Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Falsifiable
Oh, and another thing: never ask an oracle—and especially not the Bones—readily falsifiable questions. That's not what they're for, and it shows deep disrespect.
Say you ask...
(Puts hand behind back)
“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?”
(Brings hand from behind back, showing three fingers raised)
...and then you throw the Bones to see whether or not they get it right.
Assuming they even deign to answer—and they may just tell you, in effect, to go f*ck yourself—you'll get “One,” you'll get “Two,” you'll get “Four,” you'll get “Five.”
Will you ever get “Three”? No, you won't. Not ever.
Remember, this is the oracle of the Horned, god of witches, and—you'll pardon my Anglo-Saxon—he's a bigger f*cker than anybody.
So a rede to the Wise: don't f*ck with the Bones, and they won't f*ck with you, OK?
(Raises palms.)
So there: you've had your warning.
Be told.
What the Bones Said: How to Cast and Read the Knucklebones
Long ago, in the dawn of days, the Horned gave us the bones and taught us how to read them.
Here's how.
Friday, March 21 – Sunday, March 23
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