bottletree diaries the book

waiting desperately to hear back from Concrete Blonde's publishing company so that i can go to print..... xxx crossing everything here. from what i understand so far, i may have to only purchase a mechanical license to print a couple of her/their lines. i hope it won't take sooooo long. i hear it can take a couple of months and i really am finally read to go to print. i was having this struggle with the fourth story and my good friend was telling me that three is a very lucky in chinese culture. ( seems right when you think about it ) four is an auspicious and unlucky number.... so me trying to squeeze that fourth story in wasn't working for a reason! she said something like giving gifts in threes allows for reciprocation. makes total sense now. so, i've three good stories and the fourth will just wait until later.

The First Thanksgiving - have a good one

courtesy of jalagi.org

Thanksgiving. Turkey and dressing, pumpkin pie and football. Parents going to schools to see their children in plays about grateful pilgrims and their Indian benefactors. The age old tale of the Indians bringing food to feed the starving pilgrims.

I hate to be the one to burst the bubble but that story is a lie. One started to cover what really happened all those years ago.

The real story was reserached by William B. Newell, former chairman of the University of Connecticut Anthropology Department. His sources included Documents of Holland, 13 volume colonial documentary History, letters and reports from colonial officials to their superiors and the King of England, and the private papers of Sir William Johnson who was the British Indian agent for the New York colony for 30 years. Here is what Newell discovered about the "day of thanksgiving".

The year was 1637...700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe gathered for their annual "Green Corn Dance" in the area that is now known as Groton, Conn.

While they were gathered in this place of meeting, they were surrounded and attacked by mercenaries of the English and Dutch. The Indians were ordered from the building and as they came forth, they were shot down. The rest were burned alive in the building.

The next day, the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared "A day of thanksgiving" thanking god that they had eliminated over 700 men, women and children. For the next 100 years, every "thanksgiving day" ordained by a Governor or President was to honor that victory, thanking god that the battle had been won.

Not exactly the happy gathering that everyone has been led to believe that it was. Instead of giving thanks for being alive, they were giving thanks for killing 700 people.

Before anyone starts looking for rope to string me up with, let me say that I don't want thanksgiving outlawed. This holiday is now a time to spend with family and loved ones and that is important, but so is telling the truth.

When you are gathered at that table laden with food...with family and friends gathered around it....look at that turkey...the food...the drink....and get a mental picture of what really happened back then....then say your prayers.

porch pumpkins after halloween

so what i wanna know is who said it was OK to leave you pumpkins, squash, and fall gourds out on you're porch way after halloween? what do people be thinkin ? you would leave fruit out on you're porch to rot. why leave some gang of vegtables out on your porch hoping that they'll last in time for thanksgiving???? people are dumB. they're are a gazillion rotting pumpkins and squashes out on porches in this neighborhood i wanna go break'em all open onto the front steps of their houses. and the chinese jewelry store has a gaggle of varied squash near the doorstep of their business. CRAZY.

the bible is a weird thing

ever really read the bible?
it's full if straight ramblings..... every other beginning of passage in genesis starts with an AND. the shit makes no sense at all. i only picked it up just know cause i heard somebody on tv shout out a quote from the bible and i actually wanted to see if they were correct... evangelists...whew!
thw quote wasn'r actually verbatim like he promoted it to be.
leading the blind.

The new year is upon us

now i'm back. the past couple days have been busy with much work. a friend asked me a couple of days ago if she could interview me for a paper she was writing about the new year rites and rituals of modern-day pagan. as a solitary witch there's lots of thngs i do that not all pagans do at the beginning of the new year BUT most of everything we do is the same. she is also solitary so she was wanting content about how i celebrate yule.
every year i SAY i'm going to take the plunge into cold ass pacific ocean but i never do. i'm from miami.... if the water ain't as warm i don't want it. shit, i'll take a nice slimy bottom alabama lake over a cold ocean. but that is part of one the rituals i do for the coming year.
this weekend i'm do a ritual up in antioch which why i've been away from the computer.
whooo hoo
sunrise saturday here i come. coming to greet you monsieur soleil

remote supervising

just because i've seen about all i can stomach with this weird generation of parents who apparently learned how to grow their kids up by books do i write this post. here's a woman thirtysome.. i think can't tell some folks age... peddling products on one of these afternoon local daytime shows that cater to the what i term the too-busy-multitasking-to slow-down-and-watch-or-pay-attention-to-your-kids post babyboomer parents raising kids today. why the hell do you need a homing device on your kids when you go shopping? or the video camera on the back of your suv that you're not looking at where you're going so ya don't run yer kid over? or the hidden camera in the house to catch a babysitter or children doin shit they shouldn't? that's absolutely crazy. if i left my mother while shopping i better look for her before it gets ugly. if you're not familiar with a switch then you wouldn't understand. my cousin stood behind their family's conversion van ONCE. never again would you find him playing around that vehicle when my uncle strted it up. if you don't know you're babysitter well enough to beat her ass then you need to stay home with your own kids. we all grew up with a healthy since of fear for our parents and extended parental units. and still at the age of 36 i know there are certain things and places i can go with mom. cause she definitely gots that old black magic

the seal of taurus

bad, bad man

The ballad of Aaron Harris

Aaron Harris was a bad, bad man,
Aaron Harris was a bad, bad man,
He is the baddest man,
That ever was in this land.

He killed his sweet little sister and his brother-in-law,
He killed his sweet little sister and his brother-in-law,
About a cup of coffee,
He killed his sister and his brother-in-law.

He got out of jail every time he would make his kill,
He got out of jail every time he would make a kill,
He had a hoodoo woman,
All he had to do was pay the bill.

All the policemens on the beat they had him to fear,
All the policemens on the beat had old Aaron to fear,
You could always tell,
When Aaron Harris was near.

He pawned his pistol one night to play in a gambling game,
He pawned his pistol one night to play in a gambling game,
When old Boar Hog shot him,
That blotted out his name.

Note: Aaron Harris (1880-1915) was one of 14 children of a black New Orleans grocer, George Harris, and his wife Mary Jane Moore. The family lived at 2238 Cadiz Street in the 13th Ward in 1900. Despite his reputation, Harris was never convicted of a crime in New Orleans, although he stood trial for the murder of his brother, Willis Harris, in 1910. Aaron was acquitted on the grounds of self-defence. After a heated argument, Willis attacked Aaron with a razor, and Aaron coolly shot his brother dead. In 1915, Aaron was working as a cotch dealer for various gambling houses. Boar Hog, the nickname of George Robertson, a watchman for the Frisco Railroad Company, had accused Aaron of stealing goods from the company. Aaron, never one to ignore a challenge, threatened to kill Boar Hog.

On the fateful night of 14th July 1915, Aaron left work and was walking down Tulane Avenue when he encountered Boar Hog. He reached for his Colt .41 but Boar Hog was quicker and shot Aaron twice with his Colt .44. Aaron fell to the ground, and the blood-splattered "heartless killer" never moved again in this life. As Leadbelly sang in the Los Angeles studios of Capitol Records in October 1944, when he recorded that thrilling blues-ballad called Ella Speed, Aaron Harris "was dead, goin' home all re-ragged in red."

{PH 5 Peter Hanley - Letter to Mike Meddings, 3rd September 2003.}

" See Aaron ... I guess the reason why he got out of trouble so much, it was often known that Madame Papaloos was the lady that ... always backed him when he got in trouble. I don't mean with funds, or anything like that. Money wasn't really in it. As I understand, she was a hoodoo woman. Some ... some say voodoo. But we ... it's known in New Orleans as hoodoo.

Well ... Madame Papaloos is supposed, that is ... from certain evidences, to tumble up Aaron's house. Take all the sheets off the bed. Tumble the mattresses over. Put sheets in front of the glasses. Take chairs and tumble 'em all over. That is said and known to ... discourage the judge from prosecuting.

And ... of course the different witnesses ... have all their tongues supposed to be tied. They supposed to tie 'em with ... by lambs' tongues. And ... beef tongues and veal tongues out of the markets. And stick 'em full of needles. That is what I understand. I don't know, 'cause I've never seen 'em stick pins and needles all through 'em. And take some ... we'll say twine in order to make it real secure. And tie these tongues up.

And that's supposed to have the prosecuting attorneys and the judges and the jurors and so forth and so on, have their tongues tied that they can't talk against whoever the victim's supposed to be. Not the victim, but ... the one that's arrested, the prisoner. So Aaron Harris was always successful in getting out of all of his troubles."

- Jelly Roll Morton

green corn dance

Macon, Georgia, 1835

" When the green corn is ripe, the Creeks seem to begin their year. Until after the religious rites of the festival with which their New Year is ushered in, it is considered as an infamy to taste the corn. On the approach of the season, there is a meeting of the chiefs of all the towns forming any particular clan. First, an order is given out for the manufacture of certain articles of pottery to be employed in the ceremonies. A second meeting gives out a second order. New matting is to be prepared for the seats of the assembly. There is a third meeting. A vast number of sticks are broken into parts, and then put up in packages, each containing as many sticks as there are days intervening previous to the one appointed for the gathering of the clans. Runners are sent with these. One is flung aside every day by each receiver. Punctually, on the last day, all, with their respective families, are at the well known rendezvous

That you may the more clearly understand the whole matter, I will so anticipate my story as to put you in possession of many essential particulars concerning the place set apart by the Creeks for gathering their people to the festival in question. This will provide you with the unexpected gratification of even a third preamble, as an explanatory avenue extra to the main subject.

The chosen spot is remote from any habitations, and consists of an ample square, with four large log houses, each one forming a side of the square, at every angle of which there is a broad opening into the area. The houses are of logs and clay, and a sort of wicker work, with sharp topped, sloping roofs, like those of our log houses, but more thoroughly finished. The part of the houses fronting the square is entirely open. Their interior consists of a broad platform from end to end, raised a little more than knee high, and so curved and inclined as to form a most comfortable place for either sitting or lying. It is covered with the specially prepared cane matting, which descends in front of it to the ground. A space is left open along the entire back of each house, to afford a free circulation of air. It starts from about the height of my chin, so that I could peep in from the outside through the whole of each structure, and obtain a clear view of all that was going on. Attached to every house towers a thick, notched mast. Behind, the angle of one of the four broad entrances to the square, rises a high, cone roofed building, circular and dark, with an entrance down an inclined plane, through a low door. Its interior was so obscured that I could not make out what it contained; but some one said it was a council house. I occupied one corner of an outer square, next to the one I have already described, two sides of which outer square were formed by thick corn fields, a third by a raised embankment apparently for spectators, and a fourth by the back of one of the buildings before mentioned. In the center of this outer square was a very high circular mound. This, it seems, was formed from the earth accumulated yearly by removing the surface of the sacred square thither. At every Green Corn Festival, the sacred square is strewn with soil yet untrodden; the soil of the year preceding being taken away, but preserved as above explained. No stranger's foot is allowed to press the new earth of the sacred square until its consecration is complete. A gentleman told me that he and a friend chanced once to stroll along through the edge, just after the new soil had been laid. A friendly chief saw him and remonstrated, and seemed greatly incensed. He explained that it was done in ignorance. The chief was pacified, but nevertheless caused every spot which had been polluted by their unhallowed steps to be uptorn, and a fresh covering substituted.

The sacred square being ready, every fire in the towns under the jurisdiction of the head chief is, at the same moment, extinguished. Every house must also at that moment have been newly swept and washed. Enmities are forgotten. If a person under sentence for a crime can steal in unobserved and appear among the worshippers when their exercises begin, his crime is no more remembered. The first ceremonial is to light the new fire of the year. A square board is brought, with a small circular hollow in the center. It receives the dust of a forest tree, or of dry leaves. Five chiefs take turns to whirl the stick, until the friction produces a flame. From this sticks are lighted and conveyed to every house throughout the tribe. The original flame is taken to the center of the sacred square. Wood is heaped there, and a strong fire lighted. Over this fire the holy vessels of new made pottery are placed. Drinking gourds, with long handles, are set around on a bench. Appointed officers keep up an untiring surveillance over the whole, never moving from the spot; and here what they call the black drink is brewed, with many forms and with intense solemnity." ...

From an Unpublished Ms. By John Howard Payne, Author of "Home, Sweet Home"


that black drink is no doubt asi !

crazy kin

i wish i could know what my relations were thinking when census takers came to doors asking about how old they were and where they were from. i have a particular grandmother who is straight incooperative with these census takers. for instance, her born name i can only assume was katherine glover b. 1856, then in 1880 she listed as ailsy glover, then in 1885 she was kit glover, then married some dude ten years her junior in 1900 and became ailsey davis. after becoming a widow she was back to kit glover and then only when she died would she ever use the surname davis, dying a. mrs.elsie davis. this kinna shit makes it so hard for me to trace their steps and her sister patsy is even worse when it comes to the name change game. thank god the naming tradition of the clan is still intact in our families. makes it SOMETIMES easier to deduce who came from who or named for who.

creativity starting to flow

making some perfume tomorrow for so folks. i've been holding off for a while but since it's now about to winter out here i better go ahead a start the work. i'm still in a summer mood though. time to come inside and get on all these projects i needed to start four weeks ago. i've been so busy being pissed at the pilgrims that i couldn't get back on track with my day-to-day. but after all the strain of fixing up the story, i believe i may be able to work it out. it's time to call on my dream lover... not that the real boyfriend doesn't work or anything. it's just the dream lover works out all the stuff on my plate for me. especially when coming up with great storylines and such. i guess you could say he's kind of like my muse. that very interesting... never actually thought of it. putting myself in my stories helps me to tell a more rich story. maybe i'll post some parts later.
i can't wait til it's done.
my folks will be dumbfounded. i think they thought i abandoned writing when i was in college.

writer's block

so i'm working on a story that i just can't seem to finish. part of the reason is that i wrote it in a weird fashion. that is to say i believe i have the beginning, the ending or what would seem to be. the story is killing me and i'm apt to scrap it and start from stratch but seeing as it's a storyline i've been at for 3 years now, i don't really wanna give up on it. SHIT i love the piece. i love the story. i can't go wrong with a modern-day werewolf tale right? it's starting to look alot like my favorite pele & hi'aka myth without the fire. but it's the same tumultous kind of sibling relationship.
i'm just stuck. been sitting on it for months now, in the same spot. may haveta ditch the boyfriend during xmastime with my family to jet down to eufaula-phenix city-tuskegee way for a dose of inspiration. the one inconvienient thing about living in california is it's so far away from the other part of the country.

mr. white

....he took me out to the lake after class one day. it had been a warm spring. we sat in his truck listening to some wild guitar solos. he wore a black concert tee, i remember this because almost every shirt he wore was a concert tee. fishbone, bad brains, motley crue, rush, prince or jimi, whichever it was it didn't matter because he looked the same kinna sexy in each of them. i watched this mississippi-bred boy pour me a glass and shoot me a glance from the other side of the seat. he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. he had a great ghost story to tell.

Oldham was a quiet yet, lively little township.......

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