The Malocchio (& the blog I just can’t seem to post)

“Um, what’s up with Keep My Words?” Rona asked me this afternoon.

I told her I wrote something that I’ve been sitting on for the past few days.  I don’t know if  I’m going to post it.  I’ve never not posted something that I’ve written, and I don’t know why I would do it now… or maybe deep-down I do know why.  (I have a few theories.)

So, I decided to dissect it, and use different parts in various new posts, but always keep a copy of the original in tact.  Once certain sections had been sliced away, maybe I could compose something out of what remained.

With that in mind, yesterday I began writing a new entry using a segment from the first.  But.

I don’t know.

I just can’t finish it right now.

Currently, this unfamiliar situation with my writing has me just as confused as my professional and romantic life, which is troubling.  The writing is usually what saves me (momentarily).

I’ve never been hesitant to admit that I am crazy, but these past few days have really solidified the self-diagnosis in my subconscious.  And then I think the more I tell myself I am insane, the more deranged I will become.  It’s like the dam in my mind that’s holding everything back has got cracks in it.  The embankment is sure to give way, and the flood is going to saturate me, drowning my ability to feign normalcy.  Sometimes I think I just need the repairman to patch up the cracks and hold me in his arms, but I keep getting his voicemail and he’s not returning my calls.  He must be distracted.  Happens to the best of us.

But back to this afternoon.

I figured the only reasonable thing for a maniacal person (like myself) to do in times like these would be to see a psychic.  Rona and I had lunch off Bedford, and towards the end of our meal I search “psychic” on Google maps.  The search returned nothing.

“I know there are some around here,” I told her.  “I remember months ago wandering around drunk by Trash Bar, and one of them approached me.  I liked her.  I guess we just walk and leave it up to fate?”

She agreed.

I guided us through the streets towards the train.  On Bedford and North 6th, someone called my name.  It was my friend Drew.  He was outside smoking with another guy.  We chatted for a minute, and then I asked if they knew of any psychics in the area.

“Yeah totally,” Drew’s friend replied.  “That girl right across the street, sitting outside the funeral home.  She usually has a sign.  She does readings, and she’s completely nuts.  Go to her, but keep your wallet close.  Just walk by and she’ll tell you she sees your future.”

I looked at Rona.  “Should we?”  We decided we should.

We crossed the street.  “Palm reading for $5,” she said as she handed us a business card.

“I actually want my tarot read,” I told her.  “Can you do that?”

She said she could.

Now, just because I’m crazy doesn’t mean I’m not skeptical.  But still I listened, and I was honest when she had inquiries about my life.

To paraphrase, the psychic told me that an old Italian woman wanted to bestow a curse upon my mother, but instead the curse went into me when my mother was pregnant.  She said this old woman did not want my mother to be happy, but that wish transferred to me.  The psychic called it the Malocchio, or the Italian evil eye.  She said it has deterred me from my path that would have led to love and happiness, and that the path I am on now as a result of this Malocchio leads only to sadness and solitude.  She claimed it was the old Italian woman’s will for the recipient of the evil eye to die wrinkled-up and alone, never acquiring any of the love that the recipient so desired.  She said this was the recent pain in my stomach, the reason I have been finding it hard to eat food, and why my back has been hurting.

Bummer.  The goddamn Malocchio.

As one would imagine, the psychic offered to help not only cure me but also discover who is responsible for my curse, all for a hefty fee.  I kindly said no.

When I got home, I did what any (in?)sane person would do – I googled Malocchio.  The only test and unassisted cure I could find is below.

Put three drops of olive oil, one on top of the other in a bowl of water. If they stay together, it is not Malocchio. If they separate or become smeared, it is.

To break the spell, insert the tip of a needle into the eye of another needle while chanting, “Occhi e contro e perticelli agli occhi, crepa la invida e schiattono gli occhi,” which means “Eyes against eyes and the holes of the eyes, envy cracks and eyes burst.” Drop the needles on top of the oil and sprinkle three pinches of salt into the water. Jab scissors into the water through the oil three times. Cut the air above the bowl thrice. The spell is broken.

Be right back.

One thing I certainly learned is the difficulty involved in producing only three drops of olive oil.  My first try resulted in a tad more than three drops flowing from the pourer, so I got a new bowl of water and tried again.  The second time, the oil drops seemed to stay separate, though at best I thought the text inconclusive.  So, I figured there couldn’t be any harm in attempting the cure.

In conclusion, I hope to reach some resolution about the unpublished and unfinished blogs.  Additionally, I hope that I am cured, or that the psychic was incorrect in the telling of my misfortune.  I’ve got too much love to give for things to never work out.

3 Responses to “The Malocchio (& the blog I just can’t seem to post)”

  1. “I still only travel by foot, and by foot it’s a slow climb.” | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] Keep My Words « The Malocchio (& the blog I just can’t seem to post) [...]

  2. A Case of Sudden Insanity (The Excitement of the Journey) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] I still feel as though I am going insane. [...]

  3. Snooze Button (My Kitchen Sink, The Mental Hospital, Archaeology, & A Giant Whale) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] the switch is flipped, the dam in my mind gives way and I become vicious and unrelenting, and ultimately sorrowful and crying, [...]

Leave a Reply