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If you're looking for additional information on working with the weather as part of your practise, I recommend having a look at Debra L. Burris' 'Weather Magic: Witchery, Science, Lore'

You can read a bit of it for free on Google Books to see if you're interested but it covers how to work with:

Whistling Up a Wind

Ocean Currents

Weather Fronts

Clouds

Rain

Snow / Sleet / Hail

Thunderstorms

Lightning

Tornadoes

Hurricanes / Cyclones

And a whole bunch of exercises and activities to do to build your understanding and confidence in doing weather related witchcraft.

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Hoodoo, Rootwork and Conjure sources by Black Authors

Because you should only ever be learning your ancestral ways from kinfolk. Here's a compilation of some books, videos and podcast episodes I recommend reading and listening to, on customs, traditions, folk tales, songs, spirits and history. As always, use your own critical thinking and spiritual discernment when approaching these sources as with any others.

Hoodoo in America by Zora Neale Hurston (1931)

Mules and Men by Zora Neale Hurston (1936)

Tell my horse by Zora Neale Hurston (1938)

Let Nobody Turn Us Around: An African American Anthology by Manning Marable and Leith Mullings, editors (2003)

Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Tradition by Yvonne P. Chireau (2006)

African American Folk Healing by Stephanie Mitchem (2007)

Hoodoo Medicine: Gullah Herbal Remedies by Faith Mitchell (2011)

Mojo Workin': The Old African American Hoodoo System by Katrina Hazzard-Donald (2012)

Rootwork: Using the Folk Magick of Black America for Love, Money and Success by Tayannah Lee McQuillar (2012)

Talking to the Dead: Religion, Music, and Lived Memory among Gullah/Geechee Women by LeRhonda S. Manigault-Bryant (2014)

Working the Roots: Over 400 Years Of Traditional African American Healing by Michele Elizabeth Lee (2017)

Barracoon: The Story of the Last "Black Cargo" by Zora Neale Hurston (2018)

Jambalaya: The Natural Woman's Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals by Luisa Teish (2021)

African American Herbalism: A Practical Guide to Healing Plants and Folk Traditions by Lucretia VanDyke (2022)

These are just some suggestions but there's many many more!! This is by no means a complete list.

I recommend to avoid authors who downplay the importance of black history or straight out deny how blackness is central to hoodoo. The magic, power and ashé is in the culture and bloodline. You can't separate it from the people. I also recommend avoiding or at the very least taking with a huge grain of salt authors with ties to known appropriators and marketeers, and anyone who propagates revisionist history or rather denies historical facts and spreads harmful conspiracy theories. Sadly, that includes some black authors, particularly those who learnt from, and even praise, white appropriators undermining hoodoo and other african and african diasporic traditions. Be careful who you get your information from. Keeping things traditional means honoring real history and truth.

Let me also give you a last but very important reminder: the best teachings you'll ever get are going to come from the mouths of your own blood. Not a book or anything on the internet. They may choose to put certain people and things in your path to help you or point you in the right direction, but each lineage is different and you have to honor your own. Talk to your family members, to the Elders in your community, learn your genealogy, divine before moving forwards, talk to your dead, acknowledge your people and they'll acknowledge you and guide you to where you need to be.

May this be of service and may your ancestors and spirits bless you and yours 🕯️💀

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Amulets, Omens and Various Superstitions Among the Ewe

“Since the name even of a person, should fall into bad hands, may be used to the detriment of the bearer, of course anything that has belonged to a man, especially anything that has formed part of or has come out of his saliva, or the feces, can be used for a similar purpose. Some nail-parings that belonged to a man recall that man to the mind of the native; and the subjective connection, which was terminated when those parings were cut, is still also unbroken; and that anything that is done to them will be felt by the body to which they belongs. Hence, it is usual for pieces of hair and nails to be carefully buried or burned, in order that they may not fall into the hands of sorcerers; and even the kings’ saliva is carefully gathered up and hidden or buried.” Magic powders are very numerous. One kind when blown against a door or window, causes it to fly open, no matter how securely it may be fastened; another, when thrown upon the footprints of an enemy, makes him mad; a third, used in the same day, neutralizes the evil effects of the second; and a fourth destroys the sight of all who look upon it. A.B. Ellis. The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of The Slave Coast of West Africa (1965 pg. 94:99

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"The older rural Hoodoo men and women were skilled herbalists who supplied their own needs, rarely using commercially produced supplies. These traditionalists were the direct carriers of a slowly disintegrating, moribund African American herbal tradition sustained through a period of forced enslavement. The urban practitioner, on the other hand, was far more dependent on suppliers and was exposed to a higher rate of cross-fertilization from other spiritual traditions than the rural conjurers and the rural Hoodoo tradition. By the 1930s, the old-profile Hoodoo priest, also known as a swamper, would all but disappear. Zora Neale Hurston leaves us this account of one of the last swampers, Dr.Duke: "Dr. Duke is a member of a disappearing school of folk magic. He spends days and nights out in the woods and swamps and is therefore known as a 'swamper.' A swamper is a root-and-conjure doctor who goes to the swamps and gathers his or her own herbs and roots. Most of the doctors buy their materials from regular supply houses." By the publication of this account in 1935, the latter phase in the second period of Hoodoo's development, marked by a proliferation of supply houses and urban clientele, conjure's older traditions were giving way to a more specialized practice, limited and heavily commercial. This would have indirect psychological impact. Participation in the mainstream workplace, even if it were only at a Hoodoo curio drug store or supply house, allowed blacks who had been, and in most instances were still, marginalized economically and forced to the fringes of the American mainstream marketplace to minimally validate their economic location and way of life by buying from a store that targeted black specialty products. This dynamic was exacerbated by mainstream white merchants who refused to trade with blacks, making the reception in the Hoodoo shop all the more appealing."

— Mojo Workin': The Old African American Hoodoo System, Katrina Hazzard-Donald

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What Is This Prime Day Shit

Go over here. Get cheap ebooks, direct from the author.

And OWN THEM ALWAYS. Because we're not funding a space program.

Just stories. :)

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marmalade boy (wataru yoshizumi, 1992)

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Crown & Cataclysm: Legend of Yan

Long before the stars found their order when the cosmos breathed chaos and song, a wish-forge at the cusp of a galaxy's halo, in this place, Wishing Stars could turn dreams and wishes into reality.

This place is Thassara End.

It was no sanctuary, no haven. It was sacred, yes, but also wild. The Wish Forge, at its heart, responded not to righteousness but to intent.

And one day, someone dared to do it.

A tyrant king from another realm, obsessed with power, control, and eternal dominion, crossed dimensions secretly to find the wish-forge. He came not with reverence, but with ambition. He demanded a creature of fury and flame, something no army could challenge, something to bend the realm to his reign.

Waiting at the threshold was a Wishing Star—a celestial being of quiet light and boundless knowing. Her name was Celestarya-Astraea.

She stood barefoot on a dirt path of stardust, unadorned and unwavering. She wore a long, sheer pale blue robe draped loosely over her shoulders. No crown adorned her brow. No weapon hung from her belt. Her silver-lavender hair spilled down her back, and when she spoke, her voice was both calm and absolute.

He comes with greed, thought Astraea. Her gaze was not unkind, but resolute. "The Forge does not give freely. It gives truly." She said to the King as he approached.

The King laughed. He did not listen. With contempt, he strode past Astraea toward the entrance of the Forge. No one stepped into the Forge without an invitation. And he had none. Astraea's anger flared.

A pulse of white-blue light burst from her hand, striking the King's chest. A sheer electric jolt tore through his body, dropping him to his knees.

"You will yield to me if you desire your wish so badly," she said, her voice ringing like tempered steel. "No one enters the Forge before me." Her body ignited with celestial brilliance, white-blue light radiating outward, blinding the King. He could barely see her now, a glowing figure suspended above him, more star than flesh.

Still gasping, the King dragged himself forward, collapsing onto his knees. He crawled, trembling, trailing behind Astraea as she passed through the threshold of the Wish-Forge. Astraea stopped. She turned to face him. Without a word, she reached down and removed the crown from his head with both hands. Then she turned away and continued deeper into the Forge, the light of the cosmic fire casting her shadow long behind her.

"My crown! It belongs to me!" the King cried, voice cracking with agony.

Astraea paused, but did not turn. "Your crown will suffice for what you seek," she said softly. She thought she was being merciful.

After all, every great wish demands a great sacrifice.

At the center of the Forge, a massive pit yawned, its core alive with cosmic fire, swirling in celestial colors that pulsed and howled as they rushed upward, spiraling out through the top of the spire. The air shimmered with heat. It was unbearable. The King choked, coughing violently, gasping for breath beneath the rising waves of energy.

Astraea looked back at him, silent, unreadable. Then, without ceremony, she took his crown and cast it into the Forge. "Nooo!" the King cried, his voice breaking with desperation. Unmoved, Astraea stepped closer to him and gently guided him to the edge. "Place your hands upon the Forge," she whispered into his ear. "And speak your wish. You must speak it loudly so that the cosmos will hear you."

Breathless and exhausted, the King laid his hand upon the Forge, his hand singed and burned. He cried out but didn't give up on making his wish. The King spoke his wish into the fire. His voice trembled not with reverence but triumph.

Astraea hovered above the Forge, her starlight wavering like a dying flame. The King's wish had been spoken loud, proud, and dripping with ambition. The Forge roared in answer, swirling faster, higher, until the cosmic fire rose into a spire of color and flame, reaching toward the stars.

And then, something shifted. Astraea gasped as the Forge drew upon her essence—her starlight, her celestial core, the sacred power she wielded as a Wishing Star. A pull, she could feel it leaving her. Wishes had a cost. And she was the price. Her silver-lavender hair lifted in the heat and surge. Her skin and eyes glowed, revealing constellations of stars that blinked alive across her arms, her chest, and her spine. She cried out, not in pain, but in knowing. She had seen what was coming.

From the heart of the Forge, the wish took form. A creature emerged, not born of love, nor hope, but of hubris. A massive dragon, forged from raw stardust and black flame. Its scales shimmered like fractured voids of collapsed galaxies. Its eyes were black as depth burned with unnameable hunger. He was not loyal. He was not tame. He was born of the King's ambition, but forged by Astraea's power, a creature of chaos. A wish made real.

The dragon slithered out of the Forge, smoke trailing from his nostrils as he sniffed the air. He glided effortlessly through the heat currents, circling the spire like a phantom of flame and void. Then, he saw the King.

His roar shattered the silence. It thundered across the celestial planes of Thassara End, a sound not heard since the first stars were named. And the King, foolish and elated, smiled. The King's wish had been granted. He believed he had won. Astraea, her light dimmed, her essence nearly spent, stepped forward. "Take your dragon and leave," she said, her voice withered and thinned by exhaustion. "And do not return."

For a time, in the greedy King’s realm, he rejoiced. He paraded the dragon like a trophy. But joy, like starlight, fades. It was not long before he understood: He could not command the dragon. The beast did not bow. He did not listen. He did not obey. Planets withered beneath the dragon's shadow. Stars trembled in their orbits. The King’s armies scattered like ash in the wind. Terrified of the very creature he had summoned, the King returned to Astraea broken and desperate. "Undo it," he pleaded. "Take it back. I command it!" But she did not move. Her light, though faint, still held the truth. "Your wish was sealed the moment I made it flesh," she told him. "To undo it would require another… and that would only deepen the corruption." Still, the King tried to force her hand. He failed. Astraea had forged the dragon with her starlight, and at significant cost.

“You can’t rescind a wish!” Astraea snapped. The King collapsed before her, his voice hollow with panic. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. Please—make it go away. My kingdom is in ruin. My lands are scorched. My people…gone. I have nothing left—because of that dragon.” He begged on his knees, a crownless man beneath the stars. Astraea sat high upon a stone ledge, the Forge pulsing dimly below her like a wounded heart. Her body was still, but her light flickered faintly at the edges, stretched thin from the forging, from the price of granting a wish not meant to be. His wish had nearly unmade her. She stared at the King. He was broken. But the damage was done. And the only way forward was through sacrifice.

Astraea closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. She anchored her breath to the cosmic leyline that once pulsed freely in her chest. Then she reached across stars, across the scorched echo of the dragon's path, and felt it.

The dragon. “Yan,” she whispered. A pause. A breath from the stars. And then, a distant chuff, like stardust shifting through obsidian scales.

He had heard her. Astraea smiled softly, though her body trembled with fatigue.“Your name is Yan,” she said again, voice gentler than flame. “Return to the Forge.” She did not command him. She called him home.

Not long after, Yan returned to the Forge. He chuffed low in his throat as he emerged from the skies beyond, sniffing the air as he descended. Cosmic flame swirled beneath him, drawn to his massive form as if the Forge itself remembered him. The king backed against a jagged wall of stardust and stone, trembling. “Please!” he cried. “Make this beast go away!” Yan slithered forward, graceful and terrifying, his growl low and thunderous. It rippled through the stone beneath the king’s feet, a sound that belonged to the void between galaxies. He sniffed once, twice—his breath curling like smoke around the crumbling edges of the king’s body.

From high above, Astraea remained seated on a ledge of a high stone, watching. Her expression was neither cruel nor kind—only final.

“Your wish cost me much,” she said, her voice echoing through the hollow Forge. “True, selfless wishes are effortless. They flow through light and love. But wishes born from greed...” she paused, "...require more. They demand sacrifice.” Her gaze darkened, silver-lavender hair lifting slightly in the Forge’s heat. “And now… You owe me the starlight I've lost.” She nodded once. Without hesitation, Yan moved. He became shadow and fire, gliding through the roaring cosmic currents like a phantom of judgment. In a single, fluid bound, he descended upon the tyrant king. And then, he devoured him. The Forge quieted.

Astraea’s light, fractured by the wish, began, at last, to mend. However, healing did not come in days or decades. It took centuries for her radiance to return in full. And yet, Yan did not vanish into ruin or wrath. He was not evil. He was unfinished, a creature born of selfish desire, but not beyond redemption. What he needed was not a master, but a sense of meaning. Astraea offered him purpose. Not as a weapon, but as the warden of the Forge that had birthed him. Not as a beast to be feared, but as the eternal guardian of Thassara End. To her quiet astonishment, Yan accepted.

Since that day, he has haunted the edges of Thassara End, a shadow among stars, a trial wrapped in silence. None may draw near the Forge without first passing his gaze.

When Astraea fell to Earth, exiled for her defiance, cast down from the stars, Yan followed. Cloaked in the form of a black cat, he took the name Rui. To guard. To wait. To remind her that even a corrupted wish can become a protector when given a second chance.

Source: Crown & Cataclysm: Legend of Yan

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A. E. Waite, The Book Of Black Magic And Of Pacts, 1910

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A. E. Waite, The Book Of Black Magic And Of Pacts, 1910

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Books on Libby have started disappearing.

My friend pointed it out first, and then I started noticing too. Why would books that multiple libraries definitely, 100% had digital access to a couple of months/weeks/days ago disappear?

Amazon is invoking exclusive rights to them.*

Ebooks that the public library once had digital copies of are now only available through Amazon. Audible boasts on their covers about Audible-exclusive audiobooks that did not used to be Audible-exclusive. Entire series and collections are disappearing overnight.

Keep your eyes on the privatization of media and your libraries.

*earlier versions said "getting"; Amazon has likely always had these rights, but in the face of boycotts they're tightening the leash, so to say

**librarians in the notes have also noted that, in addition to Amazon often refusing to sell to libraries/increasing their number of exclusive/privatized titles, libraries have to repurchase eBooks/audiobooks every eight uses, so cuts to library funding have reduced their access to media as well

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I went to my favourite second-hand bookstore yesterday (it's called "Sapphos" btw).

Me: "Please guide my shopping 🙏 "

Archangels: "Bet"

The first two books are opposites in tone btw

And look, I try to be pretty mature but come on...

How is that not someone's OF handle?

Oh and I also bought this by John Dickson.

What is it with Christianity and Dicks?

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Ozark Folk Magic

I recently began reading Ozark Folk Magic by Brandon Weston and got to pick up his second book, Ozark Mountain Spell Book, while in town today. I'm not far into the first book, but I've already learned so much. Definitely recommend this to anyone interested in Ozark folk magic.

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ONCE AGAIN Reminding y'all that I have Demonology PDFs in my drive!

I have:

Abremlin 1,2, and 3

Aradia Gospel of the Witches

Three books of Occult Philosophy

A letter by John Dee

Ars Goetia/Lemegeton

Pseudomonarchia Daemonum

The Book of the Offices of the Spirits

Book of Oberon

Black Raven

Ars Notoria

A Guide to Grand Jury Men

Forbidden Rites

Faust Tragedy

Grand Grimoire

Grimoirum Verum

Grimoire of Honorius

Grimoire of Turiel

Grimoire Imperium

Livre des Esperitz

Book of Treasure Spirits

Munich Manual of Demonic Magic

Black Pullet

The Demonology of King James 1

Testament of Solomon

Dictionairre Infernal

Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie

Hygromanteia

FASCICULUS RERUM GEOMANTICARUM

Daemoniality or Incubi and Succubi 18+

Irish Witchcraft and Demonology

The Necromantic Rings of Solomon

The Enchiridion of Pope Leo III

The art of drawing spirits into crystals

MALLEUS MALEFICARUM

Compendium Rarissimum

Greater Key of Solomon

+ More!

I also have:

Demonolatry:

Goetic Common Sense

And now.......

Petitions To King Paimon!

Satanism:

Modern Satanism: A Review

Satanism: A Social History

LINK IS DOWN BELOW!!!!