When There's No Love in Town
January 3rd, 2000
I was reflecting recently on what I wrote in this diary some weeks ago, and realized I had admitted a gross simplification. I am now writing in haste.
Indeed, I said magic was about all those different things one could be, all the different engagements. Now I think, certainly magic encompasses far too many things to be so tartly classified. My thoughts are really in such a disarray. But here: I have recently again met with the Professor and I do not understand if he sees who I actually am. I'm certain that he has restored some of his former power; not all of it, for such a miraculous recovery would have breached whatever little common sense still remains in the scheme of thingsbut that he is again a powerful warlock is beyond doubt. And I am starting to have second thoughts about all this. I hope he will not try to read my mind, for then I shall have to occlude his intrusion, and our powers will be matched, and then I will probably lose.
What if, I keep asking myself... what if this is again one of his terrible Games? All the more terrible for the fact that it is played unconsciously? What if he is like a chess king treading dangerously closely to the edge of the board, led by a blindfolded player, who is nonetheless one with the king? Ah, all this is far too unclear to be worded clearly.
Wicked. I shall have to meet him again because he wanted to ask me something. And I want to know if he made any progress with the white stone. Is it indeed from Hell? Should one judge by the colour? Or (which seems closer to truth) by the frenzied grins of these faces that appear in the brick sometimes? So listen: magic, of course, was not about soothsayers, elementals or werewolves (stupid of me to ever have written that). It was the knowledge that you had when you watched a dark menacing sea; or a forest covered in snow set against a stormy turbid sky; or a desert, as calm, unmoved and deadly as a snakethe knowledge that there was a divine will for everything. One which man could never strive to comprehend.
No matter how great a man... no matter how great.
And I believe that the Plan is unmovable. Save for the white brick... May not it be one of the cornerstones of this world, unearthed while Reality itself was being dislodged? Who knows.
Somebody is knocking on the door. I shall have to answer.
I was reflecting recently on what I wrote in this diary some weeks ago, and realized I had admitted a gross simplification. I am now writing in haste.
Indeed, I said magic was about all those different things one could be, all the different engagements. Now I think, certainly magic encompasses far too many things to be so tartly classified. My thoughts are really in such a disarray. But here: I have recently again met with the Professor and I do not understand if he sees who I actually am. I'm certain that he has restored some of his former power; not all of it, for such a miraculous recovery would have breached whatever little common sense still remains in the scheme of thingsbut that he is again a powerful warlock is beyond doubt. And I am starting to have second thoughts about all this. I hope he will not try to read my mind, for then I shall have to occlude his intrusion, and our powers will be matched, and then I will probably lose.
What if, I keep asking myself... what if this is again one of his terrible Games? All the more terrible for the fact that it is played unconsciously? What if he is like a chess king treading dangerously closely to the edge of the board, led by a blindfolded player, who is nonetheless one with the king? Ah, all this is far too unclear to be worded clearly.
Wicked. I shall have to meet him again because he wanted to ask me something. And I want to know if he made any progress with the white stone. Is it indeed from Hell? Should one judge by the colour? Or (which seems closer to truth) by the frenzied grins of these faces that appear in the brick sometimes? So listen: magic, of course, was not about soothsayers, elementals or werewolves (stupid of me to ever have written that). It was the knowledge that you had when you watched a dark menacing sea; or a forest covered in snow set against a stormy turbid sky; or a desert, as calm, unmoved and deadly as a snakethe knowledge that there was a divine will for everything. One which man could never strive to comprehend.
No matter how great a man... no matter how great.
And I believe that the Plan is unmovable. Save for the white brick... May not it be one of the cornerstones of this world, unearthed while Reality itself was being dislodged? Who knows.
Somebody is knocking on the door. I shall have to answer.