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Fritz, Robert. 2003.

On an abstract note, only the abstract will be awarded to those excellent in their field. For the abstract is in orientation to that which will allow you to live your life artistically.

May ye be warned.

Sherwin, Ray. 2006.

An anomalous effort to take the theatrical and the magical, or perhaps the magical, or perhaps the theatrical, to the world’s stage.

Ray Sherwin was a spearhead for the Chaos Magic movement, leading in stride with the recently late Peter J. Carroll.

While many of the Black Magic attempts should be dissuaded away from the reader’s purvey, the adages and the useful musings of this eccentric provocateur should be thoroughly considered should a magical path be sought after, and should the would-be-magician be ever more seeking of that grandiose wonder that is beyond the reach of the armchair.

Adopting a classical wizardly perspective on the astral plane where the practitioner is able to juxtapose his literature with his own psyche the practitioner is soon able to determine what kind of character he would be.

So…

Dream On.

Hey Hey, We’re the Monkeys…people say we like to monkey around.

I try my pen. 

At word, not ink, not yet..

Computer screens 

Are different, 

Is this a sphere?

Is this a sphere?

Is this a sphere?

Can I create a wonder?

All these years, quick to focus, tiredness of me, 

Yet healed, rejuvenated, I think I was visited by 

Something rejuvenating. 

What if, inside of here?

I try my pen

At word, not ink, not yet.

Possible friend sounds welcome.

Potential

‘Creation’

Yetzirah…the realm of ideas (astral blab)

How do I bridge the gaps, to form a ‘manifesting?’

3 to 4, 

As seven is to eight.

Except four ‘outlines’ all numbers. 

These are the questions that beget my mind.

I wonder, at the point at which

At the point, at which ink became 25.

I mean, the point at which ink, became

Became, screen-ness.

Perhaps it still is?

-thrum thrum thrum-

The magic thrums. 

What’s inside, the church(n)ings of my mind?

Accidents, and portents, 

Dinner and kind company.

A thread ribbon thrown out to blake-colter

A two of cups, from a very superficial level, 

on the understanding of my part

Understanding what a thread ribbon ‘is’ and a two of cups welcomes.

The cards are telling me to juggle-no more, for now.

And ceaseless wonders are priming to me, uniquely because, 

Choice and choosing are a part of the choosing. 

Be the magician, colt. 

And balance your boundaries, 

Juggle through below with your above.

Turning around the series and sequence of needing 50 mages, 

Less than a couple of written words about the ceaseless wondering.

Around and around, 

Around and around, 

To put in one place, 

Is to take from another.

Pause, shift to left or right, 

And take from one place to put in another. 

All roads lead to Amber, Zelazny:

Greatest name ever invented. 

Sometimes I wonder at my wonders and another

I feel the need to find my life, my wife?

What a level in which to find myself, 

Conflating the two, because

For my parents, they were – each, that and that and to another. 

How am I supposed to align myself with what is higher?

Think Divine

Think Celestial and mathematical, 

And this once removed, 

In that direction, the words on the screen, to another point in virtual space, 

Conflating with series upon series of circles and acuteness.

Here’s how to hide a secret

I sat here and talk and told, 

Rhythm rhyme, and road. 

Something in ink?

When did this

The ink

Become the screen?

I have multitudes of spheres and beautiful floating adjacent ideas

That are thrumming along next to me

I may have invoked something

4 letter words

SQUARE

Outlines

FOUR

FOUR
FOUR
FOUR

Been on my mind all day, 

Ever since I saw three of them tattooed on my co-worker middle finger.

Has it been the mandela effect?

Can we create a mandela effect?

A story, rather than a disposition of wondering.

Or is Wondering good?

I’m telling a curiosity about my manifesto.

Not to tell a prescription, except move rhythmically with the light.

Almost like you’re telling a story about the number four.

Here n’ yonder, maybe read to the end before trying any of these concepts.

Marbles is a way to feel like you’re hallucinating, wave to the compass. 

Four steps to a manifesto I told myself I wasn’t going to write. 

A curiosity though, I could explore all day on a whimsical stay. 

It’s been so welcome to see coming through an obstacle, 

And to come through my own obstacles. 

Think around them, maybe

Overcome them, maybe about people, new friends.

New friends are welcome. 

Andy Sharp welcome.

The Astral Geographic.

Tis a way until I ‘think about it’

And then it becomes something talkin’

In reverse silence, sort of a whole saying to boot. 

Imagine being able to show spheres, and ideas within these spheres that are talking strongly

About the itch on your forehead, just between your eyes. 

so I believe it’s a forgiveness.

Layers, spherical and guarded, except my friends. 

By my friends, imagine turning the ring and saying to yourself…

Now what was that?

What if 

There’s a spot in my mind where the rest is speaking its volumes, 

 and I’ve gone from here to back again. 

I wonder if Salida is a home, I feel trapped there…?

It’s not an unwelcoming trap, though

-feels subtle-

And a draw back will be welcome. 

It does not feel unwelcome

It does feel like a confusion.

Which is somewhat unwelcome. 

I think the four in me is wondering about its ten.

Hats off to Blake, in his generous love.

His generosity is immense, and love for books

Is something admiral, and helps a beautiful thing to be felt. 

52 

I feel a block with the cards, tonight

I felt a block with the cards, last night. 

The gods on the sidewalk, 

Her and water. 

Water and water.

Her and shrinking, void and master.

Cannot pray

Weird is a mischief unleashed, spoke to me about the rhyme and the rease.

Speed them on their ways, and mystery talk about repetition, study, and refinement.

Here’s to zippety

Bippety

Bop

Hippity to zere

Bippity bop

Can you see the thread in which I wrote a weapon into a corner.

Captured the mischief, and rose its order?

Remembered and search for, oddfellow, and odd

Fellow, now here me this there’s a mastering of the merit 

In two wild a way to do without.

Might I just up and zip out of being?

I suppose I’d have to go somewhere, and do something notable and excitingly fun!

I know him, Theodore of Annemann. 

Or I suppose I know his mental effects with cards. 

And by that! I mean, I owned the book and forgot a couple of effects by him, 

Sadly to my dismay.

A brief interlude, on to a different vibe, 

Hearing the sound of fine technique and and the delicious drink, of which I’ll pour another. 

They are all that will remain, when we are gone. . . .

We are no more than the page upon which our souls

are written. And where does the tale go, when the

book is burned? It may

be remembered, and

put down again. You

and I are made up of

our words. (Myrlin A.

Hermes, The Lunatic, the

Lover, and the Poet, 2010)

Fabulous Fable

Dear unto night, dear unto light

What about the singing of the special 

Into the written long song about 

Water

Water

Water

Drinking

About the water, 

Drinking about the way 

That venusian

That muse-ian

Planet 

Shifted into alignment

What if I kept going, he grinned and laughed a lot

What if I kept going, to smile and smoke some pot?

What if there’s further, into the tensile arrangement

Of the thing of things, what about the way of things?

Curious, and abiding, persisting, and a-lighting, 

Along the venture into the crevice, a creative 

just hit beauty on the head,

spoke a rhyme, rhyming red.

what’s curious?

What’s crucial?

In this existential dread?

Why I’m glad you asked!

It’s here

it’s there,

it

is

everywhere.

seemingly a guise, seemingly a rise

gotten from you into them when this they said,

I cannot believe, the fabled stomp,

arrives at this,

hat I stomp

Unto the mix, of words, I did

Dance a feel into the lid,

create a stone,

amidst the song.

create a stone

amidst the song

create a stone amidst the song.

Woah!

Said the song,

sang the song,

foretold the epic,

sublime aright, teasingly sight, told to me. about the glee, in the flee.

THE WAY TO THE SALT

IS THROUGH THE EARTH,

SEE THE LAND, IN THE NAME.

I tell to you, this is something I say:

I whisper this and whisper this:

-something in the way the craft does curtail-

a gleeful writing about the spell.

Speak the tongues, of the told

Speak of old, to the tongues,

arriving at art,

spoken to the movement in the beauty of the world.

There’s terror everything,

everywhere, what about me?

When did I find, what I had lost?

Is there anything this side of the hill?

What about the cost?

I suppose in creative’s bill

here is something I told no ill.

His and hers are dynamic and supposing, and

am I closing, or did I find it?

What about this

what about that?

Existence is a clapping trap,

into the light, into the dark,

I dance a step of climbing right, what about the creative’s endeavor?

Something happened, whispered the red to the rhyming,

It’s here

It’s there

It

is

everywhere.

The way to the song, is through the earth

to seem aright shouted the dirt, 

I suppose you’ll find a might

Tad touch of dirt, 

Don’t hurt

Unto the gears a go to the grinding, at light

At light

At 

Light.

I feel so much better now that 

My tea, my tonic has kicked in, this magical way, a drink I cannot fathom

Played at last its play, kicked me in the my, oh my, way to the way. 

What about the desire, taught to us, a fathom down under the bed?

I cannot hear why the what I did, 

Taught to me, rhythmic red, I love her. 

I love them.

Thank you.

Moving through time and space

Moving through time and space

Taking a turn

After the pledge

Then the reveal.

Moving through time and space

Moving through time and space

Taking a turn

After the pledge

Then the reveal.

Doing something

Something 

Some

Thing

With this or that

We move to show the character flat

Or dynamic

Is in and out, effervescent.

Moving through time and space

Moving through time and space

Gleaning things that can’t be seen

By anyone else without their eyes

Something in the way the eyes

Perceive the land before them

Something in the pendulum swing.

I came to this in an unusual way.

I surprised myself with an unusual way.

Smoked a match, 

Plucked a card

From outside the deck, sealed the latch, 

And played host to the mystic yard.

Warp and Weft

Illusion, thought, and land. 

I love them 

Are they who I think they are?

Can they see me, behind the three veils?

Creating art. Foster