reblog

Steve weaving his usual and unique magic.

inconstant light

lost_shorelines_s

Thought bubbles must be punctured gently,
deflated with a fine molecular needle.

-/-

She lets me do the shopping at the markets,
the hens are in my charge, I sweep the floors,
but I’m a prisoner in her house.

On the crooked kitchen shelving, potions bright,
alluring clues, magic herbs and condiments.
To prepare Bahian fish, she says.

Her eyes are jungle camouflage, her tidal laughter
breaks in waves when nothing is amusing,
mysteries are woven in her hair.

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the spells of itapuã

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a little fun or something, personal, prose

I’m not sure what this is…

So while I was pondering what exercise I could do to work off the crazy amount of food I have eaten today (I blame the weather. It suddenly turned cold like autumn, after unseasonably warm weather, like autumn. But now it’s cold, like autumn), I found this.

This took me back to memories I am sure I have somewhere. And the time travelling was exhausting, to say the least. Not to mention the memories of always going everywhere on skates. So, considering this song is over three minutes long, I’m checking the exercise box off my list for today. Take that gym bitc junkies!

PS And yes, the disco ball is still in my kitchen. That thing ain’t going anywhere.
Have we had that conversation?

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Fiction, prose

Tinkerbell’s song

It was going to be a normal day. If it was the last thing they ever did. A normal day of picnicking in the sun, like normal families. On a sunny spring day. With a packed basket. And a blanket. And outside games. And other normal things that nobody they knew ever did. Because, well, they did time travel to get there.

And this was where they were going to meet her grandmother. She told them she had the secret to normal and she wanted them to have it. It would be in a little box. And normal people carried such things around. Although, she had never opened it herself. She was just going by what her mother had told her.

And sure enough, it was labelled “normal”.
On one side. The outside.
The other side, the inside, was a lot more than they ever did not expect.

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Fiction, prose

charades

What was that word again? The one that was on his face?”
I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW.
“What was that time again? You know, when he was in that place?”
Stop. Just stop.
“And what was the song he played? The one from…?”

Her fingers recoiling, it slipped from her grasp.
The urgency was suffocating and all she heard was line
after line after line after line
of how not to do it.

And he would die if she didn’t.

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Fiction, prose

evanescent

mt beauty

How would they find it? She couldn’t remember the rules and every step she ran, she jumped two steps back in clarity. She hated that he got to the formula before she had, and now she was paying for it.

He decided to surprise her. The last thing she would expect from him. He knew it was against the rules, but he would take her back. To the beginning. The problem was, the only vivid outline was from their last fight. Why couldn’t he find the bridge? He had the formula after all…

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Fiction, prose

fugue

lake bonney

the halfway sigh

 

He was right.
There was something exhaustibly hilarious about the situation. She just couldn’t remember what it was. After all, it had been a few days since the operation, and they assured her it would grow back.  But she was the anomaly, wasn’t she? Was that the funny part?

She looked over to the bucket of words but it was almost empty. She sighed. Her sighing normally turned things inside out beautifully, but not this time. This time she stopped half way.

~*~

fugue

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Fiction, prose

“she remains…”

I never noticed that before, that ceiling, she thought to herself. All this time, she hadn’t noticed the fabric of her security. But she had never floated like this before. The current had always looked uncomfortable.

The boat rocked gently convincing her she was awake, although, now she couldn’t see. She was blinded by pin pricks of light that ferociously claimed the space around the notes.

By the time she reached the entrance/exit, her eyes burned with sight. And there he was. All the younger for the waiting.

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reblog

For my dear friends who struggle with this, (and I have too) and for the people who love you, important words so beautifully and honestly expressed.

Strong Humble Warriors

I don’t want to talk.

I need rest.

I need silence.

The thoughts in my mind are overwhelming. They won’t stop. My life is a constant battle of outside voices competing with internal thoughts. It’s too much.

I don’t know how, but I need rest.

I’m lonely, but I can’t silence the storm of thoughts in my mind when another voice is in my ear; so I shut everyone out and feel relieved when they finally walk away.

I don’t mean to hurt feelings, but I need silence.

I don’t want anyone around because the tension that radiates from their discomfort with silence is even worse than being forced to talk.

I know they mean well, but I need rest.

I don’t need to lay down in the sense that it’s been a long day. I need to disappear for a while in the sense that it could be fatal…

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Depression Sucks.

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Fiction, prose

parting ways

“I thought it only fair to warn you, but the baby will come at dark. And you know how they like to prey.”

She shuddered as the courage in her spine parted ways, some into the atmosphere, the rest slipping into the earth. She knew he didn’t mean pray.

Overwhelmed with gratitude and relief that he had come, the baby moved inside her.

~*~

When I woke this morning these words were in my head! What on earth had I been dreaming? I hadn’t thought about writing  short stories, but maybe I’ve changed my mind…

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General bewilderment, Poetry

Why…

the explosion?

You’re deafening my dreams,

the yelling is sewing up

sarcastic seams.

I’ve grown into pink

and warm, loving streams

of consciousness, lost

in childhood low beams.

I’ve come to cherish

a colour so rare,

it’s often disparaged

and stripped to its bare

misunderstood essence

left beating to fare

in a world that translates

kindness

as

weakness.       Care

should be taken

to hearken the voice

that speaks so much closer

to ears and hearts moist

from beatings relentless,

frustrate in defenceless,

it’s time to put value

in not kicking more ass…

(when did that get cool anyway?)

I’m so sorry, what did you say?

No need to speak louder

put your guns down instead.

Let’s speak in a whisper,

nuanced tilts of the head –

(watch those mind bullets fall out…)

 

 

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prose, Uncategorizable

Lazy easter weekend share

!cid_001c01ca2c98$416acd50$0300a8c0@blucher

This looks lazy. Although, remember, looks can be deceiving. Well, except in this case. I am being lazy.

But, this is worth your time, I promise. It went around a couple of years ago, and because I’m so obviously filled with love for fellow humanity, and not just chocolate, I thought I’d bring it back around. Maybe counter clockwise this time.  But read it. For all of its philosophical poignancy/hilarity/downright jocularity. Because, it’s been misnamed.

Best cat pictures

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personal, Poetry

profile

eyebrows

I was so sure it was spelt with an “i”

and the more I look at it,

the more I want it to be.

That apostrophe.

In a much more logical place

I would have told myself,

and logic got me through

when I was too tired to remember

(well, my logic. turns out that wasn’t objective…).

And speaking of logic,

there was more space to fill,

and I ran out of ideas,

I mean, how much is there to be said about one’s own appearance

when one doesn’t understand the task

in the first place?

In the second place,

one needs a great ending.

Is what I hope I was thinking

and not

hey,
where the heck are my eyebrows?

Somebody? Anybody?

I’ve never noticed this before.

Should I be worried?

 

I wasn’t broken

just a little tired.

Oh so tired…

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General bewilderment, Poetry

attenuating melancholic circumstances

You’re moving me.

Why can’t I find you?

In this picture of a thousand words,

you’re in between.

Trees hovering over water,

black with all colours,

shaped like open jaw

but at a loss for the words you’re in.

I watch mesmerised, waiting for sound stilled,

the moon

reaching for my hand,

I rise…

 

Hey! said the clown,

I can see your house from here…

part two

 

 

 

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Christian, personal, Poetry

you know I’ll only say wiedersehen

what a recondite day for a funeral

the sky the colour of wind

with it’s abstruse way of connecting

and a restless need to rescind

 

the boundaries of pre conceived notions

that death is a part of life

we weren’t created to be separated

I’ll never stop thinking we’re rife

 

with the agonies of dimensional distance

cunning, convoluted and cruel

I thank God for blessed reunions

and perfuming the stench of death’s fuel.

 

 

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personal, prose, Uncategorizable

It’s that time again…

that same time…always that exact time…1:27 am,
(although, yesterday, come to think of it, it was more like 11.30,
and then the night before it was 12.45,

and then, I think earlier in the week it was actually in the daytime, but it could have been 1.27pm, now I hadn’t thought of that, but I know it wasn’t 1.23 because I purposely don’t look at the clock at that time, and of course, there’s the whole 11.11 thing, which is another time I don’t look at the clock, because, well, it’s just begging you to, and I spent too many years being superstitious and I just don’t do that anymore.
(But if I am brutally honest, there are some things I refuse to say out loud because, well, Murphy. And now I am writing within a bracket within a bracket, which means I’m inviting you into some inner inner thoughts and I am actually rethinking that because well, now it’s 1:37am and I seriously should be getting some sleep.
And I have to allow time for this gorgeously, heart breakingly melancholic lullaby….))

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