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Wednesday, September 30, 2015

=Magick in Theory & Practice=

 He was such a gloomy Gus, always reading books about serial killers and internet articles detailing the more obscure warning signs of cancers caught too late. 
He was addicted to splatter movies, the gorier and more explicit the better. 

Death porn, I called it, and though he denied it, the lump in his jeans gave him away. 
When your boyfriend gets a hard-on watching maniacs tear the tongues and toenails out of women, shoot them with nail guns or bury them alive so they can listen to their pleading as they suffocate over two-way radios—well, that's what some people might call a red flag.

I tried not to be too judgmental—at least not right away. Connor had his good points. But the score was lopsided and not in his favor.

His problem, at least as I saw it, was that he was in love with death and terrified of it at the same time. 

For instance, he was the kind of person who scrutinized every mole on his body for signs of change. He'd often enlist my opinion.

"Does this look any different from last time?" he'd say, in a querulous, little-boy-lost tone. "I think its more spread out. I think it's granulating."
I'd look up from my book, give the black dot under his fingernail a quick glance, and shrug. "It looks pretty much the same to me. I don't know. I really can't remember what it looked like before."

He talked about making a photographic inventory of all his blemishes and doing a monthly comparison.

Fortunately, this plan never took root. 

Then he read somewhere that you could get a melanoma on your liver. He was incapacitated by fear for an entire week.

"What hope is there?" he groaned like Job, huddled on the couch.

I'd had enough. I could live with him being a wannabe serial killer but the crybaby routine was finally just too much. 

"That's it," I said. "You don't need a girlfriend, you need a magician."

"But you are a magician."

It was true. At least part-time. I did a combination magic-comedy act at a local club on the weekends. It was pretty amateur stuff, more a hobby than anything else. In truth, I was awful at both comedy and magic. I made a few bucks but mainly I did it to keep me from hanging myself in despair at my dead-end life. 

My act consisted mainly of third-rate card tricks and the sudden appearance and disappearance of a mangy dove with a troublesome cough. I called it a dove, but it was really a pigeon. These faded illusions I interspersed with "wry" observations from my life as an office-worker in a nowhere job with an infantile, commitment-phobic boyfriend. 
Let's put it this way. I was never going to make it to Vegas.

My big finale was where I cut myself in half. I pulled it off maybe 75% of the time. Anyway, I figured I had enough material on the bad boyfriend front. It was time to make my relationship with Connor disappear.

I prepared my incantation carefully, but he fought me every step of the way. He came back with an incantation of how he was going to change, how things would be different from now on. He made a big show of deleting several files of his death porn from his laptop but I noticed that he didn't empty the trash bin. 

It hardly mattered. 

"I'll change," Connor vowed. "I swear I will. Just watch. See? I'm changing already. Right before your very eyes. Ta-da!"

By then I was already half-gone. I was little more than a head and a partial torso. I was sawing myself in half again. But it's that last half that's the most stubborn. If Connor noticed, he didn't let on. He was still there, solid as ever. Maybe even more solid than ever. He was probably more there than he'd ever been before.

He craned his head over his left shoulder to check on what looked to be another troublesome mole on the tantalizing edge of his field of vision. 

Poor guy. He simply couldn't help himself.

"But first, just tell me what you think…"

I sighed like something already deflated, a kicked-out soccer ball left behind on the playground, maybe, when someone steps on it expelling that last pocket of air.

There was no way Connor was ever going to truly change unless I changed him, not by magic, but like a television channel. I closed my eyes to him and willed him gone. It’s the most powerful form of practical magic I know.

Hearing, I'd always read, is the last thing to go. It's true, I can report from experience. I heard his whining, pleading, angry voice for some time after he vanished.

It showed up on my cellphone, it was transcribed on my Facebook page and Twitter account. Inevitably it showed up at the club, drunken, belligerent, and spewing personal details that would have been embarrassing if anyone had been completely sober and paying attention. Connor was just another rowdy drunk ruining everyone's good time as far as everyone was concerned in what was the usual sparse Friday night crowd. 
Zack, our new bouncer back fresh from Afghanistan, showed him the exit faster than you can say "abracadabra." It was a trick done mainly with elbows and knees instead of mirrors, he later explained to me in bed, his cock fluttering to life in my hand. He grunted and then it was too hard for him to talk. 

The first thing they tell you: a good magician never tells you how it's done. 

It's better that way, I've come to learn. Keeps the magic alive.


The whole bedroom filled with doves.

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