Winter
Solstice
2020
Editor's Seasonal Greeting Well, what a headache of a year we have had. But you know what? We've made it through! So raise a glass, or mince pie to surviving hopefully the worst year ever! With a vaccine on its way the bittersweet freedom is so close yet so far. Please enjoy the festivities safely! We have an exciting edition for you this winter. With a couple of lasts. We sadly say goodbye to James Rance's collages and equinox/solstice knowledge. They will be missed, I'm sure, by all. However, we do have some exciting new elements including a section on where you can shop locally for your last minute Christmas presents! We also have the privilege of announcing that we will be working in collaboration with a frequent feature writer here at Forge Zine. The new year will bring you some more information, for what would be the fun of announcing it all at once ยกTRIGGER WARNING! Nothing in this zine was published with the intention of causing harm or distress to anyone, so please do not be offended by the content in this zine (easier said than done most of the time we know!) Having said that we hope you thoroughly enjoy this edition. All in all we want to take this moment to thank you for your continued support and encouragement during this hellish year. We'd also like to take a moment to celebrate publishing our tenth edition. What an achievement! All in all we hope you have a safe and Merry Christmas and a beautiful and rewarding New Year.
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Winter Solstice
Winter bursts from the sea like a blister upon prickling skin. The fingers that reached for the sun have crushed it into dust, and the world is damp with shadow. Nothing moves. Nobody stirs. The hands of the clock are frozen in their places. The Family plucked a hair from the sun and trapped it in their hearth. The seer gazes into a clear patch of ice and sees all that the coming year will give to them. Winter is held aloft like the skull of the dancing Mari Lwyd, and all are filled with warmth and comfort under its light.
The Winter Solstice, as it always seems to, has snuck up on us fast this year. We have lived this year, this strange, frightful year as though in a dream, and have each forgotten that time moves forward with an unrelenting force matched only by its disregard for our human troubles and concerns. So from the reddening hands of Autumn has Winter leapt. For many of us, this time of year is one of festive stress and seasonal gloom. The sun is blocked by thick bands of cloud and rain, and the nights stretch on endlessly before us. And yet, the Winter Solstice (known asYule to many Pagans) is celebrated with warmth and joy. As our ancestors once did, we hold feasts and host the whole family, invite them to share in the heat of our fires and of course, drink, dance and sing the winter blues away. Sound familiar? Well, that's because the ancient traditions of Yule eventually evolved to become the ways we celebrate Christmas today. Huge celebratory meals, family gatherings, carol singing and the giving of gifts are all key parts of Yule traditions followed by modern Pagans, many of whom may also celebrate Christmas as a cultural holiday rather than a religious one. In the old days, Yule included the eleven days after the Solstice too, much like the twelve days of Christmas.
Winter Solstice These traditions aside, many view the Solstice as a time to look forward. We are less than two weeks away from the beginning of the New Year, and we are all starting to wonder what kind of year this will be. Many Pagans use divination as a key part of their spiritual practice, and many of us perform readings to gain some insight into what the year ahead holds for us. Some may consult astrological charts or undertake intricate tarot spreads, others still reach out to ancestors or Gods for guidance. Those that practice spellwork may engage in spells to bring luck, love and prosperity into their year ahead or to ensure the safety of themselves and their loved ones. Yule, as with the Summer Solstice and the two Equinoxes, is a festival of massive religious significance for Pagans. On the shortest day of the year, I will leave you with this. We are now at the darkest point in the cycle of the seasons. For the past few months, the days have grown colder and the nights have grown longer, and you may be starting to feel the impacts of the lack of daylight. The cold and the dark may seem endless now, but they will not last. We have crossed through the worst of it. After today, the sun will begin to return to the sky and we will notice the first signs of Spring. The buds will return to the trees, as they always do. The world will thaw and the land will burst with life as it does every year. All will flush with colour, with brightness, with joy, and the warmth will return to your bones. Have a blessed Yule, a very merry Christmas and may the coming year be kind to you.
The Wanderer James Rance
Rose Knows
'Tis th Zach Murphy
e seaso n for l ocal writin g and a rt!
Every autumn day Rose passes by the hot air balloon field in Stillwater, wishing she had enough money in order to go up for just one ride. Last winter had not just taken a toll on Rose, it took nearly everything she had left. Now, she has a frostbitten toe and a frostbitten heart. Rose knows that even the happiest golden leaves grow weary when they catch the first gust of winter’s harsh might. Rose knows that if the sun ever decides to go away for good she’ll try to make it promise to come back. Rose knows that if she would have had her life together, her adopted boy Frankie would still talk to her. Across the air balloon field, sits a pawn shop. A pawn shop is a depressing place when you’ve got nothing to pawn, nothing to sell, and not enough means to buy anything. A job application turns into a hopeless slate the moment you see “Three years of experience needed.” After staring at her weathered reflection in the pawn shop window, Rose turns around toward the field and observes an unattended hot air balloon. She crosses through the dewy green grass, looks around, and decides to hop into the balloon’s gondola. Continued on the next page....
The balloon is much bigger than Rose thought it would be. Her eyes widen as she gazes up at the balloon’s bright rainbow colors. Suddenly, a pair of balloon tour guides run toward her, yelling “Stop!” Rose quickly unravels the ropes from the ground, boosts the propane flame, and takes off into the sky. From this view, the falling leaves look like fluttering butterflies. Rose knows that when she comes down she’ll be in a lot of trouble. So she squints up at the sun and gives the balloon some more power. Zach Murphy
Where’s the weather obsession gone? A tap turned on the heavens opened That fat rain That pebble weighted rain kicks ankles off the ground. I’m accustomed to people running scared from the rain like it holds infectious deadly illnesses and curses. We’ve been taught to hide from it. To keep the cold it brings out of your Being and the walls you feign to own But not here They stand door ajar. The cooler air drifts freely in and out. They do not flinch at speckles of rain catching their ankles. But they welcome the cool fresh break in humidity As the faucet opens they do not sprint for shelter but amble to a cover to protect their treasured items rather than their precious waterproof skin. E. Hartley Smith
#ShopLocalThisChristmas As this year has really shunned us all we decided promote local businesses. By supporting these local people you will be helping to fund not only their Christmas meal but also their pride and joy. So please for those of you that still have last minute Christmas shopping to do, give these guys a little looking at. Hi there! My name is Harriet Edwards, recent YSJ graduate of Fine Art and I own ‘Passionfruitnut Jewellery’. You can find me on Etsy, Instagram and Facebook. I specialise in handmade jewellery using gemstones and crafted wire! I have a huge passion for being creative and thus ‘Passionfruitnut Jewellery’ was born.
Greenteeth Press have had the honour of announcing their collaboration with Errol Graham Harsley. Together they have produced the Zine: Errol's History of Food Midwinter Feasts. This zine is a fabulous combination of winter food history and some different recipes to make this Christmas a little more special, because we all need an extra special gift this year. So treat yourself or the Christmas Day chef (you can thank me later for that cheeky idea!) to this warming feast. It's available from greenteethpress.com
Underground Paul Whelan
Quarantine
We have had to stay in Turning (seed to fever dream) The days are longer This is quarantine At 18:23 The nights are longer you’re a person sized teddy bear What does one do with time? At 18:26 This is a new feeling your stuffing is mixed with pins Me? I play with this rhyme and iron filings This is a good feeling That’s when rain on the slates The clock has struck nine becomes Ah work! There is that little matter the sound of children choking This moment is mine And now, does anything else matter? Barrett Fierens Just when there is a shut-down of the planet Is the best time for a Shakespearean sonnet Pramod Subbaraman
December crossword 1
The Scary Crossword answers are on the next page! How well did you do?
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ACROSS
2) Popular symbol for the Jewish holiday Hanukkah. (7) 4) Name for artistic representations of the Virgin 1) On the fifth day of Christmas my Mary, usually holding the infant Jesus. (7) true love gave to me... (4,6,5) 6) German word for Christmas tree. (10) 3) Many Christmas traditions are 8) Predecessor to Christmas, Roman festival held believed to be derived from _____ between 17th and 23rd of December. (10) practices. (4) 9) In France, Christmas is called ____. (4) 5) Islamic celebration at the end of 10) Greek letter (X), an abbreviation for Christ e.g. Ramadan, sometimes falls in Xmas. (3) wintertime. (3) 7) Tree-topper decoration, alternative 11) The first reindeer to be listed in "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". (6) to a star. (5) DOWN
The Spooky Crossword Answers Across 4) Author of the 'mad' scientist that creates a monster - Mary Shelley 5) What root vegetable was traditionally used as a jack-o-lantern? Squash 7) What is the medical term for a pathological fear of Halloween? Samhainophobia 8) A Tim Burton movie produced in 1999, also the name of a village in New York State - Sleepy Hollow 9) Name the Mexican holiday which celebrates the dead, it was also featured in Disney's Coco [in Spanish] - DĂa de Muertos
Down 1) Which North American City is known for its witch trials? Salem 2) Book turned film in 2009, about a little girl with buttons for eyes - Coraline 3) Which Halloween act evolved from an ancient Celtic tradition? Trick or Treat 6) "Tis Witching Time of Night" was written by this poet - Keats 10) What Pagan holiday is celebrated on the Autumn equinox - Mabon
Antifa Santa Loony Lennox fucking hated Christmas: a crime de narcissisme endemic during Q4. He characterised this annual phenomena as anally discharged, sexually transmitted scurf (distasteful colonic fungal eruptions, formulated via violent coitus, involving dodgy, late antiquity Greek Bishops, & wire-haired, sausage-munching, proto-German pagans, sky-high on magic mushrooms). Yet their farkakte concoction of Judeo-Christian lies & bog-hopping primitive mumbo-jumbo prevailed; its allure, manifesting mesmerically each winter, entrancing endless streams of enfevered numpties. E. F. Hay
Len deduced that power corrupts, & corruption yields power: especially over comparatively honest-to-goodness simpletons, for whom it’s mind-bogglingly reasonable to hold faith in unknowable, ubiquitous, celestial jurisdictions (maintaining universal cycles of life/planetary constellations), momentarily pausing from conducting unlimited Sisyphean galactic responsibilities, to personally present folk with catalogue selected, thrift-budget presents, in reward for dutifully abstaining from consuming chocolates during Lent. Not a pulchritudinous prospect, festive fascist bullshit was intolerable to Len. An emetic temporal elite (laughing their toniest tinselled tits off, legging over compliant herds of unorganised wage-slaves), sniggering Tufton Street propagandists, rehashing puerile fairytales for servile, atomised consumers, & ranks of little helpers: system security forcesamoral tools of oppression, wannabe concentration camp guards, lickspittle famulus types (angst ridden when facing their evil, arrant scum masters) soliciting supreme forgiveness for being uninventive & insufficiently ruthless to successfully pursueprosecute perceived dissenting vermin, lurking amidst hills, council estates, Badger setts, scurrying like cockroaches from capsized inflatable’s grounded along England’s eastern ‘gypsy shores’. Lens visceral detestation of seasonal greetings stemmed from infancy. Stepfather, Val Doonican, a merrily pensioned one-time merchant sailor, ships chaplain cum eternally unrepentant child abuser, gleefully adorned by garish, chunky knitted Xmas jumpers (100% tat), steaming drunk, battered Len & tiny twin sister Myra, on Christmas Days, repetitively screeching ‘that’s for nothing, now do something!’
Too miniature to construct effective defences, too secular a martyr to flee, seeking sanctuary; too creative (after Doonican died) to simply forget, consigning an ex-ensign to history’s nonce-bin, damnatio memoriae. Instead, in knotted big boy nick-noks, bearing heavy, sensitive crosses, Len wandered into middle-age, under three shadows of performance art: pain, imagination, & an acute sense of absurdity. Len drank deep cups of question marks, decanted from kettles of doubt, charred, but hadn’t boiled over erenow. Enduring a lifetime’s grinding hardship, irregularly considered & interpreted by clinical practitioners, incapable of offering professional psychological assistance; rather than taking a timely December breather, spanking the monkey, imbibing flagons of herbal tea, Len ultimately buckled under the strain of temporary Santa gigs in a Great Grotto Emporium at his local shopping mall. It was a crazy, regrettable appointment. Flippant, five-minute job introduction training, administered by giggling undergraduate staff, was restricted to ‘never begin sentences with phrases like, for as much as it hath pleased the Lord thy God.’ Tipped over emotional precipices by non-stop, invasive grubby fingers, red snotty noses, stinky soiled nappies; Len snapped. Bridling, ascending a figurative Shetland pony of liberty, loudly announcing towards bewildered parents ‘No surrender, Marina Ginesta’, prior to cantering, fully fancydressed, pass ready, outside onto a snow-covered bus E.F. Hay terminus
It’s not a me thing, it’s a you thing We’ve been coddled into accepting that men hold a power over us.
Where’s the line?
That they are stronger than us
Is it offensive?
That because the have battled each other in hell encapsulated fields they are superior to us But dementia withholds the truth from them
Paul Whelan
Is it oppressive?
Is it abusive?
Who gets to choose? Me? You? Media? Society? Government? God? Mother Nature? Jesus? Allah? All of them?
These are the unanswerable inconclusive questions. E. Hartley Smith
Digital Magritte series Paul Whelan
Local Events Things are actually opening up again!! (We hope we didn't just jinx that!) Many events that were due to take place in and amongst this haze of a time that we find ourselves in. So see below things that have been moved into the stratosphere that is the internet.
Okay well they were when we wrote the synopsis but things are changing so fast that we liked the irony of keeping it! So I guess all that is left to say is stay safe and we hope you enjoy your one day off from Coronavirus. Please use it sensibly and keep your loved ones safe. Here's to a new year and a hopefully a brighter future on the horizon.
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