What if I brought an agenda to chaos? Trying to turn magic into this certain thing… it doesn’t work.
I looked, and occult was real. I looked, and saw magic as my new path. Finally, my life would begin.
Heartache. The entities come when they want. They come during the day, then ignore me during my evening ritual.
I stop trying after several minutes of pressured emptiness.
What is in the way?
I bring something that is in the way.
Tonight, when I was ignored by Set, an old feeling of self-hatred came up. I have been ignored since yesterday by _______, whose Patreon page has a direct message link on it, promising me access at the level I have paid for.
I can face what must be faced. Unless I don’t know what is happening. My mind turns it over, and over… trying to package the crisis, give it a name, form a response.
Send out a search party. Invent a new drug. Repackage space travel. Live life at soil level. Sing on the forest stillness, exhaling the sweetness that seeps into me. But… can it really? Saturate me? Sink in at all?
Well right now, I am hitting the wall. This is probably not an accident.
I hate myself. Old, old… old feelings. I turned on myself, pressuring myself with a sadistic crush. It was something to do when I reached the end of hope, when I found myself twisting in the wind. I filled my body with fiercely compacted self-hatred.
I hurt myself emotionally. But it never made me feel better. It was a dead end.
Shit is getting real. This old poison. Why does it have to bubble back up again? Black bubbles, needing surface tension, reveal what is below when they burst.
Why? To deal with it (at last)? Or to be burned by it; the heat of purification that becomes fuel for the cold, cold fires below the ache.
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