Considering the potential idea about the main protagonist in my body horror/lit fic book being an archivist and the 50s western actor who was lost in time for a hot second purposely sprinkling reminders in the past of their limited time together in the future so she can find them in her research and know that he never forgot her.
It’s definitely evolved from a funny story related to my special interests and written only for myself to this devastating thing calling out the shitty ways how eldest daughters, the mentally-ill, veterans, and Mexicans are treated.
I swear. I’m going to relearn how to draw so I can show you the loves of my life in this fucking book. 75k words into this first draft….not sure how many more to go but I’m 3/4 of the way done with my plot
In my last post, I said something that should have given you pause. When describing spirits of the dead, I said, “They can even be exploited if a magus is so inclined. If they can't learn to chill even after they're dead, fuck 'em.”
No one told you that being a magus makes you a nice person, right? There are reasons why necromancy is reviled by many cultures. Most of those reasons are bullshit based on fear and control. But being a necromancer does sometimes mean blurring some lines. If you as a magus decide you may need a weapon at your disposal, even just for self-defense… well weapons come at a price. A weapon is not an innocent thing, despite what the NRA wants you to believe. A weapon always requires you to compromise your innocence. A weapon symbolizes you are willing to do harm. A spiritual weapon can be a costly thing indeed.
The most powerful weapon in my spiritual arsenal? Without a doubt – Deadwater. What is Deadwater you ask? Lucky for you folks I know the leading expert. The number one source. I turn you over to the words of my beloved brother, Frater Yaramarud, the man who provided me with this amazing substance.
“My first encounter with Deadwater came nearly a decade ago. At the time, I saw it purely as a novelty and not something with the nearly boundless potential that I know today. Traveling down the road with my good friend Frater Dreadnaught, and an ex-partner of mine, the three of us had made a late night decision to stop at the next cemetery we found in order to waste time in a way that people in their early twenties are wont to do. When we finally found one and had parked the car, a light in the center of the cemetery had drawn our attention to a pump well gently illuminated beneath it. My initial thought was one of curiosity and bewilderment. What reason could there possibly be for there to be a well here? With this question unanswered, it dawned on me that the corpses surrounding us had, beyond any doubt, decayed and seeped into the table from which this well drew.
After jokes and general fucking around, we left the cemetery without even noting its general location. Though I had lost contact with my ex-partner, Fr. Dreadnaught and I remained close friends. During this time, he had enlisted in the military and left our home state for roughly 7-8 years. Though we often discussed the possible location of the Deadwater, the only thing that either of us could remember was the highway that it was most likely located on. With him gone for years and me being the only person that could feasibly find this place, I did all I could do in order to locate it. Driving up and down the highway proved fruitless, as did looking at maps of cemeteries along the route and cross-referencing them with Google. My last effort was to post an inquiry on a local genealogy group under the guise of searching for the grave of a relative. This too led to nothing. I was forced to give up, and so it was for about six years.
Last year, however, things changed. Fr. D had moved back from California and had spent some time living with my wife and I. It was during this time that we had become determined to find this Deadwater once again. As we had both evolved in our magickal practice, it had become less of a curiosity and more of a holy grail; here was a tool that had so much latent potential, and yet it was completely out of my reach. One night in September of 2017, we had decided that, since it was once again physically possible for us to find it together, we would do exactly that.
I'll spare you the details of the ritual itself suffice to say that Fr. D and myself had performed a Goetic invocation for executing our will. In hindsight, we had made a mistake. For our statement of intent, I had simply said, “It is our will to invoke XX to lead us to the Deadwater located along Highway XX.” It was during the ritual that I was mentally given a map of the county through which the highway ran, with a marker placed by the demon. With the image still firmly visualized, we pulled up a map of cemeteries in the county that this marker could possibly represent. After making a list with their corresponding addresses, we left in search of the Deadwater.
It was the middle of nowhere; we were surrounded by corn fields in every direction. After taking the final turn, still flanked by corn on either side, the GPS indicated that we had arrived at our destination: the first cemetery on the list. There was nothing. Just corn. As Fr. D was rechecking the address, I slowed the truck to a stop. Just before we had become entirely motionless, the field opened up to reveal the stones we were looking for, but they weren't familiar at all. There was no light in the center. It was just darkness. Despite this, we decided to look around anyway. After all, we had the entire night to look, and maybe the light had burned out, or our memory of the place was faulty.
We spent roughly 30 minutes wandering between the gravestones, splitting up to cover more ground. As we both began to lose hope and had called out that we should go to the next address on the list, I noticed a dim light in the distance. I called to Fr. D to meet me and we could explore this light together. Once we had reconvened, we started walking together towards the light. Not even ten steps from when we started, our headlamps simultaneously crossed, revealing before us a pump well.
This was not the same well. We both knew that, and yet a shiver ran down both of our spines. We tested it. It worked. The demon had shown us the way, though due to our lack of precise wording, it was not the same well we had seen all those years ago. We had prepared for this moment and filled several bottles with the water, water that contained the decayed remains of hundreds of bodies, water that was the distilled essence of the dead.
Since that night, I have utilized the Deadwater in multiple ways. The first ritual that we had done with it was a joint effort between Fr. D and myself. He had volunteered to drink a small portion of the water, and a ritual was formed around this primary action. Performed twice, we discovered through Fr. D's gnosis that he was able to visualize and speak to his own ancestors. Thus, not only did this water stand as an essence of the dead that I had discovered through my own later experimentation, it was able to form a link between their realm and our own.
Its apparent linkage to death and focal point of death have proven invaluable. Apart from the aforementioned use of contacting one's ancestors, I have used it as a method of simplifying my altar. Rather than having dozens of pictures of my ancestors for veneration, I find it just as effective to place a bottle of the water with an image of my family crest as a sort of condensed fetish. Another similar use I have found is mixing the water with the gravedirt of my grandmother in order to form an anointing solution that has a direct link to my lineage and those that came before. In using it as a kind of “essential oil of death”, I have found that it works with great success in “jinx” or “hex” work as a medium for freezer spells and the like. It has also worked equally well as an intensifier for other gravedirt workings and as a component for spirit work. Though these cover only my own current experiments with the Deadwater, I know that its potential has exceeded every expectation that I have had for it. As I continue to find new uses, it continually astounds and amazes me.”
What’s the first lesson to be learned from this amazing story? Have a tribe! There are other awesome magi out there. You can find them. It will take hard work and dedication to actually work together. I travel thousands of miles a year just to be with my tribe. But it’s so damn worth it when you experience that love and are gifted with magical knowledge, and receive gifts like 750 ml of Deadwater.
Lucky you, you can buy it online from Frater Yaramarud at his most excellent store, Welcome to Tarotdise, where he and his wife sell some amazing hand-crafted occult products.
Back to the original point and my experiences with Deadwater. As far as I know I am only the second person dumb enough to drink some of it. I immediately tasted the earth and rot of the grave. My vision dimmed, and I felt myself slipping between the land of the living and the realm of the dead. All from one sip. BTW, I in NO WAY endorse drinking the Deadwater. It is not sold for consumption. If you get intestinal parasites or a fungal infection, that’s your problem.
Meditating on the bottle sitting on my altar has produced some interesting visions. You can literally see the angry spirits swirling around in the bottle. No, they are not happy to be there. And I get the feeling the Deadwater captured some of the most malicious spirits of that particular cemetery. Is it wrong to use them for my own devices? Probably. But a magus gotta do what a magus gotta do. I’ll talk some more about the nuances of such necromantic work in a later post.
In my opinion, Deadwater is essentially spiritual toxic waste. No other spirit I know likes to go near the stuff. I really don’t want to meet the spirits that would enjoy it. For example, I recently had an altercation with a certain Red Goddess who has been fucking with my love life hard. Of course, she laughed at my admonitions of her cruel little games. Until I threatened to pour some Deadwater over her statue. She shut the fuck up real quick after that. Is it truly a threat to a goddess? I don’t know, but I certainly got the impression she wouldn’t enjoy the experience.
As noted, Frater Yaramarud had somewhat different experiences. Maybe it’s the batch I got. Maybe it’s his intent when using it, or how he mixes it with other substances. Maybe those spirits just don’t like me for whatever reason. You don’t have to use it as a weapon.
Yeah, I know a lot of this sounds a bit crazy. But part of being a magus is learning to frame your experiences in a mythic context. As my hero Miguel says, “Write your own story. Live your own myth.” Be hardcore. Get yourself some Deadwater. Better yet, harvest some of your own. Be prepared to do a lot of banishing before and after you do something like that.
