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Learn how it is from a pink flower you don’t care about. I smell nice and drink too much.

Categories: Journalism; Personal; Writing About Writing; Critique.

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Twitter and Instagram. These are very boring at the moment. Please don’t judge me (until I’ve posted something then by all means).

Email me: rosa@lyingrosa.com

Now if you’re still hanging around I’m going to tell you a story.

Imagine you’re here in the bungalow with me. It’s steamy hot outside, but there’s a cool breeze in here. You can see strange mementos on my shelves. Books as well, some you recognise, some with weird symbols on their spines and odd colours for their dust jackets. It’s like an antiques emporium, you think. We’re sitting on some nice easy chairs, maybe old rattan with cushions, and coffee is boiling on the stove in a huge pot, well stained.

You’ve just walked in because the door was open and it seemed somehow like that kinda place. In fact, now you’re wondering, ‘what am I doing here?’. You were staring out of the back windows at the dust when I came out of a room and sat you down.

“I’m a wytch,” I say, “do you want some coffee? Just made it fresh.”

“A witch like with the pointy hats?”

“No, a wytch.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, witches live in Hollywood.”

“Don’t you…I mean sort of nearby…”

“Yeah but I do it as a joke okay,” I’m taking the coffee off the stove, “look I’ll tell you what happened. It won’t take long but pay attention.

“I was born from a tree and the earth of a land called Albion. I was baptised there in the streams of the Isle of Avalon, where I touched the belly of the world, the omphalos stone, and I became Merlin.

“I lived in Albion, surviving and thriving as the land was ravaged by time and labour.

“Then at the height of its stress a wytch, who loved the land, drew it away from its own earth, to show what it was losing. But the wytch could not hold the spell long enough, and Albion broke, and died, and drove her spell into me as it died.

“Now I am the wytch, warlock, sorcerer, shaman. A broken land, a forgotten wytch, and Merlin.

“And this is where you say, ‘how about that coffee?'”

“Well sure, but I was actually hoping you were going to put some ice in it.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if I could just wave my hand over it and make it cold brew?”

“You can’t do that, can you?”

“You’ll have to come over and see.”