My encounters with magic. When I was born, Mother had the fortuneteller write my fate in a raggedy red book. She kept it awhile in a tin box along with the money. The smell of old money and ink, and tin, and the cold ness of the metal, the weight of it…. that was my fortune’s rest. I wore red cloth triangle amulets, my walls where protected with diagrams of tiger. We believed that the somnolent body retired, but the nocturnal soul wondered as mythical beings, tigers to do combats. “Pilgrimage….escaped my mention..” Michael Stipe. When we were stranded on an island, we consulted the oracle; he used cards as a means of divination. Or how about the time when I crossed the ferry on Vancouver BC, and saw a whale? I bought a book on Magic.

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