done with the occult

I'm done with the occult. I mean it. After dabbling in every fogged thing that parents, news media, and clergy warn against, I'm through.

What was the straw that the camel tripped over, flipping it, popping its water hump, snapping its spine?

Well, you could call it spiritual bubblegum, though it actually has nothing to do with the spirit or anything you can chew.

It was a man. He's not God or even godly, nothing like that. No, not someone you'd abandon your ambitions for or give your head and home up to. He's not someone you could ever feel love for or be in love with.

Here's what it is: I've looked death in the face and its expression is serene.

That's all I'll say. I don't want my explanation to putrefy the surprise for you, should ever be so lucky as to...

So gone are the days of navigating the darkness of life with a torch of black light. Now I just feel sunny—this is something altogether new.

I've taken a job as a mascot for a sandwich shop. I stand out in the daylight during the lunch rush, proffering coupons. Tourists drape their arms around me and shout "cheese" chorally in endless tongues. Businessmen and businesswomen swoop almost into the street to avoid me. Kids get teary or otherwise punch me and tug at my costume, swearing loudly. Depends on the age.

And all the while, under my gorilla mask—you can't see this but it's true—I'm beaming.