Drunk Harry's Shack

Some secrets have to kept for thier own sake, I understand where you’re coming from.

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Thanks for understanding. I keep various secrets for weird reasons. Sometimes, though, I want to break those secrets, not out of malice; I prefer not to be an oath-breaker. Still, I want to be able to practice rituals with others before being called upon to perform them publicly. But it’s often not possible. I regret not being able to practice with people more qualified than myself, which would be anybody on Earth. People who are close to me laugh at the various groups with whom I’m involved, rather than actually joining them.


See, it’s a funny thing with me. I don’t generally like to do things half-assed. No, I’d rather make a complete jackass out of myself.

That’s why I’m drawn to fringe religion and organizations, as well as to my own inexplicable beliefs and practices.

If you’re going to speak in tongues, then bloody well speak in tongues. If you’re going to join a lodge, join it.

Still, I have my limits, mostly due to my lifelong struggle with having anything resembling a normal attention span. I lose interest quickly and easily, unless someone gives me a reason to concentrate and continue.

If you’re going for an ecstatic experience, then be prepared to enter a state of ecstasy. If you’re going to worship, then do it. But I’m also aware that there are limits.

I don’t want to bow down before some schmuck calling himself “the voice of God,” or the gods, or whatever, any more than anyone else. I’ve kind of reached my limit in indulging every third mortal who claims to be a conduit to all things holy and mystical.

I grasp the importance of teachers, and the knowledge of those who have gone before me. But I also grasp the importance of looking for the exit sign.


I’ve always been the oddball, always the weirdo. I tend to straddle a fine line between my “good” and “bad” nature, my “normal” inclinations and my “darker” desires.

Of course, it’s all theater.

I’m both good and bad, horrid and amazing. I’m very evil, but I’m not a murderous dictator. I’m good at moments, but I’m not exactly saving the planet.

Someone in a really straight organization to which I belong admitted to having massive panic attacks, and told us how to care for him if he should have one. I thought that took a lot of balls. Also, it means I’m not alone in having panic attacks.

I think that none of us are as “normal” as we’d like to think. In addition, there are people more (and less) advanced than we are.

Thinking about ritual now. Some people are very good at it. Others, like myself, only enjoy it if it’s not bogged down in trivial details. I’m more concerned with the spirit of it (pun intended) than the small details.

But sometimes, the people obsessed with details are the ones who keep everything rolling.

It seems hard to find young people who are into ritual and intricate detail, but I’ve been meeting some of them. They’re out there. I think a certain personality type seems to be drawn to it. Magickal (and other) lodges, groups, covens, societies, etc. depend on them.

But there are freewheeling types like myself who are also needed.

Some people provide the spontaneity that others lack, while the more careful types can keep things grounded in reality, bringing order out of chaos.

I’m more of the chaos type, but realize that without some degree of order, I’d simply run off the rails.


You’re quite right it takes all kinds to keep it all going.

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I’m out in the middle of nowhere. Trapped, temporarily.

I’ve had a major health scare, but it’s over. So far, I’m okay.

Talking to some local people. We differ so much, but sometimes, they do have some interesting advice.

Perhaps I’m one of the people I’ve often noticed…those who value the various tools and objects of devotion, practice or worship over the actual thing itself.

I’m a simple creature. I like to be patted, rather than poked with a stick.

Still, I belong to a number of groups in which I suspect that I’m one of the few who’s seriously thinking about what’s going on. But I’m not a genius. Don’t take me for one.

I know; you never did.

None of the rituals I’m doing, not even the ones I’ve devised myself, are being done by accident.


I’ve had too much to drink. By far. Also, I have a fever. Still, I feel compelled to post my ridiculous thoughts online.

I’m overcome by love for my spouse. As end-of-life issues loom nearer, I want to be sure that we’re stuffed into an urn exactly where we want to be. There are people who don’t respect requests. I’ve seen it happen. Trying to overrule all of that in advance.

So many things to consider these days. I have an atheist friend who says he’ll never “bow the knee.” No gods, no masters, and all that. Well, bully for him.

Sometimes, I’m so overcome by awe that I do bow the knee, and wish I could bow my entire body in prostration without looking like some kind of weirdo. I like the idea of prostration in prayer. I’d do it here, but please, not on this cruddy carpet.

I’m so happy to be alive. Even if my life has been basically useless, I’m still grateful for it. I know how lucky I am.

All the little creatures are outside, the animals. I leave food for them. I want them to be here and to be happy. Well watered, well fed. I love them, even the “vermin.” Hell, I’m vermin, myself.

I am a friend of mice and rats. Opossums, too.

Magick? Oh, yes, it’s always on the back of my mind, even when hearing sermons from various religions. One thing can apply to another. Different approaches, but it’s still “more light.” My eyes need more light to see by. As for my ears, I don’t hear so much anymore. Can’t watch TV without closed captioning, which makes my various local meetings without closed captioning a challenge.

But I’m still here, and I’m still weirder than you’ll ever know. Also, I care - and that’s what makes me a true weirdo.


@Hypnos the weirder you get, the more I like you!

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This journal is all a little bit… Charles Bukowski…

I love it!


Hey, thanks! As a Buk fan, I’ll take that as a compliment.

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When I check back on what I posted here, often during the late night hours, I’m often amazed. To me, some of the things I write when I’m loaded don’t seem like me - but it’s definitely some aspect of me. This is an ongoing experiment.

There’s “daytime” me, and “nighttime” me. They’re two different people living inside my brain. Good vs. bad, night vs. day, me vs. me. They’re always, or often, at war with one another.

It’s all illusion, but it’s one I’ve strongly sensed all my life.

The “good” me handles all the social stuff, functions in mainstream society (to whatever extent I interact with it), says “howdy” to passers-by and generally pretends to be human.

The other part of me, the “bad” part, is different. Really different. Different to the point where I don’t know how to address it.

And both sides of me do magick. I’ve done it to enhance various aspects of myself, and used it to enhance (or contact) various sides of my own psyche. Or yours. Depends upon what I want from you.

I’m using the general “you.” Don’t get nervous.

Got drawn to religious art of various sorts at a young age. Would later become a merchant of all manner of religious items. Various religions. I’ll sell to all sides, to the highest bidder.

But I don’t sell things, even myself, as an act of malice. I almost have morals, of a sort. I want people to use me, or the things I sell, to boost their own “unfoldment,” to use a New Age sort of term.

You may laugh at me for some of the items I withheld from sale and kept for myself. But they move me. If it moves me, I keep it. If it moves me, and it’s really small, it goes into my wallet or purse, whatever I’m carrying that day. Or my mojo bag.

I like what I like, and that’s true in nearly every part of my life: Religion, spiritual practice, education, sex, making money, and my social life. I don’t know why I like certain things, or am repulsed by others.

It’s just me being me.

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I don’t know what to say for myself. There’s not a lot left to say. I had chances galore, and blew every one of them. Still, I’m here, and I’m just aware enough to still be thinking, more or less. Even if you don’t consider me a thinking person, I still retain some level of animal awareness.

I figure I might be a diamond, but one that was thrown into the bottom of an outhouse. That, or I really am just another piece of crap. But even that (kind of) has its value. I could fertilize someone else’s field.

I don’t know what the answers are. Whatever my “purpose” in life is, that train left the station a long time ago. I wasted everything. But, for whatever reason, I’m still breathing. And I still have my weird “senses” regarding things long past. I’m just a creepy old thing at this point, but I feel a strange kinship with people who went on before me, as well as people who are still out there exploring.

I’m entranced by certain religious and social rituals. They’re happening for a reason. It’s the reason I’m looking for.

I don’t disdain folk rituals, hoodoo, charismatic church services, etc. Oh, those are just “uneducated” people, the “lower” class. Balls. They know more than I do, and I went to college to make believe that I know anything at all, only to come out knowing that others less privileged than myself knew better the entire time.

There’s a cemetery near here. The people there lived incredibly hard lives. Whatever they knew, it was more than I know. Their graves are now being obscured by thickets and overgrown weeds. They are my betters, and they cry out from the ground.

I’m trying to refine whatever it is that I am. It’s all I can do. But I’m failing. Still, I’m willing to learn. Learning is growth. I need to grow, and quickly, urgently.


Another day, another funeral.

A magician has gone down, someone more learned than myself, which could mean anyone on earth.

We almost did a ritual together once. I bailed. First, she thought my contribution to the group ritual was “too weird”. Also, I didn’t want to get up before dawn, literally climb a mountain, and do a ritual that I was considered “too weird” to do in the first place. So, I went back to bed.

In retrospect, I probably should’ve done it. Then again, going back to bed felt pretty nice, too.

I could’ve learned a lot, though. My laziness, as well as shyness, can sometimes get in the way of learning important lessons.


It just wasn’t time. Trust your instincts and intuition. I’m sure the ritual probably was fine but it just wasn’t the right time for you to be a part of it. Nothing wrong with that, people develop in thier own way at thier own pace like a flower unfolding itself in the sunlight.

Sorry to hear about the passing of your friend however, condolences.

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Thanks for your kindness and understanding. I do feel that, as far as that specific ritual was concerned, it just wasn’t the right time for either of us to do that particular working within a group setting. When things do come together, though, it’s amazing.


I’ve had a strange feeling lately. There’s a sense of foreboding, some kind of weirdness looming on the horizon.

It may involve moving away, which is a real possibility. It may be something else. I’m getting antsy. I feel like I’m sitting still when I should be running, hesitating when I should be moving forward. Frozen.

Even if I stay here, something is brewing, and I’m not alone in that sense. Every one of us hanging out at the shack can sense it.

There’s a small possibility I could be moving somewhere so remote that it makes my present rural shack look like New York City. Still, it could mean more money. I’d be in an extreme climate in the godforsaken middle of nowhere. But money…yeah, I like that stuff.

I’m feeling drawn toward various imagery. Some of the craziest images can drive me toward wanting to do rituals, devotions and so forth. Sometimes, I have a fear of trickster gods. I’m afraid to do certain rites because of a fear that the “god” (demon, spirit, entity, deity, whatever) will come back to bite me on the ass forever. I have the same feeling when I go to church sometimes. If I give devotion to some entity, I don’t want to be abused for having done so.

Having random thoughts about old friends. I still have friends from “the good old days.” We were brilliant back then. No, actually, we were horses’ asses, every one of us, but let me reminisce. We read our horrid poems into booze soaked microphones, and scratched out songs on our guitars as if anyone cared. We were sexy, or dreamed that we were, and slept with anything that cast a shadow, while thinking that we were avant-garde for humping random drunks. But now, we’re sad, gray, wrinkled sacks full of diabetes, heart palpitations and brittle bones.

We were brilliant once, though.

I want to shine again.


That was awesome you’re a great writer. Thanks for sharing that. :+1::smiley:


Who’s that touching the concrete on the street corner?

Oh, that’s the crazy person who gets random information from who-knows-where by touching things. In other words, it’s just me.

I touch things. And from those things, I sense, and receive, energy. You know what I really like to touch, besides random people’s zippers? I like touching churches, temples, lodges, stained glass windows, hymnbooks, all kinds of things. I get a sense of things–and people–that happened before me.

I was at a lodge recently. Saw the names of long-dead people engraved on chairs. Bless you, those who were here in this place. I touch name plates on hymnbooks, names on tombstones. I’m overwhelmed at times that so many were here, and have gone, before me. What did they do? What did they know?

Old Harriet struggles to put on her clothes, defiantly unfashionable, and crawls down the mountain to various events sometimes. And I encounter the living and the dead, but mostly the dead. Oh, the conversations I’ve had in cemeteries. I talk to animals, too.

Who carried a consecrated sigil to church? Oh, yes, it was me. Sometimes, I need good luck even there. Like when I’m asked to sing all by myself. When I sing the old songs, I like to point people toward exactly where they want to go, whether in religious or secular settings.

Wanna go to Heaven, Hell, or the bus stops in between? I’ll take you there.


Someone thought, on another site, that it would be fun to make fun of my religious, ethical and moral beliefs.

I’m not here for it. Sorry if you thought I was.

I’m a quiet, calm, mostly silent person. Most folks don’t even know I exist. But yes, I care.

I don’t know how to help people, not even myself–but I care. Sorry, I’m not the edgelord type.

I can conjure most of whatever I wish. I downplay my abilities. But still, I’m human. I don’t like people making fun of me due to my age, gender, etc.

If you’re honesty trying to help others, I might be your ally.

Don’t harm poor country folk…unless they’re trying to harm others. In which case they’re in my cross hairs, too.

Anyone can ask me questions, or challenge me. But open antagonism needs to go. I believe differently than most. Sorry if that offends you, but I’m only sorry up to a point. Get in my face, and find out how sorry I am.

Nobody is taking up for the people I hold dear. But I will. And you may very well be surprised to find out who I’ve got fighting on my side.


I’m not experiencing earth-shattering changes these days, nothing worth writing a novel about, but things are weird.

I’ve been watching shows and reading articles/books about “cults.” I tend not to throw the term around too loosely. This is due to my having visited groups I was assured were “dangerous cults,” only to find out that they’re actually worthwhile, or at least not dangerous.

Still, some people proclaiming themselves to be the mouthpieces of various deities need to watch out. If some disgruntled follower doesn’t lay them low, perhaps (hopefully) the deities in question will.

So many of these people use the concept of being a “prophet” or spiritual master as an excuse for abuse. Funny thing, they’re almost always serious losers. Greasy, shabby losers. Couldn’t get laid if they weren’t forcing gullible followers into it. Couldn’t work a single shift in even the most menial job, but they’re always glad to pocket their followers’ money.

I’m religious, in my own twisted way, but have been told by various religious people that I’m ungrateful, headstrong, independent, and the other usual put-downs, in a way that lets me know I’m supposed to feel guilty about it.

If I hurt people, I feel guilty. If I hurt the delicate feelings of some “prophet,” my guilt is limited. I’ve seen one act too many of this particular drama.

I’m willing to do some pretty crazy stuff, in terms of spiritual development, but I definitely have limits. Weirdness, I don’t mind. Abuse is another story.

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