No Country for Old Men

Sadly, on the day of my departure from the United States, I am reminded of all the reasons why I must leave. I did not address these things before because I didn’t want to draw more attention. I was hoping to deal with them and focus on the good, hoping that they would just go away if I don’t feed them.

I was wrong. They didn’t.

It got significantly worse to the point where I can no longer feel reasonably safe in this country.

I am not talking about the near-daily unsolicited dick pics and other porn that I get sent by random strangers, the insults from men, and the juvenile trolling that I get every day while managing my social media.

Yes, I actually do it all by myself. All the inboxes. All the emails. I talk to the people, and I read every comment because this is a Ministry. I am approachable, a real person, not a celebrity hidden behind the hype and paywalls. I don’t have any assistants or marketing agencies to do my work and shield me from it.

I am not even talking about the incessant cursing, attacks of baneful magick, and people ganging up to shut down my live streams and mass-report me to get me booted out of the internet.

This has become a permanent feature of my life as well some time ago already, I’ve accepted that it comes with the territory.

The moment I started questioning myself was when it reached a certain mass amount, and it became a daily phenomenon, ale the really bad violent types consistently kept at it for months. Then at one point recently, months became years.

Just how bad? Well, I have a sexual sadistic stalker who hates women, a case of obvious paraphilia, who takes pleasure in sending me graphic rape fantasies. I never once responded to it. I block it every time. It only gets worse as time progresses, from messages to hacking into my closed live workshop, using different pseudonyms, I have to listen to what this monster wants to do to me, and also how I am allegedly a fraudster.

I don’t how I could possibly be one since sell any services or products, make any claims of effects, or guarantees of results. I do everything for voluntary donations.

Sometimes reject clients who appear insane. Sometimes I give people unfavorable readings. This leads to slander campaigns that last for many months, with people posting fake reviews and going around social media claiming I am a fraudster and my psychic abilities are a fraud just because I told them something they didn’t wanna hear, or because refused to do magic for them, that they feel entitled for, especially Demonic Pacts.

Sometimes I politely reject fans who have created a fantasy about me that I will be their online girlfriend. This has in one case led to an entire wannabe terrorist organization continuously harassing, threatening, and stalking me for two years. It shows no signs of stopping.

These people then get my business details, my real name, address, and phone number and they pass it on amongst themselves. They go and harass my business partner who is abroad, my friends, and sometimes anyone who is publicly seen as my supporter.

The worst part is, these people are not jealous exes, rivals, or jilted former friends. I was used to dealing with the politics of the Black Lodge, the incessant clout chasing and backstabbing before. It’s petty as hell, but at least you know who you’re dealing with and you can gauge their motivations. These new haters, they just ‘are’.

They exist as an inexplicable manifestation of violence and hatred that is collective, blind, impersonal, irrational, and inhuman. Most of the time I literally don’t know who these people are, and why they dedicated their lives to harassing me. There is no explanation. It is what it is.

The State has shown me its complete disregard for basic Human Rights by ‘losing’ my entire immigration case file which I filed under the Violence Against Women Act two years ago. They never got back to me, and they refuse to talk to me. I was left in silence with a lifetime sentence of living in the dark with no rights, through no fault of my own. I was still planning to stay in the USA and work even under these conditions, do what is necessary.

I am not scared of adversity or struggle.

I came here at the worst time in history in 2021 knowing full well then that one way or another, things were going to get very dark. And they did, my American husband who swore to provide for and protect me kicked me on the street in freezing temperatures.

I have seen a lot already, but somehow on the day of my departure from the United States, I am reminded in a new way why is it that I must leave now.

This morning, I received a barrage of messages with a picture of all their guns and weapons pulled up, arranged on the bed, and photographed specifically for me, alongside night shots of local buildings and the signs of Las Vegas.

I live alone. In a building with no security. I am not armed. I have no savings, and no family. I have no idea who these people are. They are obviously not of sound mind. I have no friends in this town to lean on. I have an ex-husband who threatened me into silence who told me to go sell my body and an ex-fiance who live-streamed a cursing ritual with my underwear.

Yes, that really happened. That happened three months ago, and then his new lady kept sending me fantasies of my martyrdom, and of me losing my health.

I don’t talk about this shit in public because it’s embarrassing as hell and it’s not representative of the Path I believe in. These people are losers. Are not Magicians, or Occultists. They are a stain on the face of mankind.

Many of these people are legitimately insane, diagnosed through the system, they are deemed unemployable and they get a check from the state every month. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop them from doing evil shit.

Many, if not most, that I deal with, are in a state of toxic psychosis. They are seeing things only they are seeing, tripping hard on drugs and alcohol, mixing prescription drugs on it. It’s really bad in this country. More than anywhere I’ve seen. It’s widespread.

I am not scared, see… I am heartbroken.

I have exhausted every tactic. Ignoring it, appeasing it, or fighting back doesn’t work at all. This violent stalking of me has become chronic, and it’s not showing any signs of dying out.

At the end, I don’t want to live in a country that embodies senseless cruelty fed by rampant drug abuse, mental illness, and widespread injustice.

All of this is unfolding against the backdrop of another genocide that is only possible to happen because of American vetoes and weapons. As Above, So Below. My disgust and disillusionment from ‘America’ is complete. I am not coming back. Don’t ask me to. I welcome being banned from this country for ten years — just in case I were tempted to forget.

‘I believe it is time to go,’ says the blues about the Devil.

Early this morning
When you knocked upon my door
Early this morning
When you knocked upon my door
And I said hello Satan, ah
I believe it is time to go

Me and the devil walkin' side by side
Me and the devil walking side by side

And I'm gonna see my man
Until I get satisfied

Mrs. Krampus Santa Claus

Mrs. Krampus Santa Claus has a naughty list, and you are on it! I honored this year’s festive season with a photo shoot where rock ‘n ‘ roll meets the devil and the strip club. You can get the full naughty series of photos in my art store and support me this way, or sign up for my fans-only page where I release sneak peeks and behind-the-scenes views that are too hot for social media.

Photographer: Finally My Friday is a bartender and DJ in Las Vegas, when he is not running the show he shoots beautiful women.

Patronize my Erotic Art

The truth is I have also shot a lot of pictures which are too naughty to be displayed here on my portfolio. You can find those on a separate site.

Occult Interpretation of Rosemary’s Baby

Rosemary’s Baby is one of Roman Polanski’s most chilling and acclaimed productions and one of the most widely quoted horror movie classics. It follows the story of the manipulation of a young woman by a high-society occult coven. Its unsettling quality does not rely on blood and gore but on its realistic premise, forcing viewers to ponder just how big of a stretch from reality the entire story was. It was released at a pivotal time in American history, and events stranger than fiction followed its release…

Meeting the Devil Mephistopheles

Our paths with Frater Chaotos cross once again as we compare our experience meeting the Devil as Mephistopheles. What is he like when he walks among men to do the devil’s business? And does he look as he is portrayed? Maybe you have met him too, you don’t realize it yet.

Me and the Devil

I had a significant dream tonight. I am at a Rebar, Las Vegas. It’s completely emptied inside. There is nobody in there besides me, not even a bartender in sight, just this one man who is sitting at the bar, a man who ‘is always there, he never leaves.’ Even though this whole situation is a bit bizarre, I feel very good and like everything is finally alright. Me and the devil, finally alone, so we can have a word without interference from others.

I am about to approach the mysterious stranger, whom I actually know very well, because ‘he has always been there’ when another man shows up from nowhere. An old black dude in dark glasses, with a fanny pack waltzes in between us. He is dressed in old Southern ethnic clothes and he is in no way tryna hide who he is – it’s Papa Legba. He also hangs around here nearly always because he is the local dealer. He pitches me that ‘he’s got all the goodies’ and whether I need something. Feeling this deep contentment inside, I am certain I do not need anything from his sack, but then I think about it twice and I am like, ‘You got some Xanax?’ And he does, and I have enough money to pay, and a little left on top of it, which also feels good. The dream ends.

Funny thing is, I did petition Legba the traditional way, for road opening and good fortune when I came in Las Vegas a year ago. I received all the omens, did the proper way, but nothing happened. I don’t know why it took Papa Legba a year to get to me, but I guess with interference from time-traveling aliens and temporal magic, things can get seriously out of whack…

Also, a big note on sanity. If you are to meet the devil, you better have all of your ducks in a row. Do not come into Sin City with the Mark of Self-Undoing shining on your forehead. The Angels will just mess with you, and you will have to keep coming back until you figure out…

The Last String of the Devil

‘“False compassion or pity is the last string the Devil holds you by.” Remember when I spoke to you those words as a child?’ Lucifer interrupted my stream of thought, without any warning, coming like an uninvited guest. He speaks to me when he wants when he deems it necessary. Not necessarily when I expect, or even want to hear it. I am thrown back to a childhood memory, one of a particularly incendiary and ominous sort.

I remember when those words were spoken. It was one of my father’s odd one-liners that came out of nowhere. I was sitting next to him in a car, barely old enough to be allowed to sit in the passenger’s seat. We were on our way back home from the school council’s child abuse hearing, where I was called as a witness. The abuse was heinous, my classmates were probably filmed for underground SM pornography. I am eleven years old. Too young to be facing things like this, yet strangely accustomed to things that I shouldn’t be, and my connection to Lucifer is a part of that. He would speak to me in a disembodied voice, and sometimes, through my own father.

‘False compassion is the last string of the Devil.’ He said that, and nothing else. I sat there in silence, too shocked to speak. I was aghast. I don’t remember if I pretended interest in his odd philosophy, and asked him to elaborate, or maybe figured that he wouldn’t, that this was one of his games, to teach me something, like a zen koan, his one-liners were not meant to be disputed, or even understood properly. They were used to shock my mind out of habit.

What I clearly remember is that I thought that he was a psychopath for saying that. Surely we, as Christians, were to pity the poor and the innocent?

‘There are no innocents in my country.’

Lucifer speaks with disinterest and dramatic passion at the same time.

I am twenty years older now. Living in the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. It’s fucking Wild West. ‘No country for old men?’ I reply, facetiously, with a movie name.

The Dark Prince catches my drift. ‘He is like the bubonic plague.’ A reference to said movie, No Country for Old Men. A line that references a contract killer, one of the lead characters. This vocation, it fits almost every man of my past. Past, present, perhaps, a vocation of my own. Lucifer himself is a killer, and he doesn’t mince words today. ‘People have to leave your life. Execute them, one by one. Do it in the correct order.’

‘Is this mercy?’ I ask, knowing the answer already.

‘It is mercy. There is places a man needs to go all by himself and you are preventing that, with your magic. So, stop trying to save all these Black Magicians. It is very unsatanic for a Black Magicians to either feel or elicit pity amongst themselves. They know what they had signed up for. Just like yours, their prices were stated. Show your comrades dignity by allowing them to go out and go down on their own terms. Stop getting in the way of my Dark Plan.’


The Devil’s Bride Riddle

An old Czech fairy tale speaks of a girl who won the favor of the Duke with her audacity and her wits. One day the Duke spotted a pretty girl, a commoner on his travels, and she responded boldly to his flirtations, daring him to make her his bride. Impressed, the Duke says,

‘I will marry you, but you must come to my castle alone, and fulfill my three commands – you must come to me neither clothed nor naked, neither empty-handed nor bearing gifts, and you must come neither on foot nor by a carriage.’

And so she comes to his castle neither clothed nor naked, wearing only a fisherman’s net, neither on foot nor by a carriage, riding a scooter, bearing a gift that disappears as soon as it is opened – a bird that flies away.

The Castle bears much symbolism in medieval mysticism, and it appears to be a place that can be entered only in a state of Chemical Wedding, transcending duality. This is symbolized by the dancing twins on Arcanum XIX. The Sun. This is the neither-nor symbolism of the black-and-white Masonic chessboard. She is the High Priestess who sits between the Pillars.

The Infernal Bride must embody both the High Priestess and the Harlot, at the same time, exist outside of the rules of society, outside of duality.

On Dancing with the Devil

‘When you dance with the Devil, He doesn’t change. He changes you. So when you do, make sure it’s a devil who will give you your own corner of Hell to rule in.’


This photograph is a part of a series, ‘Visions of Hell‘.

Release from hell

I lose track of time for just a minute, and fall asleep. Immediately I appear to myself inside of a large vessel. It’s a copper cauldron, and its walls create the limitations of my reality, the invisible walls that I cannot bust through, using my magic, smarts, nothing. I had long felt the existence of some invisible limit, but I’ve never actually seen it.

Now, it’s all too painfully obvious. I am in Hell, stewing in my own juices in this large cauldron. I look up into the face of the Duke of Hell. He looks me up and down, and studies his black ledger.
‘Eighteen years?’ he reads my sentence. ‘We might reconsider the ways you’re being punished.’ Immediately, I know what he’s referred to. It has been eighteen years since I had made love to a man, the Last Time when my heart and the rest were still together. I was eighteen years old then, twice the number. I am turning thirty-six this year. I remember it clearly.

Puzzled, I wake up and try to get back to attend to my business of the day. In the kitchen, I find an envelope. It’s a credit card offer, that I cannot accept because I do not have the Social Security Number. Through some lucid connection, I see the meaning of this – Hell has no more power over me, it can’t offer me anything I’d grab at this point. I owe nothing to the Devil, and He’s freed me. The Social Security Number is the Mark of the Beast, it marks us as collateral to be used in trading souls, it represents the spiritual mandate and the fact that we are born into debt. Didn’t Jordan Maxwell say it? Inside is an unlabeled blank envelope to mail the offer back, if accepted, but to me, it represents something else – with a big title printed over it that says ‘Do not bend’ I feel like it’s giving me a nod, that I am no longer being punished. This is like a Premature Release note, and I am brought back to the promise of Lucifer from last summer when he told me – [Instead of the Pact] I will give you my most precious gift. Freedom. I have a feeling that perhaps now, you will be finally able to appreciate it.’

The whole vision with the letter reads like a Premature Release, and I am left with a burning understanding that I record in my magic journal. I write –

‘Demonic Pacts are, in fact, our petitions to get out of Hell, stating the conditions of premature release.’

The Devil’s Carriage

So the Uber guy driving me to the dentist has a giant black Baphomet head affixed to the front hood of his car. He’s got Neil Gaiman books on the passenger seat. And there’s a giant Monarch butterfly, and a root mojo in a jar hanging from his rearview window. Can’t make this shit up.

‘Good morning, Infernal Soulmate.’

Drivers are considered an embodiment of Legba by the Voodoo people, because of their liminal nature, always in between places.

I have seen the physical Satan’s Carriage like this before. In late 2021 in Oregon, my husband drove us through the burger place, and we got stuck in a line of cars waiting for the drive-through. ‘Turn back and look at the car behind us. Do it slowly, I don’t want you to scream,’ he said. So I did. There was a full-blown horror movie montage of Horned God affixed to the car behind us. This incident marked an ominous moment foretelling the demise of our marriage. I had asked Satan for somebody else earlier that year, and even though I have forgotten about that Pact and moved on, Satan has not.

The second time I saw the Devil’s Carriage was when a Black Magician friend drove me to the airport in LA last summer. We were chatting about our shared past, and I said to him, ‘I am almost certain that story is not over yet. He’s going to resurface.’ A bright red cabriolet passed us, with the driver waving at me like I was an old acquaintance. My heartbeat stopped for a minute. Not only did the car have a 666 on the license plate, but I swear I saw the exact same thing in 2019 in Las Vegas.

The third time I saw the Devil’s Carriage was a few weeks later on the highway, back in Las Vegas where I was living last summer. It was an ordinary day, I was getting home from a photo shoot in the desert. Life felt pretty good at the moment, and I was again under this delusion that ‘things will be just fine, life is what you make it’.

A bright red car, fully tuned out with horns and claws and 666 on the license plate appeared out of nowhere. It was rather unmistakable, but I disregarded it as one of the city’s many eccentricities.

The apparition this morning marks another chapter of the story. Satan has not forgotten about the Pact, and neither have I.