Luck of the Draw: Tarot and Tallahassee Dating
Outside of the designated gothic month of October, the goths of Tallahassee don’t have much representation except for the specter that is Sanctuary at 926 Bar. Donning platform Demonias and signature all-black ‘fits, my girls and I went out to have a few potions. Before the awkward Uber ride with 21 Savage masking our gossip, we had been discussing boys, as is customary for girls’ night. The inflaming topic of attempting to date at FSU comes up in the echo chamber and, as usual, the girls have been led on and dropped. And all I can think about is the Knight of Wands, who has been unwelcomely interjecting his way into my relationship tarot readings.
So I vent: It’s always the goddamn Knight of Wands. I pulled him for myself when asking the question of whether or not it’s worth it to keep looking for love in the hellhole that Tallahassee seems to be. His menacing naivety, his stupid little hat, the ignorant smile he wears, even the goddamn horse he rides pisses me off. I know the cards tell you what you need, not what you want, but when I see this dude riding in with his wand and flames I wish I could rip his head right off the card. He’ll come into your life looking like the perfect match, light a fire out of the things you want to hear, and then leave you with the burning rubble after a week. And the even more fucked-up part is that we have to decide! Will the tinder be worth the experience of fire and flame, or will I just leave burned? I sense I’m becoming too deep for three girls who just bodied a bottle of rosé, so I shut up. My friends utter their agreeance and opinions, one says fuck it, you might as well, and the other one looks like she might have seen the knight himself riding his flaming horse through the traffic we’re in.
A couple Vodka-Redbulls later
and we’re on the patio smoking.
A tent with candles and a woman with baby bangs beckon me closer, and one convenient Venmo payment later, cards are shuffling and flying off the table. Behave, she tells the deck. As fate aligns in the order of cards, I notice the suits are different from a traditional deck: wands are imps, cups are ghosts, pentacles are pumpkins and swords are bats. This deck was released in 1996 and really captures the peak of the whimsigoth vibe. And as she finishes laying the cards, I see him. The knight of imps sits triumphantly, menacingly in my lineup, and as she begins to explain I just can’t hold back my hysterical laughter.
Of course he’s here. My cards reveal what I already know: the vampiric High Priestess indicates intuition and inner clarity about a situation. The ten of ghosts depicts the peak of emotional wholeness within community, and is reversed, telling me to take another look around and appreciate the ghostly lights around me. Next is the reversed five of imps, the red devils all determined to win the battle with their own egos, not knowing they’re actually just fighting themselves. And at the end of the line, the flying demon that is added to the Knight of imps as a sidekick accurately depicts what kind of energy I’ve allowed the Knight to enter my life. You might think the Knight, with his fiery charm, is focused on you and only you. Little do you know, the demon whispering on his shoulder is holding the reins of the horse. Lastly, the ten of imps reminds me that instead of focusing on finding someone who’s evolved to the King of wands, I should instead look down at all the work I’ve already committed myself to. Because who needs boys anyway, especially with the forewarning that while it may be hot and heavy, my intuition always knows it won’t last.
Every day since then has been one of those days where you wake up and from the moment your feet hit the floor to the moment they’re in the bed after a late night Strozier sesh, every breath is occupied by an assignment. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I come home and see my own personal deck. I tell it, I’ll read you soon. And I haven’t, because I know what I’m going to see. The Knight, in his expected position of shining armor and engulfed in flame. It must be hot in there, and I always hated the heat anyway.
Written by Caprie Grisham
Editor in Chief: Hope Fell
Graphics by Ashley Crookshanks
