I have a few favourite books. They’re not really the kinds of classics that I think educated people would be inclined to discuss in conversations but I think they’re strangely the classics of my life. If someone asked me to make a list of books I think it’s important for people who are interested in magic to read – I’d say Martin the Warrior and also Redwall by Brian Jacques, The Harry Potter books, Good Faerie Bad Faerie by Brian Froud, Tithe by Holly Black and The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.
This one was really important, if only for the bits about telepathy between twins. One time when I was “ill” – I was compelled to put my ear phones in my ears and at some point through the ringing I heard myself thinking. I actually heard my own voice audibly – which is not synonymous with schizophrenia. I heard thoughts I consciously thought and I was like “OH NO IS THAT WHAT MY VOICE SOUNDS LIKE” and closed my eyes and didn’t want to hear anymore. It immediately stopped.
And this one…
When I was about eighteen? nineteen? I guess my age is deeply unimportant in this story – but I was in Ealing Broadway Station and about to go on a long and boring journey to see my then-boyfriend who lived in Royal Albert – on a council estate in East London. I was perusing through the books and only one really caught my eye. I saw “The Book of Night Women” – and I picked it up thinking it was some kind of novel about prostitution. Having always been obsessed with Mary Magdalene I picked it up without thinking and read through the back. It was this cover.
I suppose to some extent that I’m inclined to credit Marlon James as one of my spiritual teachers – I initially wrote “it turns out, I guess, that through reading this book I manifested abilities that I have no idea that Marlon James taught me” but actually I think he really just made me aware of what was going on in my own head.
This is him ^
When I was “unwell” I carried this book around with me – I took it to the psychiatric ward but the medication I was forced to take made it impossible to read for much more than a few pages without having to stop and sleep. This is another of the covers.
Some part of me thinks it’s dangerous to encourage people to read books like this – at least I think my teachers might passingly consider that truth. There’s a bit in the Marlon James video where he says “dangerous? I hate the word”. I agree.
I’ve just seen Beyonce’s and Jay Z’s new music video and did the almost-tearing up thing – this painting and the Mona Lisa features in the video. I fucking love Beyonce and Jay Z. Lovelovelovelovelove.
There are more books I can’t think of.
Some time ago someone I know was writing a character who lives in solitude and he jokingly said “I still don’t even know what she does all day” and I said “stuff that makes her feel.” Strong feelings of any kind – especially love – create visible changes in the World. A lot of people learn about magic through being angry – it’s people that get a particular build up of energy that leads them to do things to themselves often, like cutting themselves. I upset my previous twin flame once and then there was a blood bath on the news – though no one seemed to take much notice of it. But his name was on streets surrounding the thing and it was clear to myself and him that it had something to do with him. The last time I’d ever meet him I essentially sat and thought about what it’d be right to say and I left it at “welldone” – for finding the ability to feel. Then I fell down the stairs before he said thanks and that was it.
The thing about “magic” is it firstly requires the ability to feel. And many people have no ability to feel – it’s something that they switched off in order to cope with their life path.
I remember aaaages ago at Uni I bought a Jason Atomic poster – Jason Atomic is an artist that was dating my favourite suicidegirl, Manko. It was a poster he had printed.
When I was sixteen I remember being obsessed with Manko – not sexually – just enjoying her using herself as a muse, incorporating influences and homages in her favourite pieces of art and literature to create “porn”. I fell in love with Jason’s art of her – in a piece called “passion play”. I’ve referenced it before. At some point someone had stolen a hat of his – that he had strong feelings of attachment towards. I even used his work as an influence for my GCSEs – I loved his scribbles. I remember reading in his blogs about how he would essentially fix his gaze to a subject and illustrate it without looking at the paper.
He flyer posted a self portrait with the dripping words GIVE ME BACK MY HAT – it was all over London, but I noticed it on the Picadilly line. (The Blue line.) Years later I bought a book from him – and that poster – and for an extra £7.77 I added to my payment, I requested a biro illustration of a scribble… which he kindly sent over. I remember one night during the start of my terrifying experiences I was thinking of him late at night – I might even have briefly seen him in a dream. Just his illustrated and dripping face – and then the poster, which I had hanging above my bed, fell on my face. I messaged him and at some point he told me that “visualisation” is perhaps the most important aspect of making magic. It’s nice I had him to speak to about it because I had lost touch with anyone I trusted enough to discuss the connections I was making with the things I was experiencing.
Since that a lot of people I know had belongings mysteriously go missing.
I had a crush on this guy in primary school – I’d later call him “fairy boy” – I’ve said I give nicknames to all my crushes, throughout time. He met up with me once outside of our primary school at some stupid o’clock in the morning after sending me this song – my favourite lyric was “my voice is quiet but my thoughts are loud”
In Harry Potter – theres a bit about an unforgivable spell called the “imperius curse” – where a caster basically controls a person and often uses that to indirectly commit crimes. It’s a delicate way of describing a truth – that kind of “possession” is actually very, very possible. My brother, sister and I have memories of my mother that she doesn’t share. It’s different to sharing energy – for example, girls who hung out with me back when I hung out with girls were inclined to dress ridiculously well and look beautiful all the time. Even the ones I didn’t like. They’d buy clothes that were sort of inspired by mine without really thinking about the fact that they were doing so.
Then I stopped hanging out with those girls and how I dressed changed, eventually it was just me and some terribly dressed wealthy hippies in overpriced fugly as fuck harem pants and I started looking un-cute. (If you are wealthy and you choose to dress like a hippie – YOU AREN’T UNDERSTANDING A FUNDAMENTAL ASPECT OF THAT CULTURE)
It’s weird – my mother showed me a photograph of her before she was introduced to the queen of England – she was gloriously dressed all in black. As if going to some terrible quiet death. So lets call this “BEFORE”
She was some epic 70s goddess if you’ve seen her in her youth – “BEFORE THE BEFORE 1”
“BEFORE THE BEFORE 2”
and then some pictures after you see her with my brother and sister, tiny and at either side of her … and she’s wearing the weirdest fucking outfit I’ve ever seen. The fuck is this????? My grandmother dressed my mother – my grandmother was asked to be a model and looked like Audrey Hepburn in her youth. As if you think this could go unnoticed????
AFTER HANGING AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE
These images are about three years apart – she was supposed to marry an Arabian prince. He went on Holiday and she ended up with the biggest loser ever. There are moments of her life she just doesn’t remember.
I’m not stating anything outrightly but I am inferring the fuck out of it. 🙂
I guess it’s tough meeting people who have less than you but are a bigger deal than you, huh?
I fucking LOVE Japan
Today I asked my mother about Japan – My grandparents were asked to live either there or in the UK. My grandfather was very outspoken about the living standards of the poor in Paraguay – and the Guarani people – they wanted him out of the country. He was offered two places – the UK or Japan.
They were in high demand by the Japanese Emperor (who had a HUGE crush on my grandma :p – which I imagine is why he chose the UK.) and today, acting quite uncharacteristic – she told me a radically different story from the one she’s been telling me my whole life. As if someone else was sitting in her body.
She claims she was left at home on my Grandparents trip to Japan… Though she’s also told me in the past that my grandmother berated her because she refused to eat sushi. She could also recall the name of the Japanese emperor – somethings not adding up, huh.
My grandfather was a diplomat – secret royalty too.
Someone joked once, after looking at the back of my head – “Karina you have a double crown” damn right
Jordan AND Israel. I’d love to meet Lizzi, I feel like she sort of raised me! 😡