Magic for Apples

I spend all-souls day airborne, as free as a ghost. My card-hand takes a rest, as it took me all the way to the northeast, where it's cold and the leaves are as orange as the jack-o-lanterns that this holiday brings. You'll never know who you'll meet or re-meet on the way in the life of the itinerant conjurer. My magic has been seen by far-away eyes, and my poems have been spread across the countryside: mission accomplished.

I watch myself restlessly, as I watch the city lights of New York dwindle in the distance from the plane's window. Money-making doesn't matter, I think to myself, and minds of peace cannot be purchased. Why am I restless after doing a good show, a good job?

My childhood friend comes back to life, with the art of magic, and I wish like a genie I didn't have to let him pay me to do that. Astonishment is a priceless gift, no matter how many plane tickets to Cebu I'd like to buy, or how much bread I'd need to put on the table. I wander the skies with a show over my shoulder, now tucked away neatly in the backpack under my seat. New York was cold, but made me feel warm with the hospitality the wanderer in me was shown. I savored the fleeting attachment, the temporary bond, as my "client" let me into his family for the past few days, and made me feel welcome with homemade pulled-pork sandwiches, a couple of beers, and a bag of freshly picked apples for my family back home.

I offered them what magic I could. Do mutual exchanges, or transactions, have to happen? I wish for the freedom to work for free: to be a sword for hire, for nothing. Love is what moves me. I would let the money I made from this past gig fall out of my hands and out the airplane window if I could. Doing what you love for those who show love back should be priceless.

-antidote

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

Hi Magic

You have been so good to me. You give me work, and bread- it's not about the money entirely! You give me plane fare so I can see her. You give me, an escape from the stress of missing her. You give me an outlet for when I have no one else to turn to. You give me the crowd! To loose myself in, and immerse in their reactions. You give me the ability to make people happy! You give me social skills, because I am a social retard at heart. You give me a passion I can pour my heart into, and if I do, you love me back! I love you, art of magic. You give me something to commit to, and build, and stay with for the rest of my life. You give me knowledge of self, and through you, I can see all my flaws and imperfections, but also my strengths, too. Because of you, I know I am slow: in speed of mind and hands. Because of you, I have patience, and the drive to polish my mistakes. Musashi had his sword, and the reflection of himself on his blade. I have that, too. You are my sword, magic! And I serve you and others through it. I find God through your practice: the divine feelings of baby-mind astonishment I give to others, the compassionate heart of wanting to perform for others, the peace of accepting how things come out, the freedom of being able to embrace my eccentricities in performance, the rhythm of being able to dance with my hands, the sight of things greater than myself in showing my spectator something amazing, and...her! I met her through you, magic. I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be without you, magic. I love magic. If you are a magician and are reading this, examine your relationship with this awesome art form, and fall more in love!


-antidote

God Loves Magic

A holy man from Cebu City, Philippines, came to my place today to lead a prayer session. While eating, he walked up to me and asked if I still did magic, and if so, how was it? "Maayo ra," I tried to say to him, showing him I had bisaya up my sleeve. Means "it's good," I think, and I proceeded to say "akong trabajo" (it's my work). He said he loves it because...

it makes people happy. And asked me to keep doing it for that reason.

When I was in Cebu City, my girlfriend Agnes said she loves watching the reactions of the people I do magic to. They are the paintings, I told my friend mark on a drive across the state of Florida. We divulged on this topic for some time. I once remember a horrible set I hit at Agnes' apartment. It was one hour of me freestyling under-practiced sleight of hand on her skeptical cousin in laws. I could seriously hear them calling me out on 50% of my sleights during the set, as my bisaya has been improving with each visit to that city. I remember later that night, she texted me thanking me for the set, because I had no idea how happy it had made them. While I was busy focusing on me, little did I know that it made them laugh and smile and end their day memorably.

People are happy, and if you can make them that, or bring that out of them, you are doing God a favor. You are blessing their day with a moment of positive energy. It's an intangible contribution to the world, the feeling of astonishment, happiness, laughter- all of the above. To extend a simple coin trick to a kid in a corner is like giving them a million dollars.

I'm more and more realizing the position us magicians are in to serve God and love one another through this art form. The simple un-indifference shown by taking time out of your day to show someone something incredible, something they've never seen, is an honor to transcend.

I do magic, because people like it. People love it. They smile when they see it. They see differently when they see it. They feel deeply when they see it, and sometimes forget explanations and blindly believe. This feeling of Jadu, or jade, or something precious as the Hindus call it, is a slice of nice. I have a pie of that in my existing repertoire, and skill set, regardless of my bad sleight of hand and performance imperfections. I serve magic. I Jadu magic. Dr. Irizari, the holy man from Cebu simplified everything I do to one reason only: it makes people happy. And because of that, I am blessed to say that I am happy with what I do.

-antidote

Magician vs. Magic

What are the effects that do well? The paradox of any art form is doing what you love vs. doing what they love. Can I learn to love what they love to see? Of course! The magician's best paintings are in the faces of the crowd, and nowhere else:

- coin spins, rises, and bends in mid-air
- empty beer can seals and refills itself
- balls vanish in magicians hands and reappear in the spectators'
- chewed-up piece of gum is stretched and restored
- dozens of rags overflow from the magician's hands
- rubberband transforms into silver necklace
- forks bend and twist at the magician's will
- endless amounts of coins are plucked from thin air
- sand produced from magician's fingertips
- leaves change color in magician's fist
- eggs produced from magician's mouth
- matches jump and break at the snap of magician's fingers
- $1 turns into $100
- hot cheeseburger appears inside burning napkin

Notice anything? No cards! And most of these aren't that creatively or technically or artistically challenging to do compared to what I find myself doing- the less, the better. And all these effects can be simplified to play to a child audience.

Now this is what most magicians find themselves wanting to do:

- selected card appears in between two other selected cards
- selected card pops out of deck at the flick of a wrist
- selected card switches places with another selected card
- selected card moves inches from its original location in the deck to the top
- selected card changes into another card
- selected cards are shown in different places of the deck, lost, shuffled, and dealt out on table again
- selected card is 26th card from the top, as predicted by the magician
- selected card goes into deck and is found by the magician
- selected card isnt 9 of spades (magician knew that)
- cards dealt down in piles..magician knows where aces are
- selected cards..values..numbers..flat, 2d..paper..
- deck of cards vanish at magician's fingertips!!!

Good magic is so simple. Why is it that the older us magicians get, the more complicated we make magic seem?

-antidote

Empty Hands

The best fighters win without using weapons- that's a skill. No guns, swords, or arrows- just empty hands. I'm begining to meditate on this as a magician: swordless samurai. Why do we insist on charging into a crowd with a deck of playing cards? The limitations are subtle, and so many more sights exist outside of the single island that is a magician's deck. Magicians tend to maroon themselves on this prop, navigating any gig or venue with supreme confidence that everything they'll need for a good show will come straight out of that cardbox. They use it for mentalism, manipulation, quiet transpositions, crazy stunts, color changes, penetrations, and anything else in their magical vocabulary. Why is it that this prop deserves so much popularity? I've been meditating on my dependence on the deck, or the sword, as a means for performing survival, and come to the conclusion that there is life without a deck. As fond as I am of it, my spectators would be relieved to see more. I'm feeling magic with fire, matchsticks, gum, soda, forks, napkins, coins, necklaces, Ipods, leaves, and even sponge balls again- they all just seem so much more 3D than the flat surface of a ribbon spread. In other words, I want my hands empty again. My friend Sam aka Remy Connor said there's better magic out there, when I asked him why he's been so cardless. A deck of cards is a magician's compass, but like any crutch, it can become an addiction. There is my instinct outside of cardwork, and magicians can survive without it. I'm going cardless for a while. I'm curious to see how I'll do.

-antidote