Bedtime Story Conservatory 66 01/06/2020
Callooh callay,
Today is the day, for another email, hello, and welcome to another edition of this project. I hope you can all hear me, and this mail finds you in a state of calm, and if not I hope that in reading this, or this, or this word, or this word, or this word, might slowly ease something for you. Today I couldn't figure out what things to put together, and I was struggling with this for a while and my mouth went dry and my hair became messier as my hands tussled it more out of frustration because I wanted to make something that made sense, something that came to me through the open window in front of me that was TRUE.
But now I feel calmer, i've accepted that feeling as the feeling of doing this today, and that by writing this email I am automatically making some sense of the stuff i'm sharing through the process of sharing it, I don't know if it will make sense in the next second, maybe now, maybe now, maybe in the next second, maybe now, maybe after i send this, maybe never, but que cera cera and callooh callay, I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day.
I don't know what to say anymore, I nearly just deleted all of that, but it's what I wrote, it might not meaning anything but I hope it imbues itself within the rest of your day in some sort of positive way. Lots of love to you, you are appreciated.
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This is Charles Walton, who was killed in 1945, and his murder is noted as the last witch killing in England, subsequent to the Pendle Witch Trials in Lancashire, and of course in Salem, Massachusetts in the 16th Century. His body (warning, this bit's gruesome) was found on Valentines Day with "his neck cut open and the prongs of a pitchfork jammed through his throat, pinning him to the ground. A rude cross had been carved into his chest." He was killed by a local resident of his home county of Warwickshire, and was rumoured to be tainted by a childhood experience with the Black Shuck, the great black dog depicted in folk-lore from East-Anglia, which somehow imbued him with the powers of a Warlock.
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I became interested in the Pendle Witch Trials last year, and took a trip up to Pendle, Lancashire to walk to 'Pendle Hill', a local landmark which has become a sort of symbol of the history of the area. 11 'witches' in the Lancashire area were put on trial. I went there and filmed the hill, and was walking back down and past a cottage when I saw slink out of behind a house a black cat. The cartoon-ish appearance of it still excited me, and scared me, and I tried to film it before it slid behind a shed. Strange how these symbols can incite such strong feelings.
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Today's reading is unrelated, but somehow both the witchcraft material and this came into my brain at a similar time, so they have links to each-other simply in that, I suppose. Maybe you conjure up some sort of meaning here, if you do it won't be meaningless. The reading is an excerpt from Andy Warhol's The Philosophy of Andy Warhol 1975, in which Warhol describes some experiences with nostalgia. I found it quite beatiful.
And now I think about it, I suppose these memories, such as of this Pendle Hill, stay with you like nostalgic items, items of 'interest' that build the idea of you, build up in you and I get excited by that, makes me feel more solid.
The song attached to the reading is Peaches 1977, The Stranglers.
Links-
Warmest wishes, and lots of love,
Sam
