Assorted Snake Cultist Detritus

It *is* silly to like The Cure

(fineliner and watercolour ink, hieroglyphics and enochian)

Thomas Ligotti, The Last Feast of Harlequin

Another day, another gay little poem in my gay little diary

Douglas the Conqueror Worm

The written page acts as the best scrying surface for my thoughts

Horizonto, my beautiful bronze serpent of knowledge.

Hercule, my beautiful silver angel of the pre-atomic age. This is my one of a kind diatonic club accordion, tuned in C/F. I have been playing it a year. It's from the 30s, switzerland. I taught myself to play primarily on this beautiful delicate old pneumatic machine.

Something nice and gay. Whilst for various factors, I am not a leatherman/fetish biker, my initiation into queerness was by way of them and in many ways my identity as a masculine queer man is very much in the context of that kind of blue collar gayness. Teenage me was always very much in love with the pomp and camp of heavy metal and punk, the unabashed masculine flamboyance.