Punk Fool Magic

Fuck all systems.

I kill systems. I kill systems. I kill systems.

Who am I?

I inhabit a position that is counter to most cherished and worshipped beliefs. I am an affront to the status quo. I follow no doctrine, I am chaos as balm.

Who am I?

I am the holy witness.

I am fate's child.

I have been shaped by death, poverty, mystery and misery. I am wound as a weapon.

I cannot fit in. I do not wish to belong. I am not of this world.

I am who?

I am corrosive. I burn and render meaning down to its essence. I am the inevitability of a broken bottle, laying smiling hidden beneath the sand.

I seek truth like a missile.

I am a danger to myself. I destroy the ground I walk upon so I might meet the burning heart of this world.

I am truth's greatest ally.

I will hold you, place my body in front of yours if it means the miracle you hold within has a moment more to manifest.

I will not give up, for I have nothing but the moment we hold between us. I greedily seek my end, so I might meet the secrets on the other side of forever.

I have no idea who I am, nor do I wish to know.

For as long as I can recall there has been a punk foundation to my practice as a magician and artist.

I recall one instance in particular, I am sitting in the office of the artistic director at the Finborough Theatre, I am listening to him telling me the many ways in which my script falls outside the confines of what is deemed correct, fashionable and appropriate, he tells that I must rework the role of the female doctor. To make her dialogue sound more appropriate for someone considered to be a doctor.