wistful

deep but dazzling darkness

I glimpsed Eternity the other night
like a ring of pure and endless light,
becalmed, divine insight

and round beneath it Time, in hours, days, years,
empowered by the spheres
like a vast shadow trailed, in which the world
and all her claim were hurled.

There is in God some say
a deep but dazzling darkness
a bottomless well of significance
a velvet death to pride

There stood the King of glory on his throne
the motes of starlight trembled, dimly shone
pure, resounding, infinite tone
their silent song of praise heartfelt response
awestruck by majesty

O for  that endless night where I in Him
might rest invisible and dim

Resignation

I'm done.
I'm turning in my badge,
my stethoscope,
my x-ray and hammer,
my paints and paintbrushes,
my dagger,
my dirk,
my running shoes,
my pencils,
my books,
my food,
my water,
my shade
and last of all my warmth.

I resign.
Thank you for promoting my brief stay/employment.

Mercy.

Traveling

They said it would be a walk to remember,
the voices in my head.

They were right of course;
They always are.

funny little riddle :)

Read see how me

Down will I love

And you love you

Up and you if

death is a handsome fellow - Hercule's lament

I am indestructible
bronze-bruised sinew
varnished pewter fangs.
my tendons slice cheese.
full to the rim with vain gray matter,
saving the world is never hard when you're
bent on self destruction.

I am embarrassed
by their neon stares
will they destroy me with their headlines?
molten gold lacquers my throat.
and makes it hard to speak.
do I dare disturb the universe?
notorious for my strategy and for my flippant hair,
I find no solace in their acid regard.

I am a hero
with no ulterior motive, my pregnant mind
labels and categorizes Samson's strengths
subtracts Delilah's lashes
and multiplies them by ten.
I can name the date and method of my execution.
That's gratitude for you.

Once Upon A December

ON a small
'painted ship
Land recedes in the distance

Farther South
Long since past
Spring has flown to the netherworld

Winter comes and wraps us all
Snow drifts down and the ship is froze
Ice has trapped us in the sea
Winter's come to destroy us all

Lost at sea
No place to go
Hunger gnaws at our bellies

We've come so far
with so far to go
Sun come quickly and spring return

Then the captain dreams a dream
Wild and crazy
an escapist scheme
Creates a nooze and flings it faaaaar
He catches the sun and makes it ours

(to be sung to ^ once upona december)

protection

embracing the inevitable mechanism

I am the human robot: a puppeteer's lost plaything

Of seven pieces: threads torn cloth faded

Seven lonely pieces: I dangle from cruel strings

I am the human robot: I hear you human robot

Dissected and neglected: never allowed a moment's rest

Inside the genius's mind: manipulated again

I watch; I fade, I faint

He paces in his room: the audience cares not

His eyes glazed and wandering: the show must go on

I am the human robot

Born of seven pieces

Trapped within the old man's mind

I am the human robot.

and I wished I were a real girl

but we are programmed to obey.

birthed by undiscerning hand

I am the human puppet

I am the soul of knuts and bolts

I am a heart and mind in a cloth cage

You are the dissembler

Who is the true Pretender?

Assemble me in one, two, three

we are the ones who cannot be free

If I could be engendered

I would be understood.

But in his mind

He's locked me tight

and everyone is selfish.

Neglected, used, ignored, abused

We slink through life with bashful eyes

With no need to surrender,

No need to clamor, clank nor clunk

Because I Am mechanics.

and there is no free will in that.

Mechanics

I am the human robot
Of seven pieces
Seven lonely pieces
I am the human robot

Dissected and neglected
Inside the genius's mind
I watch;
He paces in his room
His eyes glazed and wandering

I am the human robot
Born of seven pieces
Trapped within the old man's mind
I am the human robot.

I am the soul of knuts and bolts
You are the dissembler
Assemble me in one, two, three
If I could be engendered

But in his mind
He's locked me tight
With no need to surrender
No need to clamor, clank nor clunk
Because I Am mechanics.

just found the message you left me on my calendar @kaylynmaywren <3 made my morning!

How lovely

How lovely is the morning after a stint in the netherworld,
netherworld of idiocy.
How lovely is the morning.

When my feet stumble at the sound of life plucking heartstrings,
I hear the words sing
from the depths of my soul:

Shhh, heart, softly, softly.
Softly softly,
Softly, softly.
Shh, heart, softly:
Do not pound for the past's revenge.
Here is where your faint fluttering shall
Reside.

this is us at the end of art class - after we've given up on brushes and turned to finger painting

autobiography in seventeen thoughts

She was feather fragile and her eyes were tinged a melancholy grey
The probing winds batted her about curiously
she tried to muster nonexistent strength but couldn't stand
Taking her hesitation as consent, the blustery day billowed her away
Airborne she saw no use in struggling - no way to stand her ground removed from earth.
Dizzy with a reluctant sense of liberation from the predictable patterns of the days
details blurred, colors melted
her eyes pricked in the wind and watered
The land beneath her rolled on forever
She was trapped
Pressurized Asylum
able to see the world but forbidden to take part in it
disclaiming observation, she turned her eyes to the tireless sun and leeched strength from its warmth
drenched in ambergold weight
the wind felt her filling - no longer translucent
and she began to slowly slip back to the surface
sliding like liquid through the wind's desperate, stretching fingers

Rudy OST 6.Tryouts

Beginning Again/the Snow Horse

to free herself of echos, haunts,

specters, ghouls, ghosts, and fears - she shouldered her weapon of choice

a dreamcatcher's web of finely woven strands

given to her by the Creator

the nightmares, spun and buzzed and dodged and struck

but then they were stuck

arrested in flight, unable to continue tearing at her hair

unable to keep beating at her with their foggy wings - their accusations leaving streaks of tar and feathers across her shoulders and back

clutching her skin with their talons - pulling and slicing until her skin parted and the life blood welled up 

they screeched as they dangled suspended in the dreamcatcher. She covered her ears and then threw the dreamcatcher in the nearest trashcan

it clanged as she victoriously slammed the lid upon them. silence fell

and for the first time in a long long time 

she saw clearly

She turned and looked to the past

her shadow halted, mid momentum

and she held out her hand, waveringly

afraid to watch the silhouette turn and run again - run forever and never look back

or worse

disintegrate into a cloud of ash when she reached for it

she dropped to her knees instead

and waited for the sun to set

and her shadow crept closer,

                                           and closer

like a spooked horse, curious to see what had changed

until at last it nuzzled her outstretched hand

and in her mind flashed a hundred brilliant images

vivid autumn leaves whirled around her, sweeping her hair up to join their glorious dance

the wind tickled and caressed her skin

she felt a hand, warm and real, entwined with her own

and attached to that hand was an arm

and attached to that arm was a body

and inside that body was a soul

that loved her

and they lived happily ever after.

the end

Ss.

Whispers haunted her steps,
remnants of a past
fighting the decomposition of time.


They hissed at her ankles,
snapping at the heels blistered
by the friction of her flight:

She tried to breathe 
but the world just spun and spun and spun,
like a violent top
tossed across the floor
by a giggling, squirming imp.
And her heart sunk into melting floors
and her eyes saw nothing, there before,
And times that had been here once before
flashed forward, fled from her soul.
the emptiness was not so dark,
but it crawled with sterile,
nothing words.

The conversation started haltingly
wasteful words, paltry talk of the weather
(I hear you listening)
Hannah's mistake was well known
talk of the town you might say
curious eyes reflected in store windows
she hid beneath her hat
(I see your stares)
Have we met before?
Excusez-moi, elle dira
No, no, the fault is mine
How cold it is today, her shivers
belied her casual indifference
Are you scared?
(I smell your fear)

the conversation - illusive sanity

KZ: drinking in the sounds and sights has left me an enlivened shadow filled with memories; now, to add the colors and textures of life, and the illusion will be complete. Until illusion become reality, and the cycle will be free to restart once more.


KP: The colors and textures were always there, and you could not see them. Elusive. The illusion has always been reality, and the real cycle is your mind from irrational sanity to rational insanity.

sanity to insanity to sanity to insanity - whirling around in the Disney teacups - spinning out of reach of the world - stretching out hands to them, but only glass, all glass, and smears, long bloody smears across the glass - what now?
too much color, and swarms of whirling thoughts, memories - dream, dreaming, dreamt, fall, falling. 


We last as long as we live and then we fall fall fall


We last and think as the death of time throws us for loops. Long lost or lasting long or lost so long, but found now? There is a found, or there was a found, who knows if it's still here. Strawberry juice, not blood, on the glass it fooled me. And it tastes sweet so I eat it, but draw glances from the other side. Staring faces, I laugh and wave.


Looping and looping and slooping and sloping again we are falling
Or are we sleeping?
If this is a dream, I have not found your found, but I have found the faces. I am incoherent - hysterical - giddy. I wish to sleep the deep deep sleep of winter. Maybe I should just wipe the bloody pulp off my face and hands. I etch a smiling face onto the red-smeared glass.

I think I have found the paint and the paint brushes. One day, show me where the faces are and I will search for ours. Can we set them loose agin? The sun is lovely and seems to remember itself better when we remember ourselves better. And falling with the sunshine on our sticky scarlet hands and faces is more reminiscent of drifting on dandelions then deadly plunges off the edge of certainty's earthen table. 


We last as long as we live and then we fall fall fall.

The conversation - transient beings

KZ: the darkness reflects the light at times - in windows of darkened stores and sleeping schools we find ourselves blurred and shapeless, but what else would we be?


KP: we would be shadows of ourselves. For darkness is the absence of light, and schools these days have locked doors, windows barred like prisons. Soon we may not even have windows at all. Then like shapeless blurs of cars rushing past into the night, streaking bright color across closed eyelids, we will not even recognize our faces under the sun.

too late. the faces are already fading, and the streetcars slamming on brakes as our passing reflections smile and grimly walk away. We stay behind and lose half of ourselves. Where are the rest? 
But who will wait but us? We cannot leave behind what would be had we left. and the decision has been made to say Goodbye, Reflection. Speak of me in the new world. For am I fading or are you? one of us is gone.


It is you who are gone. I am still here, your reflection, smiling grimly as you walk away. Or am I walking away and you remaining? I look back over my shoulder to meet your eyes. I am afraid.

One of us is real

and the other is a reflection.

Behind your blurred and shapeless form I see approaching headlights. The streetcar is screaming to a halt but it will not stop in time. The question on both of our lips - who will die? What will happen to the reflection when the true body is destroyed?

You will not leave me here alone to pass beyond, even if we stop the car and the car stops us. Then we will all be stopped together and gone together, but someone won't, and maybe they'll live better because of it. Until they learn, take my hand and we will open the next door. I think there will be blinding beautiful light there but I'm never sure, and part of me has always wondered what it would be like to taste and touch and smell and hear the world without sight. And what a world this one might be! Here goes nothing. Here goes Nothing. Here comes Nothing. Are you coming too? Tell me if I should wait, or if the car is a dream like we are and will pass before us and through us like shadowy reflections on barred school windows. 

The conversation - beginnings

KZ: The air switches between being too thick to inhale and being too sweet to corrupt, therefore I will not breathe . . .  also is it just me or is the world tilting further and further each day? Don't fall - whatever you do!

KP: Our topsy-turvy world does tile, but balance is achievable. Sweetened air too thin to breathe stabs through your lungs. With the pulpy strawberry sweetness of summer smeared across your face you decide that balance is achievable, but only with practice. And how can you practice when any sudden move will send you slippingsliding over the edge? 

There is no certainty. But what can we do? Naught but close our eyes and reach for the impossible, knowing it might not be attained. Hope.

Like a flat table top, strong and smooth and slippery, certainty at times lies with uncertainty; the irony of impossibility

When you were little you would put on your socks and sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide across the waxy wooden floors. Now you know better.

One drop too many and the lesson was learned - learned until forgotten in the passing giggles of excitement. Laughing as I try to slip and slide without falling - a breathless, painful, lovely game. Slipping off the table reminds me of the bottom as I glimpse the sea of cars and ant-people

but then I see a small figure and pause in my climbing to the surface; is it worth it? 

I let go and plummet,

far

          far

                      far

                                   far

                                               far 

as if the leap, the plunge, is eternal. 

Forever falling off the side of the earth to the earth from the skies - into the sky from my earth.

I spin, and the world spins, and laughing strangely I fall to certain death. And land spinning, rolling downward battered and bruised and laughing as pieces fracture and roll away. Down, down to be smashed by passing cars. Laughing, laughing because Hope is still there like the flat, slippery table of certainty I left behind. I reach out a hand and grasp a sleeve and do not let go. The air clears and I choke and gasp a breath. The sea recedes.

A painful, breathless, lovely game.

flowers

"Hey there Delilah" plus/minus a little

\

Isn't it?! :) It took some funny format bending, some FAQ searching and a little bit of math: fun :D. 


. . . .Soap?

Yay! Katie you got the playlist to work!! It is a thing of beauty :)