A hand comes into frame very slowly. As the forefinger and thumb rotate gently, silently, friction, magic! An old silver dollar instantaneously appears into view. The story is about a man who believed in magic. He would sit and meditate and practice sleight of hand. The notion was, that until he could actually perform true feats of magic, that it was completely OK to resort to magicians trickery.
Every week he had a private magical ceremony in his kitchen, it was a dirty mess, with plates, glasses and silverware piled up in the sink. Hard crusty half eaten pizza leftovers from the other week on the counter.
He would light inscents on either side of the table and a few candles. A large circle was in the middle of the table and an overhanging light dropped down right over the circle. He placed his left hand directly above the circle. From a few inches higher the silver dollar was dropped into the left hand. It’s caught and you can see the tension and the hand grips tight. This tight dramatic clenched fist image is a strong symbol. Then slowly, the hand is opened, only to reveal that the coin is still there.
Close up on magicians eyes. Disappointment, yet determined. Another day.
Why would anybody want to do real magic? If they could, don’t you think that they might just lead a low key, yet extravagant, lifestyle. . . sitting at home conjuring up $1,000 bills.
What could be so good about being able to make that stupid coin disappear anyway. I asked him and he had some trippy, dippy, psycho babble bullshit answer about the coin representing opportunity and the actual disappearance of the coin occurring at a moment in time where a pulse of pure energy and love, I had to stop him. It was clear that my boots were not tall enough for the ever increasing level of bullshit I was being subjected to.
I like magic as much as the next magician, but this cat was tripp’en. What was curious about his schtick, was that he really seemed to believe that one day, he would open up his hand and the coin would actually be gone. I could tell by looking in his eyes, the longing and desperate need to fulfill his quest. Stupid as it may have been. He wanted to believe that that strong symbol of the fist foretold the future in a time where reality with be dealt a fatal punch, the earth will open up, Noah’s Ark will dock in Long Beach and all the animals will get off and visit friends at the zoo. Fairies will run rampant, even more so than they already do today. I see a Doug Henning retro bean bag bedazzled beheading machine all polished up and ready for network consumption in an era where the magic was as good as the acid.
What’s happened to the world. Where is Doug Henning’s dream now? Dead with him I guess.
3 comments:
For a minute there..... I was brought back to a dingy two room home in West Seattle, real life pizza crust, left on dishes piled in the sink and on the counter. No insence burning, but instead a musty cigar, smoking and smoldering in an ash tray, waiting for it's owner to pick it up and put it between his teeth, guests arrive, magicians and future magicians, coming and going all hours of the night.. some fooling others, a man in the corner taking notes... Smoke fills the room, music, lightly playing in the background, linking rings, clanging in the living room while others sit around a kitchen table covered with close-up pads of varying colors, and strewn with torn and bent cards that have lived their last... Awe and laughter prevail as the evening wears on.. The master of the home, pulls out an ancient Chinese coin with a hole in it's center, babbling something about how it used to fit over the ancients head and around their necks... the lovely clang of copper cups and balls rings out, drawing everyones attention, as the routine unfolds, heads nod in knowing love... a fan of cards appears from nowhere, everywhere... One takes his leave as another arrives..A coin flashes in the night as it rolls its lonely way across the knucles of an acolyte... The coin hits the floor, adding it's sound to the rising chaos.... memories, memories of a bygone time in West Seattle at a friend and mentors home... Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end...
or... Thanks for the memories!!!
"What’s happened to the world. Where is Doug Henning’s dream now? Dead with him I guess."
Say it isn't so. Please.
Doug Henning's dream is not dead - it's merely in hiding, waiting for Criss Angel to blow over...
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