Bob Freeman's Blog

The premise of LAST WRITES is simple. Our guests face their final rest, but before Death claims them they are granted a few parting earthly pleasures, the memories of which will travel with them into the great unknown. What makes these questions appealing and insightful for me is that these are not necessarily our guests favorite things, but those they most want to experience one last time before they shuffle off this mortal coil.

I am thrilled to serve up today’s guest, but I doubt she will need much of an introduction. You’ve probably seen her on TV as she’s turned up on Ghost Adventures and Portals to Hell, among other places. She is renowned as the Good Witch of Hollywood, which is a terrific moniker to have linked to you and who could be more deserving of such than the enchanting Patti Negri, author of Old World Magick for the Modern World and, more recently, Dollcraft: A Witch’s Guide to Poppet Magick & Haunted Dolls.

A Psychic Medium, Author, Podcaster, and Witch surely knows her way around a mortuary, and one might even think she has prescient knowledge of what awaits within its confines, but as the candle flickers once more and the hour draws near, who can truly anticipate one’s Last Writes when the Occult Detective invites you into his lair?

Last Meal

A huge celebratory Italian dinner with the people I love — pasta, warm bread, great cheese, chocolate, champagne, and absolutely no calorie counting because clearly that ship has sailed. I’d want the table noisy, full of laughter and stories, with everyone talking over each other and staying way too long. If I’m leaving this earthly plane, I want my last taste of it to be abundance, love, friendship and joy — not restraint.

Last Book

A completely blank one. I’d want to spend those final hours writing down everything I finally figured out — what mattered, what didn’t, what I was right about, what surprised me, and all the things I wish I’d understood sooner. Then I’d leave it behind for everybody else, probably titled Old World Magick for the Next World — because apparently I cannot stop teaching even when Death is standing at the door.

Last Movie

The Wizard of Oz. I’ve spent my whole life fascinated by witches, strange worlds, unlikely companions, hidden power and the idea that reality may be far bigger than it first appears. And beneath all the spectacle, it’s ultimately a story about discovering that the courage, heart and wisdom we search for outside ourselves may have been within us all along. If I’m about to cross the ultimate threshold, ending with “there’s no place like home” feels almost impossibly perfect.

I might even sneak in: Practical Magic would be running a very close second — because any film involving witches, love, sisterhood, eccentricity, survival and dancing around the kitchen pretty much understands my entire philosophy of life.

Last Song

“Magic” by Olivia Newton-John. It’s joyful, hopeful and unapologetically optimistic — and I love the idea of my final soundtrack reminding me to believe in possibilities right up to the very last moment. I’ve spent my life telling people there is more to us, more around us and more possible than we often realize, so “you have to believe we are magic” is a pretty wonderful note to leave on.

Although I also adore the idea of Death arriving dramatically while Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” is playing. After the schedule I’ve kept in this lifetime, Death may actually be the first person who succeeds.

First Person You’d Like to Meet on the Other Side

I’m cheating a little — I don’t want a famous person first. I want whoever has been guiding, protecting, nudging and occasionally shoving me in the right direction from the spirit world all these years to step forward and say, “Hi Patti. It was me.” After a lifetime of séances, mediumship, signs, synchronicities and helping other people connect with the other side, I think I’ve earned the opportunity to sit down and ask, “Okay… now tell me how all of this ACTUALLY works.”

Then bring me Leonardo da Vinci. I want to talk creativity, invention, mysticism, art, curiosity and everything he discovered that never made it into the history books. And somewhere down the line, I absolutely want Houdini — because after nearly a century of people trying to get a definitive message from him, I’d love to walk up and say, “Well? What took you so long?”

These feel especially strong because together they tell a little story about you: love life fully, stay curious, believe in magick, keep your sense of humor, and never stop asking what’s on the other side of the curtain.

What a delightfully entertaining interment. We want to thank the fascinatingly diverting Ms Patti Negri for visiting us and honoring us with her Last Writes. While it is always a pleasure to see her on the small screen, we encourage you to welcome her books into your home. She can be found online at pattinegri.com where you can procure signed copies of her works.

photo by Dan Santoni

“It is needless to demonstrate that a poem is such only inasmuch
as it intensely excites, by elevating the soul…” — Edgar Allan Poe

I have always been obsessed with storytelling, with writing. It might surprise you to know that I did not set out to be a novelist and short story writer. My ambition was to be a poet and songwriter. At least from my late teens to early thirties, though, as you know, I dabbled in comics in that same time period. Writing my first novel, Shadows Over Somerset, was an odd happenstance, and one for which I am thankful.

This Hallowe’en Season, I thought the challenge of writing a poem a day, in amongst all my other obligations, would be a welcome distraction; a way to flex some different writing muscles. October is by far my busiest month of the year and giving my mind a chance to tap into different energies seems to be a worthwhile endeavor.

So, the idea came to me that, perhaps, some of you might like to take up the challenge. 31 poems. 31 days. What do you say? Tis the season for magic words to drip off one’s pen.

And while you mull that over, let’s not forget All Hallow’s Read. Its founder may have turned heel, but you know, if we tossed out every idea conceived of by an alleged sub-human, we’d be living in a cave without a wheel in sight.

Let’s keep All Hallows’ Read a Hallowe’en tradition. During the Witching Season, give someone a scary book. It’s really that simple.

The premise of LAST WRITES is simple. Our guests face their final rest, but before Death claims them they are granted a few parting earthly pleasures, the memories of which will travel with them into the great unknown. What makes these questions appealing and insightful for me is that these are not necessarily our guests favorite things, but those they most want to experience one last time before they shuffle off this mortal coil.

Malea Powell is an old friend of mine. We both attended Oak Hill High School in rural Indiana in the 1980s and I always admired her fire and intensity. It served her well as she has become a respected scholar and poet. She is a past Professor of Arts & Letters at Michigan State University, where she served as a faculty member in American Indian and Indigenous Studies, editor of College Composition and Communication, lead organizer of the Cultural Rhetorics Conference, director of the Cultural Rhetorics Consortium, founding editor of Constellations: A Journal of Cultural Rhetorics, chair of the CCCC, and editor emerita of SAIL: Studies in American Indian Literatures.

She has since relocated to New Mexico where she is the co-owner of Crone & Crow, a metaphysical shop that serves as a spiritual sanctuary offering curated books, tarot decks, crystals, and more, with a focus on local artisans. Malea’s specialties lie in being a folk witch, cartomancer, reiki master, and herbal medicine practitioner. I suspect that, as the faint candlelight begins to flicker and expire, those skills and talents, and a lifetime of work with her ancestors, has prepared her for what is to come as she enters into the Occult Detective Mortuary where her Last Writes await.

Last Meal

This meal is mostly a memory from my past – one of those meals that was so frequent when I was growing up that I took it completely for granted. It’s a classic summertime midday Indiana meal. My great-gramma’s fried chicken, made from chickens she raised and butchered, fried in a mixture of Crisco and lard, salted well. On the side, sliced Indiana tomatoes, picked fresh from the garden & still warm from the sun. And sweet corn on the cob, just picked and barely cooked so it was crisp and sweet and perfect. (Sometimes we’d leave the leftovers on the table to eat throughout the day.) And fresh-picked green beans, cooked with bacon and lots of salt and pepper. And a “green” sandwich – white bread, butter, and the kind of thin-skinned sweet green bell peppers that only come from the garden. All of that laid out on a big plate together with some pickled beets on the side. For dessert, my great-gramma’s homemade butterscotch meringue pie – not typically a summer dish but this is my last meal. Critical here is the presence of my great-grandparents, my mom & step-dad, and my little sister – all but my sister have long walked on to the other side.

Last Book

This is the hardest question because I’m solidly stuck between something possible and something impossible. So, if I’m picking from the possible it would be Joy Harjo’s In Mad Love and War. This book changed my life, saved my life, and continues to hold my heart. It’s a small book of poems that I first read in college, then literally carried with me for a year after my mother walked on. It taught me craft, yes, but so much more. It feeds me, and that seems like something important for a last book. But, if I could have a last book that was impossible, it would be Raggedy Ann Stories by Johnny Gruell, but it would need to be read to me by my great-gramma. She was the person who read aloud to me most often, and this book was one of her favorites to read. It’s not the stories themselves so much, but the tenderness of our time together that make this an activity I want to relive – the smell of sheets dried on the line, the weight of family quilts, her voice moving me through the story for that night. For me, this is what reading books should feel like.

Last Movie

There are a couple movies that would fill this category if, and only if, I could watch them again for the very first time. (Apparently I have a thing for the impossible.) First, and this will out both my inner geekiness and my age, is if I could experience the original Star Wars again for the first time, I’d absolutely do that. The excitement of standing in line for tickets, being in the packed theatre, watching those special effects for the very first time, the music, the story, all of the giddiness of knowing that I was watching something made in a truly new way – that’s how I think of that moment. Second, if I could experience Smoke Signals again the way I saw it originally in a movie theatre full of Native folks, laughing in the right places, talking back to the screen, feeling the joy of seeing something almost like real life up there on the big screen. That’s a moment I can still feel in my bones.

Last Song

I remember the first time I heard Tracy Chapman sing “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” so clearly, if the last song I heard was that first time again, I’d take it. But then there’s so many other songs that if I could hear them again for the first time, I’d want that too. So maybe, again, I’ll pick something even more impossible to hear – my grampa and step-dad playing spoons & singing “Hambone” one more time, sitting around a fire on a warm summer night.

First Person You’d Like to Meet on the Other Side

So many relatives and friends spring to mind. But I’d most like to see my great-gramma Emma, who died before I was born but who’s been with me as a spirit guide for my whole life. I don’t think she’ll be different but I’ll be different (as a newly transitioned spirit) and hers is the advice and guidance I know I’ll need when I walk on.

My most heartfelt thanks go out to Malea for joining us here and sharing with us her final journey. I am thrilled that the young girl I admired has climbed to such great heights and gives back so much to every community she enters. Be sure to visit Crone & Crow online or in person for all your spiritual needs.

The premise of LAST WRITES is simple. Our guests face their final rest, but before Death claims them they are granted a few parting earthly pleasures, the memories of which will travel with them into the great unknown. What makes these questions appealing and insightful for me is that these are not necessarily our guests favorite things, but those they most want to experience one last time before they shuffle off this mortal coil.

I discovered Cricket Blue quite by accident. It was 2022, as we were crawling out from under the morass of Captain Trips, and I was scrolling YouTube for selections from the Over the Garden Wall soundtrack. You are aware of Over the Garden Wall, I feign to hope, Patrick McHale’s brilliant musical odyssey through death, grief, and dark fantasy disguised as a children’s Hallowe’en animated miniseries? But I digress. I fell upon a video for Tiny Star, which I presumed was the original artist, but quickly discovered that it was, in fact, Laura Heaberlin of a band called Cricket Blue covering Eddika Organista’s vocal. This happenstance discovery led me down a wondrous rabbit hole as this magical pairing of Heaberlin with Taylor Smith quickly became an obsession. I purchased their entire catalog and followed them across social media, and in a short span of time, they became my favorite contemporary band.

What are Cricket Blue? They are hard to describe. Vermont indie chamber folk to make you weep into your tomatoes, is as apt a description as any, but fails to do them justice. Cricket Blue is certainly chamber folk music with a melancholic bent, and a large part of my attraction to them, but their defining signature is that of tremendously powerful and elegant harmonies. Taylor and Laura’s voices blend magically together to create a sweeping and angelic presence that gives proper weight to their poetic and story driven narratives. And as a guitar player, I appreciate their acoustic folk sensibilities and transcendent compositions.

​

Today sees Cricket Blue release their second full length album, Sweet Animal, a poetic dissertation on death, grief, loss, love, and the hereafter. With ethereal orchestral accompaniment, this is Cricket Blue at the height of their considerable powers, with soaring harmonies, delicate guitar, and next-level production. It is sophisticated. It is refined. It is, in a word, transformative. Over a cavalcade of twenty songs, Laura and Taylor deliver on their promise. Stand-out tracks for me include the poignant Ella I, Catechism, Athanasy, and, my personal favorite, Tuesday I.

Considering the theme of their new album, and the vast majority of their musical output, how fitting that we are now visited, here in this hallowed space, by none other than Laura Heaberlin and Taylor Smith themselves. So, the candles once more grow dim, as they are wont do for each of us. Draw close, as a preternatural fog envelops our fragile forms. Taylor and Laura have proven themselves as singers, songwriters, and composers, but it seems that, in the end, their musical journey has now led them to the Occult Detective Mortuary where their Last Writes await.

LAST MEAL

An outdoor potluck which must at least include pad thai, French fries, ice cream, Scotch, and good company.

LAST BOOK

The Lord of the Rings. “And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

LAST MOVIE

The Tree of Life

LAST SONG

Incredibly hard to choose. Maybe Jupiter from Holst’s Planets.

FIRST PERSON YOU’D LIKE TO MEET ON THE OTHER SIDE

If time doesn’t exist in the afterlife and it’s an “everyone arrives there all at once” scenario, then Shay (my wife). If I have to choose someone who predeceased me, then I really can’t narrow it down. I’d just be thrilled to learn that there’s an other side!

LAST MEAL

Tacos with nixtamalized tortillas, and lots of avocado OR a fresh baguette and a wheel of Jasper Hill Farm Harbison cheese and a perfectly ripe peach. And to finish the meal, a single-origin chocolate bar from Enna Chocolate in Exeter, NH, and a washed Ethiopian single-origin pour-over coffee roasted by Hatch Coffee in Ontario.

LAST BOOK

It would probably be a collection of George Saunders short stories which have great depth but arrive there in a delightful, surprising, hilarious and ultimately moving wrapper. Maybe The Tenth of December.

LAST MOVIE

This sort of feels like cheating, but I’d watch all the episodes of Over the Garden Wall strung together as if it were a movie. It would be a great mix of comforting, nostalgic, and slightly spooky, not to mention it deals with mortality in a curious, moving and hopeful way. “You’ll join us someday”

LAST SONG

This is very, very hard to choose! Two ideas that come to mind are the first movement of Ravel’s string quartet in F, or our good friend Alisa Amador’s song “Together” which feels big enough to hold the moment.

FIRST PERSON YOU’D LIKE TO MEET ON THE OTHER SIDE

I would feel very comforted and excited to see my grandmother Ella Sue who I know would get me settled in!

My thanks to Taylor and Laura for taking the time to share their Last Writes with us and we wish them all the best as they embark on a tour to support Cricket Blue’s latest release, Sweet Animal, available wherever you stream music.

Until next time, I’ll be in the shadows if you need me.

I recently was thrilled to receive a review copy of Tarot of the Unconscious from the publisher, Weiser Books. Let me be up front and honest, I have followed the author, Aliza Einhorn, for quite some time on social media and I have always been intrigued by her work, having read both The Little Book of Saturn and A Mystical Practical Guide to Magic. She is thoughtful but approachable, with a very grounded, down-to-earth charm that I think plays well into her ability to interpret tarot for her clients, and to share her knowledge and insights as an author.

Her new book, available this month, Tarot of the Unconscious, is a huge step up for her. Symbolically, the book is not unlike The Hermit’s lantern illuminating the dream‑corridors of the psyche. To be fair, I am far more a Jung man than Freud, but Einhorn makes a strong case for interpreting Tarot through Freud’s psychoanalytical lens.

If Tarot is a labyrinth, then this book is an entertaining navigational tool for looking at the cards in a different light. Einhorn gives us a lot to think about, which is high praise, because, let’s face it, there are hundreds of books out there with various methods for interpretation, but often they seem repetitive and somewhat lackluster, save for a handful of classics. Aliza Einhorn’s Tarot of the Unconscious deserves to be added to that list of classics.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent with this book and recommend it highly.

Tarot of the Unconscious by Aliza Einhorn is available wherever books are sold, including Amazon.

I listened to Marco Visconti’s account of his contact with a Non-Human Intelligence this morning. You can listen to it HERE. Inspired by his account, I thought I would share a story from my own misadventures.

— .:. —

“I know how it feels ’cause I have slipped through
To the very depths of my soul…”
— Jones, Page, Plant, In the Light

In the late 1980s, my grandmother had moved into a trailer behind my parent’s house so they could look after her, leaving her house empty. The family asked me to move in, to look after the place, and I readily agreed. It was an old Colonial, its terraced porch long since removed. It was in dire need of renovation, but it suited my purposes just fine.

I had converted a second‑floor bedroom into a ritual chamber, of sorts — the very same room where, in 1974, I had discovered my great-grandmother’s copy of Manly Palmer Hall’s Unseen Forces. Now, more than a decade later, I was assuming the role of magician and dedicating a makeshift temple to unlocking the secrets of the universe in that place where the occult world was first introduced to me.

The “temple” had three doors, to the north, south, and west, with the north door leading outside, though as stated, the balcony was a distant memory. There was a single window facing east, tall but narrow, stretching nearly floor to ceiling, where dawn would spill across the cool, chipped linoleum floor. I had removed all the furniture and constructed an altar in the center of the room, facing the window. The four elemental weapons were laid out upon it: wand, dagger, cup, and pentacle; a hand-carved statue of a wizard my father had made for me stood in for Odin; and I had two framed photographs, one of Aleister Crowley and another of Leila Waddell there as well.

Within this temple I performed daily meditations and rituals on Wednesdays, the nights of Full and New Moons, and whatever “holy days” came along. I will admit that psychedelics were taken on a regular basis, rarely as indulgences, but as sacraments: psilocybin on occasion, due to scarcity, and LSD far more often.

I was reading voraciously at the time, regularly perusing Crowley, of course, but I remember being very invested in Donald Tyson’s New Magus and Gerald Schueler’s Advanced Guide to Enochian Magick and Enochian Physics, in those weeks preceding the “event”.

I was living in a state of deliberate permeability.

When my Knowledge and Conversation with the Holy Guardian Angel occurred, it did so without warning.

It was late evening and I had retired to my ritual space. Earlier in the evening, a friend had had a peculiar experience of bilocation, and that was on my mind as I sought to sink into a meditative state. As the night gave way to dawn, I was visited by a pure beam of transcendent light. I dare say that it did not illuminate the room so much as it inhabited the space. I felt it pass through me before I saw it, starting as pressure behind my eyes, and as a calming warmth between them, as my third eye was seemingly opening and shedding a tear.

There it was, a prescient light before me… and it spoke, but not with a voice, for there were no words, just a thunderous telepathic surge of emotion and comprehension on my part. I felt my whole body shiver with an ecstasy that words cannot give proper meaning to.

I was filled with hope, joy, and a fierce and radiant love, for lack of a better understanding, but beneath it, I could sense its message within every cell of my being. I was to remain curious and daring. I was to continue the work. But more than that, I felt a connecting tether to the land itself, and I felt the sanctity of it. I knew then, in my heart and soul, that this presence was bidding me to remain within the boundary of the old Miami Territory, the expanse of the Mississinewa, and I felt that river flowing through my veins. I felt this as a warning, that outside of this sacred space, there would be pain and suffering, but the land would look after me and those I cared about.

Then, I was left spent, in silence, laid out before my makeshift altar, renewed, recharged… and rewarded. The memory of that experience is ever-present, and I have never shared it in this detail until today.

— .:. —

Currently Reading / Tarot of the Unconscious by Aliza Einhorn (Weiser Books, 2026)

Currently Listening / Cricket Blue: Self-Titled EP (2014), Polypores: Music from Vayse, Volume 2 (2024)

Currently Watching / The Lowdown (created by Sterlin Harjo, FX, 2025)

All our backyards are haunted, filled with ghosts, spirits, elementals, and esoteric anomalies. We traverse these spaces, all too often, oblivious to the wonders that abound just beyond our perception.

An oft repeated phrase is that “the sleeper must awaken”. One should strive to rekindle the sense of wonderment so easily squashed once we reach adulthood… to dream while awake.

All our backyards are haunted, filled with ghosts, spirits, elementals, and esoteric anomalies. We traverse these spaces, all too often, oblivious to the wonders that abound just beyond our perception.

An oft repeated phrase is that “the sleeper must awaken”. One should strive to rekindle the sense of wonderment so easily squashed once we reach adulthood… to dream while awake.

I am proud to announce that, after years of development, The Occult Detective Roleplaying Game is, at long last, available on Amazon.

Written and designed by myself and Connor Landon Freeman, The Occult Detective Roleplaying Game is an immersive experience that draws on a synthesis between a lifetime of magical practice, research and investigation into the paranormal, tabletop gaming (as players, game masters, and designers), and a near obsessive love for the occult detective genre.

The Occult Detective Roleplaying Game blends investigative storytelling with supernatural intrigue, empowering players to take on the roles of occult detectives — figures who confront the unknown with equal parts intellect, intuition, and esoteric knowledge. The game’s Author–Protagonist structure emphasizes collaborative narrative, atmospheric tension, and character‑driven mystery.

The game draws inspiration from classic and contemporary occult literature, weaving together themes of forbidden knowledge, supernatural entities, and the eternal struggle between celestial and infernal forces. With its rich setting options—from antiquarian bookshops to decaying manors, from urban shadows to forgotten ruins — the system provides a flexible framework for campaigns of mystery, horror, and metaphysical exploration.

The only limit is your imagination.

The Occult Detective Roleplaying Game is available now, with Liber Monstrorum: The Book of Monsters and Occult Detective Case Files to follow.

Bordermen Games is a small press publisher whose previous work includes Fire and Ice: Miniatures Adventure Game, in collaboration with Frazetta Girls, Bakshi Productions, and Dynamite Entertainment.

The studio focuses on high‑quality design, evocative world‑building, and immersive player experiences.

I’ve been around long enough that a discernible pattern has taken shape, one that’s been teased for decades. Hell, from the very beginning, it’s just that we were too easily distracted. Each paranormal anomaly has been isolated and pored over — you’ve got Bigfoot over here, ghosts over there, UFOs flitting about like cosmic fireflies. Investigators and hobbyists catalog them, label them, and file them away in their separate drawers, because heaven forbid they cross-pollinate.

The truth hews closer to that of a unified presence when you look beyond these paranormal categories and stop seeing them as distinct. Occurrences of high strangeness are manifestations of a deeper, unified reality pressing against our own. What we experience is a symptom. Magicians have hinted at it. Physicists have circled around it. And those of us who’ve spent our nights in forgotten boneyards, shadowy forests, and neglected fraternal lodges have felt it.

The phenomena are not necessarily tangible in any real sense, but could possibly be described as extradimensional bleedthrough.

What if bigfoot is not a missing link but a being displaced?

Some ghosts are memories, some are praeternatural intelligences, while others appear to be akin to echoes caught between frequencies.

And UFOS, or UAPs as they are spoken of now, perhaps they’re not visitors from distant stars, but apertures — brief openings where the veil thins and something slips through?

We are labeling them as monsters, spirits, or aliens, when it more accurately feels like we are dealing with curious intersections. That’s why I look to magick to interact with all of these phenomena.

Magick is as much art as science, because it relies on both precision and intuition. You can calculate the geometry of a ritual circle, but if you don’t feel the current, if you don’t listen to the hum beneath the world, you’re just drawing shapes on the floor.

I think of ancient grimoires as field manuals written by people who didn’t have the vocabulary of quantum mechanics or multidimensional theory. They described what they saw, what they felt, and what they survived. And if you read between the lines you’ll see the same patterns that modern experiencers report.

It feels like we are on the cusp of something extraordinary.

The old boundaries between science and sorcery, between matter and spirit, between this world and the next, are beginning to blur.

The universe is larger, stranger, and far more interconnected than we ever dared imagine. And it is not alone, and neither are we.

The other is about to introduce itself.

Are you ready?