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    Raven Digitalis

    Raven Digitalis Interview (Photo by Anna-Varney Cantodea) Pagan Pages: First, tell us about your books and please include links where we can purchase them. Raven Digitalis: Sure. My first book, Goth Craft: The Magickal Side of Dark Culture focuses on the intersection of the Gothic culture and magickal spirituality. It explores things like the magick of music, shamanic body modification, Necromancy, the place of depression, and a number of social issues. My second book, Shadow Magick Compendium: Exploring Darker Aspects of Magickal Spirituality, does away with the subculture element and simply explores darkness—the Shadow—in its numerous expressions. This is divided into the chapters The Internal Shadow, The External Shadow, The…

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    Goddess Enelne

    sees herself in the skeleton of moonlight, a sentient being in the whiteness of madness where disturbing platitudes of murmuring curses echo through the fascination of a crystal ball. She, irksome black witch, bleeds green gems of woven jade as an opaque pavilion of stars wades into tangled clouds. In the darkness, She grows larger! In the darkness, She grows louder! Holistic eyelids like a scythe proscribe morbid dances drinking in the calmness of tandem wines. The history of past years inhale and exhale wildly through an open stare of pure consciousness, finding a beacon to eulogize humanity’s cries without censure. Relish in Her beauty, for She is the Goddess…

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    Lord – Music Review

    Lord is an Australian heavy metal band that is really a mix of styles from all over the world with their own unique spin on it that’s hard to quantify exactly. I would say more than anything you can hear a hunger and a drive in Australian metal because the scene there is so small, and to be a cut above anyone else and to make a real go of it you need to be up there with the best in the world or you have no hope of making the leap from small bar band to international touring act. That hunger trickles down from the top tier of international…

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    The Reflective Forest

    Warm tones glazing over wharves of receding lands, join the procession of men in saffron robes. Dragon’s fire, knotted roots, whispers of sandals through leaf-molded earth, chant, chant, chant against all darkness opposing. Silas has come to die today, in that ditch by the meadow, thirteen miles in where the woods wind into the semi-circle of a dark green grove. With silent lips by huddled masses, the priest weeps, hungry for the low lisp of a cricket’s call. White animal bones, ritually placed under the thick fog of a winter’s moon, reflect the light of sudden frost. Oh Magus martyr, sleep! Cernunnos blesses you with solace as nature holds up…

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    The Wytches’ Child

    The wytches’ child possesses a silver pentagram, it hangs amidst the green-white phosphorous lights where somnambulists channel souls from the oasis of stellar-electric blasts that carousel the brown chestnuts of old oak trees. Here, she dances sky clad among the white-silken mists and apple blossoms that nearly caress the night sky. Always indiscriminately, she pours her heart out to shadowy figures most would find grotesque, if not for the fragility of a flower, bruised, with strewn petals. Small animals, wild for carrot taking, stop to stare at a cricket waving his antennae in a field of grassy knoll opposite the wytches’ cottage, where Spirit begins to scatter droplets of rainwater…

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    Interview with Saira B

    PaganPages: Who are the members of your band? Saira B.: It’s just me. PP: Where were you born and raised? SB: South Bend, Indiana PP: Can you tell us about your childhood, parents, siblings, and surroundings? SB: I really don’t talk about my childhood…. Let’s just say, it influenced the way I am today. PP: What instruments do you play? SB:  I dabble with playing instruments… When I was younger, I played piano. Tried guitar (acoustic) PP: When did you start to have an appreciation for music? What age? SB: Ever since I can remember. Always. I was always singing. PP: What was the culminating point in your life where…

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    By Pagan Hands

    Break; break from the preachers of despair, join the liquidations of masses that travel electric around space, chiming in unison about lost quatrains. Their spiritual urgency created by a primordial light where sanctuaries of prophesies linger in spirals of white, Sabbath moon, tree of life. Break; break from the remorse of dawn, the stain of guilt that makes clock hands stick with savage servility behind star drifts of forgotten connections. You’re my beautiful ransom in this bubble of metaphysics that makes my heart beat faster and faster with the simple devotion of your manic passion. Break; break from those that hate, slithering as eels, inside the grief of your soul.…