I would like to read your tarot. I would. I need practice. You need your fortune told. I don’t promise futures -can’t and that isn’t what its there for. But I can tease out threads and be as a mirror for things you were looking for.
It works best, like all curious things do, by candle light. Incidentally, candle light is also best for eating, bathing, and dreaming. I like the way it warps everything out of itself and into something glamorous. A visual trick, an ocular hallucination.
Today is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year.
No. Really. London furnished us with a sunrise and a sunset of incredible majesty, and although I fell over (I slipped on a biscuit, prosaically) it has been a wonderful day.
I have spent a lot of it preoccupied with the moral implications of biography.
I do not invite you to join that meandering thought, however. These ones are more fun:
And please, come and have your tarot read. I promise to light candles, wear a silk scarf, and get you drunk afterwards.
While I am much too far to pop round, I must say the offer is enticing.
Perhaps when you’re up to visit?