Be unborn, Mother--
depart from the grip of Time.
and in yourself be nurtured--
Be the cradle of your own flesh,
your own sky of bones;
Be alone the secret river of your breath.
the hand of God
is left to clutch,
the atmosphere within you--
and cannot speak your name;
and you stir not in your sleep.
I know you where the violets grow,
where the stars light up the dark between themselves.
I know you as purple and black,
the royalty of bruises blooming;
I know you to be red, red, red--
a spreading wound,
dye on fabric in the streetlamp's glare.
You are no-color; you are crystal;
you are the tears that are the vehicle of souls,
Be violet, Mother,
be the color of the outside,
the spaces that do not belong,
the emptiness that is between.
I will look for you there--
I will climb the cigarette-smoke ladder
into the lone bare bulb on the ceiling;
I will look for you on the spirit-streets,
in soul-sewers with cold-eyed Guides and empty echoes--
Stray-Dog will find you,
Gutter-Crow brings word of you,
Plague-Rat tasted you, once,
the crimson of you that you lost
in a cluttered alley by the bar.
Mother, I am walking
Mother, my shoes are worn,
and my shirt is thin against the cold.
My drum is in my footsteps.
My rattle is in my lungs.
Mother, I pray for you.
I am following the streetlamps
to the place where vultures circle on the skyline.
I hope to meet you there.
In my pocket is a picture of you smiling--
a picture of a girl without a face.
When I see you, I will know you,
When I meet you there.
Transcribed from longhand, soon to be crossposted to ark_lights
and bone_rosary @ DW
I am branching out into different liquid inks. Back when I was trying to find a new brand to use in the longhand journals, I wrote poetry with various types of blue in our (most recent) poetry notebook, so the poor thing had already become a kind of ink gallery by accident; today I was putting new ink orders together and had to try out a couple Noodler brand inks to see if they did anything for me. Thus, there is a shorter poem before this one written in Dragon's Napalm
, which is indeed the brightest orange I can imagine without drifting into actual neon. I had gotten a bottle of Nightshade in the hope that it would be a deep, rich purple and thus good for pulling at buried parts of my brain, but sadly it's an extremely dark plum, more like brown with a touch of red-purple added. Oh well.
I hadn't meant to do much with the poems except dump some stream of consciousness so I could look at a mess of text of a certain color, and indeed the first poem is kind of a random jumble of Edenic and shamanic imagery. This second one surprised me.
Today: Susan Ching, shamanism, urban dystopia.
Perhaps tomorrow: Astartes, genocide, cake with strawberries.
Then next week: Pokemon, theology, post-scarcity gradeschool education.
Or something like that?
...I, specifically, have ended up in the habit of saying nothing to anyone. Even now, I avoid talking to anyone, though work is human-intensive and sometimes it's just a case of me being worn out from too much interaction and bustle and noise during the day and being in no mood at all for communicating during non-work hours. And then, of course, there was me overthinking about what's proper to say online, what secrets I should be keeping (though I think keeping one's secrets has become hugely unfashionable?), whether I should transcribe reams of longhand entries to link my last period of activity to a new one or otherwise come up with some way to get everything making sense...so the problem kept becoming too large and difficult for me to struggle with successfully and I kept tossing it aside, until finally it's been nearly half a year since I said anything to anyone.
If it is any comfort, I really haven't been talking to anyone else. I don't even talk to people in meatspace unless the job requires it--no hanging out on weekends and such. Even my family keeps thinking that I'm dead, for some reason (and I wish I was exaggerating...).
The Internet is really the only place where we can remain honest and talk about things that actually matter. I've noticed that people have been leaving for other services or dropping off the radar such that there's very little actually linking us to the Net these days, and I know that that's just how it happens and is not really anyone's fault, or even a bad thing at all. If it ends up simply being us talking into a void, then that will be alright too--maybe it will be kind of like a homepage back in the days when the Net was pay-by-the-minute and you had to update your HTML journal if you wanted to write an entry, then update your front page news so people would know you updated when they came by to check, and if they wanted to talk to you about your journal then they'd have to email you out of the blue.
I am not too sure about what will happen in the future--probably at some point I'll give in and assemble some bullet points about what has been happening since...last July? Organizationally, I just created the ark_of_eden
community on LJ in order to restructure the group journals around a comm where all of us can post using personal journals and the DW structure can be mirrored exactly. This may seem overly anal, but the point of the exercise, as on DW, was to create a framework that could handle expansion more easily. Everybody likes having icons and names of their own, but if we were to suddenly get, say, thirty more people who all wanted Outside access, a shared journal would be an awkward way to make that happen. Replacing it with a central community produces less hassle and gives everyone more autonomy, in our opinions.
The LJ comm is still newly dropped from the tree, so there isn't anything there yet; observe the DW equivalent
if you wish to see the concept already in action. I'd like to branch out more on DW, personally...
For now, I have to return to my chores and such, but I hope everyone is doing well.