Tag Archives: Busker

Hat

Years ago:
I had a hat and a waistcoat.
I put them on, picked up my instrument, and went to work.

It was raw craft, at first. I had a little skill with words and so I used them to hide the flubs.
Raw craft … and then

I missed my mother. I was unhappy that she never saw me perform one effect, never saw what my hands were destined to do. I said so while shuffling cards. I made up a trick that i thought would make her laugh, could she but see.

… and they laughed. And they gasped. And they wriggled a bit in delight.
The laugh exploded and crystallized into art. Laughter through tears.

A marine. (hard and sober)
A goth chick.
A rabbi.
A homeless man.
A homeless woman.
A college student.
A lawyer.
A superstar athlete.
And several anonymous souls
… have told me that I saved their lives with my words and my art.

Tonight I made a woman weep with my stories.
I reminded her of her son
Who died …
Laughter through tears.
“He would have loved this … thank you for being who you are.”

tonight I drove home.
And I put my instrument down (for now, not for keeps)
I took off my hat and i hung up my waistcoat
and I wrote this to you.

This … is who I am.

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marbles

Knuckle down or Quitsies?

My law and your ducks … mostly prits and cats-eyes; my aim is true and your hold is beauty.

No stomps, you are free and the circ is not your limit. Bombies are cool, you’re strongest on your stage, and I love your style on a leaning topper.

Colored magic glass – the first valuable gems I owned. (and I scooped most of ‘em!)

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Taking Umbrage

At the request and gentle urging of my trusted beloveds, I began searching for a therapist. One that could understand my unique situation … a little background is needed, I suppose.

I’ve lived with depression for as long as I can remember. It’s not like a cloak that I shrug on and off: more a tattoo that is always there, but sometimes burns and itches like it was still healing. Due to some intense stress over the past 8 months or so, it has redoubled its hold on me, and my sorrow it so great sometimes it worries even my friends.

The Contest is a big one. I’m voluntarily putting my art up to be judged in comparison to others’ works. I had vowed to never do it again, but … peer pressure and pride.
Robin’s suicide. The man I patterned my drive after. He couldn’t make it. His sorrow took him. For all my brave talk about picking up the flag … I’m a fraud. I’m not fit to tie his shoes and … he couldn’t hold on.
Cancer … yeah.
Dawn’s sickness. Slow coming yet sudden in the swiftness in which it took her down. I felt helpless and was then accused of not acting fast enough. This is most likely correct. I’m going to shoulder the blame.
Success. Overwhelming and undeserved, I’m still waiting for the fraud police to show up.

So, I received a recommendation from a trusted friend and made an appointment. I’m going to call her Brady.

She and I seemed to hit it off right away. My first thought in seeing her was that she resembled a very distinct villain from the world of Harry Potter. How cute. How funny.

We started off with her asking some very pointed, direct questions. Events from childhood, life status of my parents, grandparents … tragedy, joys, triumphs and failures. We spoke in plain, raw words for nearly 45 minutes. It was very comforting. We were able to communicate much quicker than other therapists I’ve spoken too. After a short pause, she began speaking.

It seems … I have a generational curse. Now, my health is tied into this. My sickness is hereditary, probably. Something, some defect in my DNA triggered this sickness. It’s probably been in my bloodline for centuries.

My traumas, from the divorce of my parents to the suicide of my hero are my burdens … and my Art is God’s gift to me to help me deal with these burdens. Not eradicate, not heal … deal with.

All the depression, the anxiety, the sorrow … I caused these things by not giving my gifts as a sacrifice to the Holy Spirit. They are entirely, securely, totally mine to bear forever. I own them.

This was all caused by … wait for it … a deal made with Satan. (now, Brady didn’t use the word ‘Satan’, that would be too direct. The phrase repeated was ‘The Enemy’. I swear, you really could hear the quotes around it.) Someone, somewhere, sometime in my bloodline made a pact, whether explicit or implicit with him … and the curse shall be visited even unto the last generation. Brady told me in no uncertain terms that my ancestors were likely serial killers, or at the very least made human blood sacrifices.

The cure may be found in a rigorous treatment of Splankna, acupuncture and chiropractic medicine.

Disclosure here, folks: I don’t believe in the treatment. On the other hand, I don’t have any serious doubts about the diagnosis.

But what I DID get from the meeting was: my misery is real and it’s a part of me because I absolutely deserve it. An honest to goodness professional confirmed what my father first told me when I was eight.

So i went and visited my old ‘hometown’, which isn’t really that far away. I put my feet in the lake in the spot I was baptized in. I felt cold water and … not much else. Same as the first time. (I appreciate the water much more now than I used to, so I did take time to watch for a little while.) I went to the bleachers in the ballpark. On this spot, some forty one years ago, my father (in a very kind, loving voice) proclaimed to me that I could never really hope to amount to anything worthwhile. I was doomed to be a failure and a burden. It was a shame, he said, because he had certainly hoped for a real son to share his interests with.

I feel worse than when I went in, and that can’t be right, can it?

What I’ve written here is just the surface. I can’t bring myself to type all that I’m really dealing with. (Yes … I AM dealing with it. There’s no cause for alarm, please don’t misread my words)
I can’t express it to my family, or my best friend. Not the depth of feelings.

I have work on the stage that still needs to be done. There are things I consider important that I want to say.

But right now? Right now I’m just sad.

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Filed under Public Diary

Interlude. (a respite and a declaration)

This isn’t part of the ongoing saga, but it’s relevant. I suppose. A purging? A confession?

The diary has been interrupted by personal drama I’ll write about at a later time. I’m sorry for that. I’ve discovered that I’m a pretty big disappointment to some very precious people and I’m trying to deal with that, because I am unable to reconcile it.

So yeah. Purging. Confession.

Inspired by various works. Lewis, Hemingway, Fitz, Hogarth.

I love being embarrassingly straightforward. (Not embarrassing to myself, but to those without the experience and freedom of fully exposing their hearts.) I love sending reckless text messages and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely brilliant, magical human beings

I love saying; “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a beautiful person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward and heart-out as I know how to. I do card tricks that sometimes bring tears and sometimes I return to naked.

Because one day, I might get hit by a train.

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just BE – to just let people know you want them, need them. To feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them … hold them … touch them in some way. Whether it’s their head on your chest on the couch or their tongue in your mouth or your heart in their hands.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans. So I tell it. I shout it. I text it and I write it into every post and act I create.

I bleed for it and I hope You never have to question where You stand with me.

We never know when the train is coming.

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An Appeal for a Very Special Kind of Show

This is for my artistic friends in the Charlotte, NC area: My dancers, poets, musicians, jugglers, strippers … what ever you are. If you do something purely out of passion, whether you consider it ‘art’ or a ‘career’ or what have you: I want to hear from you.

I’m putting together a very different kind of variety show. I want to incorporate talent and passion. So …

Send an email to MagicArtist42@gmail.com and tell me what it is you do and then tell me WHY you do it. The why can be as brief or as long as you wish to make it, but let me feel your passion, your intensity. Your honesty.

This request is not just for performance artists … there are possibilities for painters, chalk artists … knitters …

I want to hear your passion and I want it to be sincere. Can’t wait to hear from you.

h

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Filed under Blither Blather, Musings

The Quiet at the End of the Day

Thanksgiving, 2014

My father loved the music of Glen Campbell. My father loved to laugh, but you can’t tell that in any of his pictures or in any of my stories … we never saw my path in the same light, and we grew slowly but inexorably apart as I traveled farther down it. I’m sorry, but that is a story for another time.

I smoked the turkey, as is the tradition. Lemons and spices and cinnamon (because: Cinnamon) and other such enhancements. The kids all came over. We danced a little, we sang a little. We were together. The new in-laws showed up for dinner, and the relations were fun and the mood was high. I hope my children remember this year fondly. i know I will. Even with all the mouths, we still had so much left over … but noting will go to waste.

Forgive me if this seems maudlin or sappy, but I’m very serene at this moment. We did it right, Dawn and I … we raised four smart, loving, giving children who are all walking their own paths fairly confidently. I’m grateful. I’m very thankful.

I had a very moving moment: Braiden and I played chess this afternoon. My father taught me and we used to play together, when we were still pals. For a moment I became him, and I looked at my son as me … and I was very proud. I’m not a bad guy. I spread my art as love, and I give all the love and help that I can, all that I know how to give.

I miss my Dad. I’d like for him to see how great these kids are. I’d like for them to hear his genuine laughter …

Let me say sincerely, because these leaking eyes are making it hard to type:

I hope there is Love where you are.

If there isn’t … I have so much left over … and nothing will go to waste.

h

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Filed under Musings, Public Diary

Monday morning, early October

Hello Universe!

Hello friends and fans and people I’ve never met who read my words. (Wow … what a concept.) I’ve got a favor to ask.

My daughter Grace is getting married this coming Sunday. The wedding is small and they will be surrounded by love and celebration. Thing is … I’m coming up a wee bit short in paying for it all.

Weddings, even small ones, tend to get expensive pretty quickly. I’ve been working (and work is grand!), but the summer turned up slower than anticipated and some friends needed some help and … well, I’m coming up short. Not by a lot! Just a wee bit.

I’m a believer in letting the Universe know your need and allowing people to help you. I preach it, now I’m going to practice it: I need your help.

I have Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday night available if you have an event and would like a Hannibal show. How about 25% off my usual rate? Book a future date and get your deposit in by Friday and receive 10% off. (Such a deal!)
I have my ‘Magicians Only’ DVD “The Truth from a Liar” available directly from me for $40. If you’ve been waiting to pick this up, this week would be an excellent time to order it direct from the artist. I’ll autograph it with a special thank you and include some surprises in the package.
The “LIAR!” show itself is available on DVD for just $30. Ditto the autograph and special goodies.
T-Shirts! I have a good supply of T-shirts in S-XL. Show your love for all things Hannibal to the world. $20 pp.

The lecture I did for Murphy’s Magic will soon be available on DVD … more than three hours of Hannibal magic, philosophy and magic theory. Pre-order directly from me and I’ll ship it out the day I get them (projected mid-October) $30pp.

All of these may be ordered online at The Magic Artist Store, or by contacting me directly at info@chrishannibal.com.

If you simply feel like donating to the cause. my PayPal is Chris@hegmagic.com

Thank you, my friends.

Life is Magic … I hope that there’s love where you are.

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Filed under Blither Blather, Musings, Public Diary

The Cups

The opening scene of “LIAR!”

There was once a street magician …

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August 1, 2013 · 12:53 am

Joy?

This career I’ve taken on is frustrating, grueling and at times completely unrewarding. I often wonder why I’m doing it. The answer always comes immediately: My joy is here. There’s something very addictive about living your dream.

Tonight I had the honor to once again entertain and refresh some of the most amazing people I know. I’m talking about you, Laura. I know you are reading this. The opportunity to do what I do for such a brave soul as yourself and you your INCREDIBLE family is what feeds my addiction.

Image

Take away the awards. Take away the fame. Say goodbye to the Magic Castle and all the goals I set for myself. I can take it. As long as I can serve you, I’m wealthy.

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Filed under Musings, Public Diary