October 29, 2007 at 11:14 pm (Christ, Rochester, witchcraft)

Silver MoonSilver moon Fishfishy

I have been in seclusion for a while – but still observing the silent symbology between the opposing spiritual forces of these towns. I have collected some more proof of the work of the silent orders. I am aware of my careles use of language in describing this endless conflict – I advocate neither side and any slipshod use of terminology should not be taken as either praise or condemnation.

Another battle took place recently – a quiet battle – a battle of symbols and prayer.

Silver Moons was one of the mystical shops that my friend Eddie decided marked Rochester with the stamp of occultic fervour. Subsequently, no doubt in no small amount to Eddie’s disapproval, the shop closed down and the whole panoply of sub-Lord-of-the-Rings tat went into the great metaphysical skip in the sky. (I know it must have been in the sky because all the local skips I looked in around that time contained nothing but urine soaked carpets and cemented-shut filing cabinets.)

This was not enough for the holy warriors of Rochester. A Christian Ichthus symbol was placed as a form of exorcism on the shop front – a ritual which may not have worked because it is now reopening as a fashion shop selling Ralph Lauren clothes and featuring a decidedly pagan-looking leopard skin gilt chair in the window.

So the karmic equilibrium of Rochester High Street is once more adjusted, all the while though the skirmishes continue.


1 Comment

  1. Montagu Tregaskis said,

    Very interesting. By coincidence I have just wargamed the battle of the Medway (is it 64CE?). Do you know the works of Donald Maxwell? He lived out that way, at Borstal. I consider his The Fringe of London to be a good book. It is good to see marginal places presented in all their depth – but, of course, they are not marginal except in relation to the self-obsessed metropolitan culture. As George Harrison said – ‘everywhere is somewhere’. The goddess shines in all places. Towns like Ascot and Swindon rise to eternity under her gaze. Every squashed insect is a saint.

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