.magic is real.

there is magic in this land
different from the forests
stronger than the concrete
maybe it is the war: the struggle against the boredom and machines of development on the frontlines.
this ever expanding microcosm of noxious malls and wretched vehikills

(but the parks still hold a vision)
(but the children still hold a vision)
(but the vandals still hold a vision)
and with every allied fortification (a treefort, an abandoned house, a greenbelt),
a vision is renewed,
and magic is felt.

magic is real. we are magicians and invocators. invoking and inflicting mass inspiration and instillation of worth - we all need worth and function. magician - my function.
magic is right in front of everyones nose, the itch on your cheek. it's on the tip of the toungue of all those possessed by unexocizable demons - we just gave it a name and are screaming it out across the void.
to be touched. to be tasted. to be seen, heard, smelled. magic affects all senses, or none. depends on your angle.
never deduced, never reduced, but the energy it is, moves. all ways, always.
bound or boundless, fenced in, or let lose on its own to create, destroy, manipulate or toy with anything and everything and nothing, but still, things beware! for magic is here. magic is real.

magic is imagination. visualization of whole worlds, universes, feathers, and single cells floating in empty abyss of power and dirt. mine it o sisters and brothers of the flame! all things is possible, dreams can come true, and they often do! seeing the cant sees is the magical imaginatal key. we see flames!
make it come together with spit and sweat. glue of magic isnt shifty understanding, but daring and wild doubt. testing borders, challenging gravities, evading presumed consequences. see the outcome with the wishy eye magic - it makes it happen.

magic is play. no work, all play. unmediated play, beyond games, but it can be a game. it is beyond pages, there is no need for sages, just folks being each other, by each other, for each other.
joy - dancing moments in chaos streets with tear gas and fullmoons, shards of glass and howling children. swingsets are treasures.

magic is immediate. right now - below the writting, written in the blood of our ghosts. it doesnt die. it will never submit or comprimise, unless you ask really nicely - and it is everywhere, inside and out, topside and deep down below. no maps to find it. no guide to take us there but our own crazy dreams stretching for the stars.
the magical moment, which means now, is secretly, yet loudly, tearing at the shoddy "brickwork" of our daily lives (the jobs, the despair, the facist cores of all systems) - and the days, the now's we choose to protect with the same awesome spells, the ones that retain the delicious colours and the dreamlike charm, magical and mystical in an ambience all its own - are ours. completely ours.

magic is nightmarish. raised by dogs. it feels detached and abstracted, surreal and unreal. so dreamlike in its exciters - vague - open to whichever twists or offshoots your eyes pull those inneffably strange moments we all cant quite recall could entirely be some nightmarish magic world attempting to bubble up into this one. let it come! let it come and burst into flame! will o' the wispo-universo.
we've seen many adrenal-infused adventures - now, when nothing is going on the clouds dont move - and great rustic monoliths dedicated to unknown gods of worry and fear go up all around (see what happens when you are bored?) & dark alleys hold decrepit love to be turned around, pressed against the wall and set to motion in a sodomitical manner! oh the dull and tragic horror.
to take false sense is impossible. we see temples and clouds, forever in moonlight from underground. we can see now, that though we still dream, still are asleep, we are asleep in the mystic. asleep in magic.
dreams weave between waves - flow between oceans and deeper still. they don't just reside in darkness, but sometimes perfect light. beyond words - words are no justice, just us. just us living our lives with all the heart we can spare.
never sleep.

magic is adventure. travelling in search of what just might be here. search for sub-earthen terrorists - the force of the earth astounds us - moving between spaces investigating for themselves and not you or me! to live, to scream, to burn for anything that moves them, and boy, they move me they're movin my mountains, rolling me oceans, and plowing, nay setting those fields aflame with living death (oh those words are so small).
we're reckless. our guerilla cells of witches and sorcerers, warlocks and thaumaturgists fight in the streets with the prostitutes over who gives the best head, but of course we win cause we do it free! can't lose when you arent aiming to win, just some cyclic effect to engage ourselves in while were still here. this petty earth can be more than a few dimes, and it dont take its times - it steals now and ditches forever by the cracks in the tracks.
the magic in adventure can lie in the risk. the excitement of approaching failure, pain, or death can compel us into great hero's and terrible villains. we urge everything to be lived with such threats of danger. such life is undoubtably exciting, memorable, invigorating and real - to the brim with endorphin charged laughter and hormonal excretions, bringing about complete arousal and long winded tales of endearment.

magic is love. it'll beat you all down to a dirty cold deprived death. deprived here on earth but the soul... damned soul be rejoicing on high for the eternity to come. Hallelujah!
love kills you in the night like a low rumbling coming thru the walls to get you. straps you down to some terrible bed of slow churning netherworld forces pounding your heart with a sledge hammer BAM! POOM! big pummling blows that rock you, sink you into underground ocean so deep the pressure pressed against yer skull so bad your vision's blurred. thoughts skewed - alls fucked up.
love is letting someone fuck you up, taking you to the new planes of experience. gnashing monster angel keeps bitting until the scar's so tough it's brick.
love kills you & makes you stronger - deteriorates the physical - testing, bending, and shaping the spiritual - love sends you to the purifying flames of hell - purgotoryo for yer headed to the white misty halls of heaven. and i got flames down here.

magic is fire. pyromancy. dreaming of burning citys - our flames burn hotter. their lights shining in the distance are mocking our flames. we make light over mystic fires in the heart and eyes, playing tricks, perverting, warping, turning illuminating some space into a Between that's only found by the light of a match. the molly cocktail is real. you're fucking flashlight isnt.
the world is on fire - and some vile shadow of the carbon smoke risen high blurs the eyes a little longer, only bringing into being sights of a spectacle long gone, sputtered and failed - bulk burnt out... now if only the concrete would burn...
only the fire remains - only the sparks really sing. only you can start the forest fires. burn the urban jungle down!
magic = volcanos = invincible. are you feeling the heat? magic isnt cold white non-being - magic is the burning pit - brimstone! living rock rivers flowing through subterranean crevices spewing forth to touch us with the passion of flame.
the wages of sin bring us closer to the flame. set this world ablaze! burn through the smokey haze of near sighted safety checks and kevlar vests - what a bullet to the gullet everytime the fire alarm goes - and my palms get sweaty when i get ready to let all my parts show - the excitement grows - it explodes in the holy reunion with everything all surrounding. thermal sheilds, and aural fields - what is known by magic.