New Orleans has been a source of many surprises to me through the years. As I did my yearly October Halloween research, I came on some good information about Hoodoo and Root Doctors.

 I discovered Crescent City Conjure, a business that offers candles, oils, incense, herbs, roots, divination tools, curios, and even gris-gris.  They also offer fascinating classes. Check them out at their website:

I discovered that hoodoo is not the same as voodoo. Oxford Languages defines hoodoo as a religion practiced in parts of the Caribbean and the southern US and characterized by sorcery and spirit possession. If a person wants to learn more about hoodoo, this might be a good book:

Root doctors are the traditional healers and conjurers of the rural, black South. They use herbs, roots, potions, and spells to help and sometimes to hurt people. One famous root doctor was Dr. Buzzard in South Carolina with clientele from all over the nation. He is buried on St. Helena Island. Bands and songs have used Dr. Buzzard’s name.  I intend to research him further. Here’s a tarot card with his image on it:

Day 3 of my Thirty Days to Halloween posts! A book trailer of my novel, Under the Witch’s Mark! Thanks to my FB friends who purchased a signed copy at the Celtic Fest on Saturday!

Voodoo (more correctly Vodou) is a frequent topic in October. Today is Day Two of my Thirty Days to Halloween. In my research for Vodou scene in my next novel, I made many discoveries. One discovery concerned the Vodou altar and one object used for healing on that altar, the Paquet, a decorated, handmade power amulet/charm made of herbs, plants, and other materials. Below is an image of one made by Pierrot Barrra a Vodou priest.

ANOTHER SATYRDAY NIGHT: An excerpt from Under the Witch’s Mark

by Rickey Pittman

When Steve met me at the door, I once again found myself at a loss of words. He stood there, a bottle of Cold Duck in one hand, and a cigarette hanging loosely in his lips. He had covered his motorcycle helmet with sheepskin and somehow attached goat horns to it. The headpiece reminded me of a Comanche war bonnet in a John Wayne western. His face and all other exposed skin was painted blue, and he wore a sheepskin shirt and matching trousers. He had even glued wool to his horseshoe-tapped motorcycle boots. He took a puff of his cigarette and a swig of the Cold Duck.

            “What’s going on, Sheridan?”

            “You’re standing there dressed like that and you’re asking me what’s going on?” I recalled Doty’s story. “No, tell me it’s not true. You are the Goat Man?”

            He pulled a panpipe from his belt, blew away some of the fuzz and played a little ditty and then said, “Yes, Sheridan. I am Goat Man. The source of teenage nightmares. I am the adrenaline rush for young lovers who park in lonely spots. Though I admit—my costume only works well if those I harrow are stoned or drunk. But face it—most people parking are one or the other or both. I usually just flit about in the shadows so they think they see something. It’s just like a good horror movie scene. Curiosity gets the best of them and they come closer to take a look. They experience, as Joseph Conrad describes it, a fascination with the horrible.”

            “You keep this up and they’re going to put you in jail or an insane asylum.”

            “Bahhhh,” he said. “Did that sound like a goat?”

            “You are totally insane.” I felt like I was suddenly on the Planet of the Apes, or in this case, on Planet of the Goats. I felt like shouting, “This is a madhouse!” like Charleston Heston did when his power of speech finally returned.

            “Do you think I could find an agent to book me for horror movies?” He raised his hands in a monster pose.

            “How are you going to do movies from prison or the loony bin? I think you’ve committed crimes that aren’t even on the books yet.”

            “I like being a satyr.” He broke off into a song:

                        “Another Satyr-day night, and I ain’t scared nobody,

                        Got to find a couple parking alone . . .”

            When I rolled my eyes, he said, “Would you like to come in and imbibe some of this exquisite Cold Duck? I only drink the finest.”

            “Yeah. I’ve got to have a drink after seeing and listening to you.”

Order Under the Witch’s Mark  HERE:

My publisher has sold out of this book, so as a free copy, it is now available in PDF form. Just click on the cover and download it. Alba gu bràth!

Scottish Alphabet Interior low res

My book, Stories of the Confederate South is out of print, but to my writer friends, especially those interested in history, I’m offering this free PDF download. I hope you enjoy it! Just click on the book cover or follow one of the two links below to receive this collection of historical fiction.

https://bardofthesouth.com/wp-content/uploads/storiesconfedsouth-1.pdf

storiesconfedsouth

 Chicken Little and the Climat Crisis Part 2

by Rickey Pittman

The sky is falling,
Said Chicken Little,
We’re destroying our planet,
Little by little.

Something more must be done,
To end the use of fossil fuel,
Electric cars are the way to go,
Say activists who sound like fools.

Yes, our predictions were wrong,
As to when the world will end,
>Predictions we’ll never bring up,
New ones we can easily spin.

We used to call it Global Warming,
But that model failed us too,
So now it’s just Climate Change,
Yes, that’s vague, but it will do.

Our leaders warn of Climate Change,
But they don’t really believe,
Flying around in their personal jets,
And build huge mansions by the sea.

Politicians and most media,
Take our side on this,
So be afraid, very afraid,
This crisis don’t dismiss.

The Green Deal Machine works hard,
To insure your cooperation,
Quit driving your gas-fueled cars,
Or we’ll face starvation!

Climate Change Hysteria and Modern Day Chicken Littles

Since the early years of the 19th century, the story of Henny Penny, better known as “Chicken Little,” has a central phrase, “The sky is falling.”  The phrase is now applied to people who are unreasonably afraid, or those trying to incite unreasonable fear in others, i.e., fearmongering. These are people who predict calamity, especially if there’s no real evidence or justification for the claim. Does this phrase not easily describe those behind the climate change hysteria?

The phrase “Chicken Little” became very popular in the U.S, after Chandler published his illustrated children’s book in 1840. I’ve attached a photo of the book’s cover.

The climate crisis fanatics would certainly qualify to be modern-day “Chicken Littles.” By the way, none of their predictions of the end of the planet have come to pass, and the ELITE politicians who promote the Green Dream are often the greatest violaters of Green ethics, using private planes, etc. The climate change disciples who in their disruptive and destructive protests call for more administrative actions, certainly sound like the original Chicken Little. While willing to punish America and force Americans to change their lifestyews, they are unwilling to see how the changes they want will not save our planet, especially as long as the major world violators  (China, India, and probably many others)  of the increasingly weird climate change doctrine do not follow their guidelines.

The Chicken Littles of today have declared war against fossil fuels (they really don’t want you driving around), promoting the illogical electric cars (much more expensive than gas autos. See image below) who don’t realize who their idiot-ology  will ruin the farmers who feed America.

Of course, if one has no car one depends on for work, no real personal responsibilities, and PLENTY of money, the hardships caused by the Green Agenda are no big deal.

The Cajun Prairie Author Expo at LSU-Eunice, (July 23rd) featured over twenty Louisiana authors. It was at this event that I met Danny Singleton, the author (along with Virgil Breeden) of Sins of a Cajun Boy: The Legendary True Story of Louisiana’s Famous Cat Man. I obtained a signed copy. The book is a quick read, with forty-one chapters.  The book is a memoir, a descriptive account of a man’s life of crime,  and a remarkable tale of redemption.  Singleton was a skilled safecracker jewel thief, and cat burglar, whose criminal career tied him to the Dixie Mafia and to criminal organizations in Florida Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas and landed him in several prisons, including Angola, Parchman Farm.  He describes his restless life as a search for the dragon.  Larceny certainly ran in his blood.

He relates in his story the individuals and life events that shaped his criminal career and that eventually led him away from crime and to a positive life of faith and service. Though he experienced much suffering and setbacks in his life, his book ends positively without bitterness.  The book includes several newspaper articles relating to his crimes and court cases.

To order his book and to learn more about this fascinating man, his story, and his present Christian ministry, order his book HERE: