In the first part of the journal entry, I reflected on a conversation with my mundane friend, Mr. H, who was fascinated and skeptical about my occult interests. Mundanes often view magic as something fantastical, much like collectors who own rare art but fail to appreciate its depth. While they may be curious, few actually pursue or understand magic beyond the surface level. Magic, like art, is sacred and complex, and it is challenging to share its true meaning with those who only see it as entertainment. This encounter made me reflect on the difficulty of explaining magic to someone who only views it as “woo-woo,” failing to grasp its deeper, practical applications.

In the subsequent sections, I delved into the three fundamental components of magic—psychological, physiological, and energetic. Mr. H was quick to attribute magical effects to the placebo effect, but he failed to see the broader picture. Magic works by combining all three aspects, just as the ancient Egyptians did in their powerful rituals. Psychological techniques work with the unconscious mind, while potions and substances affect the body on a physiological level, and energy manipulation adds a third, elusive layer. Modern practitioners often focus solely on the energetic level, but true magic is holistic. It integrates all three components, creating a powerful synergy that goes beyond what science, medicine, or religion can accomplish individually.

I reflect on how pop culture both gets things right and wrong about magical practitioners, especially regarding natural gifts and abilities. Every person, magical or not, is unique, but it’s only when you look closely that you realize the differences in how individuals approach magic. Pop culture, particularly TV shows like Charmed or Harry Potter, often confuses people about "active powers" and magical gifts, leading to unrealistic expectations. Many believe that having natural psychic abilities makes them special, but in reality, abilities like psychic vision or mediumship are more common than most realize. The real work comes in what you do with those abilities. I’ve seen so many psychics who can communicate with spirits but are simply used as vessels—tools for the spirit world, without the ability to actually change anything they foresee. True witches don’t just observe, we create change.

I stress the importance of pushing beyond natural abilities and never being satisfied with staying at your starting point. Even those who discover magic later in life, without natural gifts, can surpass naturally gifted individuals if they have the right hunger and determination. Success in magic isn’t about what you’re born with—it’s about how far you’re willing to push yourself, to break through barriers, and learn from mistakes. The only practitioners I’ve seen fail are those who either give up, refuse to open their minds, or stay stuck in worshiping idols and feeding their energy to parasitic spirits. Ultimately, real magical growth comes from challenging yourself, learning new skills, and seeking the guidance of wise teachers—whether human or spirit—who can help push you further down the path. Magic is a journey, and settling for less is a sure way to stagnate.

In the latest journal entry, I reflected on one of the most powerful and complex gifts I’ve received in my practice—the Scythe of Santa Muerte—and the contract that came with it. What’s particularly amusing, and somewhat disconcerting, is that Santa Muerte made it clear from the start that I would misuse the gift, it would be taken away, and eventually returned. Knowing this ahead of time didn’t stop me from walking right into it, and I ended up using the Scythe in a way I shouldn’t have. It was a situation where my emotions overrode my logic, and despite knowing better, I acted in the moment. Santa Muerte, of course, anticipated this—it was woven into the contract from the start. The lesson here is that sometimes, even when you know something is coming, the weight of human nature can drive you toward inevitable actions.

The nature of working with death and Saturnian spirits is often misunderstood. They aren’t malicious forces, as many believe, but rather neutral entities concerned with balance. My misuse of the Scythe didn’t change much in the grand scheme, as Death gets everyone in the end, even the universe itself. It’s all about ensuring the scales are balanced, and they don’t mind how that’s achieved as long as everything adds up. High-level magic, at its core, is really just understanding how to navigate these cosmic balances. But as with all things, there are layers of mystery left unspoken, and perhaps it’s best to leave the rest unsaid—for now.

In this journal entry, I reflect on the story of Black Sabbath, a magician who fell victim to a group of old crafters during his travels, mistakenly believing he was undergoing a magical initiation. In reality, he had unknowingly offered himself as payment in a ritual involving Santa Muerte. After suffering physical and spiritual consequences, he sought my help. While I managed to break the contract, explaining that Santa Muerte wasn’t truly interested in him and the harm he experienced was more of a warning, the situation reminded me of how often dabblers in magic end up in over their heads when dealing with real practitioners and powerful entities.

This situation with Black Sabbath is not unique. I’ve encountered many who dabble in magic without understanding the seriousness of what they’re getting involved in, and more often than not, they end up in trouble. When I share stories of these experiences, particularly at local moots or in online communities, I’m often accused of fear-mongering or being overly involved with "dark arts." It’s frustrating, as many modern practitioners ignore the reality that magic, like nature, isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. The "love and light" crowd tends to overlook the dangers that come with crossing powerful forces without proper knowledge or respect, often resulting in hard lessons that could have been avoided.

In my recent reflections, I’ve been exploring the intersection of technology, magic, and tradition. Despite my background in computer science and a once keen interest in "grey hat" hacking, I’ve found myself slipping behind in the ever-evolving tech world, much to the amusement of my younger clients. The algorithms that shape our digital experiences have a love-hate relationship with me, sometimes delivering profound content and other times provoking annoyance to keep me engaged. One such moment of fascination came through a Tarot de Marseille animation that beautifully illustrated "the path" of the occult seeker—beginning with initiation, facing challenges, and ultimately confronting the abyss. It reminded me of the timeless symbols that continue to surface, even in the modern age.

I’ve also been reflecting on the Tarot itself, particularly the Tarot de Marseille. Unlike the more visually symbolic Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the Marseille deck’s simplicity can be a challenge for many, though I find it a valuable teaching tool for psychic development, spellcasting, and revealing occult secrets. During my time studying the deck, I learned some of the rules passed down by a student of Philippe Camoin, a descendant of its original creators. The "rule of gazes," for example, provides structure in a reading, showing how many cards to pull and where to place them. The Tarot can easily become a crutch for some, but when approached properly, it offers not just insight but a system of laws that reveal deeper truths...

I’ve reflected on an encounter with a man I dubbed "The Fool." Several years ago, this man approached me for help after getting tangled up with a German witch who roped him into ritual work involving the devil. His fascination with the occult, combined with a lack of real understanding, led him to become a pawn in her rituals. Even after their relationship ended, he couldn’t shake his obsession with the entity she summoned, continuing to offer it energy and attention despite receiving nothing in return. When he returned to me two years later, his situation had worsened, as he found himself manipulated by not only the entity but also a girlfriend and her mother, becoming their personal servant. Despite his hopes for power, he was stuck in a loop of servitude.

I offered him advice again, this time urging him to develop his own magical abilities, work on energy manipulation, and stop relying on spirits to do all the work. The core issue with the Fool wasn’t his magical potential, but rather his psychological state—he was naturally submissive, a slave to others' will, which is counterproductive for any serious magic practitioner. Though things eventually improved for him, it was a slow process, and he had to learn to reclaim his personal power. There are lessons to be learned here about the dangers of giving too much power to others—whether they be humans or spirits—and the need to stand on one’s own feet in the craft.

As I mentioned before, creating something like a magical vinegar is a deeply personal journey, a blend of intuition, experimentation, and tradition. But it’s not a journey you take in complete darkness. There are always clues left behind, remnants of past practitioners’ work that help guide the way. If you’re willing to share your own formulas with me, I may consider sharing mine in return. But for now, I’ll offer you a starting point. One of the oldest recipes for a vinegar steeped in magic and mystery comes from none other than

The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy by Hannah Glasse, published in 1747. It reads:

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Welcome to the official YouTube channel of the infamous Cunning Man, known only as Psychic Villain. Here, you'll find videos on folk magic, spellcraft, divination, and the hidden traditions of the occult, all shared anonymously. Join me as I explore the mystical world through rituals, tutorials, and ancient practices—always keeping one foot in the shadows.