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tragic panic magic… a story

Aka-ra was shaking with a gun in his hand more than a little afraid, but on more than one occasion he has been growing a spine for these events, though magic indeed was chaotic sometimes to the point of irony. Though tonight was going to be different rituals of passage for this initiate who was yet to achieve the first part in his indoctrination yet to be, because feats or “tricks” of this level and experience required more than one person as caused by differing difficulties as added variables to the effect, but also dependent upon the parameters set by the other two also which were necessary elements of brutality and suffering in this case something needed to be sacrificed. And at this point of the game a trash martyr was what became absolutely vital to complete this ‘high’ ritual magic with the three of them were already charged in many phases of meditation chanting or focused intention and such actions as clearing their minds, and even a session of mutual masturbation or two in utilizing sexual energies at times of the most vastly-subtle though related to taboo and often underrated secrets core to the human animal with its great force of channel and furnace of the willful soul. Here Aka-ra was in front of the very appropriate choice of the homeless bum deemed worthy by Aza-tah, the one holding the camera steadily aimed at the two in conflict as a rapport formed, both a representative symbol of necessary conflict in potential tensions of energy transforming them as the atmosphere became electric with harnessing intent ready in commitment as much devotion, and also as an evidence of potent stored fetishistic item ‘artifacted’ for a ‘certain type of posterity’ that their masters held in case it was required that they in turn needed to “break their fall” if any kind of arrest or punishment were to strike. While Ath-ka as ritual ‘priest’ stood just out of range of the camera’s eye drawing and absorbing energies into himself, but he too was similarly a witness to this particular rite as he performed a slow low-toned growling chant while swaying a bit more uptempo then to slowing and back becoming the open conduit to all powers-that-be present tonight, and all of the ‘forgotten ones’ giving yet more energy and an audience to this enacting swift once a conclusion was called forth to appear in sudden crescendo finish. Each patient and almost a still life painting to a degree whose only obvious exception was the bum, cursing and crying and angry as much as afraid himself to die though also frozen in step where his mouth still moved, but as the menagerie broke scene to remain calmly open and ripe to a very palpable tension in the air and objects surrounding everything caught in these moments slowly passing here. The whole filmed series of occasions was only in question from a gun-wielding teenager about to consider himself a man and magician, though as he held his stance a voice of doubt raised behind his ears taking in solely the bum shaking before him dirty and uttering every obscenity as much the grungy costume built around months stacked of no bath but also scavenging through all random garbage to eat when shelters and churches couldn’t help him who then immediately began shitting and pissing himself, and within the moments that followed in a crying whimpering plea to all three to just ‘let him go!’ with such urgency. None of them was ever going to allow him to leave retaining his body, and ‘BANG!’, there the dead man lay as soon afterward gone.