MAGICK//STACK//INTERLUDE
ON WALKING THROUGH WALLS AND KEEPING WORLDS APART
Magic is not about escaping life—it’s about mastering it. Not by control, but by command. And command begins with the ability to walk through walls and keep things separate—two disciplines that appear paradoxical, but in truth are the twin poles of magical agency.
To walk through walls is to dissolve the false boundaries—those constructed by social conditioning, guilt, shame, fear, or identity inertia. It is to move through roles, expectations, and power structures with fluidity and precision. It is the magician’s prerogative to pass unnoticed where others freeze in place—not by hiding, but by becoming formless, unreadable to default systems of recognition.
But to keep things separate is no less vital. It is the act of integrity, not in the moral sense, but in the sense of inner alignment and energetic sovereignty. Without this, you bleed. Without this, your will leaks out into triviality and you become a puppet of emotional residue and social contagion.
Let’s get precise.
Walking Through Walls
Imagine this:
You’re dressed in black, invoking the daimon of strategy before dawn.
By mid-morning, you’re presenting curriculum frameworks to senior leaders.
By afternoon, you’re drinking tea with a student’s nan, diffusing a pastoral crisis.
By night, you’re cloaked in incense, writing a transmission from the other side of Saturn.
Each is a wall.
Each is a world.
To most people, these roles are identities. Fixed, rigid, incompatible. They pick one, live in it, and become it. But the magician knows these are sets, and that sets can be entered and exited.
The wall is not real. It’s a perceptual interface. The trick is not to fight the wall, but to cease consenting to its necessity. When you move through, you don’t shatter it—you dissolve your need to obey its boundaries. You become vapor. You adapt to the density of the room, the social rules, the architecture of control—and you act anyway.
This is the core of KAOS magic. It is freedom-in-motion, the ability to operate between scripts, without becoming trapped in any of them. It is the rejection of a single-self paradigm. You are not the teacher, the magician, the friend, or the rebel. You are the one who moves between them with intention.
Keeping Things Separate
But movement without containment is chaos in the weak sense: leaking, blurring, collapse. And that is not power.
To keep things separate is the willful act of partitioning experience. It is knowing that emotion from one domain must notleak into another if it will corrupt the function of the latter.
You don’t take your ritual pain into your teaching.
You don’t take your domestic conflict into your business meeting.
You don’t take your sacred tools to a piss-up with the lads.
And you don’t confuse altitude with proximity.
This is not elitism. This is energetic literacy.
Everything has a frequency. Every space has a signature. Mixing them without intention is a breach. Your nervous system must know: here, I speak cleanly. There, I rage fully. Here, I build structure. There, I dissolve into void.
Even among people: you don’t mix your carpenter brother-in-law with your Masonic think-tank buddies. Not because one is inferior—but because each plays a role in your strategic ecosystem, and worlds collapse when summoned without precision.
Keep your altars in different rooms.
Keep your masks labelled.
Keep your tools sharp and sheathed until required.
The Will That Divides and Merges
The magician is not a blob. The magician is not “authentic” in the grotesque modern sense of spewing the unfiltered self everywhere.
The magician is a constructive multiplicity—a sovereign stack of selves arranged by will, ruled by inner command, not trauma, emotion, or social gravity.
To walk through walls is the power of passage.
To keep things separate is the power of partition.
Together, they form the architecture of magical identity.
Without both, you’re either frozen (trapped in one role) or fragmented (bleeding between them).
But with them?
You are untouchable.
You are invisible when required, sharp when necessary, and untraceable by those who wish to map you.
You become Sirius—brightest of the fixed stars—appearing in different skies, at different times, always singular, always contained, always able to pierce the veil without dissolving into it.
That is the path.
That is the method.
That is the wall-walking, world-keeping magician.
I am in awe of your sharpness.
Fabulous.