You Don't Hold On to Magic
YOU MAKE IT
Make magic, don’t just hold it. Watching magic is one thing, even between people because it’s only part of the whole show — what a peep show. There’s always so much more and more and more but you get caught in the beauty of the palpable magic, the bit that can be shared. Then there’s the private magic for the private eyes, privy eyes, oh they want to see. Everyone wants to see.
Then you miss the magic, it’s not always can be seen magic. Layers and layers til you get 9 deep and all of a sudden catching your breath is magic — Whoa, didn’t realize you were chasing it… Chasing magic. What’s that? The wrong way, against traffic, blazing into destruction, something like that, can’t chase that can’t grab it and get it and go. Can’t have it. Gotta make it. YOU gotta make it. Then make more if you like it.
Who doesn’t like magic? Non-magical folks, imagination deficient folks, not curious folks, right? Or does the magic just look different? Magic is magic after all, it’s not one way and no another, it’s all ways. It’s all ways. Forever magic. Timeless magic. All kinds for all kinds. Then you make it. Make it and you will feel, or something similar, a few edits here an addition there and Poof! it’s gone. Or has it been there all along, was it ever there? Where is there to be? Magic.
I think my train of thought just disappeared, so I move and move and move along. Illusion anyway, that’s something too, for some, for some it’s where to be, or maybe that’s the illusion. An allusion to illusion. Oh dayum… Conspire against that one, plug up that rabbit hole, all done, all gone, all all all all. Reality ain’t real when it’s a illusion — or is that the allusion — ha, yeah, might be. Stuck in a reality that’s no real. What a joke. Jokes on me. I’m having fun. Maybe the jokes on you and your train of thought. They still make railroad crossings to be safe? Wow, always looking for the crossing.
Well, what if? The crossing is wherever you cross, man, has nothing to do with direction, but it always seems to go right to left. Right to left hand path, but not at the crossing, gotta step on the tracks where it counts, where the rocks rumble and the earth moves and you think how wild it must be to lay down and wait, lay down and wait.
Wait for what? You’re waiting anyway, just tear it up! Hit the pit, jump into the hands, scream into the trees, it’s magic. Waiting ain’t magic, that’s called anticipation, maybe suspense and that just suspends you. Tension. Then release, then release. Wait, maybe that can be magic — unknowns, right? Hmmm. Magic in the unknown, hell that’s crossing at the not crossing, ya know? As if trains go fast, man, the only thing that goes fast is all of this — all of this — a blur, and you’re lucky to blur with it, smear into the fun, cry and dilute the paints running from your mouth, what a chance.
Chance of chances. Lucked out, lucky fools. Foolish luck — Fool’s luck. What’s that anyway, luck ain’t nothing but the universe giving you a gift but you gotta accept a gift, gotta be a graceful receiver. You know how to receive? Do you? Do you? Know how to give but that’s not even the half of it — Not even. Get good. Get good at receiving — Take it. Toma, remember? Dumbass Brazilians with their jokes upon jokes, laughing at everyone else because They don’t know. That’s a hell of a laugh — They don’t know.
Oh ah that one feels good. Foolish almost. A secret, not a secret, but so secret it’s like a pearl. Find a pearl and tell me that’s not work. Well, same here. Work. Doesn’t stop. Neither do you, always cracking up, now I see right through you. Let’s the light in, or is it coming out. Doesn’t matter. Does not matter. All that matters is flow, wait that’s in and out too… All that matters is… Dumb luck, Fool’s luck, foolish pride, prideful joy, dumb joy…
Foolish joy. Foolish ain’t so bad, it just admits a lot. Admits and admits but I’m not sure it admires, kinda unidirectional but isn’t everything we see… myopic…cyclopsian. What a villian — Gotta have a pair before you get the club! The club, such power, such fakery, illusion, or are they lies? Doesn’t matter, bound to be fun unless you’re too busy suffering, chair of thorns — house of flowers. There’s a visual for living. Jesus.
Heavy is the head-type shit. Dropping and drooling, beat down, or just a filled belly leading to sleep, clean your mouth. The storm of sleep - makes a mess, I guess. Just steps, steps to sleep, steps to sit at the feet of sleep. Wouldn’t it be nice. Choices aren’t simple. Not at all. It’s easier when someone gives you a reason, reasons to, here some reason, but when you gotta find the pearl, when you gotta search and dig and feel… well… magic.
Magic is the result of a process.
Pattern recognition, mind mapping, thread following, stream of consciousness… maybe, but more like following the pollinator. Riding the back of a buzzing bee and dropping in and on flowers upon flowers upon flowers until we return to the mind hive and make an altogether other mess. You know, where it gets heady. Ready?
Where you stuck? Where you being foolish? Where is the magic gone? Where’d the magic go? Know what I mean? Where’d it go? Did you leave it on the bus? Is it in that bathroom stall? We stall we stall we stall. It’s missing. It’s missing like a person? What is it missing? Like a persona? What’s the magic missing? Nouns go missing. Verbs go searching. Rethink, rewrite, rethink, re:right. Results results results. Still searching sounds like a waste. Standing still ain’t searching for anything but still searching, still searching, still searching. See ya never because never is all you find. Finding never, stuck forever. Stuck forever, finding never.
Medicine, elixer, potion — so bitter so bitter, why can’t it just be sweet? Can You? Can You? Can You? Sugar’s a killer but so is kindness. Isn’t that sweet? Can you taste it? Isn’t it magical? Nah, those buds have burst and migrated to a different part of the body, probably the bitterest bone overgrown so you can taste what’s sown. Silly reaper! A scythe to the shins cuts the feet from under the workday, but the starvest is upon us…
Did you find it yet?
Literally rhetorical.
What do you need, the process? Any process. Sometimes I feel so processed too. But, don’t lose hope because then we’ll have to go find that too and we’re still searching for the magic. Lord, what a process.
Ok, seriously.
Where’d you feel it last? When’d you feel it last? Who’d you share it with? Why’d you remember it? A mark a mark a mark. Chain it together and piece the events to gather under standing. A thread a thread a thread. Stop standing still in hopes that you’ll stop still standing. Ridiculous. Ridicule us. Ridiculous. We make it so it can make us. You following? Or am I being lead?
All is lost. No, more like all is ways.
Everything else, get lost.
Always all ways. Always.
Scatter yourself thin and spread the ashes to make it disappear and wonder why it’s gone. It’s your trick! You’re the magician you know!