Voodoo Up In Here

Last spring Maggi and I had occasion to hang on the south coast for a few days. It was pretty nice down there, and among other activities, which I think I already told you about, I managed to get lost in the woods around the Bullards Beach campground. Not really really lost, but lost enough I was damn glad I had bars on my phone so the gps worked and showed me where I was in relation to where I was supposed to be.
It took some effort to admit I fucked up.
Then, on the way backtracking to the real trail turnoff, shedding the BS oh I'm OK this goes to the same place, well, n o it doesn't, and where you come out is a fuck of a long ways over there, way farther than you think it is, girlie, wake the fuck up it is getting dark, in the midst of all this inner turmoil there, laying on the trail I had just come down unbeknownst to me was a giant gob of "old man moss" or Spanish Moss as they call it down on the bayou.
Voodoo doll material.

The snap swivel allows you to form a connection without getting twisted up in the process. On the left side of the sash there is a narrow panel of blue and red beads to keep the place in memory of times when it was necessary for the Archangels such as Michael to carry a broadsword in the fight for truth and justice.
Those times are past, and now it is safe for the green heart of glass to be worn openly.

So last night I got busy like you know I like to do, and lovingly slightly cut upon an old blanket my kid had used when he was little, and I still sleep under every night and blessedly gladly to have it there in love for the guy, anyway I got out Moms Viking sewing machine, actually a Husqvarna, and sewing up a little inch or so next to the edge so as to seal off the stuffing, I gently scissored off that extra inch to make rather like a bandage of the civil war school, a couple feet long, of printed cotton blend, to wind the voodoo doll around the stuffing of Spanish Moss all the while working with love and warmest rich intentions for peace and love and understanding in colors of greens both light and lighter, and wear worn and faded into soul shadings and reds and burgundies patterned nicely in the colors of Anaisa Pie's best friend Belie Belcan, syncretized as Michael the Archangel, righter of wrongs, friend to the downpressed and all-around good guy.
I looked in my stash and there were two of the little gold chains left from Thailand transformation journey so I hung them around there for good fortune and prosperity for the young man who kept warm by this love and who kept me warm until so many years went by.
We'll see what happens now.