My Four Clubs
There’s something awfully poetic about the night. Its mystic power, that one can feel if staring up at the night sky with the right kind of eyes, is so widely known, it’s practically a cliche by this point. Nonetheless, I never tire of standing and looking up at the massive light show that is just now reaching our planet after multiple year trips across the reaches of space. My only gripe I have is that I live in the city, and thus, practically no fucking stars. We basically get the standard, basic cable, economy package of the nights sky here in Los Angeles.
These last few nights have been allowing plenty of quality time with the night. Be it thoughts that refuse me sleep with their constant roaming over the squishy hills of my brain, an event that I have deemed worthy to spend what little money I have on and get all nice and sweaty, or these goddamn vampires, I have found myself up well past the break of dawn recently. Let it be! I say, except for the sleep deprivation. Something I definitely could do without, but no use being overly picky, I guess. For some reason, I seem to get a lot more things, artistic-wise, done during these darkened hours than I do during the daylight. Probably because there are less pulls on my sleeve from one or two of the many distractions that grab on,and shake me out, leaving me flat broke of the commodity that is spare time.
Although, I do at times grant the night crew access to keep me busy while the time fucks off into the void. Tonight was one such night. It was a short lived visit, but some old friends stopped by to shoot the shit at my abode. One of these friends brought his cousin, and having met this cousin before I knew that it was gonna be one of those more interesting evenings.
We mused the idea of playing cards, and as we tried to decide what to play, the cousin suggested that he preform his “fortune-telling” card game. I can’t really remember the name, but gathering off of the fact that it was a name appearing to meant to sound as mystical and ambiguous as possible, it’s probably intended to be forgotten, and therefore further mystified. He asked if I wanted it done to me, and despite my extreme indifference to traditional superstitious beliefs, I agreed to go along.
This was the first time that I’ve had a person read my fortune with such gusto, and heavy-laden self confidence. I let myself be drawn into the effect, because if you don’t at least attempt to be a bit serious, the whole idea of fortune reading just seems to solidify itself as a B.F.W.O.T(Big Fucking Waste Of Time). So I put on my best imagination wig and followed his depiction of what the cards said about me and just how this life of mine is gonna go down.
He had me place the stack of cards in three rows on a notebook he had(and left here). He had me do this with my left hand, my left not being my dominant, he had me not look while I made the rows, and combined with the issue of these being those slippery-ass plastic coated cards, meant that this deck winded up mostly gushing clumsily onto the floor. Which visibly irritated my guide in this charade, but that’s just what happens when cards are handled in such an impractical manner.
I managed to get the requested three rows in order, and I was asked to flip one over of my choosing. The stack that I flipped yielded a whole series of the Club suit, followed at the very last by the 5 of hearts. The significance of each card was told to me in between spurts of the cousin reacting in a specific and intense way to each card, followed by a hail mary.
He told me that I had drawn “The Dead Man’s Hand”. Based off of the way he asked me frequently if I was afraid to die, he was quite enamored with just how significant my hand was. Of course, to keep the reading as versatile and ambiguous as possible, he told me that there are TWO WAYS, TWO PATHS, TWO ROPES that I must choose. The Clubs each represented something meaningful in my life, and the heart was a symbol of how I had the 5 elements of the world protecting my being with the power of love.
Another interesting claim he made was that I was an ancient being that has the knowledge of many eons under my belt, which exists in the three spirits that exist in the vessel of my body and talk to me in my dreams. I have to admit, if this is true, it certainly begins to explain the outrageous scenarios that transpire in my head at night. He felt a change in the energy and insisted that he and the rest leave before it was too late. He didn’t charge me a dime, and, in his haste, he even had the courtesy to leave his cards AND half of a 40 of Miller High Life. Although, I still overall remain a fairly stead fast skeptic.
Wither or not TRUE Magik exists, it would be foolish to think that there isn’t any effect that the spirits inhabiting this world have, whatsoever. The mere fact that so many billions of people pay attention to things like astrology and card reading has a very real impact on how people behave and think.
As a proponent of greater happiness for greater number of people, I always keep an open mind and try to channel my energy any way I can. I can only hope that these internal prayers that I and many others make have the desired effects, but regardless of any negative news you get on a personal fortune, the real difference lies in you. The choices that we all make determine just how awesome or how absolute shit each others’ days are going to be. Even when you have a bad day, or find yourself in a rut, push forward! The work and love you put into life with come back to you some day! And remember! That’s ANCIENT WISDOM speaking, my friends.
Abrakadabra,
-Bobby
