What's in a Name?

Lately a lot of people have been asking me about my name. You know Zeo. For some reason people are now sparked with interest as to my craft name. What it means and where it comes from. Instead of answering every single person one on one, I decided to rather write it here where I only have to do it once. Lazy bitch….*clears throat*

Numerology Key

Firstly, according to Numerology I am an Air element. Yet according to Astrology I am a water element. I have always loved air, wind. The wind in my face and hair, swirling around my body. To me that represents freedom. I have often imagined what it must be like to be able to fly. To have that ultimate freedom. To just take flight! I also love movies about natural disasters and one of them, that I watched over and over, was Twister. I can stare at incense smoke for hours. My point is I like the wind, air, smoke, call it what you will.

At the start of 2001, I started having dreams. Dreams that I am some kind of air entity. Well it didn’t start that way, it starting out by the entity coming to me in dreams and as the dreams progressed I gradually became him. Bit by bit until I was made out of air. It was fabulous. Imagine something like Dame Judy Dench from ‘The Chronicles of Riddick’, but less solid. Somehow more wild and free. Naturally I loved this.

But as all of us of the old ways are, I couldn’t just accept these dreams and had to research it. So I went into my books. I found in one of the books the name Zio, who was apparently an air elemental of Roman times. Overjoyed I went to numerology and checked it out. Paddapoom paddapoom, it worked out and I adopted the name Zio. Some time later I wanted to read up on it again and to this day I cannot remember what book it was in, let alone find the book. It is like it completely disappeared. I can’t even remember what the cover looks like. Some have said to me that I read this on the astral in the Akashic Records. I don’t know. But the story carries on. I then wrote an Article in the mid of 2001, for an online magazine called ‘Silver Moon Pagan’ under the name Zio. I was resolved that, that was now my name.

One drunken night I came home, from Goddess alone only knows where, and something told me to check, once again the numerology value of Zio. So I did. It didn’t match at all. I was freaked out but decided that I can still save this and decided to change it to Zeo, as that seemed to work out on my numerology. Zeo it was then.

A few weeks later my sister and I started the on-line magazine called “The Wiccan Read”. There I got known by Zeo. Our E-zine went out to all over the globe and people started to know me as Zeo. By about mid 2002 I got home drunk one night again. Yes there is a pattern here, bravo for spotting it!

Again something told me to check out the name. And low in behold Zeo does not work out to my numerology value, but Zio does. So now I panic. I can’t change the name now. The entire bloody world knows me as Zeo. To change it now would be stupid. So I am on the phone to one of my mentors. Now I am having a Pagan crisis. Over the top drama queen, should have known then already that I was gay. She then told me to stop fretting about it and just stick with Zeo. It wont change my life.  So Zeo it is.

Interestingly enough Zeo is also the name of a Power ranger or brand of Power Ranger. Something like that. All I know is it is the one with the star on the forehead. How apt is that? I thought it was kak funny that I am the Power ranger with the Pentagram on the forehead.

Zio is also Italian for the word Uncle. I have to admit that I would rather be an Power ranger than an Uncle. But it has sparked Mirelle to call me Uncle. Boys will be boys.

The Frost part is really very simple actually and very unglamorous. No it has nothing to do with Emma Frost from the X-Men.

When I was a boy growing up, mom and I was driving somewhere, can’t remember where. We drove past a huge factory like place and on it in big bold letters was written ‘Mendelson & Frost’ From that moment I wanted that to be my surname one day. I loved it.

Today I am Zeo Frost. So no, it is not my birth name and surname. But it works for me and I am happy being Zeo Frost.

Have a great day!!

Mwah!!

Waar daar 'n Hobbit is?...........

Ek het nou al baie gepraat in my blogs oor mense, vriende wat my gehelp en gevorm het tot die mens wat ek vandag nie is nie. In die verlede, weet ek, het ek al gepraat van my vriendin Samantha Smith, of soos ons haar affectionately noem, Hobbit.

Hobbit in die storie van "The Thing About Trees"

Die noem naam is iets wat sy die eerste aand wat ons mekaar ontmoet het, gekroon mee was. En die rede daarvoor is maklik verstaanbaar. Toe lengte uit gedeel was, was sy nie in die lyn nie. Sy was nie vokken naby die lyn nie. Sy is omtrent letterlik die lengte van een van Tolkien se Hobbits. Sy is nie ‘n dwerg nie, sy is net moer kort. Dis haar disposition. Seriously, die chick is kort. Neem ‘n maatband en meet uit 1.29 meter. Dit is hoe kort sy is. ‘n Vokken Hobbit. Hel haar dildo’s is amper groter as wat sy is. Jeff Dunham kan sy hand in haar gat op druk en haar gebruik as n puppet.

Verder is sy vreeslik onopvallend. Ek bedoel dit nie as n ombeskofde ding nie, maar langs my, lyk sy baie boring. Sy dra geen make-up en het geen piercings (nie eers oorbelle nie, dit is n lang storie).  Sy het klein oevaal brilletjies en ‘n slap, kan nie worry, ponytale. Die is vas gemaak met n pers velvet scrunchy (ja soos in die 80’s) wat n goue draadtjie in dit het. Ja, dit is die EEN wat sy dra. Daai ding is al moeg gedra, maar hare sal hy vashou!

Van klere koop weet die arme vrou ook nie veel nie en dis nou al n roetiene dat ek gaan saam as sy klere wil koop, anders lyk sy soos ‘n ondier in ‘n tracksuit.

En as jy haar net mooi genoeg vra sal sy haar tietties vir enige man of vrou wys. Nie oor sy n slet is nie, net oor sy nie body hang-ups het nie. Dit is nogal iets van haar wat ek admire.

Die rede hoekom ek besluit het om oor die vrou te skryf, is die kak wat by haar mond uitval. Dis asof sy net n halwe gesprek met jou het en die ander helfte gebeur in haar kop. Die twee helftes stem ook nie altyd saam nie en wat sy dan doen na die praat stem bitter selde oor een met die twee halwe gesprekke. Dis party maal net makliker om jou kop te skud.

Hobbit as Voortrekker Heks, but die Big Walk

Die naweek wat verby is het ons die vrydag aand n Dedication Ritual gehad en die Saterdag was my en Paul se verjaardag partytjie. Hobbit se kar is in sy moer in. Ek se toe vir haar dat ons haar sal kan optel vir die ritual maar ons gaan nie weer daarna Tableview toe om haar af te drop nie, dus sal sy moet oorlsaap. Omdat sy oorlsaap sal sy dan ook haar goed moet pak die die partytjie van Saterdag. “Sjoe” se Hobbit “maar dis baie goed om rond te dra.” Nou let wel, dat die Ritual en die Partytjie is alby, by Augustha se huis gehou. Verder se Hobbit toe “Dalk moet eerder dan reel dat ek by Augustha oor bly die aand”

What the Fucq!! Hoe los dit die probleem op van baie goed pak? Weet ek nou nog nie, maar ok daar gelos. Sy gaan mos nou met Gustha reel. Vrydag aand, na ritual se Hobbit dat ons neem haar mos weer huis toe……erens het ek n chapter gemis. Die girl se kop clutch nie altyd lekker nie.

Ons gaan na McDonalds, was so aan die begin van die jaar. Stop by die drive through en ek order wat ek wil he. Nou kyk sy na my met n vraag teken op haar gesig. So asof ek nou weet wat sy wil he. Let wel sy bestuur, dus is die drive through speaker aan haar kant. Sy seg heel gedooie vir die vrou “I will have that thing with the cheese”. Dis vokken McDonalds, die helfte van hulle menu het kaas op en sy vra vir die ding met die kaas. Hoe de poes?

Hobbit se kyk

Nou weet die arme cashier antie nie mooi nie want eish man, this was not in da training. Sy vra natuurlik vir Hobbit, hoe meen sy. Hobbit weet nie wat die ding met die kaas se naam is nie en raak nou bevok vir antie cashier, oor sy haar pressure om n antwoord te gee. Dis maar net maand einde. Die hele vokken Parow is by die drive through, nee ons het tyd dat Hobbit en die Cashier mekaar nou goed bevok kan maak. Nou “eish, eish” die cashier en Hobbit vok al aan met “the thing with the cheese”. Tussen in kry ek so elke nou en dan kyk van haar af wat se “Kan jy glo die vokken cashier” Ek is iewers tussen lag, huil en dood skaam. Uit eindelik bestel Hobbit toe nou maar net gewone burger want sy kan steeds nie onthou watse ding met die kaas dit is nie. Die cashier moet teen die tyd n bottle Rescue Remedy down. Right ek dog toe nou dat dis nou klaar. Wat ons die kos kry, besef ek dat die storie is toe nou nie klaar nie. Jirre daar gaan Hobbit af oor die dat sy die verkeerde ding gekry het. Want sy wou nie eintlik nie burger gehad het nie, sy wou die ding met die kaas gehad het, maar die vokken cashier se nalatigheid, sal sy nou maar die kak burger eet. Ek was stom gelsaan en teen die tyd ook nat gepis van die lag. Ek ken nou al vir Hobbit vir amper 3 jaar. En ek het goed geraak daarin om maar net kop te skud.

Hobbit as die Queen of Hearts

Maar laat ek jou dit vertel van haar. As jy 2uur die oggend ‘n probleem het, dan is sy daar. Sy is n earlike lojaale mens en ‘n moerse bok vir sports.

Mense het my al gevra: “hoekom is jy vriende met haar, sy weird my uit.” En veel ander dinge ook wat nie so mooi is nie. Ja ons almal weet sy is gevok in haar kop en dat sy die kortste crayon is in die pak. Sy weet dit ook, maar sy is een van daai rare mense wat die lewe net soveel beter maak omdat sy ‘n opregte vriendin is. Deur al haar kak en voorbarigheid en die feit dat sy nie reg dink nie, of partykeer vokkol dink nie, is sy 'n regte vriend wat werklik n wonderlike mens is. 

Met al jou kak is ek baie lief vir jou meisie!

Mwah!

Over induldging

When I was in primary school we didn’t mix with the English kids. They were seen as rich snobs and mean. They were mean, but in hindsight, they weren’t rich snobs. We just for some reason decided that all of them were like that. When I was in Standard 5, in today’s terms that is Grade 7, we had Sex Education every Friday, in the assembly hall. All the Grade 7’s as one class. English and Afrikaans mixed.

In one of the lessons they were discussing the anatomy and then masturbation. We were split into two groups, the boys and the girls and we had to answer a series of questions with the help of the teacher of course. For the life of me I cannot remember these questions. There is only one that has always stuck in my head. “When is masturbation dangerous?”

Well we got together again as one group and were now going to discuss our answers to these very bizarre questions. We got to that one faithful question. One of the English girls (clearly a teachers pet) nearly dislocated her shoulder to raise her hand to answer this question. She proudly stood up and said:

“When you do it with sharp objects”

Now I saw my first Porno when I was about in Grade 5. I knew all about the birds and the bees, hell I knew all the pigeons and frogs and dragonflies as well. In that moment in time I could however not stop myself from laughing. And once the laughing started, I could not make it stop. They then asked her for example. Oh Jesus that was the wrong thing to do.

“Knives, broken bottle necks, un sanded wood,”  and I don’t know what all she mentioned. I was on the fucqing floor! I also knew in that moment that this chick was gonna grow up to be either a porn star or a dominatrix, maybe even both. I to this day, because I can’t remember her name, do not know what she grew up to be. Either way her lover is either very happy or scared shitless.

But to be honest in all the years, that is the only thing about sex-ed that stuck with me and it has made me think about lots of things. My mom used to say that something is bad when it has a –te- attached to it. This only makes sense in Afrikaans. Te-veel, te-swaar, te-lelik, te-lekker and so on. But then when put into context of masturbation, with which –te- does it become bad? Does the –te- even play a role here? Someone said when the skin becomes raw. Really? When you masturbate so much that your skin becomes raw, you need to stop for a while before your hand makes a case of rape against you and use some damn lube!

Is there such a thing as over indulging and then by who’s standards are these things measured. I am not just talking about masturbation or sex, I mean in general. As a child you get conditioned about how much of what you are allowed. As you get older you obviously experiment more and more and more until you kinda know your limits. But we all have different limits and that is what makes this such a difficult thing to say. You know how there is always one person at a party who has had "more than enough to drink". (usually this is either myself or Debbie). But who decided that? To you more than enough might be one glass, to Arcagh it might be when he starts speaking in tongues and me it might be when I pass out. But we have a different limit that we wish to reach, for which ever reason. Ok obviously if you are going to endanger other people by fucqing them with a broken bottle neck, that is too much, but if you are only gonna use that broken bottle neck on yourself and you are willing to live with your bleeding bits, then who the fucq am I to judge you.

I explained it to my sister once as the following:

We all are born with this box. The box is labeled 'Life'. Inside, the box is filled with hundreds, if not thousands of those Styrofoam balls. Then one day, this box breaks open at the bottom (this is when we start to think for ourselves and start to do things for ourselves and no longer rely on Mummy and or Daddy) and the Styrofoam balls roll fucqing everywhere. We try to catch it all and put things back together but we don’t all do it the same way, we just do it to the best of our ability. And sometimes what seems right and or normal to me might be completely fucqed up to someone else, but we still have no right to judge.

To conclude, I think masturbation is only dangerous if you do it over and over, without reaching orgasm everytime. What else would be the point?

Mwah!

Fucqing Spookasem!

Friday night, Mel and I realize that it is one week to Beltaine and that there is a shit load of things that we still need to buy. So we, well I arrange that Paul goes to Mirelle to play games and Mel and I go shopping after work. So we get the boys McDonalds and we decide to grab a bite to eat while at Canal Walk.

Well we started off by having to turn back home twice. Once for the Beltaine monies and second time for my wallet.

On the way to Canal Walk. We HAVE to remember that Mirelle asked us for 6 bags of Spookasem (Candy Floss). Besides for all the shopping we need to do, We HAVE to remember the 6 bags.

At Canal Walk we first go to Pick and Pay to get Mel some rolley papers for her tobacco and we walk right past the Spookasem. We see a Bargain Books sale in the Centre Court and we have a look-see. Good thing we did, cuz we got a very nice colouring in book. Then we  decide to go to Spur and we sit on the balcony. The VIP as we called it, since ours was the only table there. Sitting at this lovely scenic table, overlooking the river without gondolas, we realize that neither of us brought a copy of the Beltaine shopping list with. Now we have to attempt to reconstruct a shopping list. I have to tell you that both Mel and I have really terrible memories. That’s why we make lists, to remember stuff. We however neglected to remember the list. I don’t know how long we were at the spur but when we got out of there we only had an hour left before the shops would close. This however didn’t make us loose focus at all. The jewellery shops and Book shops, did however break our focus and before we knew it we were just about ushered out of Exclusive books!

So we walk to where you pay your parking ticket, outside, and as we stand in the queue, both of us at the same time say loudly “Spookasem!!” The shops are closed and we forgot the Spookasem. The one important thing that we had to get, we are now without. So one the way walking to the car, we try to figure out where on the Goddesses green Earth can we find Spookasem at this time of night. We plan a route home that could include 24 hour garage shops.

Three garage shops later, we had gotten them free Wimpy balloons and a bought them slush puppies, but still no Spookasem for Mirelle.  We are so in the kak, or as Mel puts it, poopoo. At this point we are contemplating buying sugar and trying to make it ourselves. How hard can it be right? But we decided against it, due to Mel’s baking skills and my Milktart episode. Then we considered taking sugar to Andre but didn’t think that he would be impressed with us. But he can bake and cook, so he must know. We also contemplated going to Tulbagh for the remainder of the weekend, in an attempt to run away.  Hoping that they miss us so much that they forget about the damn Spookasem. Fat chance of that happening. I have a more likely chance to become pregnant.

At the BP where we got the Slushies the cashier, a blond guy named Leon, tells us that the Minimart in Milnerton closes in the next 15 minutes! So in the car we go off to Milnerton Minimart. We storm in there, bags flying and Slushies in hand, only to be told that they do not have any Spookasem. We go back to the car and I see two South Afican Flags. So Mel goes in and while this woman is counting her tills money, she tells her that because they don’t have Spookasem she wants a Flag and if they wont give her one, then she will hold them Ransom for one. Her eyes stretch and she just about dies. The other cashier is now doubled over with laughing at us that keeps on telling them “we are in the kak because you don’t sell Spookasem”. From there Mel remembers about a shop in Bothasig next to pub called cheers.

At this point we have contemplated giving them a shooter and telling them it’s called Spookasem, running away, sneaking back into the house and pretending we were there all along, cutting up KFC into very thin strips and tell them it’s new chicken flavoured Spookasem, making it ourselves, get Andre to make it, get Nina to make it, going to the Waterfront and running away to Tulbagh.  We reach the new store and there is also no Spookasem. We decide one more shop. Some small dodge shop in Bothasig. This is the last one. If this one doesn’t have it, then we know the Goddess has forsaken us and we will soon meet her again. Accepting our impending doom, we find in the shop 6 bags of Spookasem.

We ask them to look for more, but they only have 6. But 6 is good. We are cheering and going bos! People are looking at us, as if they never had a need to buy something for their spouses.

Two Wimpy Balloons, Three Sluchies, 6 Bags of Spookasem, Four Books and two stolen hangers (it was lying in a trolley) later we arrive home.

"Before all you self-rightous people freak out about the stolen hangers, they were in a trolley at Canal Walk, which was threatening to crash into the car. I always need hangers so I took them"

As we stop the car, Mirelle knocks on Mel’s window and says “See I can read minds”. Mel looks at me and quietly say “Well then we’re fuced!”. That was it, for the rest of the night we could not stop laughing.

Now as we drive past that little dodge shop in Bothasig, we comment “Our Salvation”!

Mwah!!

Lazy Cape Townians.

We are currently in the process of organizing this years Beltaine event. We are bending backward and stretching ourselves to pieces to make this event happen. In the beginning of the year when we started talking about this event Pagans from all over Cape Town were so excited to make this happen. Now the time is here and people have have 3million excuses and reasons as to why they cannot make this happen.

I find that the most common excuse is that people say it is too far to drive. I have to admit that this is a Cape Town thing that has ALWAYS annoyed the living shit out of me. I am a Cape Townian and proudly so. I love this city and I am so happy to be from here instead of from anywhere else in South Africa. This year we were voted the 23 best city in the world to visit. We have also been nominated for the Wall Street Journal's Most Innovative City of the Year award. I truly do love this city.

The one thing that I hate is not the city itself but the sleg vokken hang gat attitude of people. Getting anyone to do anything is a fucqing mission of note. And Goddess forbid you have to drive anywhere and it takes you 20 minutes. Then you have to hear them bitch and fucqing moan that it is such a far drive. I hate that about Cape Townians. No let me reiterate that that. I HATE!!!! that about Cape Townians. Yes I get that Gas/Petrol is expensive and that a liter of it costs more than a liter of Coke n Cola. But then say you have a petrol problem. Then there are people that I know can afford petrol but they are too kak sleg to drive for 30 minutes to get anywhere.

“I don’t like driving so far”

That is the one thing that I respect about Johannesburg. There you have to drive for an hour to fucqing get anywhere and the people do it. They are committed to what they want to do.

I have people who live in Bellville that do not want to come to classes cuz its two far. It is literally ten minutes. Parow and Bellville are right next to each other. A road seperates the two.  They want someone in Bellville to go to for teacings and if they cannot find such a person then they are not gonna do it. I have the answer for you. Jy is vokken kak sleg  and you are not serious about your teachings at all.

I travelled to moer and gone for my teachings. Had to arrange lift clubs, extra train tickets and and and, but I fucqing did it because it was important for me. It is something that I really wanted to do. It was important to me. I didn’t bitch that I lived in Avondale and classes where in Pinelands and Tableview.

The problem is that people just want things to be made comfortable for them so that they do the minimal work. Especially these fucqing Cape Townians.

I have students that travel from Kraaifontein and Kuilsriver and Blouberg. I have people that come from Fishhoek for Rituals, and then you wanna bitch and moan about travelling back at night or travelling too far.

Then people said that it would be different if they could stay over for the night. A lot people spoke about camping. So what do I do? I get a venue for Beltaine where people can camp over for the night. With a bonfire and a Maypole and everything that everyone has been asking for so that no one can complain. So what happens then? People bitch that they don’t want to drive to Worcester and that they don’t want to camp for the night. So far I don’t know who is coming and who is not, and frankly I am don’t fucking care anymore. I am done stressing over it. I am going to host a Beltaine. I don’t know if it will be a success or not. I just know that NPT will be there and we wil have a fucqing blast and enjoy every moment of it.  Fucqing Cape Townians and their fucqing lazyness ana dspoon feed attitudes.

For those of you that are supporting this event, Thank you so much!!! You are the best people alive!!! Thank you!! I love you so much!!!

Mwah !!

You can support Beltaine here on our Facebook Page

https://www.facebook.com/groups/395762593823182/

Turning 30

Before I start, let me just say that this is not a Jab at anyone’s age. This is an article about me and the fact that I am facing 30. If you have insecurities about your age and take this personally, well tough shit, as you have been warned.

I know that in the bigger scheme of things 30 is not old. Most of my friends are like 40 and up.  Not all, but most. I know that compared to them I am still n laaitie, nat agter die ore. But here is the thing. I am turning 30 in less than a month. The big 3-0. Slowly surrendering the things of youth and walking into an adult life that is meaningful. Or so they say. The other thing they say is that it is the start of my dirty 30’s. Really? Can it get any dirtier. I am already into all the BDSM things. I already tie him down and we already do things that will make most people run for hills and makes us 50 shades of very fucking exciting and dirty.  Secret Garden se moer.

But I am freaking out just a little bit about this 30 thing.  According to case studies done this year the average male life expectancy in this country is 48 and in the world is 67. Yes I know that 90% of stats are bullshit, hehehehehe, thanks Frankie. But even if we say that I will live to 90, which I highly fucking doubt, it still means that a third of my life is over. Gone. So weg soos laas maand se pay.  I will never get it back. I will never be able to redo it, I will never be able to change what I have done. It’s not that I have regrets. Not at all. Well I do have one, but that is personal. But OMG I am almost 30. Gravity is really doing a number on me lately and my damn metabolism is about as useful as a  man at a lesbian feminist group sex session.

I am coming to grips with the fact that I will never again be that young skinny sexy little boy that Paul first met. I realize that I should however embrace the more distinguished look the more gentleman like qualities and the lets say sophistication of age. ………………..yea you all also so the problem there didn’t you?

Firstly I still dress like I am part of some weird experiment that went horribly wrong in the 80’s and the only reason it is continuing is because people are curious to know what the fucq is gonna happen next. Believe me, so am I. I dont dress like this because I seek attention, as some people suggest. I dress like ths cuz I truly am cumfy in what I wear. I truly do like what I wear and feel. Planning what I will be wearing for the mourning of my youth (otherwise known as a birthday party) is killing me, all I have left to work with is legs. My waist might be big enough to feed a small country but my legs are still good. So I will be wearing something Lady Gaga, meets Cher, meets Winehouse, meets Fucqup Fairy, meets Bjork.

Lets face it, I wont have to look at me during the night. All of you do however. Sucks being you, hehehehehehe

But also this 30 thing has got me thinking on my achievements and what I have done and children. And let me tell you about all of this. Firstly, what I have done is amazing. Spiritually I have done quite a bit, not enough and not on Ghandi's level but a bit. I look at my portfolio and sometimes can’t believe that, that is me. On a fashion level, I have opened the door for circus freaks everywhere to just wear whatever makes them feel comfortable and makes them feel good about themselves. I am a God amongst insects hehehehehe oh and circus freaks. Another thing that I have done is to be a medical miracle. I have very recently been for a check up and my liver is in perfect shape. I nearly dropped my drink when the doc said that. I couldn’t believe it. As in not that it is doing ok and I should drink less or that it’s coping. No it is in 100% perfect shape. Fucqing unreal I tell you.

As for children, I still don’t want any. Every time I think I am getting a little broody then I just spend 5 minutes in the company of one of my plethora of nephews and I am cured. Teenagers especially drive me fucqing insane and it’s a good thing I don’t have any cuz I would be in jail and I would probably be BIG Bubba. 

So putting things down on paper, or rather screen (as my life coach would suggest, this is a nice word for Psychologist), makes me get some perspective about this 30 thing. And I realize that if I am gonna die at 48, then so be it, it’s a fucqing miracle I am still alive in anyway.

So bring the bollie and the fags (both kinds) bring the fabulous and the entertaining, gay and queer, the drag queens and the dikes. Bring the circus freaks and my ringmaster hat. Bring your wigs and your strapons, your garters and your g-strings. Bring everything that makes you so fucqink fabulous and lets kick the shit out of this birthday together!!!

Mwah!!

Fairytale Land Rolemodels.......?

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