Oh, and this site isn't loading (
http://pagan.drak.net/draoi/zine.html), so I'll put something of his up for you all to see. Cause it's funny! Sidhe is pronounced "shee."
Ode To The Fluff-Bunny
O' what over yonder do I see?
But a nekkid fluff bunny
Dancin' by the sea
She's built a fire
Out of thistle and thorn
Though she knows not
This brings the Gods' scorn
Silly and fluffy
Leaning way right
But not at all tight is she
She sings and she dances
She pouts and she prances
And she has the gall to call herself sidhe
If Sidhe she be
Then I'd ask the dear faerie
To sing and dance for me
But first I'd ask her
And I'm sure it'd task her
To cite her theology
She'll tell of white light
And the works she will cite
Will bear the new moon shining so bright
Love and Laughter
And everything nice
She'd fart and swear it 'twas a spice
Harm ye none
She says with pride
As the sun burns her very hide
I draw down the moon she tells
And I cast crazy spells
Egad's methinks, she's but a loon
Wicca is Celtic
And as old as the hills
And at these words the wind stills
For the Gods are a watching you m'dear
And the sod will soon be calling you near
For be careful who may hear
The wrath of the Gods will soon swoop down here
And tramp you into the ground
With nil a sound
For as much as you cry and you scream
Your path is but a pixie dream
And one could only hope
That it soon runs out of steam
You'll find them in alleys and nooks
Proudly touting their Lou Ellen books
Speaking their truths, and telling their tales
It's enough to make a scholar wail up entrails
Haunting the web with their fluff and nonsense
Telling one and all
There is but one Goddess
On Persephone, Queen Kali , Great Badb
Tis your daughter Silvermoonbeam Ravenwing
Calling you to rise
Naked in their rites
You wish they'd at least wear tights
For the sight would give ol' Puca a helluva fright
For if you be Celt; as you claim
Then your heart would beat strong
With the blood in your veins
You be no Gael
No Celt by descent
For you, not even Queen Maeve would have sent
For you with your frail limbs
And your weak heart
Couldn't do a thing in a fight but fart
For the Romans would have come
A trampling a towards you
And you with your plastic cloak
Would raise up your chrysanthemum
Hailing your God and your Goddess;
From your ten and twenty pantheons
And all this…
With no panties on
Put yer clothes on ya freak
Yer as big as a whale
At the sight of you… Hark… is that the Beansidhe's wail?
New age ye say
Well that it may be
But I think I'll stick with archeology
See, I don't trust the little moon books
With their lies and their falsehoods
Written by thieves, fakirs, and crooks
You dwell in 'Spirit world' you claim
Where sprites and wee elves all bid g'day
You ride upon unicorns and you live in a tower
And you go on and on about your imaginary power
Of magic webs weaved and spiral dances danced
Little pink candles and no underpants
Try as you might
I don't buy yer tripe
Smack ya on the head
And put out your white lights
Blessed be cries she
Blessed beast cry I
And she wails at the darkening sky
For mother earth she do tremble
When she see's your ***** sight
And I still say…
You're not wrapped too tight.
None of us can ever be free while others are still in chains. -Leslie Feinberg
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