"You're a small thing and you are drenched in wonderful details!"
Another perfect night. Rain has come, the heater is out and my stomach hurts from good food and even better dessert. Just me, Bokki and small green tendrils that bend and swirl through a pollinated landscape like a Tim Burton skyline.
Further affirmation: Form is Void
Who else is starting their Solstice mead stockpile early? ♥
Another perfect night. Rain has come, the heater is out and my stomach hurts from good food and even better dessert. Just me, Bokki and small green tendrils that bend and swirl through a pollinated landscape like a Tim Burton skyline.
Further affirmation: Form is Void
Who else is starting their Solstice mead stockpile early? ♥
I'm saving this season of Boardwalk Empire for an epic 24-Hour Marathon... but this will do for now.
Richard is my favorite. ♥
Richard is my favorite. ♥
Music from Stella Natura 2012, for those who have been curious.
"Medusa" by Marco Mazzoni
Excuse me, I have an appointment with a bottle of Purple Paradise.
"Medusa" by Marco Mazzoni
Excuse me, I have an appointment with a bottle of Purple Paradise.
Foto by Man Ray
My dreams are always beautiful and elaborate. Even when I find myself waking up startled and gripped by fear, I recall the way the moon shone so surreal in the daytime or how those impossible spoken tongues seemed to make sense and I feel truly happy. I used to shun my nightmares. I'd call them horrible and lose sleep over them. As a child I was often so afraid of my mind. Now that I'm a bit older, I appreciate every stitch. I can't help myself. Everyone prefers to dream.
•••
It's cold and poorly lit.
I find myself nestled with a group of strangers in a commune. I detest strangers. The area itself leaves much to be desired. There are no furnishings, save for abandoned theater chairs and flimsy metal stairs that fall in bland and uninteresting shapes to the floor of the stadium. In the shadows, everything seems black and red. I don't know why we're here, and neither does anyone else, but it doesn't seem out of the ordinary. As if carried off by some internal schedule, we all decide at once it would be nice to part, and everyone takes their time saying goodbye and exchanging empty pleasantries. It's now that I find a few familiar faces and we leave the dome together.
The world outside is dead. Every plant has withered into a sepia shade and has more thorns and twists than blooms. The earth seems inhospitable and dry. Skinny trees bend and break as we pass and dead grasses that obscure our knees sway gently despite the lack of wind. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining and birds call to one another just beyond our sight. Everything above is a pretty blue and dappled with fat, fluffy clouds. The air tastes sweet.
We seem to be following a path, although no one can see it through the dirty grasses. I separate from my group without a word, making my way past cutting brush. It pulls at my hair and clothes, seeking blood. It's very difficult to walk this way, but I continue and I don't feel like a martyr. This is simply my path and I must take it. As I walk, the area becomes more sparse. Red Manzanita and black tumbleweeds give way to flat, sandy plains littered with classic trucks. I can't hear the ocean, but somehow I know it's close.
I reach the encampment alone and tired and no one seems to notice me. Just like my true antisocial self, I walk through the small groups of people without a word, but I'm so curious that it's painful not to reach out and touch everything I pass. Now that I'm closer, I have a better look at the property's lone house. It's tall and made from dark wood. The walls seem wet, so I assume it's from the waves breaking nearby. The roof is black scrap metal, neatly riveted into protective panels. The structure was built into a cliff side, so the back end of the roof comes out at the peak. It's a very attractive design. Everyone here is young and somewhat odd looking. Beautiful, even. Ghosts from my past wander about in the background with different faces and seem not to know me. I approach a man about my age and only slightly taller. He looks Gaelic. I assume it's a compound of some sort and ask him to call me should he need help around the house.
He's surprised that I'd want to work there and leads me around his property, showing me all of the interesting views and curious attachments. He built everything by hand and jokingly refers to it as a Pirate House. His slight, red headed friend is following us closely and reaches out to touch my hand or rest his head on my shoulder whenever we stop. I'm annoyed by his desire to claim me, but I ignore him and he doesn't dampen my mood in the least.
The three of us look out over the cliff at hundreds of people below. They're sunbathing, playing, laughing, eating... enjoying the shore. The waves are large, but not frightening. Again, the weather is lovely. We turn away and walk along the border of the 'Pirate House', and I can't help but notice the skeletons of baby armadillos. Dozens of them pile around recently dug soil.
"What happened to them?" I ask, going to my knees to get a better look.
"They dig for mushrooms here. The land is hard, but they're persistent. They died from exhaustion." Replies my nameless Gaelic companion in his impossible accent. He then says something in a native tongue that I can't understand, but it seems tender by it's delivery.
We continue on toward a boardwalk, red headed nuisance still in tow, but now he stays further behind. The floor of the boardwalk is slatted but the planks are close together and easy to navigate. Only a handful of gas lamps light our path on either side. There are no stars in the sky and it's grown cold again. When we finally reach the end of the boardwalk, small cottages line the way, obviously areas designated for business and trade. I look down into the black water, close enough to touch with my hand, and feel more amazed than frightened.
This is strange because I'm terrified of the ocean at night.
It's very still, so I reach into my pocket. I find a single pink Christmas light and, pausing to look at my company, drop it into the water. It sinks for a long time, but stays lit. Soon after, the light wakes a large, fluorescent jellyfish. He moves in strange, symmetrical patterns along the floor of the ocean, mesmerizing me. The others can't see him. The Gaelic man presses his cheek against mine and watches as I trace the fish with my finger, laughing and smiling at the sight of it. We're both elated at the find. Soon, two more jellyfish join the first, spinning and drifting from one end of the boardwalk to the other. Suddenly, the large one surfaces, showing us his back like a great whale.
It hurts to be so close to it. We can feel the poison within it, and it burns. In a panic the three of us run, stumbling over slightly raised planks as the beast follows us below, eager to sting us...
•••
I awoke happy, though somewhat out of breath. A dream hasn't seemed to me so beautifully surreal in a long time and I couldn't help but share it.
"I say your name when I cum."
Terrible wine, dark chocolate and a want that stretches across the ocean. What an odd and empowering morning!
Also, meet the man of my dreams -
...one day, I shall name a rat after him. ♥
Terrible wine, dark chocolate and a want that stretches across the ocean. What an odd and empowering morning!
Also, meet the man of my dreams -
...one day, I shall name a rat after him. ♥
'Til we meet again, desolation wilderness.
Foto By Sigfather
What silk would ensnare the moth
circling lanterns for echoes we've lost?
And Stars I once begged to touch...
seem simple and strange falling to the horizon.
Foto By Sigfather
What silk would ensnare the moth
circling lanterns for echoes we've lost?
And Stars I once begged to touch...
seem simple and strange falling to the horizon.
The universe has never felt like a warm place to me.
Call it teenage apathy (guilty) or a sense of superiority caused by trauma that, at the time, I felt made me more deserving of my depression than others (twice as guilty). Better yet, call it a lack of confidence that sucked the warmth from my heart, thus projecting that inner coldness into a world that never really did me any true harm.
Whatever the cause of my selfish condition, I've always done very little to combat it. I've always made it a point to surround myself with poor company (in an emotional sense, of course) and have swallowed all efforts at healing and growth with a grimace and a well placed though never genuine "I'm working on it."
My deepest gratitude to the high sierras. My deepest gratitude to Arktau Eos, Waldteufel, Hail, Fell Voices and all of the wonderful people who performed for us for three dry, unforgettable days and nights.
I cannot explain my overwhelming desire to hail it all...
Sleeping beneath the brightest stars in a half-collapsed tent with nothing to see me off but the far-away howling of trains in their tunnels and the low, dying laughter of a hand-made fire. Brisk mornings with shrinking shadows and a sun that strains to reach over tree-lined peaks. Rivers that embrace with a touch colder than Kentucky snow and sunning rocks that pull the trembling from your flesh. Drums that roll and crash through the twisting caverns and broken stones, voices singing, tongues spitting enchantments, flesh plucking string and a whole sea of people remembering what it means to be one.
A tribe of Finnish 'soldiers' with true smiles. A guide full of lessons, warm gestures, wine and an honesty so refreshing that I dare say he may be gifted my greatest gratitude. "Tähti", "Maa", "Yhteys", "Hiiloos" and many forgotten words I swear I'll speak again. A lucid flood of memories triggered by something as simple as a key and a packed, red-lit bus whose tastes of rum and smoke and growling folk music made me know I was meant to be there in a moment I nearly wished would never end.
Thank-You.
If we never meet again, at least now I'll know the world is not a cold, forgotten place.
Call it teenage apathy (guilty) or a sense of superiority caused by trauma that, at the time, I felt made me more deserving of my depression than others (twice as guilty). Better yet, call it a lack of confidence that sucked the warmth from my heart, thus projecting that inner coldness into a world that never really did me any true harm.
Whatever the cause of my selfish condition, I've always done very little to combat it. I've always made it a point to surround myself with poor company (in an emotional sense, of course) and have swallowed all efforts at healing and growth with a grimace and a well placed though never genuine "I'm working on it."
My deepest gratitude to the high sierras. My deepest gratitude to Arktau Eos, Waldteufel, Hail, Fell Voices and all of the wonderful people who performed for us for three dry, unforgettable days and nights.
I cannot explain my overwhelming desire to hail it all...
Sleeping beneath the brightest stars in a half-collapsed tent with nothing to see me off but the far-away howling of trains in their tunnels and the low, dying laughter of a hand-made fire. Brisk mornings with shrinking shadows and a sun that strains to reach over tree-lined peaks. Rivers that embrace with a touch colder than Kentucky snow and sunning rocks that pull the trembling from your flesh. Drums that roll and crash through the twisting caverns and broken stones, voices singing, tongues spitting enchantments, flesh plucking string and a whole sea of people remembering what it means to be one.
A tribe of Finnish 'soldiers' with true smiles. A guide full of lessons, warm gestures, wine and an honesty so refreshing that I dare say he may be gifted my greatest gratitude. "Tähti", "Maa", "Yhteys", "Hiiloos" and many forgotten words I swear I'll speak again. A lucid flood of memories triggered by something as simple as a key and a packed, red-lit bus whose tastes of rum and smoke and growling folk music made me know I was meant to be there in a moment I nearly wished would never end.
Thank-You.
If we never meet again, at least now I'll know the world is not a cold, forgotten place.
In honor of my next tattoo (due before the month is out), the symbolism of a Female Ghost Moth.
Ability to perceive with clarity. Ability to guide from the dark to the light.
The majority of moths are nocturnal. Creatures of the night. Pathfinders, they can negotiate their way through even the deepest glum, but know when they cannot make progress, so take the time to rest and revise.
"The moth is an optimist and an opportunist. It can teach us how to release unwanted influences and fly into the discovery of our personal joy."
xxxx Mouse
Ability to perceive with clarity. Ability to guide from the dark to the light.
The majority of moths are nocturnal. Creatures of the night. Pathfinders, they can negotiate their way through even the deepest glum, but know when they cannot make progress, so take the time to rest and revise.
"The moth is an optimist and an opportunist. It can teach us how to release unwanted influences and fly into the discovery of our personal joy."
xxxx Mouse
"You will need your hearts to face this. I know what I'm asking but better a broken heart than no heart at all. Because even a broken heart is still made of love."
It's basic arithmetic. If you have one planet, one blanket of air, one cradle of soil, one place called home, and you destroy it: one minus one.
From Spark to Flare to Wildfire: Vermont Independence
I know the facts are unbearable. Reality is an avalanche of grief right now. Maybe we could call it Peak Grief. Currently, scientists are debating whether a quarter, a third, or fully half of all mammals will be extinct by 2050. What’s not up for debate - not ever - is a culture that devours with an entitlement so profound that it is turning the planet to dust.
There is no way to make more oil or coal. You can blow up mountains to get to the last of it, but now you're drawing down mountains as well as coal, and at the end of the day it's still gone.
The last time I looked, the planet had 197 million square miles, and not one inch more. You cannot have infinite growth on a finite planet. So capitalism is literally insane. And it's consuming the planet to death.
Please, re-ignite the fire in your heart. Read this wonderful, albeit difficult to swallow piece by Lierre Keith about the current state of our planet and the road to solidarity.
xxxx Mouse
Listening To: Sun Devoured Earth - Show Me The Road To Joy
A beautifully melodic post-metal lullaby.
It's basic arithmetic. If you have one planet, one blanket of air, one cradle of soil, one place called home, and you destroy it: one minus one.
From Spark to Flare to Wildfire: Vermont Independence I know the facts are unbearable. Reality is an avalanche of grief right now. Maybe we could call it Peak Grief. Currently, scientists are debating whether a quarter, a third, or fully half of all mammals will be extinct by 2050. What’s not up for debate - not ever - is a culture that devours with an entitlement so profound that it is turning the planet to dust.
There is no way to make more oil or coal. You can blow up mountains to get to the last of it, but now you're drawing down mountains as well as coal, and at the end of the day it's still gone.
The last time I looked, the planet had 197 million square miles, and not one inch more. You cannot have infinite growth on a finite planet. So capitalism is literally insane. And it's consuming the planet to death.
Please, re-ignite the fire in your heart. Read this wonderful, albeit difficult to swallow piece by Lierre Keith about the current state of our planet and the road to solidarity.
xxxx Mouse
Listening To: Sun Devoured Earth - Show Me The Road To Joy
A beautifully melodic post-metal lullaby.
Good news everyone! /professor voice/
Just got the o.k. from work to take a week off to go up north for Stella Natura!
"Three days and three evenings of music located in the Sierra Nevada’s Tahoe National Forest Desolation Wilderness: September 21-23."
Loads of Metal, Experimental, Ambient and of course Folk music... and Finnish people. Finnish boys. SO MANY FINNISH BOYS. (That will keep my mind off the fact that I'm missing out on 300 or so bucks for the lost week of work)
I'm losing my mind in the quietest way possible.
xxxx Mouse
ps. Username change!
"I hate meeces to pieces!" - Mr. Jinx, Huckleberry Hound
Just got the o.k. from work to take a week off to go up north for Stella Natura!
"Three days and three evenings of music located in the Sierra Nevada’s Tahoe National Forest Desolation Wilderness: September 21-23."
Loads of Metal, Experimental, Ambient and of course Folk music... and Finnish people. Finnish boys. SO MANY FINNISH BOYS. (That will keep my mind off the fact that I'm missing out on 300 or so bucks for the lost week of work)
I'm losing my mind in the quietest way possible.
xxxx Mouse
ps. Username change!
"I hate meeces to pieces!" - Mr. Jinx, Huckleberry Hound
