The Luck of a Fallen Angel


I might possibly have been confronted with death today. Or is that Death? Capital “D” and all?

A body on the sidewalk with blood smears on my way to work.

An image I don’t think I will shake. A feeling that has stuck with me since 7am.

Now, was he really dead? I have no clue. I wasn’t about to go touch him or poke him. Fuck, no. His neighbour was on the phone with 911. I made sure…or else I’m pretty sure that would have been me on the phone.

“Yeah…I think I’m standing next to a dead body here in Woodside, Queens. Can you send someone to make sure? I’m pretty freaked out and don’t want to be here.”

So that’s how my morning started.

I went about my day making the same jokes, listening to the same music, doing the same work. Death always peaking over my shoulder, whispering in my ear.

And you know what?

Death really fucking freaks me out. Fuck the grim reaper and all of that. The thought of being put into the ground scares the shit out of me.

I mean, sit there, think about it. You’re older, you’ve lived. You can now feel your body about to crap out on you and that’s that.

What’s next? Just dirt? Heaven? Hell?

Honestly, I’m not sure i really want to find out.

And that may be my point, if I have one.

To me, life is to be lived. To be enjoyed. In excess. I’ll never run out of dreams or goals. I’ll never want to stop. If I could, I’d cheat death at every step until I was damn well ready to embrace the boney bastard.

And maybe…that’s where magic comes in.

See, I’ll deny it to most people. Hell, most people would probably never ask me. But I know a lot more about magic and the occult than I let on. From voudon prayers and drum beats to haughty Crowly-esque rituals, tarot, simple bindings and banishings.

I find it all interesting. I’m addicted to it. My book shelves are full of it.

I never thought to stop and ask myself why, though. I’ve never tried magic to gain money, or love, or anything like that.

But, then, today— walking down 63rd St. towards Roosevelt to catch the Q45…it hit me. Why am I addicted to this shit that most people don’t believe in?

Because it’s a fucking chance. It’s a gamble at escape velocity. It’s a shot in the dark pointed right between the eyes of death.

Magic isn’t about conjouring demons or angels or picking the winning lotto ticket. Magic is about changing your reality. You don’t like the way something is going, fucking change it.

I want to change mine.

It might be selfish. Hell, it might be a damnable offense. But, you know what? I’m not ready to die. I won’t ever be.

It might be by the luck of a fallen angel, but if I don’t die until I’m ready- I will then happily take the consequence.

So fuck you, Death.

Advertisements

About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
This entry was posted in Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s