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Phantasmagoria
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Real and imaginary images dance before my psyche, and I’m endlessly amused by the show. The way in which I document these occurrences goes beyond mere words. For I’m inherently performative in my approach to showing up. Everything has a hidden meaning, and the patterns and designs I’m adorned with reveal subconscious missives. My salvos are often delivered in a cryptic fashion, and they’re not expressly directed at the oblivious target. For that’d be too easy, and I’m all about a challenge. Nowhere in my past have I ever possessed such cunning, or subtlety. It’s only arrived with age. It’s amazing how many things begin to make sense when you verify your sources.
Little ghosts surround us all the live long day, invisible to the naked eye. Existing in the periphery between translucent and opaque, we’re blind to their constant presence. Influencing our thoughts and actions without our knowledge, these disembodied ghouls hold the key. Sometimes an unconscious thought pulls us into a predicament and we blame ourselves, yet little do we know, the decision was made for us. I was never a traditional alchemist anyway. The magic I knew lived all around me, and rarely did I beckon any hellish imps to do my dirty work. Witchcraft was only ever employed as a means to an end. I studied the grimoires I could get my hands on tirelessly, but became educated on the theory…
