Chapter 2. How a magician becomes a stalker

To give you an example, I will describe, in a tongue-in-cheek yet frank presentation, the actual way of a magician evolving into a stalker.

Needless to say, the evolution takes years…

And, as a rule, more than one life…

…and not everyone undergoes that evolution, for the not-yet-strong body of the young, self-assured magician is not up to digesting all jokes of magic…

…But let’s not talk about sad things…

So, here’s the evolution of magicians — sure nuff, with fast forwards.

As someone with some experience in spell-casting (something of a practitioner), I can tell you for sure. Imagine, as an example, that you’re a magician and she, a princess, not just your average princess buta princess head over heels in love with you.

1. Spells are cast any old way. Whatever the old farts say is tripe; they don’t know jack about magicand don’t let others know… Hold on… Lemme get it done in a sec… OOOOOONE

…tswooo…

…freeeee… Geez what was that?

…

come to think of it, how do princesses likethe pockmarked?

need to put a spell on a dazzlingprincess who enchants all… okay not all I mean that princess there… okay not dazzling but still enchanting… hell she’s got some teeth left, right? maybe a dental appointment would…

2. Those who survived step 1 would be well-advised to rhyme their spells so that they come over the target like sea waves — and by the way, the rhythm law on the tablet says the same. While that doesn’t diminish the backlash, it makes it more pleasant and habitual: the backlash doesn’t tear you in halves like a capelin but comes down on you pleasantly, making you get down on the pentacle, and what’s more, the pattern left on the walls is much more beautiful than that you get from step 1…

Geez, I do need to use rhymes… Here’s some poetry all right… love… even the cat is trying to snuggle up… the princess is smiling… smiling… but she’s smiling at the wrong one like the fool she is… better throw in something stronger… there you go… get ‘er with the iambic pentameter…

That’s right… Wooooow… isn’t that great… What’s the end of that line?

Princess? No that doesn’t rhyme. Too late, how come I didn’t notice it didn’t rhyme? If I say something now that doesn’t rhyme, it’s gonna teeeeeeaaaaaaaaar ya in halves like a capeline! Gotta say something that rhymes right now… What’d I say?

Ooooops… That wasn’t me… God help me… I swear on my ass! Too late…

3. This is for those who tried to practice (as true theorists) both step 1 and step 2 and, cussing and swaying on their feet, said “Hell, somebody shoulda given me a warning. They don’t make these pants anymore — what am I gonna wear now?”

It’s worth giving a gentle reminder that putting a spell based on your own power is a little exhausting and that nobody does it that way anymore, except maybe when they’re in battle and all staffs and wands are already gone but the enemy in your rifle sight keeps coming out the woodwork, a situation you can’t describe without cussing.

And, as a matter of fact, in magic academies you can hear people on the sidelines say that everything good is done not by the magician but on behalf of their astral roof (or their astral basement if their design preferences lie that way).

And, scratching their noggins, still smoking from steps 1 and 2, they leaf rapidly through a catalogue of astral roofs, basements, and oh so tiny mezzanines.

Those still in a position to stay in position pick what they want and then (feeling something bad about to come up after they practiced yelling the name of the roof and put on their least favorite pants and, come to think of it, slippers) proceed to step… proceed…

4. Well, they don’t anymore — they used to but… boy does it drag you all over the pentacle!

Those who said it couldn’t get any worse than step 3 are SNOT-NOSED KIDS!

It’s quite another thing under the astral roof: when it comes crushing down on you, once and for all,

you understand you not only realized but are dead sure now that, hell, even though you were wrong about step 2 and — especially so — step 1, you were saying all those things about… which step was it? Well, go find it yourselves — I’m just fine as I am, lying here on the blood-soaked mat like a meat pancake…

When you’re boxing with the floor, the ceiling, and the asphalt (what’s the asphalt doing here? whatever, never mind), you begin to suspect vaguely that you forgot something — something is missing, but there’s nothing you can do so you move on to step

5. But the body takes its toll. The bastard wants to live so you understand that you ain’t never gonna drivethat clunker again… or almost never. And even if you do jump in, you won’t jump out — the earth punches hard when it hits your face.

Perhaps you’ll lie down instead… And why did they hang me out to dry?

We’re a team here, right? Why am I the only one on the grind?

Look how many slackers we have — c’mon, get your ass in gear (don’t go over the top with foul language; after all, we’re making a spell for the posterity — what do you think they will make of it?)

Lay ‘em here…

They look just fine lying here. Not moving a muscle! They’re real pros, looking alive the way they do. Their pictures oughta be in the textbooknext to “Where it is thin, there it breaks.”

After twenty or so passes (you were dying to cast a love-spell on the princess of a shabby empire; everyone was — at least when they were still alive), it occurs to you that, just to be on the safe side, you should back up each system component and stabilize the channel, starting, while the