Act I Heart of Darkness·Illumination

The Price of Magic

Fiction. Based on a True Witness to Magic. 11 minute read

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional. 

“Do you believe in Magic?”

Angelie believes in magic as much as she believes in miracles.

Angelie believes  in the devil as much as she believes in a savior.

Jins among your Muslim friends, fairies among the mythologists, and legion among the Christians will tell you there is a Supernatural force.

In this lost forest, she looks for clues, and this time she has her spiritual warfare companion, Misty, the one who can speak in tongues to the supernatural.

“Sometimes I just break down and start crying because this world doesn’t make any sense to me,” Misty says.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Angelie is pulling up towards the Presidio community, where the slender trees are now hovering over her tiny silver Prius.

“Even when I’m surrounded by so much love, even when I dream big, when I look at reality for what reality is, there is such a gap between the two.”

“When I’m at work, sometimes I just don’t feel like going through the motions, because I do just go through the motions, and I ask God sometimes, ‘Why am I here?’”

“We’re in a perpetual state of amnesia, that’s for sure.”

The winding road down the hills of this pristine community reminds Angelie of the last time she was there. She was a guest to a company trip, except one of the co-workers happen to be a direct descendent of Walt Disney. Back then, she was wound like a windup doll, keeping pristine, thinking positive, and making people feel good was the goal. She was disconnected from the rest of the world on that company bus. It was “professionalism” in the highest form of business art.

Now that she is back, she cringes at how much of a conformist she was.

Chickens Come Home To Roost

The first thing Angelie took notice is the rooster, since this is year of the Rooster, her ex-husband was the year, and the rest were just gold, gold and more gold.

It’s hard to grasp how one can receive so many accolades without harnessing the energies of all the talents that built his image, his reputation and brand.

What was the harnessing secret?

Magic. Maya says to her.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice And the Sorcerer's Stone

“Did you know that the mouse was a direct extension of Walt’s personality?”

“Really? I must have missed that.”

“Yeah, kind of like an alter ego.”

“Mickey represented optimism, possibilities, and resourcefulness, and on the shadow side, corporate imperialism and commodification [x]”


The Seven Dwarfs And Snow White

We are too self-absorbed.

So? Just Dissociate.

Dis-Associate yourself from those poor homeless people. They are icky. They are dirty. They deserve to rot! Eww, eww, eww. They are the walking dead. Why don’t they just die?! Die!

The Witch Talks

Just be happy.

Just be happy.

Just be happy.

Wish for it.

Wish for it.

Wish for it.

Wish for it.

It’s Magic baby.

Box City

Angelie and the three girls had decided on Korean Soon Tofu, but when Angelie had found parking, her friend had pointed out the homeless that were laying on the streets only a few feet away.

“We’re at the Tenderloins,” Elle said.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Misty looks down as if to say, ‘I’m feeling uncomfortable.’”

“Let’s say that in San Francisco, if you find parking for food, that means you go eat the food.”

Angelie agreed, but the feeling of worry permeated the car. Her friend was on bluetooth and the energy was the same coming from blue technology.

After three minutes of brainstorming on the next meal destination, they finally decide on Thai in Townsend in Mission Bay. The same problem arose when they found parking. It was next to shanty town.

When they got out, Misty’s friend Mary said, “I got my car window broken into just last week. It had cost me $300.”

Again, the cloud of sadness. Treating them like they are some kind of walking dead with the annoyance and fear that they are just window breakers. Angelie suddenly felt like she needed a drink. When the girls left to repark, and Elle went to go wash her face because she was allergic to Roxy’s hair in the car, she had a sense of brief relief in being alone. She didn’t want to judge the girls, but at the same time, she is reminded that she is witnessing more and more snowflakes like herself having to face the reality that they are all part of the growing problem.

Open Mic in the Middle of Mission

Angelie expresses this city’s cognitive dissonance and the audience applauds. She is a product of the broken dream. The girl before her was also from Los Angeles and she created a spell using magic for people to close their eyes and meditate while the magic takes place. 

While this is happening, Angelie prays to Jesus to bind the spell, break it, and bless the source-er with love, compassion, and the spirit of discernment.

In Jesus name, I bind and break the spirits of delusion, illusion, and confusion in this space. I also loose compassion upon the woman who is creating the spell. Forgive her, for she knows not what she is doing. 

Angelie speaks her truth:

She is drawn to his obsidian soul, a brown foxtail in a field of glitter and gold, A tigerbear in a city of rainbows and unicorns. While others may find him intimidating she finds him endearing, what others interpret his actions as toughness she discovered wounds toughened into callus, a hard surface to cover the softness, a big space to fill the home of a big heart that had begun shrinking, battered by this cold, windy, cloud-driven city.

Here, tech driven fantasies create wet dreams that cum in textures of silicon, and the color of ambition powers the city lights, hoping to break through, breaking limits while limiting the membership to its great future. It leaves behind humans who have phones that are unsmart, upon the pavements littered with discarded products that once were manufactured for bottom lines and convenience, and it has bleached out diversity of thought in return for security and social acceptance.

And this is where he finds his greatest war story. A man standing while the city is acridly burning. He sees and feels too much, but to survive he bottles it up—lightning in a bottle.

Where does it discharge?

Where does a man go to find home among strange creatures that he projects himself to be a part of?

This land where the human spirit is cheap, Jazz and Soul music are free while an app on a piece of plastic gets valued at millions, where the nonliving are valuable, and the living becomes discarded.

Wake Up Snow Whites.

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