Port Toilet

The life of the itinerant conjurer continues, this time to the far flung gulf coast town of Port Charlotte, or "Port Toilet", as one of the disgruntled locals playfully put it. "There's nothing to do down here!" she said with a grunt.

We showed her magic. Mark hit Crazy Man's Handcuffs, Remy broke her cigarette and put it back together, and I would have done something, but was too busy watching her mood go from complaining about Port Charlotte to being happy in the moment of what she was shown.

Enter the Holiday Craft Fest Extravaganza, a two-month early outdoor Christmas party with hay, pumpkins, merchants, lemonade, and swampy Florida heat. We drove down here across endless stretches of Everglades, u-turning steadily from Ft. Lauderdale, down and through the grassy desert of everything west of South Florida, all the way to the gulf coast and north. So far! And so interesting, to see this forgotten town and their tiny festival.

I met a couple- a mom and a daughter- who had been reunited after 16 years of being apart! The daughter was 18, and ecstatic- they were already having a good day when they came to see my sidewalk show. I simply hit my go-to sword set for them- 1000 pieces to Freecap to Bookworm- and they bugged out! The faces I painted on them with these effects was liberating, for them and me. I feel like I might have helped them bond a little more, and gave them something to remember the day they got reunited by. The girl herself was a poet, so she particularly enjoyed it. I am so glad. They didn't tip me at all, and before I could drop a tip line, I held back, and realized they already paid me in appreciation. I loved that set.

I don't know who else I met that day- all the sets and crowds were a blur, since we were busking and grinding and working so hard because we didn't really get paid for this one- but that one little set in the forgotten coastal town of Port Charlotte stood out. And to me, it made it a cool place. I'm glad those people exist. I love the people who love the magic that we love to show them. We rode out of Port Charlotte that night, exhausted but content, with a little over $100 in tips, divied up three ways. Sam said he felt like a stripper, his pockets stuffed with ones. Mark said he hated work, and that the gig sucked! But he laughed about it, so that made it okay. I don't know if I told them about my set, but I left falling more in love with what I do, and knowing that the $33 I made that day can be used to by my girlfriend Agnes like 10 nice merienda dates at the restaurants in Ayala Mall in Cebu! I love how magic has served me- I serve it back, to others, and let my travels take me to awesome places. The saga continues!



-antidote

Wandering Magician Returns

The life of the itinerant conjurer is mine. I'm blessed to entertain my own romantic perspective with one of the oldest professions in history. I do travel city to city with my craft tucked away in my knapsack and slung over my shoulder. With my traveling show in my trunk, I take to the road, and drive into and out of sunsets. I cross cultural barriers on a weekly basis, spreading my cards before urbanites in upscale Miami to country crowds in the far flung corners of the state. I speak in poems, as I've always dreamed of, and imagine I'm reciting ancient incantations as I conjure away on my drawing board, making coins, rings, balls, and silks vanish and appear at my will. I meet mages of all swords and styles, and travel with them, like characters in an RPG party. Being a magician, is being in my own RPG game! I have summons, potions, maps, and scrolls containing only the moves that point me in the direction of my ultimate goal. I am on a winding sorcerer's quest to find my best self in my magician self- to transcend the illusions of the world in favor of something real and pure. I pray constantly at chapels the evening after a busy festival gig for this peace. I scribble in my journal, which is looking more and more like an artifact, any information or revelations that may lead me there.

In one gig alone- the Thornebrooke Festival in Gainesville this past weekend- I felt the blessings of this professions completely. I literally walked into the festival with nothing but a backpack slung over my shoulder, my raggedy suit on, and a fold-up table under my arm. I was ready to go! This place had been a proving grounds of sorts in my magicianal youth, as it was one of my first gigs as a professional. I walked leisurely into the heart of the event, taking in all the sights as I went- paintings, pottery, oragami displays, baskets, and other trinkets lined the sidewalks like a marketplace from Final Fantasy. I asked at various stalls for Bill, the event director. He looked exactly the same as he did in my youth! He did not recognize me, as it had been five years since I saw him last. He said I've grown up. I argued otherwise, with a smile. He showed me to my spot, right underneath the big wooden clock tower just like before. I set up shop and began.

The festival was full of colorful characters, who thoroughly appreciated my magic. I was able to express myself freely, without having to resort to crowd-pleasing effects or entertaining one-liners. I performed in poems! And everyone dug it, including the kids, which was strange, because I'd normally predict to go over heads with my poems. I was able to blend my poems and magic once again with success, and the fulfillment of realizing my artistic visions gives me a high like no other. And meeting the characters! As a mage, I'm exposed to the most interesting people every day. There was the overly observant abstact painter, who kept busting my chops every time I began an effect, only to express his appreciation for the work I put into it. He gave me a free painting of an earthy looking sky, with crystalized snowflakes over the icey surface. An RPG item! I met a fire-dancing gypsy from Detroit, who wandered the festival dancing with a floating cane and an overly big smile on her face. Perhaps she was that happy to get out of that stone cold city? I met up and reconnected with an old House of Flying Cards ally: Datta the Jazz Man himself! The rope master wielder greeted me and allowed me to sleep in his hammock for the night. I met a child named Paloma- what an interesting name- who was fascinated particularly that she was able to break infinity and restore it (in the hands broken and restored rubberband). I met, myself! My old self- the one that delights in romanticizing the regular. Being a magician is one of the most irregular professions I could ask for, and I can confidently say the way I saw it this weekend has made me fall more in love. I don't fall out of love with things- I fall more in love with them. I love magic just as much, if not more, than I did when I first picked up a deck of cards. And to think that the paycheck from that gig will lead me to my plane ticket to see her! I love you magic! Thanks for always finding a way to keep me amazed.

-antidote