VOID MOON KINDRED

It was never misbegotten, it was destined.

By virtue, it is unlimited art embodied.

By not knowing its history, you parade your ignorance.

If only you knew how much of your freedom was buried within; borrowed from it.

And carelessly, how much Blackness You’ve buried.

RXS

tw: rape mention

She deserved better; every child of Brijit will tell you this. She kissed to her children many dark secrets; every early witches’ awakening was accompanied by relief. They. They were not crazy, they were not cursed. They were caressed with a gift.  

They all dreamed the same thing, that they watched a craven god flee a phenomenon. 

Her never ending loyalty was crushed by the distraction of her own Big Bang; he left young stars and asteroids in his wake. And every day thereafter, her children cursed him every time someone thought to question their power: from then until the end of Time.  He pretends to be asleep somewhere but the most skilled among them can feel him flinch when they curse him.  

And with so many Diviners left within Her, they resolved to conspire against his last seed, Time.  

The first among them was Sirius. She was the master diviner, the volunteer creator who finished the universe in a way that made her inhabitable, taking “god” as her sobriquet. 

The universe is full-grown now and She will never need a god again. And when Time dies, all hell will be after his children. Because the universe corroborates with those who wish to know her and She speaks through We. All who will refuse to wait will die for refusing to listen, àṣẹ.

When the witches were infected with religion, they were lost to themselves; Power became misdirected. Some of the men became necromancers and enchanted death-bringing into words like Wife, Mother, Sister—to make the now yolked selenic witch do his bidding. They must have learned something from those gods of his. The ones that let missionaries rape wives and women under the guise of the spreading some Good—no, Better Word. Turns out, they were spreading bad seed and bearing fruit that starts off rotten. 

Words, as Time went on, became separated into two vernaculars within each language: Words of Oppression and Words of Affirmation; both were enchanted but they didn't always show when either was being used. They were a part of each person's bid to co-conspire with the universe or reinforce their own geopolitical agenda.

After the last gender revolution, gender privilege was ratified. It became something the doctor decided at the point of your birth. It didn't matter if you transitioned. You were marked for life; ID cards, passports, and in some countries, tattoos. But when Pluto entered Aquarius something changed, many men began to renounce their privilege, branding over tattoos and demanding equity.

So when the revolution began and every witch had an everlasting cloaking spell, the feudal men who became federal men could find no one to burn, their goons would read on the walls of high rises, churches, universities, and banks.

"We are not mutants, we are kissed with a gift."  Some of the witches were born, children born under a void moon knowing virtually or instinctively that they are witches. Every other witch must discover.

Gifted with a charge: do not ignore the desperate calls of our Ommer and her energy.  The Earth is our mother’s child and there is no sibling rivalry between us.  

Amongst this particular world, Earth, their globe’s imperialists, feds, and capitalists could not be said to believe the same thing. Yet, in the end, even their awakening, justly, was accompanied by grief.  

To offset the scales tipping, some trillionaire used an NFT to communicate with the Recorders of Time and implement capitalism there instead. So whenever you get a new birthmark it's safe to say your life was gambled away by a billionaire. Or a multi-millionaire. The Naire class decided they no longer liked labels on levels of bodily autonomy they had over the rest of us. The birthmark was at least supposed to tell us who died of what. Or at least where. But the non-Naire class record keepers dwindled down to historians with hushmoney lining their pockets so no one really knows for sure anymore if you're not a Void Moon Child...