Blood Moon Rising

Oooh. Can you feel it in the air already? The year is turning. We who live a bit further north, we feel the grip of its cooling hand tightening around our necks already. The leaves cling withered to the chestnuts, and the swallows flee towards the warmer sun, and leave us behind awaiting the skeins of flocks of geese racing south, south across the dusking skies.

Let’s talk about the dark, and wicked, and wondrous.

We are swinging toward my favourite time of the year. “For the dark, the dark is rising.”

What is it about real life, that wrecks us with experiences both too grim and too miserable to bear sometimes, and yet we will inevitably gravitate towards tales of horror, the inexplicable, the annihilating weight of crushing terror when we are confronted with our own nothingness, our sheer insignificance?

There are mountains of research on it, I am sure, which I don’t bother to quote or read right now. We know the answer in our very bones, after all. It is the comfort of knowledge that you, too, have experienced the grip of this strangling feeling. It is the comfort we find in being scared together. Because if I am scared, and so are you, maybe, just maybe, it means we are not alone after all.

Ah, but to have Samhain all year.

I want to gear up with you for this most wonderful season of mystery, of fogs on the moors and howling deserts filled with strange time loops, of evils to conquer, to face, to sometimes fall prey to, of witches good and evil and non-witchey, actually, and of the specifically lesbian delights of goth and noir.

After all, they combine almost all of my favourite things in the world!

Let me be, like Wednesday, the dark cloud to your silver lining.

Let me be your introduction to sabbats of sapphic slaughterfests.

Let me be your marsh light guiding you through the arrays of ghosts and ghouls, the vampires and succubi, the zombies, the hungry ghosts, the demons and wraiths, and the harsher and realer terrors of the bodiless nightmares of human betrayal, lost hope, and faith misplaced in tricksters.

Welcome to the season of the witch.

Welcome to the prelude to a Samhain symphony.

Welcome to the approach of the true, the uncheatable, the eternal dark.

PS.: A shoutout to the lovely (presumably queer?) guy who asked what I was writing on the train ride to Munich two-ish weeks ago. If you read this, you know who you are, and thank you for your kind interest. I am and will keep writing that witch novel, just so you know. You made my day, and it was very nice having your company, even though I was very occupied. I do appreciate a polite and engaged presence...that does not just go for ghosts. And it was nice to be just a gay girl in the presence of a, presumably queer, probably, guy.