True Mystic Science, 1930s

While Minnie & I are vacationing on the ragged coast of Galicia, we wanted to check in with a stack of magazines we purchased from a regionally-renowned crystal gazer while having drinks at a blissfully atmospheric little grotto bar in the capital city of Santiago de Compostela. The club resembles the glowing, magical jazz dive in the movie Bell, Book & Candle, but is decorated with actual "souvenirs" from the Spanish Inquisition's 17th Century pogrom against the Magickally-inclined, including various torture devices & large pieces from extremely graphic murals, depicting all manner of absurd unpleasantness. Though I'm sure some would object to lounging among such a museum of cruelty, we found the place very cozy & returned again & again for their long, luxurious Happy Hour. On one such occasion, while lingering over queimada cocktails (served in the traditional manner -- in small pumpkin shells!), we met our crystal gazer, a humble little seer in well-worn Oxford baggies, a blindingly white starched shirt & a threadbare Irish plaid blazer. He divined our fortunes with so little aptitude or showmanship that we were instantly taken with him & two days later he found us again pleasantly lazing through our queimadas while staring blankly into the spiked recesses of a particularly grisly Spanish version of the Iron Maiden. From a cracked leather valise he produced a stack of the 1930s magazine of the occult, True Mystic Science, with all the issues in perfect condition. As if he was afraid we wouldn't accept such a generous gift, he placed them quite firmly in my outstretched hands without meeting my grateful gaze, made a round sweeping caress over the topmost magazine cover & hurried from the bar. So far he hasn't returned to our spot, but we do hope to see him again in order to buy him a few drinks as a thank you. 

Have a lovely late summer & we'll see you all again at the end of the month. Until then, Hail Satan!