Friday, February 27, 2015

The Thaumaturge

Devastatingly beautiful are the human body, the human mind.  Somehow we forget that, don't we?  We become absorbed in the microcosm of daily tediums, forsaking that which propelled us on that journey in the first place.  We must connect.  We must stretch ourselves beyond that which is tangible and immerse ourselves in Magic.  This, to me, is just that.  A call to shed the cloak of my Not Self and embrace the Thaumaturge.  Wherever we are on the wheel, there must be beauty. 

Sigur Rós - Valtari from Sigur Rós Valtari Mystery Films on Vimeo.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Couleur Obscene

Big, bright, smash you in the retinas color.  The kind that makes you sit up, rub the crust from your eye creases and take notice... or run screaming.

Sunday, February 22, 2015


I've been a real jerk these last few posts, whinging and complaining about whatever grievance is foremost.  Really sorry interwebs, here's a song to make up for it.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

I Will Never Disappear

Gone are the hopes of childhood.  There is no hope anymore, it is just this that keeps us alive.   It's something else that keeps us warm... Is it a trickle?  A delicious bouncing percussion that reminds me that music holds all?  Humor...the absurdity of it all.

Tonight I attempted to open a bottle of wine, quietly away from my ex-lover who sleeps so fitfully in the next room.  The lover who told me less than a week ago that he's in love with another woman.  He tells me tonight that he needs to travel to a beautiful island to grieve.  For us?  I'm so hopeful.  NO.  He needs to go because the woman he is in love with has rejected him and now he (quote) has no one (end quote).  He can't be here and needs someone to look after his other love, a furry feline by the name of Karma. 

Go away, you wretched person; you blind imbecile.  My fingers ache to rend unholy acts upon your body.. unspeakable actions; you impossible foul fossil. 


Later this evening, the eruption of emotions found itself quietly but effervescently in the opening of an innocuous wine bottle.  No wine bottle opener meets a tomato knife.  The stuff of comic legend ha-ha-ha.  Reality:  the contents of my wine bottle splashed everywhere.  The mirror, the sink, the soap dispenser, the essential oils, the jewelry dish, the wall, the toothpaste holder, the grout between the bottle of shaving gel I bought he never uses and the bottles of essential oils I always swore I would. I cleaned it all.  Giggling quietly; knowing full well, that even if I clean the wine off everything, there will still be pieces of myself left behind when I leave.  
I'm laying down, eating snow
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold
On a bed of spider webs
I think of how to change myself

Friday, February 13, 2015

Where Everyone Would Love To Drown

In all my years on this planet, in this incarnation, I've never experienced shame about passion.  Vulnerability, certainly.  Weird whinging feelings fleeing wildly everywhere causing shameovers galore.  We all are taught, bashed over the head even, that passion is paramount.  It's the apex that we all are encouraged to embrace.  Is it a sin to yearn and ache for consensual copulation; to grow sore and achy after a night of love-making?  How can you violate someone that you yearn for, begging with need, for that powerful release?  I'm lost.  Truly lost.  Uncomprehending and angry.  He loves another and calls me a family member. 

Karma, some say, is a bitch.  The vehicle through which we deserve what we've perpetrated unto others, doubled back onto us.  I prefer to see it as a lesson to be learned.  Fucking people over, being fucked over... I've left behind the just getting fucked.   Love, for me, must be an algorithm I can't seem to unravel.  The future is a blind, nebulous place; one rich in Nothing.  It's a new situation, opening oneself and bending all your rules just to be dumped for being too passionate.  A coworker told me tonight that because of my love of Bjork, I should just get a cat and get it over with.  The getting over with becoming that crazy lady who loves cats and listens to music.   Um... done and done.

If there are any of my ex-lovers out there, feel free to gloat.  I feel it in all my bones, the loss of loving someone who doesn't love you in return.  Humbled and bruised, I'm sorry, it's nothing glamorous.  But, it's real.  This is the song I've craved multiple times a day for the last three days, on repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Like medicine for the mind, the heart... the kind that does nothing but remind you of what you've lost.

Wait a minute baby
Stay with me awhile
Said you'd give me light
But you never told me about the fire

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
But now it's gone
It doesn't matter what for
When you build your house
Then call me home

And he was just like a great dark wing
Within the wings of a storm
I think I had met my match, he was singing
And undoing, and undoing the laces
Undoing the laces

Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart
Never change, never stop
But now it's gone
It doesn't matter what for
But when you build your house
Then call me home

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Hidden Striation

When your desire, it has been found
You'll be running far away
When your desire, it has been found
You'll be running far away, far away

You're telling me it's in the trees, in the trees
It's not, it's inside me now
You're telling me it's on the ground, it's all around
But it's not, it's inside me

You're telling me it's in a disguise, well, use your eyes
It's not, it's inside me now

You're telling me it's mother earth, some sign of birth
It's not, it's inside me

Your desire, it's inside her
It has been found

Photo credit unknown
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