Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Overheard Before the Man-Making

Pin su Bull-roarers

“Hey, it's N, the soon-to-be-man of the hour,” I say. “You all ready for your circumcision tonight?”

It wouldn't be a rite of passage without a little gallows humor beforehand.

“Ha, ha,” he says. “Pagans don't practice circumcision.”

I check my trousers.

“You sure about that?” I ask.

He snorts and shakes his head. What do you do with an elder who thinks he's a comedian? The expression on his face says: You're incorrigible.

“Well, don't worry,” I tell him cheerfully. “I'm sure we'll think of something.”


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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.


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