TONIGHT: MASS SPELL AGAINST DONALD TRUMP! Here’s the spell!
(Light white candle)
Hear me, oh spirits
Of Water, Earth, Fire, and Air
Demons of the infernal realms
And spirits of the ancestors
(Light inscribed orange candle stub)
I call upon you
Donald J. Trump
So that he may fail utterly
That he may do no harm
To any human soul
Nor any tree
Bind him so that he shall not break our polity
Usurp our liberty
Or fill our minds with hate, confusion, fear, or despair
And bind, too,
All those who enable his wickedness
And those whose mouths speak his poisonous lies
I beseech thee, spirits, bind all of them
As with chains of iron
Bind their malicious tongues
Strike down their towers of vanity
(Invert Tower tarot card)
I beseech thee in my name
(Say your full name)
In the name of all who walk
Crawl, swim, or fly
Of all the trees, the forests,
Rivers and seas
In the name of Justice
Bind them in chains
Bind their tongues
Bind their works
Bind their wickedness
(Light the small photo of Trump from the flame of the orange candle stub and hold carefully above the ashtray)
(Speak the following loudly and with increasing passion as the photo burns to ashes)
So mote it be!
So mote it be!
So mote it be!
(Blow out orange candle, visualizing Trump blowing apart into dust or ash*)
(Pinch, blow, or snuff out the white candle, ending the ritual)
(Sourced from Huffington Post)
✨Have fun witches, let him have it ✨
Remember that if you don’t have certain components for this spell, you can always change it to fit your own craft!
you are enough. and so much more than that. you are stars and moonlight, you are deserts and the sea, you are rivers and thunderstorms, you are flowers and mountains, you are the void and fulness, you are the earth and you are the night sky, you are everything and everything is within you. you are the whole universe. you are allowed to be small and you are allowed to be big, take up as much space as you need, you are allowed to feel something or everything at once, you are allowed to be loud and scream, you are allowed to hide and you are allowed to rise and shine. you are allowed to be. you are enough.
Riding through the
prairie. Long grass blows in endless wind.
Jazz in a New York bar. Smoke
curls from the end of a cigarette. A woman with elbow-length gloves and lips as
red as blood.
Heat rising from cracked
tarmac. Endless blue sea and deserted streets. The yellow sign of the post office
is the only end in sight.
An Emerald City rising
from desert, but it is smoke and mirrors. It is illusion, and you are afraid.
The last mashtryoshka doll.
Unreal hands, and eyes
that no longer belong to you.
Dramatic music in the
background to strolling down a hill. Hair gusts in an unseen wind. An explosion
behind, and you don’t look back. You never look back.
“Can’t go on without you.”
Yet the world keeps turning, and children keep playing, and one day new children will be born to replace the ones who have grown.
Lancelot crept in
through Guinevere’s window. Blood on the sheets from his bandaged hand, and
golden hair falling around milk-soft skin. The sigh of lovers in the dark and a
kiss that tasted of coffee and regret.
Arthur would have burned
her for less.
A kingdom fell. At
Camlann, in flames, the horn sounded its last call. A man shed his son’s blood
for love of a woman, and the men who loved him in turn wept and followed to the
brink of oblivion.
Better to hope that no
one tells you how big empty is.
His side of the wardrobe.
A photo album full of
your friends, and not a single image of you.
The fog that fills your
Ships that float through
a hundred burning stars. The stars are falling.
We don’t want this, but
we suffer anyway.
Hair as black as a raven’s
wing, and the tower after the princess ran away to freedom – to a prison of a
At least the villains
We wanted pirates and
magic. We found changelings and fairy rings, and decks slippery with blood. It
is never as romantic as the stories make it sound. Why else do we need
storytellers, if not to rewrite the stories we cannot bear to remember?
Empty is too far, and
big is too abstract, for our brains to comprehend. Know only that stars burn,
and kings die, for far less than you.
Did you know whole worlds are hidden inside clouds their centers composed entirely of stories we cannot see not mist nor rain or ice but green forests and purple mountains golden deserts and deep blue seas peopled with the ghosts of caricatures here a gentleman fox tipping his brown felt fedora there a fierce warrior glittering in her polished mail in vapor a more lissom existence here we are bodiless powers who sculpt tales from thinnest smoke reflect our fragile constructions from a careful architecture of glass inside our mirrored houses we hide crouched in padded cubicles behind our cold metal desks under heavy fleece blankets who can say what is real