Open Sorcery is the world of Lazarus Halliwell.

Excellence and batshittery, done on purpose.

I’m Lazarus. I make art, music, poems, plays, and magic for the quiet, brilliant, broken ones. If that is you, welcome home. I adopt your kind.

[Subscribe to my email list and I’ll send you a track I don’t remember recording.]

More about me here.

Please note that, with rare exceptions, any and all names mentioned in this blog are pseudonyms except our own. We want to be able to speak freely without doxxing anyone.

Blog

  • A very sweary rant about the Sydney Sweeney ad campaign from a cripple with “good genes” by Western standards (TW: family death via overdose and cancer, mentions of abuse)

    This whole “good genes” Sydney Sweeney ad thing pisses me the fuck off. off. You wanna know why?? Because my existence was LITERALLY PLANNED OVER MULTIPLE GENERATIONS to create the smartest, most beautiful child possible. MULTIPLE GENERATIONS OF PEOPLE PLOTTED AND SCHEMED AND SEDUCED to create at least TWO GENERATIONS of INCREASINGLY BRILLIANT AND BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN (BY WESTERN SOCIETAL STANDARDS) and THEY TOUCHED THE ROBE OF GOD, AS IT WERE. My paternal uncle was a goddamn genius and absolutely lovely by every Western definition, but a mind like that is HELL ON EARTH. He OVERDOSED ON HEROIN IN 1999. I NEVER GOT TO KNOW HIM. My father, my feral, brilliant father, the elder of the two, made it to 47 before dying of two different counts of brain cancer and nearly took himself out from alcoholism before the tumors did. I’ll say it again. A MIND LIKE THAT IS HELL ON EARTH. My father’s side allegedly has “good genes”. But that’s a crock of CRAP. Genes are genes.

    And then there’s me. I was the next generation. I am every bit as brilliant as my father and my uncle. Many of you have SEEN what I can do. But I was born with HYPERMOBILE JOINTS AND HAD A STROKE AND HEART FAILURE AND MANY MANY OTHER THINGS ON TOP OF THAT LATER ON. MY VERY VERY ABLEIST, IMAGE OBSESSED FAMILY HAD NO FUCKIN CLUE WHAT TO DO WITH MY COCKROACH CRIPPLED ASS. SO THEY PSYCHOLOGICALLY TORTURED ME. FOR YEARS.

    I have “good genes”. Allegedly. BUT THAT IS BULLSHIT. My hypermobile joints, addictive tendencies, and turbocharged mind that tortures me far beyond what my family EVER DID SCREAM OTHERWISE. GENES ARE GENES. A COMPLETE LUCK OF THE DRAW.

    Fuck this ableist, racist, eugenicist complete crock of FUCKERY.

    End fucking transmission.

    -Allēna

  • Hair update!!

    It’s pink now!

    -Allēna

  • I’m about to Do A Thing…

    Updates to come.

    -Allēna

  • Had a doctor’s appointment today.

    My provider got me a referral to a GI specialist for my gut pain, is gonna bother neurology about FINALLY getting me in for an EEG, and when I told her about how I got my caffeine allergy (2,000 mg of caffeine per day for years), she exclaimed “THAT’S BAD!!” as if she were scolding an unruly cat 🤣

    -Allēna

  • I call this one “song of experience”.

    you claim that i'm better than you, when in reality
    i’m nothing but a practiced poor player
    who knows how to call fire and gold from nothing but words
    i stand before you and strut and fret my hour upon the stage
    in much the same way i did since i was a child -
    and when i became a teenager i found the voice of a haunted pipe organ
    that only increased in volume and resonance with time and skill
    and when i was 24 i unsexed myself and learned to roar
    got some damned spots on my hands
    (i roar about them, too)
    i learned the difference between hard and soft, between open palms
    and hidden knives
    and built a cathedral for my pipe organ voice
    burnt out like a caravan or a candle a time or nineteen
    so don’t ever think you’re better than me
    learn to screw your courage to the sticking place
    dust off the keys, call the fire
    and sing
    07/28/2025

    -Allēna
  • I performed this at the poetry workshop yesterday.

    This is my headmate Eight’s poem “you wanted eve, not me” from our third poetry collection Singing Molten Gold To The Morning. I’ll stick a widget for it below the performance. Enjoy.

    -Allēna

  • I wrote this at the poetry workshop I went to today:

    i'm not sorry for the wisdom that pours out of me, breaking through the cracks, bursting at the seams
    i'm one of the rare few that can love to the point of invention, but believe me, I can hate to the point of invention, unapologetically
    and i'm not sorry for being myself -
    a gordian knot, a bois d'arc tree,
    a technicolor, queer, living scream you
    could never even begin to hope to parse, cut down to size in
    thirteen lifetimes.
    i've danced in the space between life and death more times than
    you've ever given yourself permission to live
    and you will never destroy me, not even in death.
    the empires i've built and burned
    out of beauty and rage, the space i've claimed and wars i've waged
    to create who i am when you don't even know who you are - and you are twice my age... i'm not sorry for that.
    i've grown around you. i've loved around you. i've rested around you. i've learned that i didn't fucking deserve any of what you did to me. and i'm not sorry.
    you should be.
  • I went to a poetry workshop today and had a great time!!

    Also, the owners of the place where the workshop was held make delicious hot sauces on the side – SO fucking tastyyyyy.. -Allēna

  • Got introduced to the artist Flower Face last night..

    and I think I’m in love??? Go listen here. You’ll thank me later. -Allēna