It's Not What You Think

Monday is ruled by the Moon. Moon day. Lunes.

It's a good day for setting domestic affairs in order, it is a good day to dream, to be quiet, to listen. The colour traditionally associated with this day is white.

The clock strikes 4:50 p.m. I've spent most of the day (in between long sessions of compulsive porn consumption) researching the Chaldean System - the Renaissance Astrological ordering of Planetary Hours. Now is the hour of Mercury. During this hour it's auspicious to send out a message, time to get the point across - "because honey, a closed mouth doesn't get fed", says Robbyne Kaamil to me one long lost night at the Rapture Cafe ( lets never forget, okay?).

The hour of Mercury, it's a good time to steal something - a thing worth taking. Let's do it. Tonight.

On the subject of mouths. On the subject of feeding. Monday is Ellegua's day- Exú, Esu Eleggua, Esu Elegbara, Eshu Elegbara, Elegba, Eleda. Papa Legba.

So here's looking at you my crooked tooth pimp daddy.

By divine edict Ellegua must be fed before any other in the Courtyard of the Spirits. He must be called first at the beginning of the ceremony, otherwise none of the others will come.

Pappa's got the keys to turn in the ignition, switch the radio on and drive that car to where we want to be.

"A ella le gusta la gasolina (dame mas gasolina!!)/Como le encanta la gasolina (dame mas gasolina!!) x4."

Ellegua smokes imported cigars and swigs on rum. In the summer time you can find him playing domino's in the back of the Bodega.

Ellegua lives at the centre of the crossroads and is associated with cocks. Roosters and wangs. Ellegua advocates the absurd, the impossible, the chaotic. He is life knocking on the door and sliding your destiny into the letter box. It's good to go visit with him when you're feeling stuck. Like I said, go on a Monday and go with a clear request.

Sometime after midnight I'm going down to the intersection, somewhere quiet, some lonely spot on the northside where there's nothing but unfinished and poorly constructed condos. Somewhere near wher I got arrested last summer. I'm going to take Him some rice and beans, I'll get some Bacardi and a bag of candies (He's got a sweet tooth), and those cherry cigarillos He likes so much. Poor thing, he gets so bored and hungry out in all that mess.

I'm going to ask Him "what's coming?"

What's round the corner? "Who's been sleeping in my bed?". Which direction will it come from? The right? The left? Upstairs, downstairs, or in my lady's chamber?

"And what," I will ask, "should I be wearing on that day of days?"
Questions, questions.

Most important of all, I'm going to go down to that crossroads and I'm going to tell that creepy old dude just what it is I need. What I want. Of course, if He won't listen, I'll just steal it. He'd approve, He's ambiguous like that.

Monday is the day to petition the Road Opener.

Times are hard, after we're done let's head over to the Metropolitan bar. Monday is dollar PBR night, and you look like you could use a few drinks.