Doo, doop-da doo, la la la-

Billy Feldman’s mom in second grade. It was all wierd and nobody much knew what happened, just that her head exploded one day. In disbelief, the kids at school thought it was cool. And even Billy said so, when he came back three weeks later, and you mean like *really* exploded? Yeah, REALLY exploded, like a microwaved hotdog -makes me think of this lady, normal lady, who accidently cooked her miniture hotdog-type pooch-dog, or her brother did it or- or when you pop the popcorn. Pop. Boom. Probably a Hellmouth thing, but we thought it was cool, in a really freaky, perverse way. Well, all the boys did. But we didn’t even know what perverse meant in the second grade. Beyond perv, ‘cause you know, even then everyone knew. But, like, perverse, no, that wasn’t understood. Though I probably did. Knew the definition, but didn’t understand. Not really. Ostara’s coming.

What should we do?

Ostara, of rebirth, and it’ll be fresh and new but it won’t. It can’t. No cute bunnies. No happy. Just, Idon’tknowKnowNOidon’tknowdon’t.i don’t.

It’s kinda part of the job. In a Scoobie kind of way. Every day. After day, after- wait. Night. It all goes down at night.

Sitting and wondering. There are so many things to fix in the world. If we just kept everything on one dimension, no other worlds or hells. Just this one. There are so many things to fix- But really there’s not. There’s just- - what’s there, and the good and the monsters. And all the good is the warm and the safe and the love, and it’s so easy, ohgoddess so easy to forget that everything changes, in bad, bad ways, everything is so easily lost...There’s water lapping at my knees, milk water because milk baths are very calming, and I’m taking one because I wanted to give Joyce one. Buffy, let me give your Mom a ritual bath, it’d be so much better than staying in the morgue, and she deserves it, there’ll be incense and fire and water and herbs and oils...she’ll feel so much better, don't it just takes away all the aches and pains she might like it so much ohIdon’tknow, all that positive energy, maybe she’ll come back and it’ll be, oh, hey Joyce, (hug) Buffy’s mom, thanks for all the "hon" and hugs and here’s a towel, gonna go now, bye. Winter Solstice, winter, winter

The winter moon is fading. And it’s not so cold anymore, everywhere. Excepting it’s not the lack of the winter moon, but the fact the moon exists at all. Why does the moon exist at all, and the winter is going, but without the winter moon, there’ll be a spring moon, but to invoke it seems just-

Some blessings to share. By calling to the moon. Drawing down the moon, lots of astral forces there, lots of oh, you know, little aural channels leading to places haven’t really ever, they’re like rabbit holes, and maybe one will, but haven’t read anything about how that could be a source- for reaching,

Drawing down the moon...something to be tried? Combine all that power to do- something. Change something, tweak, tweak, tweak for a purpose.

Lots of oils I’d give for Joyce, Carnation to clean, and Honeysuckle to communicate (maybe I can reach her) and Jasmine, for good luck with the closing the communication gap, lots of Verbena ‘cause it’s strong, resilient stuff for the far-seeing I wanna be seeing, the real far okay.
Frankincense, maybe, to just add that little kick, and am I thinking this might not work-

It's not flamey pain. It's not a something pain. It's a nothing pain. that just sucks. And it won't stop. Like, like a frozen computer. But reboot is not an option.

Dawnie must feel like she's been pumelled and tenderized-

Get some marigold flowers, and rosemary, juniper berries and orange peel, oh Tara used up all the chamomile oil for her hair the other day, but there’s saffron still, and we can make it. This’ll be the incense. For Saturn. Planet of the- well, sourcepoint for change, but also- ‘cuz everyone knows that Saturn’s like the planet we need for this one. It’s here, dark and gray and solemn. Oh, well at least it’s not all the yuck-smelling herbs. That smell really bad. Hey, it could’ve been nightshade and henbane and hemlock and sicksicksick mullein and comfrey, mandrake, shitshit-

The Chaste Moon, the Seed Moon, and it brings pain. Oh, why does it seem like the days are all blending, lately, and everything’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. I wonder where Joyce is now. How is she doing. Buffy’s mom, Joyce. When I heard, I went kabloey spaz, and now I’m wondering where you’ve gone. How are you doing, Joyce? Is it warm? Is it cold? Maybe you’ll be a red fern in your next life.

Bleeding together, all fuzzy, do the days just go down the drain like dirty water down the porcelain bowl?