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.
The Psalm of the Idol-Maker
The woman who sculpted our temple's goddess was having a few one night with folks from her artist's collective in Boston. They were far enough in their cups to be one-upping each other: the artist's brag.
“I had a one-person show at the X Gallery,” says one.
“I have a piece in the Y Museum,” says another.
“I have a piece in the private collection of [big name investment banker],” says the third.
It was Laramie's turn.
“Well, I have a piece in Minneapolis that's being worshiped,” she tells them.
No one could beat that.
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