Word Weaponry: Spellcaster

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” Oscar Wilde

enigma

A Piscean moon rises to the surface exalted by its ninth house explorations. She senses a vampiric, succubuistic energy,  that masters in the art of shape-shifting – trying to get away with deception. Scoundreling through corners to peek at the shadows that she must learn to mimic. Not quite like this – perhaps this is close enough -who will be there as a critic? Even the best of forged copies will never come quite close to the original – for soulful imprints cannot be replicated. Soul depth is atypical. In her dizzying poison she casts spells of darkness that appear to the King as white magic enchantments. She bats her lashes, she giggles – as his kingdom is defiled in a gilded manner. It’s a Gilded Age – or so it seems – nothing else matters!

At night, she peels off her carefully crafted costume leaving nothing to the eyes but bare bones. As a walking skeleton, she hides near the Queen’s headquarters to study her ways and see how to be, how to become. Prior to the arrival of dawn, she returns to her costume and makes further tweaks and adjustments – one ridge closer to the fingerprint, an addition to the trail of crumbs.

As the clock struck midnight on the following eve, she returned to the Queen’s headquarters only to be reprieved. She’s no where to be found tonight. Perhaps she’s with the King. Hurriedly, she took off to the King’s Quarters and found him amongst a new set of concubines. Little attention did she pay to the King. Instead she wondered, “Where could have gone she, the Queen?” A half hour prior to the midnight strike, under a cloak of invisibility, the queen had met with the high-priestess, the leading witch, a consort to Selene. She had warned the Queen of a thespian impersonator. A being so desperate to be seen, she had resorted to the ways of an imitator. Oh my- what a scene! Take this mirror dear and place it the court of the King. It reflects all untruth and illusion then destroys as it sees fit. The Queen in a new found state of tranquility, had one of the court keepers place the mirror behind the throne of the King.

The next morning during a procession, all were united, past the full moon with his majesty, exalt thee! And they danced, and they sang, they drank – oh they lived! No one had noticed that the Queen was nowhere to be seen. As the procession had started, she had gathered her belongings and set her heart to flee. Running with reckless abandon through boundless rivers, at last, oh at last, she was free! As the guests left the court, the mimicry approached He. Suddenly she began to disintegrate – what do we have here, let’s see? Her carefully crafted costume melted as if having touched sulfuric acid – and darkness overtook the kingdom – a sudden change, it was drastic.

Illusion galore! Illusion revealed!

Take a page from the surrealists, a peek through the looking glass of the magical realists – you can’t copy what you can’t decipher.

Or perhaps let’s resort to Dada and let’s ask Beatrice!