Magick

It doesn’t hurt to see something new.
What about finding magic right here? In the woman in the white hoodie who seems to come up from out of the sea and hurries past the post office? In a little boy asking his father why there’s ham in his breakfast sandwich? In the hat that blew down the street, as if in the hands of phantoms, always just out of reach of the woman who chased it?
How about these scratches in the metal window frames? Looking through these windows reminds me of looking through the window of the train, the Pacific Coast Surfliner, seeing the waves through glass. Here the windows are covered in a film of dried salt spray.

What about the music? It’s  sultry rock, reminiscent of the Velvet Underground, probably something new, but slowly rocking, fuzzy, half dreamed music. Without it there is the whir of an espresso machine, the titanic hum of an old refrigeration unit.

The wind rattled all night, I was awake before I was ready, sinuses distressed by the pollen explosion called April. Rain, wind, sun, rain, sun; a conspiracy for the propagation of flowers.
In my dream the scientists lowered the lights and sang like dwarves about Terence McKenna and the deep dark expanse of space.
Then suddenly I’m here and it seems clear that this scene isn’t meant for me. I should be lighting candles and performing secret rituals behind black curtains. Whatever possessed me to attempt to balance a hot beverage and a netbook on a small round table, badly balanced on the tiles? Maybe the same thing that took the woman’s hat…

The wind! It blew me off course in the night and here I am in Pacifica, California.
Where did my train car go? I never was in one. It was a space ship and the OTHER was on the loose. I led my sister to the 24th deck were the scientists were working away on theoretical problems. I explained what was happening.
“There is an alien on the loose. It looks like…” I struggle to describe it, to remember it, “like a crayfish sort of. Well, it will lodge itself on your face and lay eggs inside of you and later the offspring will explode out of your stomach.” 
The scientists, at first disbelieving, now appear frightened. I indicate that they should cover their mouths with their hands, and under no circumstance hang their heads over the edge of the bed to look underneath. I have a pencil with which I intend to stab the thing if I see it.

“It could be anywhere at this point.”
Everyone looks anxiously around the room.
“But don’t worry,” I comfort them, “I have this.”
I indicate the pencil,
“I’ll protect you but you have to come up with a plan. You have to think of a way we can contain an area to keep it out, then a way for us to kill it.”

Earlier, I was fleeing its presence and was separated from my team. We were in the midst of taking action in accordance with our plan. I saw my team leader Cam go one way and I went another. The elevator doors opened and another Cam came towards me, I turned to see if Cam number one saw Cam number two coming.

“Cam!” “I called, “It’s you! It’s you from the future!”
But Cam from the future was in a hurry and couldn’t wait for Cam number one.
She grabbed my shoulders.
“Listen to me, it’s not going to work. You have to try something different!”
Then she had to rush away, into another glowing portal of light.
That was when I decided to consult the scientists.

“This scone isn’t as biscuity as I would like. Is the coffee cake the same price?” I ask.
“It’s less.” she tells me.
“Well, I don’t care, I’d rather have coffee cake.”
We make the trade and she gives me back seventy five cents. What am I doing here?
There’s a little boy playing Jenga at one of the round tables. An orange balloon is stuck to the window under the words pastries, cookies, cakes. Outside the waves look swollen, the sea is choppy.

What about the music? It’s  sultry rock, reminiscent of the Velvet Underground, probably something new, but slowly rocking, fuzzy, half dreamed music. Without it there is the whir of an espresso machine, the titanic hum of an old refrigeration unit.
What about finding magic right here? In the woman in the white hoodie who seems to come up from out of the sea and hurries past the post office? In a little boy asking his father why there’s ham in his breakfast sandwich? In the hat that blew down the street, as if in the hands of phantoms, always just out of reach of the woman who chased it?
It doesn’t hurt to see something new.

Direct Experience

Terrible questions looming just beneath a thin layer of bone and flesh. Tiny capillaries doing their best, a silent symphony of flowing red life pulsing beneath the surface. Terrible questions looming.
If I am not what I think I am, then what am I?
Antero Alli mentions that the awakened human brain is the alien and that those whose brains have awakened are the aliens among us and can be recognized by the light in their eyes.
He says Timothy Leary said this, and his host becomes stricken, turns ashy and stammers: "I've never heard that."
Ali laughs, "This was in a private conversation."
Ha ha. The man who has read all the books quivers when he meets a man with a direct experience of a third man whom the first man with all the books has only read about, but feels he knows.
Can't follow that? Am I being confusing or are you being dull?
Trick question. The answer is both.
Terrible questions looming, questions worse than these. An uncomfortable feeling that can almost be drowned by television and social networks and booze and parties and romance and cinema and literature.
Will it make a good comic book? Will it be a three part television miniseries?  Can we sell it? Does the second man have any idea what the first man is talking about when he says direct experience?
Ashy complexion. Uncomfortable voice.
Now things have gone too far if we are talking about aliens and the light in their eyes. LSD, ok, secret oral traditions, ok, aliens with light in their eyes, no! No! No! He's gone too far. How dare he?
We are only interested in reality here, which we have a clear understanding of thanks to the books written by others claiming something called direct experience.
Fuck it man, are you really still reading this?
What I am trying to tell you is that you should eat something from outer space that just might help you access a little inner space.
I tell her that mushroom spores could have been carried to this planet on comets.
"Are mushrooms really from outer space?"
Everything on this planet is from outer space baby.
"Yeah some scientists think that water was first introduced to this planet by comets. Bacteria too."
That's right baby, we are all stardust.
"The alien doesn't necessarily come from outer space, contact is made in inner space, and why not? We ARE the alien."
No! No! No! We've gone too far.
Terrible questions looming. Shaking the foundation of what we know. But brother there is a serious difference between gnosis and what you think you know now that you've read all those damned books and posted those comments about the video online.
God, if you're still reading this it must be because you don't know where to find the mushrooms.
Listen, listen, you should try printing this out and eating it. Right now.
At this moment you're just reading some shit somebody else wanted to say about what some other people said.
You should eat this. Go ahead. Take a bite. Chew. Swallow.
That's a direct experience.