Sunday, October 9, 2011

Figura Magica Talismano

I lived in an apartment complex in 1994.  When I first moved in, I noticed the next-door neighbor’s vehicle; it was a monster-truck of sorts, jacked up with huge wheels, with a motorboat in tow.  I then saw him, and he looked like the kind of guy I didn’t want to live next to.  So I decided to hex his apartment, and did a spell for him to leave.  It was less than a week later, there was a note of eviction on his door.  I never saw the guy after that.

However, this kind of thoughtless behavior and black magick have a price to be paid.  Not much longer after he had moved, and I was feeling relieved, my walls started shaking with booming sounds of rap.  It was LOUD, so fucking loud.  The cacophonous sounds and rage-filled lyrics were full of bile and violence.  A gangsta had moved in. 

He would leave his apartment with the “music” on, for hours at a time, blasting loud enough for the entire complex to hear.  My walls would shake.  And this went on, day after day, for a few months.  I eventually met him, talked with him, played the friendly-politics game with him.  He was not a bad guy, I could empathically tell that he had a heart, but he was obviously riddled with severe issues.  I would often hear him screaming and yelling at his girlfriend.  His girlfriend, who lived with him, was a very strong girl and didn’t put up with his shit.  His gangsta cronies would hang at the steps to the apartment, they’d be milling about right outside my door, quite often. 

Of course I knew that I had reaped the bitter fruit of having hexed someone that I didn’t even know, of having judged him by his appearance.  He might have been a very nice neighbor to have.  So I chalked it up to experience, and endured my karma; I didn’t try and change it.  I knew that in due time, that karma would work itself out. 

I just had a show of my art in Seattle, WA, which was at an adult venue called the Lusty Lady Revue.  The artwork they displayed for about a month was very provocative, to say the least; they were large pieces that were all 40x60 (inches) in size, quite large.  They packed quite a punch. When I was making my sampler of the works, there was a guy working at Kinko’s, graveyard shift (I didn’t dare take the works in during daytime hours), who went into an ecstatic state upon seeing the photos of the pieces; he said he wanted to come to my house, and that he was going to go “jerk off in the bathroom” after I left the store.  His eyes rolled up into his head as I was leaving the store, showing mostly the whites of his eyes.   

The works were displayed at a Pagan gallery in a very hip part of the city, and they were displayed eventually for months at an OTO-run store, whose basement was their temple.  I even got a call from the head of the Church of Satan, who wanted to display my works at his gallery that he was working on at the time (it never panned out). Needless to say, these works were very powerful.  I even donated one of the pieces to the local OTO, and they displayed it by the door of their inner temple.  Suffice it to say that these pieces were uncompromising. 

Little did I know that one of these sacred pieces would come to my rescue.  I had a large (40x60) painting called “Dionysian Priest” displayed in my living room of the apartment, in a glossy black frame, behind plexi-glass.  It was a strong, dark icon (see photo; it is an edited version, as this is a G-rated blog).  One day, for whatever reason, the neighbor gangsta invited me to his apartment, and we talked and drank some whiskey.  He had a expressed interest in art, so I told him to come and see what I’ve got on my wall. 

When he saw it, he was stunned.  He was at a loss for words, he was saying this and that, about how amazing it was, and jabbered on in that manner.  He stared and stared at it.  He then asked me to do a piece for him, and gave me a large canvas that he had started to work on himself.  He was nicer to me than ever, I would say he was warmly cordial, instead of being his usual attitude-ridden gangsta self. I took the canvas from him, and that was my last encounter with him.

And again, it was less than about a week later, that I saw his girlfriend, who told me that he had left for Alaska to go work in a fishing boat. He never came back. Soon thereafter his girlfriend moved out, the apartment was vacant for a few days, and a nice lady, who was a veterinarian, moved in with her large (but quiet) dogs.  It had been a sign that the karma for the hex had worked itself out.  And in the end, the process had been expedited by the mysterious talisman.