps you’ll feel it as the end of a personal, social, or professional era and the crystallizing of a new reality. 
- via Rose Marcus

I spent all of last night catching up with a friend I had not seen properly in ages. Without going into details, I will say we had a falling out and consequently we both backed away from the friendship. I am pleased to find, however, that the entire bloody stump of the past has been neatly cauterized by time and I can now enjoy this person's company with no weirdness, no ache in the chest, no misgivings whatsoever.

I walked home at five in the morning. The sun was turning the sky shades of rose and pale blue, and I was still drunk. It was a wonderful morning - maybe the best of the summer so far.

Then of course I got home, collapsed, got woken up by Frances the gremlin cat, slept far too little and eventually got up with a raging headache. My sister was kind enough to bring some painkillers down to my place and then let me lay about like roadkill for another hour before dragging me back outside.

Tonight the house needs cleaning and cleansing; tomorrow I'm hosting a candle-making party.

I stopped in Michaels craft store to get wicks a few weeks ago now, and found a whole candle making kit marked down from sixty bucks to under twenty. It comes with normal wax, but I also have some soy kicking around here somewhere. I own lots of essential oils - mainly blends, but some pure - and of course I have the herb cupboard. The kit comes with dye too, so if anyone wishes to colour their candles to match their intent they can.

By tomorrow night I will also be recovered enough to want wine. Because alcohol and melting wax are the world's smartest combination.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Apparently, John A. Macdonald would get drunk and yell at his dead relatives.

So, happy Canada Day on that note.

Sunday, June 29, 2014


If you're not already listening to the Faculty of Horror... what's wrong with you?

No, seriously. Witches in Film is possibly one of the best goddamn podcasts I've ever heard. The witch as a dramatic figure is examined just brilliantly, and Andrea and Alex eloquently dissect one of my favourite films as both an adolescent and and adult: The Craft.

In other news, I saw Chelsea Wolfe in concert last weekend at the Electric Owl. Good stuff! Little slow - there weren't really any faster tempo songs played except for about a minute of Feral Love at the very beginning - but I enjoyed myself very much. Even bought a t-shirt.

The cat continues to be strange.

Frances tries to eat The Devil.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Her Royal Smashed Faced-ness.

Photo by Voodoo Pixie.

Her name is Frances. Alternately, Aunt Fanny.

Yes, that's why.

Monday, June 9, 2014


It's finally happened.

Following the death of Henry the Innsmouth Familiar (RIP Henry) I figured I was done with pets, and for many a month I certainly was. At some point I figured that talking to yourself sounds slightly less insane if there's an animal present, and began to wonder if I should get one.

I then got drunk and looked at cats on the internet.

I saw one beautiful cat on the VOKRA website who was an adult with long, jet-black fur and big yellow eyes. Her name was Mushball, or Moosh. I considered, and considered... and she got adopted.

A few weeks later, I looked at the Vancouver SPCA site and found a hair-covered gremlin. "Look at this hideous cat!" I gleefully declared and made people look at the picture. The page, however, had no bio of the cat - it was blank. Two days later I checked back out of curiosity and found a write-up of the cat's personality: six years old, shy, quiet, declawed*, indoor cat for life.


I made my sister come down to the shelter with me on Saturday to see the cat, who was named Poochie. Voodoo misheard me and thought the name was Coochie, prompting her to wonder why someone named their pussy after their vagina. Not that Poochie is any better.

She was chillin in her box, although emerged to check us out eventually. I filled out an application and then prepared to play the waiting game. They had to make sure everything was cool with my landlord - we are in fact in a building full of cats. Today I received a phone call saying I could go and pick her up, so Voodoo and I did precisely that. I think she meowed twice the whole way home - my sister was half convinced we'd been duped and had, in fact, a box of sand.

Let out of her box she promptly got stuck behind one of my bookcases, then hid under the bed. After a few hours she emerged. ...covered in the dustbunnies that I'd missed under my bed. Naturally.

Turns out she likes being brushed though, so that was easy to fix.

So this is my cat. She took a walk through my apartment after she came out of hiding, scoping everything out. Much to my surprise she then came right for me to be pet and brushed. She hide again when Voodoo came by - the knock at the door startled her, I think - but then she came back out after a few minutes to demand love from my sister as well.

Currently she's lounging beside me on the floor, seemingly very content. She's eaten and used the litterbox, so I think that means she has a good idea of where everything is. She is just the sweetest little muppet!

I just need to rename her. I have a few names in the running, so we'll see which wins out.

* -  I do not endorse declawing - it's a horrible procedure for cats. But I'm not going to NOT adopt a cat based on it, either.