Ninety percent of everything you’ll ever read or hear about magic is total bullshit. Only about ten percent of magic is stuff that might actually work.
Of the ten percent of magic that might actually work, ninety percent of that isn’t really supernatural at all. At least ninety percent of practical magic is made up of stuff that could easily be explained by logic, science or common sense – but which is not widely known only because it is unpleasant or taboo.
Occult and esoteric both mean “secret” or “hidden”. Remember that.
Of the ten percent of magic that might actually work, only about ten percent of that (about one percent of all occult knowledge) is actually made up of the genuinely very strange and inexplicable.
There are things about the universe that we don’t know and there do seem to be forces that we can’t explain. Anybody who tries to tell you that they’ve never experienced anything genuinely spooky is either lying or has an extremely closed mind.
On the other hand, anybody that tries to tell you that they can explain the unexplainable is generally full of shit and should be treated with extreme caution. This is where the ninety percent bullshit in magic (and religion) comes from. It’s a combination of outright fraud, willful self deception and half assed attempts to explain and control things that nobody really understands – yet.
A real magician, like a real philosopher, knows what he doesn’t know and isn’t afraid to admit it.

Next to my computer on my desk I keep a small selection of essential texts for my Chaos Heathen proclivities. These are the books that I find myself referring to in casual conversation about myth or history or nutrition or healing. I’m sure everyone has their favourite reference texts (and I’d love to hear what they are): here are mine.














Donovan and I celebrated a truly marvellous Thorrablot yesterday. One of the most brilliant ritual experiences I’ve ever had – we’re on such a strong shared wavelength and what an honour it is to know him.
Wyrd trumps Will
We drank toasts of delicious mead, charged with lashings of chanted Thurisaz runes. We laughed and prayed and affirmed and quaffed. We drenched the hammer and offered it up, our sacrifice. We splashed mead on rock, tree, sky, sea, cloud, every hidden delight of that sacred place. We offered our gratitude liberally.







