Sunday 15 December 2019


The only distraction to my mind these days, by which I mean the past 2 weeks, is the occasional consideration of whether it is myself who has gone insane, or whether it is Chef Sensei. For days now he has said nothing to me but Long shot! Quicksilver! Magick! etc. Burgers were burnt, fries over-blanched.  I daresay I have of necessity become the short order cook and master of the food dojo Chef Sensei always saw in me, by virtue of his dropping all pretence of communication in favour of my spiritual enlightenment. And still he  persists. All day, everyday, variations on the exact ordering of: Magick, spiral, bishop, quicksilver, longs


I've determined at least that these are all names of characters from Marvel comics. Basic research has also confirmed that all of these characters are capable of or associated with some kind of teleportation, astral projection, or interdimensional/time travel within the canon Marver multiverse.

I lie awake for hours every night before sleep takes hold, waiting in anticipation of the hypnogogic aura, going over the names in my mind, reciting them aloud in various combinations. To no end. Chef Sensei, for all of the jarring nonsense he insists on talking, seems patient with my progress. Later, I would come to understand that this was because of the thc in my fatty cells. At around this point, about a month since I swore off weed in acceptance of Chef's insistance that it was necessary for the full clarity of my third eye, the flow of the thc built up in my bodily tissues would begin to reverse itself, releasing into my sleeping and waking mind, preparing me for the final stage of my training.

My dreams in this time were of lurid colours and wild scenes. The intensity and importance of events I witnessed in dreams seemed significantly heightened, the memories of them I could carry over in my waking life more vivid. The very understanding of what I was experiencing nightly had me shook. I was changing and changed by the lives I led on Other sides, as I watched myself grow old and die, watched loved ones die and be reborn, as I watched all of history and of my own life and current initiation playing out in joycian witt, as I danced with witches and smoked iboga in the libraries of Harry Potter university, as Roald Dahl's Willie Wonka and I faced off against technicolour ninjas to save my family. The exercises in dream memory retention and lucid dream-hopping which my chef sensei had beaten into my reflexes were paying off large. I dreamt I was the Nightcrawler, Kurt Wagner, bampfing from one world to the next in Quantum Leaps. I knew that without smoking, I would have to rely on my training in order to dreamfast the connection between realms during the moments of hypnogogic ingress. I was ready to recite the names in order. As the aura overtook me, as the world around me dissolved in swirls of optic noise, I spake:

doctor strange long shot quicksilver spiral cable bishop scarlet which zero magick destiny gateway forge

And that's how I came to you, here in Parkdale.

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