Duration: 1 hour
You make yourself – including your clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on your person – look different until the spell ends or until you use your action to dismiss it.
You can seem 1 foot shorter or taller, and can appear thin, wide, or in between. You can’t change your body type, so you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. Otherwise, the extent of the illusion is up to you.
An update: I suspect I have, and will continue to be, wrong in my opinions on a variety of things into which I stumbled with an insubordinate amount of passion and stubbornness. I have been wrong, or untalented, or mostly delusional, but I have never preferred expertise over experience. I hope it has made me a slightly less shitty, slightly more kind person in the world. I do think there is an increased societal preoccupation with expertise — we make all these declarations about what we are good at and where we specify. Growing up in the late ‘90s, this was best exemplified in that infamous “What’s your thing?” PSA which ran between cartoons. Beyond the pleasant tuba kid, or Johnny cutting his sister in half — again — it made me anxious and indignant. It still does. Not because I didn’t have “a thing,” but rather because my “things” never felt like they fit the agenda. The PSA focused on an extreme singularity — it’s message preferred expertise over inspiring us to do things we liked, just for the sake of it. Just because it felt good. Now, more than ever, I am not interested in setting parameters for myself that remain fixed. The sense that each, or any, interest may be lost to a measure of proficiency leaves a residue of perpetual loss (or makes a perfect capitalist?) So let me try and articulate this; there is a death to doing only what one is good at. Change is a means of insisting upon something — which is often very good. It can also be very bad. But I’m 100% not qualified to determine that.
Another update: Discorder is not a Magazine by, and for, experts. It has taken me some time to feel I can make declarative statements about “what Discorder is” — but feel I need to clarify this at least. This is a magazine less flashy than journals, zines, music rags, and art criticism. It is better understood as a snapshot of Vancouver at a particular time, and it wouldn’t be any fun if it was regulated. If it was made exclusive by having been written by, and for, the same people. What we have tried to do in this issue is address that. You will notice each spread has been designed independently, by designers both seasoned and new. Writers from varying points of interest and experience have contributed on a variety of topics they may not be directly affiliated with. Read first time contributor Atira Naik’s interview with Kitty Prozac — a compassionate piece about practical intimacy. Or tuck into long-time writer Katherine Chambers’ experience talking with, and about, artist Hazel Meyer.
I want this to feel like a magazine you can — and should — write for. Discorder should feel experiential and accessible. Stories this month circulate people doing shit because they just decided to. There is a relationship between social power and privilege, and the ability to say what counts as knowledge, and I think we have an opportunity here to reform who gets to talk about what. Nobody actually needs a degree to talk about art.
If this doesn’t yet seem like an invitation to contact me, (firstname.lastname@example.org) or Jasper, (email@example.com) or Ricky, (firstname.lastname@example.org) or Fatemeh (email@example.com) about contributing to Discorder, in whatever capacity, with whatever experience, then let me make it clear: we want your voice. Even if that makes you kinda nervous. Especially if it makes you kinda nervous.
Between the bones of the earth and a very bad headache —
^(@_@)^ all hail ^(@_@)^