Let’s Curse A Transphobic Preacher [EDITED]

[EDIT: I am quoting him without permission here but I don’t think he would mind. A Facebook friend of mine shared this article on his timeline and had this to say about it:

To turn another cheek is a valuable lesson in self-assertion, not some pacifist acceptance of persecution. In a very real way, it’s the ultimate insult to those who persecute you – a proverbial “come at me, brah”. I don’t encourage cursing except in extremis or when something could adversely affect marginalized populations. This is a wonderful analysis of ethical cursing.

This made me proud because he’s a wonderful guy, a scholar and a gentleman, and a true magus. /EDIT]

I am about to embark on my first small mission to try and change the world.

There is a video on YouTube that is actually called Pastor Stephen Anderson Wants Caitlyn Jenner To Die, Because God’s Love.

And here is an article about it from Addicting Info. And here is a freaking unbelievably wicked and vicious transphobic quote of Pastor Stephen’s from the article:

“I’m going to pray that he [Caitlyn Jenner] dies and goes to Hell. Are you serious? Look, I have nothing but hate — when I see a man dressed up as a woman, who has mutilated his body to become a woman, and say ‘Hey, look at me everybody. Look at me kids!’ I mean, the kids in America today — 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 10 years old are seeing this freak and having their minds perverted and ruined permanently. Listen to me, I hate him with a perfect hatred. I have no love — NO LOVE — for this Bruce [Caitlyn] freak. I hope he dies today. I hope he dies and goes to Hell. He’s disgusting, he’s filthy, he’s reprobate. I would pray all these prayers in Psalm 69. I would pray all this in Psalm 69 and 129 toward him.”

Emphases and corrections are mine. The misgendering of Caitlyn Jenner is so rampant that corrections would be intrusive. A man who considers himself a Christian has NO LOVE for Caitlyn Jenner. This same man claims to follow the so-called Man-God Jesus Christ who said Love thy neighbor and when asked Who is my neighbor answered in a parableEveryone. Stephen Anderson is no Christian. The “God” he prays to is no God (more on that below). And he has publicly announced his intention to pray Psalms to his “God” that Caitlyn Jenner’s heart will be ripped out by said “God”.

I am a trans woman myself, as every reader of this blog knows. For all I know somebody out there may be doing such Psalm magick on me. People here puts roots (pronounced ruts) on each other all the time. And yes, in case you were wondering, in my view prayer is magick. Pastor Stephen Anderson is going to or probably already has engaged in an act of harmful magick. This is how it works. You ask a spirit of sufficient power and the right propensities for something and often it is done. Or  in this man’s case  he asks a powerful egregore for something and often it is done. And an egregore is all that this man’s “God” is in my not so humble opinion. And finally, some words and names and combinations of words have real Power behind them, no matter who says them. The Psalms are just such combinations of words. They are dangerous in the wrong hands. Let us now begin to put the Psalms to use in the right hands.

But let’s return to to Caitlyn Jenner and to egregores (what the fuck is an egregore?)… Firstly, no matter what your views on Caitlyn Jenner are, I sincerely hope that if you’re reading this blog article you believe she has the right to live. Psalm magic as I have said above is powerful. Psalms prayed by a man fueled by the egregore that is the Evangelicals’ “God” have a lot of power. Although his “God” is no God the entity he is praying to has a lot of power, being first created and then constantly energized by the belief and prayers of its faithful. Secondly, that, my friends, is just one kind of egregore.

Somehow I doubt that Anderson’s prayer magick will actually kill Caitlyn Jenner but why take the risk?

And why stop at Caitlyn Jenner? Why not direct some Psalm magick at Pastor Stephen Anderson himself? He’s vile scum who deserves the worst that we practitioners can hurl at him.

A dear friend of mine, Michael Strojan (I won’t link to his Facebook timeline here without his permission), has this to say: “Oh, dear sister, why limit yourself to two [Psalms]? I have fourteen: 5, 10, 17, 35, 58, 59, 69, 70, 79, 83, 109, 129, 137, 140; these, my sister, are the imprecatory Psalms and unleash a whirlwind of damnation.”

I am about to call upon the Master Yeshua, as I call him, a great mage and a Mighty Dead now living with the Gods, to empower my incantation of the Psalms that Michael has so kindly provided me with. Believe it or not — I don’t really give a shit — I was once practicing the Catholic technique called Centering Prayer (I really need to write an article on Centering Prayer as its esoteric uses are many and amazing) and meditating silently in my head on the name Yeshua … Yeshuah …And he came to me in a vision and said: Call on me in prayer and I will answer. He hasn’t failed me yet.

Nota Bene: I am not a Christian. But I’m not a devotee of Bes or Osiris or Set-Typhon and I am not afraid to perform the Stele of Jeu, better known as the Headless Rite or the Rite of the Bornless One. A God is a God and if the correct words and intentions and offerings are used the God will (often) answer. As a “hard polytheist”, if I absolutely must classify myself spiritually, I do not believe most Gods are jealous. I do not believe that Iao Sabaoth, better knows as Yahweh or simply the LORD, is a jealous God, despite His (or rather His editors’) protestations to the contrary. Many of my magickal friends consider themselves Christians or some variant of Christian and they work with other Gods and spirits and have no problems with Iao Sabaoth whatsoever. If you are afraid of the Bible, the Psalms, God or “God”, or anything Christian, then you are no magician, witch, or sorcerer in my opinion. Get over it. Now.

After I check that all the links are working and there are only a few typos in this article I plan to pray each of these Psalms against the abominable transphobe named above and hereafter. I shall light some frankincense in honor of Iao Sabaoth and the Mighty Dead the Master Yeshua. I shall pray to the Master Yeshua to condemn Pastor Stephen Anderson to suffer all the imprecations in these powerful works of magick. If you wish to emulate me in my magick against Anderson, in whatever adaptation you choose, below are links to the King James Version of the aforementioned Psalms  whirlwinds of damnation.

Psalm 5

Psalm 10

Psalm 17

Psalm 35

Psalm 58

Psalm 59

Psalm 69

Psalm 70

Psalm 79

Psalm 83

Psalm 109

Psalm 129

Psalm 137

Psalm 140

Pope Francis’s Take on the Transgender: A Quick Summary

Image: Leelah Alcorn via Google Images

“If you ‘think’ you are transgender, get over it. Also, don’t be depressed about it. Deny your gender dysphoria. And We would be very happy if you would refrain from self-harm of any kind due to your deluded unhappiness. After all, gender is a mere linguistic construct, not a fact of personal identity. You have no right to your feelings nor your identity. I repeat, get over yourself and do as Mother Church says. This is your cross to bear — until death, which We acknowledge may come to you all too soon in the form of suicide, but the Church has no help for you because you ‘suffer’ from a nonexistent problem, the so-called ‘gender crisis'”.


She’s Courageous, She’s a Role Model, She’s 12 Years Old


Read about Jazz at this link: http://bit.ly/1astHOj. She puts my stealth ass to shame. I want to be her when I grow up.

Jazz says in the article linked to above:

I wouldn’t change myself at all. Being transgender makes me who I am; a strong person, a confident person. Being transgender gives me my personality.

This. Just this.

seam of skin and scales [Reblogged]

Lilith Pale with Bloody Arms

I wish I had written this, but I didn’t. The original post can be found at http://takingsteps.blogspot.co.uk/2007/01/seam-of-skin-and-scales.html Reblogged because it’s effing great.

“I am not a woman trapped in a man’s body. This body is no man’s; it is mine, it is me, and there is no man in that equation. And I am not trapped in it. There are a million and one ways out of this body, and I have clung to it, tooth and claw, despite an endless line of people and institutions who would rather I vacate the premises, and have sometimes been willing to make me bleed to convince me they’re right.

This body is mine, and I claim it and its bruises, and it is not a man’s, and I am not trapped here. I have looked leaving my body in the eye and I have said, in the end, hell no. There is too much to do, too much to love, too many who need one more of us to say hell no and help them say the same.
You might not like it. It might be a wrongness to you.

I am done with traps. I am done with the philosophy of traps, and I am done with the feminism of who owns my body for what cause.
It is time for something that tells you that I am here for blood–my blood, the blood of my loved ones, the blood of the people who have battered themselves against my life and found me still here.

It is time for a feminism of the monstrous.

That is this body. That is this me. That is the voice that says get your names off of my parts and your hands off them too, that says stop colonizing my reality and telling me what I mean without listening to a word I say.

What I say may be in a language incomprehensible, but there is a time for that, and it is right now, because this is a monster’s creed. It is for the cobbled-together, the sewn-up, the grafted-on. It is for the golden, the under-the-earth, the foreign, the travels-by-night; the filthy ship-sinking cave-dwelling bone-cracking gorgeousness that says hell no, I am not tidy. I am not easy. I am not what you suppose me to be and until you listen to my voice and look me in my eyes, I will cling fast to this life no matter how far you drive me, how deep, with how many torches and pitchforks, biting back the whole way down. I will not give you my suicide. I will not give you my surrender.

This is for the Lilim, because you forget that the next part after your co-opted icon parts ways with Adam and goes her own way is and she begat monsters, and she becomes terrifying. This is for the Gorgons and the vampires and the chimaeras, for Cybele and Baba Yaga, Hel and Ashtoreth, for Lamia and Scylla, for Kali and Kapo ‘ula-kina’u. This is for all of them with teeth.

It is time to look the monstrous in the eye. It is time. It is time to say that we are beautiful in our fierceness, and that we are our own. We are not the rejected of what we can never be. We are what we were meant to be. We are not pieces of wholes thrown together incorrectly. We are not mistakes.

We are not inferior knockoffs of someone else. If our monstrousness is frightening, then it is time we bare our teeth and draw that fear close to us and stop being so afraid of our fearsomeness that we fear everyone and everything else right back.
I am throwing my head back, here, and saying it: no more being afraid. Hell no. My monstrousness is not a place of shame. It is a strength. It is the power to say I am mine, and I will tell you what I mean. Not you. I am not any thing trapped in anyone’s body. I am tougher than that, and I have plenty of blood to spare in this body of mine, and plenty more miles to go before any of you can bring me to my knees, and I dare you to try.

I am choosing to stay here, and it is mine to choose. And if that means changing shape, if that means putting together the unexpected, that is any monster’s ancient right. It is damn well traditional.
The only ones setting traps are the ones in our way.
There. There’s my teeth. There’s my cause.

Keep kicking: a thousand, thousand slimy things lived on. And so. Did. I.”

The Joys of Being Trans

This post is all about how incredibly neat and deliriously joyful it is to be trans.

A trans heroine of mine — my first trans heroine in fact — Grishno, AKA Erin Winters, favorited one of my Tweets yesterday, and this made me incredibly happy. She’d asked “What was the happiest moment of your transition? …and Why?” And I replied, “@grishno When I went for a walk last Spring and the grass literally looked greener, the sky bluer, the flowers pretty for the 1st time.” I totally forgot about the Why? part. —The Why? should be obvious.

Can you imagine your endorphin levels being so low that your five senses have never functioned properly — and then suddenly you see for the very first time the true greenness of the grass, the real blue of the sky, and how very pretty flowers really are? Before, all these things weren’t just hidden from you, they were “unknown unknowns”. But now you know completely how beautiful a sunny Spring day really is. How sometimes we walk in Paradise.

Imagine living in a state of stoic dysphoria — since you were four or five years old. You know you’re different and you know that you have always been inauthentic — a fake, an impostor. But how? In what way? Oh you have hints and guesses, but you sweep them under the carpet of oblivion. —But then late one night you read a few web pages that evoke a dim and undeniable, unforgettable knowledge in you. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, or out from under that carpet of oblivion — it hits you. Your Answer. I know who and what I really am … I know myself … I understand … and now, now I can BE myself! —Imagine the reeling euphoria, an ecstasy that won’t stop, and you don’t want it to stop. You’re trembling with excitement and feel no need for sleep…

Now you may have to imagine harder. Try, please. Imagine that your nipples have never been an erogenous zone, that you never imagined they could provide you with any pleasure. But now your chest, it isn’t just flat any more. They actually stick out! And your partner in bed suddenly takes those nipples into his or her mouth and plays with them, sucks them— You get the picture. Not just your nipples but every nerve in your body, every square centimeter of skin, and every bit of your insides — you’re all awash in a pleasure you never imagined existed. It’s so intense you moan and whimper and gasp and you feel free to moan and whimper and gasp because doing so is so right for you… Later your partner is breathing the breaths of deep sleep, but you lie there for an hour or more because the waves of carnal joy coursing through your flesh do not stop, they only lessen very slowly in intensity. I have never known this, never imagined, but this is the way it should be, you are thinking — if it can even be called thought — as you slowly fall asleep.

Your skin, imagine, has always been dry and rough in places, oily in others. You’ve always had problems with dandruff and still, at your age, you have blackheads on your nose and zits on your back and forehead. And then, almost overnight it happens so fast, you have no zits, not even one, your nose is clear and clean in the mirror, you have no dandruff or itchy scalp. But all that’s nothing to this — you’re skin is softer and smoother … soft and smooth. In fact, your skin, the largest organ of your body, can instantly become one enormous erogenous zone and it feels so good, your skin sliding against your partner’s skin… Yet one more joy that you never imagined and it is good.

Last, imagine being able to cry whereas before there was only a numb nothingness or a smoldering anger or laughter with a bitter tinge or laughter slightly out of control. But now you can cry and be happy at the same time, without any hint of dissonance in the single emotion you feel. You get angry but you can consciously control your anger, and it never steps out of line. And your libido, it does not control you but you control it, bringing it to the forefront of your consciousness when you wish, dismissing it when you wish. No longer does it invade your consciousness with an overwhelming force that controls you when you least wish it to. You are in control.

I could go on but I don’t think I need to.

People may imagine that you’re a freak, that you’re unnatural, even a monster. They may even tell you so. And it hurts when they do. —But you know they are wrong. Because the artifices of science and medicine have not produced anything monstrous. You know with both heart and mind that you are being upgraded. That you are better than you were before, better than you ever imagined you could be.

And often, you are simply happy. For no reason. You just are happy. And content to be happy.

—If you were able to follow me with your imagination, you now have a pale clue of some of the joys of being a transsexual woman.