When Marti dreamed up Trashmagick Alchemy, she knew she was summoning something more than just a shop.
This was always meant to be a sacred little rebellion—part ritual, part punk show, part glitter-covered middle finger to the idea that spiritual spaces had to be sterile, whitewashed, or “palatable.” Then Noah got involved and he didn’t know what he was in for.
We thought it would be hard.
We didn’t know it would be this hard.
It took a dream and a lot of money. It took sacrifice, and sanity, It took burned fingers, broken shelves, shut-off accounts, and—believe it or not—a Facebook post from a mayor who thought we were summoning the devil. We started with three cars and in a week we went to just one we now share between us.
This is the real story of what it’s taken to bring Trashmagick to life. No filters. No fluff. Just the raw, holy chaos that built our weird little altar of a store.
🔮 The Dream (and the Drama)
From the jump, Marti was all-in, Noah was cautious.
We didn’t have investors or a trust fund. What we had was grit, creativity, and Marti’s stubborn need to create a space for people like us—witches, weirdos, misfits, magic-makers.
Noah believed all you needed to start a business was something to sell.
Marti knew it needed a whole vibe: decor, displays, branding, packaging, atmosphere.
Left to his own devices, Noah would’ve sold resin trays off a folding table at the gas station.
Thankfully, Marti wouldn’t let him.
🛠️ The Building That Fought Back
Our shop space had… charm. And by charm, we mean: everything was crooked and probably haunted.
- The foundation is off. Truly. Nothing is level.
Pouring wax or resin is an act of faith and physics. - The previous owners left us with a shoddy remodel and hidden surprises.
- When it rains? Water rolls in from under the walls like some kind of petty elemental.
- The floors were painted matte black—with the cheapest paint on earth.
We repaint them constantly. Like a spiritual act of maintenance. Or a curse.
It’s a mess. But it’s our mess. And any mess in the shop was for sure made by Noah.
We built shelving that wouldn’t stay level. Rearranged the floor plan half a dozen times. We did our own damask pattern on a wall, took out sinks, brought in a coffin, painted, repainted, and then there is the ceiling in one room you will just have to see. Every inch of the place has been fought for—and now, people walk in and say, “Wow… y’all did all of this.”
They have no idea what it took to make it look that way. Or how difficult finding a casket actually is.
💔 That One Facebook Post…
We were just getting our footing when a post from the mayor of Kennedale derailed everything.
“It has been brought to my attention that a store promoting witchcraft and/or dark arts has or is about to take root in the City of Kennedale!”
“This type of nonsense is not conducive to what we are as a people or where we want to go!”
“Pray for us.” — Mayor Brad Horton
That post hit like a curse. Within hours, we had people messaging us with questions, assumptions, and concern-trolling. It cast a shadow of suspicion over something they hadn’t even visited.
And it was nothing further from the truth.
We aren’t “dark arts.” We don’t sacrifice goats. We sell candles, transformation, healing, and some pretty funny shit. Our whole mission is empowerment. That post slowed us down in ways we’re still recovering from. But ironically, the community of Kennedale has been incredibly supportive otherwise. The locals get it. They are curious when they stop by, and are always positive.
We’re still here. Despite that nonsense.
📦 Starting a Business Means Losing Your Mind (and Maybe Your Car)
Here’s a taste of what we’ve dealt with—because it hasn’t been dreamy or easy:
- We went from three working cars to one in one week. That meant juggling candle pours and poppet-making with Uber schedules and real jobs—because someone still has to finance this dream.
- Square locked us out after a week of using our POS system, citing “suspicious transactions.”
They froze our account, won’t explain why, and won’t release our funds. It’s been months.
We had to rebuild our entire system mid-launch. - Our first 84 candles were straight-up disasters.
Wicks drowned. Tops cratered. Scents vanished. Some looked like frosted cupcakes gone wrong. - Packaging? Labels peeled off in humidity. Stickers didn’t stick. Jars cracked.
It took dozens of versions before we landed on something that looked right and held up. - Shirt printing? We bought all the equipment. Then had to learn it all.
Designs got mirrored wrong. Vinyl melted. Ink bled. Noah swore. Marti cleaned up his messes.
Now? We design and print all of our merch in-house. But it took weeks of trial, error, and profanity.
Every time we thought, “Okay, now we’ve got it,” another thing broke, delayed, or burned down.
🧿 It Was Never Just a Store
Trashmagick Alchemy isn’t about inventory. It’s about intention. It’s about creating a sacred space for transformation, healing, and weirdness.
We don’t just sell candles—we pour them with purpose.
We don’t just make bath bombs—we charge them with energy.
We don’t just print shirts—we create armor for the wild and the witchy.
We’ve built a place where it’s okay to be angry, grieving, hexing, manifesting, or starting over. Every shelf, label, playlist, and poppet is part of a bigger spell.
💀 Final Words (Because We’re Still Standing)
If you’re reading this and thinking of starting your own spiritual business—don’t do it. We don’t want any competition.
You’ll be tested. You’ll lose money. You’ll cry at 3am because your resin won’t cure.
But if you stay with it, if this is truly the path you are meant to walk, you let your magic evolve with your mess, you’ll make something real.
Trashmagick Alchemy is far from perfect. But it’s alive. And it’s ours.
We’re not just selling witchy stuff. We’re building a revolution—one candle, one poppet, one damn floor repaint at a time.
Come Visit Us, Hexers
Got questions? Want to support us doing sacred work?
Stop by Trashmagick Alchemy in Kennedale. Buy a candle. Tell your friends.
Bring a Coke or Sprite. (Seriously, please bring something to drink.)
We love y’all. Stay witchy.
