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Hallucinogenic lights

burn us into being.

Parched, we buy sarsaparillas

and play at being human.

The Tilt-a-Whirl spins us into the fun house

and we kiss on the Ferris wheel.

We leave, again and again,

but the carnival music sucks us into cotton-candy giddiness.

A slipstream on repeat and your hand slides away from mine

on the carousel, and

we lose to this game of madness.

Where do we go from here, my upside-down, inside-out

shadow love?

Don’t look back…

 

Don’t look back…

When the clock not only

winds down but runs backwards

is where I meet you again

for the first time.

Getting off the bus

seeking a hazelnut coffee

the instant recognition of our thousand lives

together.

All for the price of a silver figurine on a chain.

My friend made me listen to the song you wrote.

“It’s all about you,” she said, but I chose not to listen.

I should have believed.

In fate.

In our midnight time at the cottage.

In dreams that were real.

Yet, old age grants me a second chance.

My memories come back,

bigger and brighter.

This time, I take your hand,

walk down the beach with you,

and never look back.

–A Chaos Fairy

 

(Just a little background music from my favourite band to set the mood 🙂 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyCqW_r-McI )

 

 

 

Lonely ghosts and an almost-full moon…

 

A very sensory, yet very surreal, week. Or mindset.

Things are both ambiguous and very clear. In mental limbo and yet absolutely certain about…well, see the secrets part below.

A inevitability from which there is no escape, and yet, a promise of a new beginning.

It’s a little maddening and frightening, but also soothing and comforting.

I’m frustrated and resigned at the same time. I’m believing in my instincts and dreams and signs but also practical about their impossibility in this dimension.

The moon is blue-bright and has been keeping me awake, but it’s not even full yet.

There’s lots of secrets, which are also revelations.

Some songs from the 90s are (uncharacteristically!?!?) the current soundtrack to my inner world. Out of nowhere I had this urge to listen to them.

I’m both running away and towards something, simultaneously. Distance, and closeness, all at once.

Nothing much seems to have a point right now, including this blog, yet I’m compelled to put words out there, even if they are trivial, unrelated, or don’t make any sense.

Watched a movie tonight titled “I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore”.

Been wanting to give “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” a re-watch, and re-read Griffin and Sabine, but hesitated to take that literary/cinematic journey.

“Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened. You do not dismiss a muse at whim.” – Sabine Strohem
Nick Bantock, Griffin and Sabine

 

 

Reprising a Nocturne

 

Reprising a Nocturne

How would I play it this time?

As you hint at a second chance

At least, in my imagination,

or composed in last night’s dream.

Again, the wolf howls for the raven

to return.

Again, we dream each other close,

sleeping safe in amber.

Again, I awake with your echo in my heart

and on my skin.

Again, I promise you something real.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love and other Mysteries of the Spirit…

 

Neelix: Commander, I don’t think you can analyze love. It’s the greatest mystery of all. No one knows why it happens, or doesn’t. Love is a chance combination of elements. Any one thing might be enough to keep it from igniting – a mood, a glance… a remark. And if we could define love, predict it – it would probably lose its power.–Star Trek: Voyager

“Invisible things are the only realities.”
Edgar Allan Poe, Loss of Breath

“Yet mad I am not…and very surely do I not dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat

What a strange time it’s been lately. (Naturally, there’s a rational explanation, but for now, I’m just enjoying the mystery and the magic. I’ve kinda had an overdose of reality, anyway.)

 

Sleepless white nights.

Or very intense dreams, full of symbolism. Jung would probably have a field day, but…

…in real life, the dreams I’ve been having are echoed by an eerie serendipity.

(Actually, I just realised that synchronicity is a better word choice.)

Like Mulder, I want to believe.

Am I losing my way?

But I think I want to get lost.

It’s so mysterious and beautiful here.

Magic is in the air, especially at the crossroads.

I hope I get it right, this time.

*makes a wish*

*believes*

The Griffin and Sabine series might be a good travel guide.

But I have some animal guides to help me find my way, again. (I think).

The Wild in Me (On Letting Go)…

“Safe as houses.”–Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I am trying to move past the fact that I let myself fall for a pack of pretty (albeit well-crafted) lies. I foolishly fostered some rare hope that I might have a chance at a “normal” life….and by normal, I mean actually taking the risk to settle down with someone I loved. What can I say…I believed I was in love. They were beautiful, they were creative and smart, they loved to cook..(okay, yes, I’m also trying to avoid getting maudlin *wry laugh*). I know I am still holding on to that idea of love for that person, but I am finding other ways to let go, in the meantime.

Over the years, I have carefully hoarded stuff, dragging it from place to place as I flitted about the country, or took on the fiscal and emotional burden of storage. I did this, despite all practicality, because I was holding on to a “maybe someday” dream that I would eventually get tired of the restless lifestyle, and set up roots in my lovingly restored vintage home, or in a wee blue cottage on a rocky shore by a tumultuous ocean (with sea roses by the front door), or a in a lighthouse at the end of the world–you get the idea. I have a shoebox of magazine clippings that embodied this dream, visually–its online version was recently started on my Pinterest page that my friend talked me into setting up. (http://www.pinterest.com/fmaggot/safe-as-houses/).

There was an unspoken, unacknowledged part of this dream that I might find a life partner to share in my space, even though I have never been very good with people, have always been a recluse by default, have never had many real friends (if ever, truthfully), and have successfully fended off any attempts to be suckered into the love myth (well, until now) by building a fortress that protected me and my inner worlds, and inner self from the cruelty of the human race.

So, in the aftermath of this fierceness of emotion I felt for another person, I have decided to jettison a lot the stuff I have hoarded over the past ten years or so–retro furniture pieces, collectibles, hundreds of paper-and-ink books–strip myself down to the barest minimum of possessions. (I’m keeping my cats, of course–I’m not an irresponsible pet caretaker like a lot of other people are.)

It’s not as painful as it would have been, once, as my attachment to these things pales against the first, and only, time I felt something real for another human. The stuff that I had carefully treasured now feels empty, static, and is serving to only weigh me down while I am trying not to drown in heartache, misery, and bitterness. 

Time to (entirely) let go, and come to terms with the wildness inherent in my nature….

Jack (from the movie Titanic): “Well, yes, ma’am, I do… I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you… to make each day count.”