dark tinctured broken somewhat like a bat wing or blown out umbrella. It lay like a piece of trash by the trail.. I’m malgumfloress no need to translate cause its already in your language. Mental sickle tuxedo wrapped around the handle, bow down good sir and serve the tiny ants that balance on the grooved carvings in the flowerpot, ashen flowerpot made out of cement and holding no plants but having that strange dark dirt speckled with white clumps of who knows?
And what captivated you so much about magic? I would have to say the reason is that its hidden but its right in front of you and it permeates to all corners of your perception. Can you give us an example?
Close your eyes and see the brownish black crackling of film. Hear the fuzzy crackle of vinyl. Pips and beeps and boopos. Light that dances but has no form. No shape but a rhythm nonetheless , the color can best be described as the color of a hole. And then a very silent explosion! And your eyes are open and the dancing light hole have become one and begin surrounding your head like a white blood cell gong for the prey. This is the immutable intranslational part of the experience, the things in front of you quietly screaming that every single section of everything, (because its all sections sectioned off) every section is completely unique. All things animate or not have a personality and character . Think of the human being as the tip of a pyramid which can easily see itself but and is exalted in its surroundings but has no sense of what is underneath him or the inverted pyramid above him.
Coming in and out of peripheral experience so fast it ceases to exist but only in the past. …and maybe I’ve lost my audience. But I have just now decided that my audience is to consist of those who find this paper half soaked in the street and look past its obvious bulkiness of print and decide to investigate the code I have presented.
Cmon get sucked through the hourglass of disbelief and blast out the other side.