Monday, November 27, 2017


Wicked Witch of the Year/2018

Wherein the Wicked Witch asks female (or close enough for government work) Church of Satan Members if they are the Shit?

...and admits she can never remember that whole Satanic A.S. datey thing

     Last year I began late.
     This year we get this bitch up and running right about now.
     As stated in previous blogs (that I'm sure you all read with immediate and rapt attention,) I am the Wicked Witch, this my contest and any demonstrations of democracy are purely coincidental.
      There are some new rules because, hey, why the fuck not?  I'm going to list them now, probably because I am thinking about them now.
  •      Nominations may be sent to Ygraine Osborn Mitchell  PM/Messenger via Facebook or email:
  •      Nominations may be made between now and January 1, 2018.  The name of those who make nominations will be confidential.
  •      Those who nominate and contestants must be members in good standing in the Church of Satan.
  •      Nominate no more than 2 witches.
  •      Only when a witch is nominated twice will she be put on the roster (considered a nomination and a seconding.)
  •      Donations for the winner of the Witch of the Year are welcomed.  Prizes, gifts, services, etc...are to be sent to the winner by the donating member/shop/creator once the winner is announced.
  •      The winner will be interviewed on Confessions of a Wicked Witch and the prizes she has received will be promoted at that time.  Additionally those who pledge prizes may provide an ad/graphic to be placed on this blog.
  •      Once vetted all contestants will be evaluated by myself and the three previous winners, and we will pick the 13 we feel best represent Wicked Witchery.
  •      The 13 finalists will be announced in early January.
  •      They will be  expected to fill out a questionnaire, provide 3 pictures, and be open to further contact with the Wicked Witch, as well as agreeing to be written about and be on the podcast.
  •      Once the finalists are announced, a brief bio based on the questionnaire responses will be posted here, as well as photos.
  •      This year I will welcome letters of support from any CoS member regarding the finalists.  The writer will need to let me know who they are but they can be granted anonymity should any part of their letter be posted. 
  •       The winner will be announced before the end of January.

What is a Wicked Witch
How to Evaluate if one of them are Worthy of the Title of
Wicked Witch of the Year

     To get the full understanding of what makes a Wicked Witch you'll need to read my book Confessions of a Wicked Witch coming out when I get the fuck around to finishing it.  For our purposes and the purpose of an annual contest a Wicked Witch is a Satanist who uses her abilities, all of them, to create the world she wants.  This is about accomplishing goals within the last year.  The goals are those set by the witch herself.  I'll be much more impressed by the woman who CHOSE to be a garbage collector, and got the job and is doing it well, than I would the woman who married well and now runs her husband's business, hating each day that she sacrificed her dreams for the sake of convention.  Of course if she loves her man's business and improves it by her own work, fuck, yeah!  The question I would ask before nominating would be "What did this witch do, in 2017, to improve her quality of life using the tenets of Satanism?"

     A word about gender issues:  There can be no fewer fucks given than I have for what a person's reproductive junk is.  If a person identifies as a WITCH, is a member in good standing, and gets the requisite two nominations they will be entered.  'nuff said.

     Now, let's have some fun and get to know some seriously cool women.

Hail, Satan!

Friday, November 10, 2017

NOT me, too.

NOT me, too!

Wherein the Wicked Witch is determined to be Pro-Rape Culture by the Over-Informed and the Under-Experienced

     Although I survived a brutal sexual assault in my teens, and I'm a third generation feminist, I have been watching the exponential revelations of sexual abuse with both overwhelming sympathy and a need for better solutions than mere outrage can effect.   I am concerned that this mob mentality has ramifications that are in conflict with actually solving the problem of sexual abuse.  Worse, the demand for new language, new stilted behaviors, is an assault on our cherished freedom of expression.  Why we can't just punish the living shit out of those who have committed crimes, and allow each individual respond to speech as they see fit, is beyond me.
      I did not "me, too."  I have nothing but empathy and pride for the women who choose to take power in the act. I hope the trend creates some comfort.   I just found my power a different way.   However,  not following suit is NOT an indication of a lack of support, although in the Social Justice Warrior World, the omission of saying something is the same as saying the reverse of something,  Yet more irony.  The people who want to make a lack of language mean something are the same as those who want to monkey with language in the first place.
      I confess that I am old enough to have determined that every decade brings a new "root of all evil."  I know.  Everyone lays that at money's door.  A stronger case could be made for the lack of it, but I'm talking societal ills.  This is the decade of social media.  We don't need no stinkin' voting booths or Letters to the Editor anymore.  Egalitarianism run amok.  It would be a fun joke if it wasn't so powerful.  As a result I am now privy to the heretofore private thoughts of every-fucking-body.
     I  have always enjoyed Rose McGowan's work.  I have , even more, enjoyed her devotion to Boston Terriers and their rescue.  She has always come across as talented, smart, quirky, and tough in all the right ways.  The fact that this powerful, disgusting, criminal assaulted her is no one's fault but his.  She was the victim and now she is the survivor.  He was, is, and will be unto death a colossal piece of shit who deserves dying.  Clear?  Am I in anyway supporting this foul wretch of a  partial birth abortion?  Obviously not,
     I confess that I, apparently, maintain a very unpopular, um, sub-position.  My position on sexual assault is life in prison or death.  My position on sexual harassment is firing, fining, and shaming.  My sub-position is that it is wrong to take settlements with non-disclosure agreements in lieu of prosecution/reporting.  Yup. Very unpopular.  I am being accused of being  "Pro Rape Culture."  Me.  Holy fuck, what is wrong with you people?
     My belief is  that a person who signs a non-disclosure agreement  has done a disservice to later victims.  This doesn't negate their victimization or support the victimizer.   This is about protecting the next potential victim.
      Now a victim can understandably say, "fuck them.  This is my tragedy and I'll deal with it in my own way."  Completely cool.  The traumatized may need to shut this door fast and effectively.  Yet, having done that, you might want to check your credentials before preaching "sisterhood" and starting a social media army.
     I'm saying all this talk of sisterhood is just so much drivel.  I'm saying that it is a lip-service slogan that means exactly however many words we can tweet.  Sisterhood is becoming an enormous cyber gender-creature that has, it seems, no concept of what sisters do for each other.  Sisters don't let their sisters walk directly into the lion's den without warning.  They especially don't take cash to keep their sisters in the dark and vulnerable.  I have 3 daughters.  I know what lengths sisters will go to  fight for each other.
      If I were to choose the sisters to battle 40,000 years of male sexual domination, particularly what sort of sisters could lead such a movement, I would not choose women who made the personal choice to keep quiet when quiet guaranteed more victims.  I would not choose anyone who has a problem with curiosity.  I would not choose someone who's final goal is to create a social media movement, rather than end sexual abuse.  Outrage is, as my best buddy reminds me, "cheap heat."
        I am being told I am pro-Rape Culture. I can't even comprehend why a criminal behavior is being glamorized into a "culture" by the very people in danger.  This kind of bullshit language is part of the problem.  It is condescending to those who are no such thing, and allows some college kid to feel entitled to tell experienced humans that we are somehow oblivious to our micro-aggression, thus we potentially trigger people   At this point I want to trigger people.  Is it just me or are the people demanding others to take responsibility the same who claim they or others can be triggered? 
     If women are demanding that men should have spoken up/acted, then, in the name of social equality and the notion of responsibility, we must say the same for women.   If women demand that men (not the abusers but the poor fucks being called collaborators) change their behavior to protect women, then are we not already deferring to them?  How can we demand from others what we are unwilling to do for others, ourselves?
      With apologies to Rose and her army, they are asking to be both empowered and protected/sheltered at the same time.  They think tweeting is "fighting"---kind of like King Douchebag.  In this country fighting is done in the courts.  If the courts won't play fair we use our economic strength and power to change the system.  If the system won't change to make women safer we use our experience to share what we know with those we love.  What we cannot do, what we should never do, is  legally bind our mouths shut and spend a few decades knowing that others are being victimized.  Hey....the money isn't even the issue.  These women deserved the cash and more.  It is the Non-Disclosure Agreements.  They might as well be called  the "Rape-the-Next-Chick Agreements."
     Today's rightfully angry young women are WAY over-informed, and when challenged on their "facts" they become defensive to the point of anger.  They take either a confrontational or a dismissive position to anyone who doesn't parrot back the new language of victims.  They have dismissed experience as superfluous, unless it is echoed online by whatever nobody has posted some dubious stats.  They think critical thinking takes place reading posts online.
They think their movement will bring about a Utopian society where no one's feelings are ever hurt.  They shriek against fascism but fail to see that legislating, even figuratively,  what people say, and not what they do, is in direct conflict with freedom..  Worse, it diminishes the first amendment, which evidently needed the addendum "Even language that hurts your feelings is protected, and you'll be glad of it because it will help you identify assholes."
      I confess to not wanting to live in a place where everyone lies and puts on a Stepford mask in order to prevent inexperienced, pseudo-informed, fanatics from losing their shit.  Most of all, none of this ridiculous language does anything to stop sexual abuse!  So if calling me Pro-Rape Culture makes you wet (yup, offensive as fuck, huh?) have at it.  I'm looking for a real revolution for women where we can be led by experience and not vitriol.  I won't join me, too because I believe one should only join things that  one wants as a representation of who they are.*  I refuse to be defined by things done to me.  I will be defined by my own choices and actions.

her, too:

       A fifteen year old girl has been sexually abused, physically beaten, and completely terrorized for half her life.  She has been informed that if she ever tells he will kill the entire family.  His previous actions lend huge amounts of credence to that threat.  It takes 2 years after the initial report to bring the case to disposition.  Those years are filled with statements, depositions, embarrassment and shame.  Life stops moving.  The child can't grow until this is concluded.
      In court, to discuss the terms of a plea agreement, that girl--a child, stood in front of a judge, a prosecutor, the family of her attacker, a smarmy defense attorney, as well as her own family, and her attacker.  He was less than 10 feet from her.  She had truths she had to say for legal reasons.  While the  judge was encouraging,  her attacker stood in court, facing years in prison, and laughed at her.  He ridiculed her pain, minimized her terror, and although pleading guilty maintained his innocence, despite taking the same from at least 3 other children.   He was a monster who was sent to prison, unable to hurt anyone for years, thanks to the sheer bravery, the integrity and decency of a 15 year old child.
     Ladies and gentlemen, if that isn't your idea of a hero, you're fucking broken.
    The women who jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, to demand justice, or at the very least, truth, are the women, the sisters, who should lead.  No victim should ever feel shame about what was done to them.  Yet, we all are responsible for what we do, or don't do, ourselves.
 'Never, for the sake of peace and quiet, deny your own experience or convictions'
Dag Hammarskjod


Thursday, November 2, 2017



This Should Be a Podcast

Wherein the Wicked Witch Confesses to...A Lot of Shit.

For Warlock Robert 

     As a writer/speaker it is  one thing to procrastinate over your work because you have little or nothing to say.  It is rarely that simple, actually.  You'll start writing because something grabs you and then you read back a few paragraphs and the prevailing thought is "well, that is going nowhere fast."  The incomplete work is then resigned to an ever-expanding draft file.  You'll get back to it.  Or not. Or maybe.  Sorta. It is frustrating.
     Yet, as I have recently discovered, it isn't half as frustrating as being unable to accomplish things because your head is so bloody chock full of crap that you are creatively constipated.  I owe apologies as well as marked admiration to my colleagues and friends at Radio Free Satan for allowing me to be me and not give me the well deserved kick in the ass I've been expecting.  Right now, however I am going to type this confession to the bitter end.  This is partially a result of a gung ho publishing bitch who insists that there might be a marketing conflict in a book called "Confessions..." if the only ones written about are the cool ones.  I get it.  It makes me pretty sick, but I get it.
     The world is vomiting out secrets right now.  If this helps us to evolve to a society where our animal instincts can be tempered only by embracing rational thinking, I'm all for it.  I do believe secrets have power only when kept.  I do believe we've accepted a veneer of normal that camouflages the true monsters.  I've encountered monsters.  One might say I attracted them.  I've hidden behind that veneer.  I molded it, and presented it, and pretended it was real.  'fucking spectacular witchcraft!  'fucking real life horror show.
Here goes:
     I was married to the worst human, like, ever.  Technically his sex offender probation prohibits him from being on the internet, but since I know him well enough to know he will have found a way around that, let me take a brief moment to say "I'm not done, motherfucker.  'not even close.  You survived prison, you've destroyed yet another woman, but I am still here.  Three words:  Best Served Cold."
       I cannot state enough, for the record, how absolutely irredeemable he is.  The fact that he still breathes is wrong.  Until he dies, preferably in some gruesome non-accident, I will forever be fucked up. There.  I said it.  He fucked me up in a truly spectacular fashion.  I will not expose his other victims, who, by virtue of my own counter-productive pride and blatant stupidity, suffered far worse than I, but way back, when all Hell broke loose, exposed was exactly how I felt.
     The first years away were filled with detectives, judges, recorded conversations, moving to a new place, new man, etc...They were also filled with every enemy of the Church of Satan using my tragio-calamity to discredit the organization.  That was fun.  I was bringing shame and negative attention to the people who were being incredibly supportive of me.  Little did I know the whirlwind, if you can call four years a whirlwind, had the unique effect of allowing me to ignore the more damaging parts of the ordeal. 
     Obviously there were both mental and physical ramifications of living with a monster for over a decade.  The former manifested in, and still does to a lesser extent, the conviction that everyone I encounter knows I am a fake, and that people were hurt due to me, and that there is a big neon flashing sign over my head, just in case anyone missed the memo, pronouncing me a piece of shit.
      More concerning were results of medical tests.  I was already suffering problems from a youth well spent.  Horses and dance took my knee cartilage, genetics and stress were messing with my kidneys.  One day I discovered that there were no amount pills that could stop the pain in my back.  I could barely walk. This led to more tests.
I can safely say that words you don't want to  hear the MRI tech say are "Was this a car accident or a plane crash?"  If the answer is neither, somebody done fucked you up.
       Too late to make this long story short, let me speed up a tad:  Constant pain.  Pills.  Pills bad.  Methadone.  Years.  More years.  More years.
    I mean you have to love the irony, right?  I was pissed at losing a decade with Monster-Dick, and then I spent another one attempting to feel as little as humanly possible.  I lived in the same area for all that time and never made a friend.  I went out as little as possible. I became a completely functional zombie, who sporadically had a few months of re-animation.  Only around members of the Church of Satan did  I feel socially comfortable.  I raised my kids, did my job as minimally as possible for fear of more exposure, and grew old and fat.
     Longing is a peculiar, painful, and motivating thing.  James Mitchell is pretty damn inspirational, too.  The need to return to a me I wasn't ashamed of was chipping away at my armor of numb.  In a fit of pique at the resident douchebag director of my medical facility, I checked into a medical detox.  I stayed a week.  A week, kids.  Ol' Wicked Witch Brain Trust thought that 12 years of steady, large dose, plus 6 or seven prior years of occasional use of major league pain meds could be all better in a week.  Hell paid me a visit.  It was in the mirror and in my nerve endings, and my seizing...and oh, man!  That sucked in ways I can't even express.
      Thanks to Jim, my daughters, and a very beloved CoS member who may have bent a rule or two to prevent me from actually dying, I woke up 3 months later, 45 pounds lighter, and hyper as fuck in every way.  Every bad thing that had happened during the numb years flooded back as if I had never really grieved.  Concurrently my love for Jim, for my kids, my pets, also felt like something new and vibrant.  I have rediscovered courage.  I accept that my fears are irrational and based on things so long past that I hurt only myself by giving in to them.  Along with that realization came anger, a death of apathy, and an inability to suffer fools, bullies, and even random assholes.  What hasn't come, at least until now, is the ability to finish something.  I confess.  I am awake.  'watch the fuck out.


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