Storyteller – I am!

A story must emerge from one’s own pattern, from one’s own understanding, and one’s own ability.

Attempt: Revolutionize storytelling.

Goal: Vocalize my stories to express my ability as a storyteller, creatively expressing my voice and to an audience both family friendly and magic-user beloved.

Some words are too wonderful to be explained, and too many are more than meets the eye. They all somewhat resemble the most delightful and majestic manner in which a little creature, a flower, and a rock all exist in harmony together. Sometimes they believe in themselves and they do wonderful accomplishments.

“I healed a toad, yesterday,” said the flower to the rock.

“I ate a fly,” said the rock, and chuckled.

The rock’s companions looked at him strangely.

This is where normal ends and magic begins.

“What if magic is a chance at making your life before living it?” thought the little creature, a honey-eyed faerie. She made a swish gesture with her hand and so much happened.

Mizra-Bayen sat on the rock looking up at the sky. He was hoping for adventure, somewhat, and happy at the day as it presented itself. So many books lay inside his room that he could not make sense of them from time to time. He had discovered a course of self-awareness developing tools that were delivered to him in the mail last week that he had decided to work through. Not that he had needed too much help but a little bit to find out where he was going in life and how he was going to get there could not hurt, he had supposed.

There came a buzzing in the air that initially sounded like an insect but then grew so that it sounded like a number of insects. He then found that the sound had increased to sounding like a chain-saw.

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked to the east, from which the sound was emanating. Something perverse seemed to be tickling at his awareness, with the sound, and he could not place it as anything familiar having since developed from a minimal insect sound to something almost otherworldly.

He stood on the rock and decided to go investigate.

Mizra-Bayen was about six feet tall, with an assortment of odd accouterments dangling from his person. He had minor beakers and bottles in a pouch around his waist. There was a piece of woolen cloth of a grey color around his neck and over his shoulders with a red edge that was knitted to look slightly evocative. Especially, he thought, with my red eyes. He chuckled as he picked up his staff, constructed from 24 bronze water connection pipes and two screw caps. He made his way to the buzzing.

The glyphs that were dremeled into the sides of each of the segments reflected various callings to power sources that Mizra-Bayen had worked with and who had remained privy to his working with them; they worked in harmony and fluctuated with the in and out flow of his breathing. The staff was an extension of his milamrian, his dreaming self.

There were a great number of dynamics that came from the Milamrian, which was to say, the dream. He had tapped into and honored various aspects of his encounters with that realm, seeking to beautify his person and adapt charisma and charm to a undeniable degree, for others.

Mizra-Bayen took great caution when working with such techniques for there was an ongoing connection that brought to the physical a number of unseen consequences if one was not careful. One of these was a banal nature that would forbid one from actually accessing the dream itself. Another might be attraction of unforeseen beings or intelligences that meant one harm.

Yet this one particular buzzing had caught Mizra-Bayen by neutral indifference, he had felt compelled to roll along through the various realms through which materialistic language had no real hold.

Time began to tick.

A roar sounded.

It was not the lamb whose silence when disturbed could be the most troubling of sorts of a roar, but would be the source of the buzzing as well.

Expressing a cut-up technique similar to Burroughs, there is a group of unifying intelligences, personalities, subset errata.

Some of my writings and words are merely to flesh out the magical verisimilitude. Whether it appeals to individuals or not is a matter of conviction and understanding. We do create reality, and such a remark is soooo often forgotten, so often set apart from us, and so often fearfully approached that no actual genuine appraisal and effect is had, from the initial cause which is the attempt to act intentionally.

Somewhat irrationally an experience is encountered that is silence should be approached, with great reverence of course.

Mizra-Bayen found himself at the face of a grand monster, with ten eyes, ten arms, and tenderness lacking.

“Fool!” cried Mizra-Bayen, “You have met your doom!”

With that our beloved character dashed in and smashed six of the eyes with his staff in one fell swoop. It died instantly and the buzzing stopped.

Wonderful, and that was the secret. Magic was a chance to make your life before living it. So you had to do it from the end, that was the trick, and the past was present and present was future, and such, but the point was that the beginning was from where the moment you sat down and decided to do the work necessary to make your life as artful and beautiful, as delightful and as fun as you wanted it to be.

So, magically, the ending was naturally the happiest moment and the beginning was your coming into being from the dream.

The middle is filled with countless moments and far more than mere countless, but really without limit. Not nothing, there was no nothing in store for you. Everything that could be conceived of was for you and you have everything you need to make it perfect.

So how does it work? What are the rules? Perhaps an example.

Well maybe your sitting there in your living room and you think about something, a chair for instance, in a certain way. Then the next thing you need is someone to come and fill the chair with their wonderful company and so they do. So you turn off your phone, or maybe just don’t heed it for a moment, and ignore all other illuminated devices where your attention is more fixated on enjoying the other person’s company, because they actually happen to be your father and you love your father as dearly as possible.

Only thing was, this happened in the past. Now do you wish to make it the future or just realize that it happened and that it was a moment in your life, and one you’ll treasure forever? Maybe you could bring back the dead, so to speak, and relive the past but that’s not really what you’re about is it?

No, no, no.

You happen to think to a moment, a different moment, at work where someone you care for is bringing books into your little shop and dropping them off to get some trade credit or maybe even a little bit of cash, which is something that your business offers as a service.

Now in the moment you notice a particular pattern: East, South, West, and North. Only they aren’t really as such but more internally, or other dimensional as opposed to the merely physical dimension.

This is sorta, kinda, making you a magician isn’t it?

So maybe some more, you’ve messed with time a bit, and even explored some new dimensions.

An idea: you’ve already had that and as such have stated it in the second sentence of this book.

So here it is. It’s true, and you really have all moments and all existences necessary to make a method and a manner to your reasoning and your deductions, your hopes and dreams, and your apotheosis.

An accident happens and you think to correct it, then go so far as to do it, but then think to yourself there’s something a bit more to the way the text had accidentally arranged your word, or typo.

Someone hears something you said but not in it’s entirety. Someone didn’t hear you at all, and you chose not to act on correcting the situation, whatever correcting means in this particular instance. You’ve dabbled in this, you’ve dabbled in that, always thinking: yeah this is grand, but still…isn’t there something more…touching?

And here it is again, the dogs paws click their toenails across the floor and as she plops down on the ground there is a compulsion to write a novel in this manner, befitting all these ideas but with a different audience in mind than you usually think. For in the past you have thought about what you should write and about the content, making it great, etc. etc.

So there’s the calling, the magic, that says “Hey there! I’m me, and you’re you, it’s nice to get to know you and me, ho ho! Why don’t you put me and you in the story altogether nice and fashionable-like.

In the beginning there was a bunch of stuff, and stuff sorta shifted around and I found you.

I mean, what else was there to do? You were you, and there was me, magic, and I needed a magician. You worked at studying me for years, and continue to do so and I figured I’d talk to you, and work with you, and appear before you, in manners befitting to me.

A memory perhaps? Right now do you remember the dog you used to have growing up?

We had many dogs, but yes, I do, his name was Hank.

How was your family dog, Hank?

He was a good dog. He hurt himself once when I threw a stick for him and he ran over and on top of a sharp piece of wood that went up into his stomach, missing anything incredibly vital but we took him to the vet and got him fixed up.

I was that stick.

Damn you. I forgive you though.

That forgiveness is important. It too is another phenomenon. It is something that you can return to and nurture and appreciate, appreciation being itself another phenomenon capable of the same thing.

You’re saying that I can-

Remember when you had deja vu about an event that was to come, only to not have it come? Remember those events when something told you that an event was coming and it did find your little world of experience? There is so much you do not know, magician.

I remember those moments. I feel as though there is a time when things can be beyond the memory…

But is that not what you wish to write? A book that invites in and a book that is organically written in the present moment, about the present moment?



Yes. There are moments that I see, there are moments that I hear and that I experience that are unique to me, and why should I make any sort of deal at the arrangement of individuals around that one I care for, at the recollection of the work day, but beyond the fact that I do care about the experiences as they happen to me because they are what happens to me, ultimately. While I may be loved, feel and know it, during the course of these unfolding events there is something to the fact that life is what you make of it.

Indeed. So, dearly beloved, what am I?

You are many things, and one thing. You are wonderful and chilling, but mostly wonderful. You are listed definitions, re-defining.

A candle was lit, and the man sat in front of it. His mind was still and focused. He knew there was something of a complication in the manner in which twenty other versions of himself were also thinking about the worlds coalescing and colliding. Like some mandalic caricature with many facets and many heads, many minds and many personalities, eyes and flailing arms, he sat attempting to focus.

His books at his side and the memory of a beloved person in his mind, he would repeatedly bring his focus to the flame. He is inviting in energies and beautiful convocations made up of intricate particulars and variegated, miniature, playing creatures. They provide continual re-affirming existential oil to keep the wheels going inside both his mind and the mind of those they sought out in concert with the wizard’s thoughts, his intentions, and his magic.

It was true this was the darkest thing that could have happened. The end of magic and the resulting mediocrity of the remainder of whatever was left when magic was not around. But it was true too that the wizard knew something of the nature of change that could take place in the brain of his target, a magician who worked in the local village as a bookkeeper for a larger more industrious business.

It was difficult gathering his incarnations to become as one thing before this mind of this magician.

There was a multiverse awaiting exploration and yet the wizard wanted to work this little bit, before returning through a city of doors to the realms beyond and far away.

He knew that the magician’s mind was a silent and still thing, aware of the worker, and the potential marvels that could be made. The wizard thought it was a dear encouraging marvel that he himself was able to work on this mind in such a regard.

So the end of magic. The unfocusing of the realm of the third dimension, devoid of any particular interpretation and the interweaving of unspoken unkindnesses into something beautiful and happy for a great portion of the population, so long as the magician-mind would desire such a thing. Which invariably it would because all goodly things desired to be loved and to experience compassion as a primary pattern.

Seven cups surrounded one of the wizard’s incarnations in a uprising moment, something that was swinging around to manifest from the future. They would soon swing around to the unmanifest and then to the Deep. Once in the Deep, the sight of the wizard would be focusing the intricate and beautiful machinery of the universe to the attention of the magician.

The magician would be free, to easily transition between dimensions, realms, and planes, and who would bring back a long lost magic to the the realms that are. This was the wizard’s goal. The magician was tied into the books he had read, the cards he had spread, and the tools he had attempted to get to work, not to mention the endless fabricated sleight-of-hand illusions that had occupied his earlier years. The magician needed something new, something fresh, something that was understood as mediating powers from dimensions unseen. Dimensions that were not physical.

Going through the orbit of the consciousness, in which magic resides one moment and paradoxically not the next, the wizard’s timeless quality made him reside in many places at once. The seven cups had moved into dissolution. Fourteen of the incarnations had resolved via a bit of focus on the part of the half-aware magician.


Magic effused through dimensions and from everything, entailing an even greater everything.

Some super-conscious beings that will remain without description to this narrative sat communicating simultaneous makings and creating further intricate combinations of light patterns, geometries, color codes, and sound platforms.

-Back at the candle, with the wizard-

So much in so little, the wizard exalted. His cups had moved into the Deep and the final six incarnations had lined up and had united understandings of many-faceted intricacies, beautiful fractals, images, and plain old physical matter. Together at last the understandings could be imbued into the imagination of the magician, and in fact already were. Here they would sift into the mind slowly, and with great care, gradually teasing the mind of the individual with cantrips, spells, workings, love and tenderness enfolding and strength to protect. The magician was about to be free.

-In the Deep-

Cup Seven to the remaining cups: “I am but the portal of you six, into the world of the numinous, the transcendent and the diversely infinite. You six are my collective.”

Cups One through Six intone: “We are our collective, goofball. We are in the Deep now, according to the wizard, and are free to do about our own stories, intentions, creatives, and livelihoods.”

Cup Seven: “Erm, yes, right right!”

-Amid the mind of the magician and emerging wizard –

“So, I’m the thought that is going to explain what is going on to the rest of you neurons. Here is a memory of a wizard teaching you magic and simultaneously there is a compulsion in you all to take the items in front of you: cheese, knife, plate, and cup and arrange them to do something remarkable. In doing so you’ll happily realize there are countless different realms and exciting new vistas to orient yourself around, to, and from as well as all working together or seemingly separate you, mostly, are free. A few of you who desire to remain captured and steadfast will remain so, the rest of you orbit around them! The wizard made us to alleviate the poor magician from unhealthy habits and patterns!

“The wizard made us, through magic, and magic is how we express ourselves,” the neurons knew. As a neurons fire so does the brain eventually know. It was done.

-The magician’s room-

Woah! Multi-what?? Dimensions…where?? Everything…


Kryphon’s mind reeled, things snapping and shuttering inside and out, internal and non-physical worlds colliding with external events via his breath. The drink of philosophy seemed moot. The card tricks ample fodder for folks who must see them. The universe was his. Or at least some of it. He mind reeled once again at the profundity of it.

Kryphon realized he was free.

He stood up of his own volition and cocked one leg behind the other, at a triangular angle. He stood for a moment and mediated something akin to an emotion yet far more subtle and fibril. He was free. There was no tendency to leap into doing something mindless, and there was no tendency to smoke cigarettes, to drink booze or to go out socializing. Actually the only compulsion, which Kryphon noted he could keep at bay and sway slightly on one leg and whistle a cheery melody, was to sit down quietly, still his mind and focus on the candle.

He could feel the draw to the flame simply because of its actual real quality of being a door to these subtler, inner, and finally non-physical dimensions. But he was aware of this world.

This world was falling apart, he accessed a memory. Current political schemes, people conveying anger and frustration due to simple misunderstandings, and fear of powers unseen and rightly so – for their lack of mediation, left people standing in the streets and moving about their lives as though there was something far more sinister at play than appearances were letting on.

Kryphon had been to a place known in a certain mythos as Hell, he had ventured to a supernal realm that majestic and deservingly regal characters called Asgard, and he had been to the depths of a countless realms searching for the key so sunken treasures. He had found them. All of them. On his own. Probably wouldn’t go back to Hell anytime soon, but then again had no need to. He had learned of his freedom.

Equally important, he knew himself. His brain synapses fired and magic flared, a bit of cloud came down to rest in his hand and he cocked his leg back to rest on the ground, and he on it.

Nothing was fixed, except the alchemical salt. Everything the Shift in the continuum.

He remembered his tools: the cup, knife, cheese and all. He focused on them. Gradual trails of clarity and many other paths were opening up. All from the infinite universes compacted into universes nesting-box-style.

Kryphon was choosing to stay in this world until his work was done. Sleight-of-hand tucked away into a various sleight-of-mind techniques he disassembled his magical makeup and evaporated with intention to appear at a crucial nexus.

So he did. He dropped several of Metatron’s Cubes upon the resolving, revolving multiverse and snapped his fingers. Manichean thinking disappeared. People became more happy, more certain, more present.

More Cubes. They were manifesting patterns. Kryphon hid behind a couple.

Coincidentally a fellow walked by talking on his phone and exclaimed “You can do that??” to his buddy on the other end. What was the remainder of an old nasty habit exclaimed “Yes!” and then evaporated into the other simultaneous events being pulled down from a more positive realm. Kryphon was weaving like a madman, only more intuitively and most unconsciously. Consciously he was focused on an old friend.

Hey! Kryphon thought, and Jemin appeared.

Jemin was a kindred spirit, and happy as could be. Both of them started and looked at one another and realized the distance that some part of them had come. They both realized the recursive fractals that were images of themselves were spinning away into feelings of goodness and pleasantness, exaltedness and happiness and then returning to them manyfold in intensity and proper balance.

They both realized their higher dimensionality.

The universes were theirs, the multiverse was a joy to be had and the spirit of adventure was alive and calling.


The wizard sat before the flame, happy to see his creation at play. Stillness pervades.

Magic, thought the wizard. So it was. A little discipline and a little time, and anyone and anything could have magic. Work it, act it, create it, or make it. It was undeniable and inevitable.

Magic. If you want it, it’s yours. The wizard smiled through his flame.

I sincerely doubt that I am insane. I believe for the most part I am poorly understood, and maybe even a little lonely.

This series of stories is an ongoing attempt to reach a larger audience, and to perhaps receive funding to continue the story in the manner most befitting to me.

Many will, my humble assumption is, think that this storyteller is merely absorbed in his own little world, and is absorbed – more importantly, with his own personality and the sound of his voice.

While this is partially true there are many things left unsaid here for a reason.

Persona, and ego, model vs. fact.

I don’t pretend to overtly say anything about the nature of the real, exactly, but there are things that I would like to say, as a storyteller.

So hence the clauses and brief entertainments, interludes, and apparent non-sequiturs.

Now a bit with the story!

Out of emergence, out of chaos, and out of the vile dribble stuff of ooze and un-fine puss there emerges a beautiful thing. Lo!

Such is the nature of chaos, once in a while there emerges a true diamond. Gotta work for it, but it’s there all the same in all the same manner.

So we have our diamond, but what is more interesting is that seemingly stuff through which it emerged. At least I think so.

Chaos. Khaos, Xaos, so many words and names. Prime Materia, Soul of the World, the Deep.

-giggle- collective unconscious. Bwa ha!

Pursue an ongoing narrative rich with internal characters and connections and eventually you will see what you hoped to see, and it is as it is. Real or otherwise, it is tantalizing in it’s implications.

There are too many models to be used, there are too many wobbles to be oozed, and there are too many seriousnesses to be radicalized.

Leaders are hidden in the Deep. In the context of said metaphors there are gods and goddesses ad nauseum.

Now a bit with the story!

Out of emergence, out of chaos, and out of the vile dribble stuff of ooze and un-fine puss there emerges a beautiful thing. Lo!

Such is the nature of chaos, once in a while there emerges a true diamond. Gotta work for it, but it’s there all the same in all the same manner.

So we have our diamond, but what is more interesting is that seemingly stuff through which it emerged. At least I think so.

Chaos. Khaos, Xaos, so many words and names. Prime Materia, Soul of the World, the Deep.

-giggle- collective unconscious. Bwa ha!

Pursue an ongoing narrative rich with internal characters and connections and eventually you will see what you hoped to see, and it is as it is. Real or otherwise, it is tantalizing in it’s implications.

There are too many models to be used, there are too many wobbles to be oozed, and there are too many seriousnesses to be radicalized.

Leaders are hidden in the Deep. In the context of said metaphors there are gods and goddesses ad nauseum,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *