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_________________ 5 39 pm pdt [ the witching hour ] I am home sick from work today, and hopefully will be all better when I wake up in Berkeley tomorrow. I hoping my flight won't be delayed tonight; Matthew's was when he came in last weekend. The cell phone is a beautiful technology in the airport; being stranded at LAX is one of the few times I wish I had a phone with me. Matthew's flight was quite delayed when he came in from Berkeley last weekend. He called often to give me updates, as the hundreds of people on the flight fought to go standby on an earlier flight. Airports are such great locals for people watching, and Matthew kept me posted on the strange sights and sounds he witnessed. He concluded that women get dressed up in rather skimpy attire to go to the airport. I teased him that it was because they knew he was there ungaurded. Matthew arrived last Friday at midnight. Normally, midnight is my bedtime, but I knew it would be a late-night weekend before he arrived. Midnight is this month's collab topic for on display. Every time I think about it, the tune After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang down traipses through my head. Midnight most strongly reminds me of quiet middle school afternoons when I had the house to myself and all I wanted was to be a witch. I understand the goth movement. I understand the desire to be a witch, vampire, or warlock -- to have something to explain why you feel so different from everyone else when you are a teenager. Midnight and the witching hour... spells cast, items burned, incantation... I spun my magic in the cooling Santa Monica afternoons. Like every other subject that interested me, I voraciously read anything I could get my hands on regarding the topic. There were times I believed. I didn't want to be so skeptical, so cynical. I wanted the slightest proof of any sort of metaphysical phenomenon. I meditated. I tried to levitate small objects, turn on lamps with me mind, and I once spent nearly an hour concentrating on being able to make my hand pass through the matter which made up my wall. I saw by candlelight and breathed by incense. I felt my connection to the infinite universe. I chose a sacred name for myself. I strove to join the psychic plane. I never succeeded. Before the year draws to a close, I shall turn 23 never having witnessed any small proof of anything remotely metaphysical. I once had a dream which I could describe as psychic but on my journey to Mt. Shasta I sought evidence for something in which I no longer believe. I asked the interviewees to read my auras and give me advice and I felt each was generic enough to fit most people and lacked the insight I craved. I still long for the proof that will shatter my view of the universe and shower me with greater understanding. Like so many childhood flights of fancy, midnight has passed from the mystical to the mundane practicality of flight arrivals. I long to have the whimsy back...
After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang down.
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