The Door Tree

The door tree stands at the center of the world. Its branches pierce the veil that is the heavens, its roots wind deep into the layers of hell. When the time is right, the windows and doors open. They are mirrors of humanity, reflections of our own souls. At the seat of the tree a demon dwells, pulling strings and opening doors, beckoning to passerby.

Come, look inside.

Please, Please, Please

Just before morning, just before she's fully awake, and also when the spot on the bed next to her is cold and empty, she curls under the covers and lets her mind fly. She thinks of cities. Not towns, not villages, not suburban wastelands--no. Cities.

Skyscrapers that tickle bloated clouds, playing with the blue of the sky. Neighborhoods with menial little parks and singular trees. Sidewalks. Benches. Galleries. It makes her want to bite her cuticles to a pulp. Cities seem so big and scary and crowded and lonely.



She misses Chicago. It's odd how, in her mind, a city can at once be a place of new beginnings and romantic notions, and at the blink of an eye, a dwelling for only heartache and lonely existences. Paradox, paradox. She doesn't dream anymore, but rather frets until her stomach knots.

Hear a Punk Rock Song, and We Sing Along

There are no better nights for punk rock than those precious few at the summer's end. Her heart aches. The music blares. She rubs the toes of her boots together so the pleather squeaks.

Academia looms just around the corner, and soon these little pains will be masked by books and studying and running. It's all so exciting, so frightening, that it runs tingles up her spine to linger across her sternum.

She helped give Sir Charles a mohawk. The results were ever so fantastic!



Hey, Suburbia!

Drawings, but Colored

Did she ever tell you that she drew pictures? Lots and lots of pictures? Pictures to fill sketchbooks and stick on the walls and take up all the musty corners in one's life? She's one of those fantastical girls, you see, who dreams of ferocious beasts and realms of fantasy.

But there's a little problem.

She despises coloring her own work. But it is so good to have a dear friend who colors her work so willingly! Emma took colored pencils to her linework, and here are the beautiful results to show!





Here's an elephant with squid's legs. He's looking a little plain. Who will color him? ♥

Smells like Autumn

She had an adventure in the city with a dear friend. There she saw Mr. Elephant on the store shelf, and decided that he must come live with her immediately. Mr. Elephant enjoys tea and perpetually spouts it from his nose. Now he sits, content, with Earth Mother and magick incense on the stove.



She also purchased some orange candles, in accordance with the coming autumn. Such smells! Potpourri, candles, and incense make for a delightful concoction of seasonal scents. She suggests an earthy blend; try some patchouli and sandalwood and pumpkin spice for crispy fall nights and wriggling toes beneath fuzzy blankets. And to top it off, brew a pot of warm, cozy tea--compliments of Mr. Elephant.

Magickal Dolly, Itty Bitty Spider

Tis a time for charms and enchantments. She's found an escape in the countryside, away from the crowds and dust of the city. Loud music is replaced by the chirping of crickets and cicadas and the whistle of the wind through the trees.





She made Earth-Mother dolly of yarn and scrap fabric. In Earth-Mother's head, she placed a spell on thin piece of paper, a reminder to keep nature close to her heart. Earth-Mother sits on her couch in Apartment Eight, tsk-tsking every time one forgets to recycle.



The apartment has a new resident. His name is Ben and he lives in the upper-corner of the bathroom. He comes and goes as he pleases.

Veronica Hates Me

On a whim she scrambled to the drug store and bought an electric razor. How many people does it take to give one girl a mohawk? Sir Charles measured with a keen eye, while Grahm snip snipped her hair away and Lord Philip wielded an Iphone and hairpins. The results were worthy of a photoblog and a playlist.

She's ready for stomping. Never did her knee-high combat boots suit her so well. Just another East Bay night in the Midwest.