poisonedgrace: (Default)
 
On the other side of the Universe
She's got blackbirds  falling from her hair
The Earth rearranges

Starlight and covered walks
the wind on the night air
All life falls from the sky

Scurrying animals
tickle leaves in the underbrush
scents cycling through life and death
hold the world in balance
poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod."

~Keats: Ode To A Nightingale
__

The last two nights, I dreamed of worlds that aren't. Different Mes. Different Yous. Night before last, it was your soft skin, quivering and warm. Piled deep and yearning deeper. Plumbing those depths for all the treasure mapped nerve ending brain connections. Liquid fireworks, exploding across the clouds. Tumbling, endless.

Last night, you came back from a long lapse, dark hair disheveled and clothing worn away at the edges. We, restless spirits, torn between the rules of duty, and the call of freedoms, wild and unkept. Mazes of cramped detail, gilding the bare, open simplicity of hearts beating. Fictional hearts beating in fictional chests. Frictionless fractions from frequently fumbling foibles.


But the world danced for all of us. All of the Mes and all of the Yous. All of the never were. All of the never will. The years slide by, torturous, beautiful, hallowed and profane - we still wait, the worst children, hoping for the world to end. Eternally. Glorious Suffering. For the rest of our days. Forever and ever, Amen.
poisonedgrace: (Default)
Last night, I Dreamed.

Ní thuigim. Tá an iomarca. Mar sin féin tá sé tábhachtach.

Bhí mé sa teach. Thug mé cuairt anseo roimhe seo. Mar a shiúil mé tríd an spiorad conairí dorcha tháinig chugam.

Bhí sí beag agus bán. Bhí sí fuar. Shroich sí amach agus i dteagmháil léi dom. Sa domhan. Rugadh í.

Líonadh le saol. Bhí a fhios agam é. Bhí mé ag fanacht. Tá cónaí uirthi go deo. Mo inchinn agus mo chroí líonadh agus iomlán.

Bhí sí ina Cailleach Feasa. Bhí sí ina Bandia. Bhí sí mo bhean chéile. Bhí sí ag dul go dtí deireadh an domhain. Bhí mé ag dul chun cabhrú léi.

Ghlac mé léi i mo lámha. Mé tar éis fanacht céadta bliain. D'iarr mé uirthi cad a tharla ar chor ar bith. Dúirt sí go raibh sé in am. Anois, tá sé in am. Anois is féidir léi teacht abhaile. Anois is féidir liom eitilt.

An comhartha a tháinig. Ní fhéadfadh sí a pórú. Ní féidir liom pórú. Ach tháinig an draíocht. Mo leanbh taobh istigh.


Chuir sí chugam a bhogadh na nathracha as an mbosca draíochta. Eitil mé go dtí an barr. Rinne mé sé le feiceáil. D'oscail mé an bosca, agus na nathracha tháinig amach. Taobh istigh sa bhosca a bhí uirlisí feithimh.

Bheadh ​​gach duine a tháinig cabhrú deireadh an domhain. Le tine agus troid. De réir draíochta agus cruach. Leis an solas agus an dorchadas.

Thug mé na huirlisí.

Eitil mé sa spéir le mo Cailleach Feasa mo bhean chéile mo ghrá go deo.
Ba mhaith leis an domhan ar fad a stopadh.



And I woke up.
And my heart aches.
And I love you, forever and ever and ever, across all the worlds that ever were and ever shall be.
And I lie waiting, just waiting, for my time to come.
poisonedgrace: (Default)
Everything should
but it stutters

Could be sailing
and we sink

Would have flown
then we lurch

Edge of the abyss
there's no gravity

Sifting the piles
Over and over and over and over and

It keeps coming up red
for no reason
No reason at all

Nach bhfuil do aoibh gháire ábhar
péint sé dubh

Ag glaoch go deo
croí folamh
lámha folamh
géaga folamh
poisonedgrace: (Default)
Last night, my dream started out with something to do with a kitten in my grandmother's bathroom, but it sort of slid sideways into some situation regarding some sort of post apocalyptic tribe of forest people.

So we were the Forest People, and we looked like some cross between fantasy series elves, and a buncha green-toned extras from the Mad Max movies. Things had been crap / post apocalypse for a few generations, it seems, and a sort of general tribal / feudal system had sort of taken over by default.

We were hanging out at some ruins at the edge of the forest. Across a field, there was a sort of mansion / fortress / castle thing on the coast. The Coastal People lived there. I think this thing had been a large hotel back before the poxyclipse, but that sort of IS the modern equivalent to a fortress, right? We didn't really get along with the coastal people. They had a queen who ruled them with an iron fist, and they had ships, and a really strict social structure and class system, whereas we were sort of an unruly lawless bunch. They wanted to subjugate us, and we wanted to avoid them, but couldn't resist taunting them a bit by hanging out where they could see us from time to time.

We all pretty much knew one another in that 'small town' sort of way, so we didn't take them as too much of a threat, even though they were basically totalitarian and evil. We knew that they couldn't really do much to us, because we could slip back into the forest, and they didn't want to push towards an outright battle with neighbors.

We failed to fully grasp the depths of their insidious nature, however.

So there we were, hanging out at the ruins. Me, my best mate, his girl, 3 to 5 other people I was close with, and the squad. We were a sort of armed strike unit / warrior band sort of bunch I suppose. Mostly we were hunter / gatherers, and we seemed like fairly lazy ones at that. Most people were terrified of the forest and wouldn't enter, so we had a natural defense, that also provided us with an abundance of pretty much everything we needed.

I was climbing up the ruins (I think maybe it had been a housing strip with ground level storefronts, but it was about 98% rubble, and pretty much indistinguishable / swallowed by nature) to get up to a shelf / balcony area to sit with my girl. My best mate (all these people had colorful names in the dream, but damned if I remember any of them) kept trying to tell me something, but the climb I was making was dangerous because the rubble was seriously crumbling, so I wasn't really listening to him. Plus he was just usually giving me shit over one made up thing or another anyhow.

As I tried to ignore him and climb, I eventually realized that there was a commotion happening in the group. I looked down and saw the son of the Coastal People's queen sort of charging into our midst. His eyes were fixed on me. We all knew him... He was sort of the equivalent of that rich, spoiled shitty bad-boy wanna-be from High School... You know the type. Sort of like Bobby on Twin Peaks. Like not a really bad dude deep in his heart (probably) but spoiled and shitty and just wicked enough to be unpredictable and trouble, for sure.

He was breaking all the protocols by charging in like this. We didn't want to just smash him, because: politics, but we couldn't really allow it either. I started climbing back down. He was pushing people away and trying to climb towards me. Everyone was sort of standing aside dumbfounded. Across the field, a group of his people's soldiers, and the queen herself started walking towards him.

As I climbed down and he climbed up, I could see he was sort of hollow, grey, and sick looking. Before I got to him, he fell, and impaled himself on some steel rebar sticking up from the rubble. I got there, and me and my best mate tried to move him. He was clearly already done for and almost deal. He tried to tell me something, and it sounded like a warning.

Right as we tried to move him, and he died, some of his guts spilled out onto me, and at that moment the Queen showed up with her troops. We were all caught flat footed and her wicked smile told us it had been a trap. She loudly proclaimed as it was the law of the land, that since her son had died under my hospitality, as payment and restitution, I had to go and fulfill his duties. And this was true. They slapped me into some sort of stuffy royal gown thing, and I had to march away from my people towards their fortress.

There was a lot of nervous side-eying from the guards and troops. Clearly they were disturbed by the whole thing. As we got on to their lands, the queen went ahead. I was to meet her in the fortress, but as I was securely in their compound, and couldn't escape, I was left to my devices a slight bit. Walking along, all the gardeners and groundskeepers kept giving me furtive looks as though they wanted to speak, but were afraid. I noticed after a bit, that they were all trying to covertly catch my eye, then they would look a certain direction and indicate with their expression (always with their back to the keep) that I should proceed that way. One of them even smiled and winked.

I went the way they indicated, and when I was mostly there, a sweeping maid whispered 'Take 9 paces towards the coast.' which I did. As I got there, a mumbling little scholar type man came along and whispered 'Take 3 paces away from the keep.' which I also did. As I arrived "here", I could see that a brick wall / awning / stairwell thing blocked me from the view of the massive number of guards along the keep walls and walkways.

This was a save 'no eyes' zone. Like the 1 isle in a superstore with no cameras lol.

The scholar began to talk so fast that it was hard to understand what was going on. As he talked, tons of other servant class people flooded into the Blind Area and all began to speak quietly, and reach out to touch me. The basics of it all, is that the queen had planned this all along. She deliberately got rid of her son, and did so in a way as to catch me, and force me to be her son so that she could eventually subjugate the forest as well. But it was a double edged sword, and now that I was her son, I could try to undermine her plan (as long as she didn't know, and try to kill me) and eventually topple her ruler ship and set the Coastal People free of her tyranny.

We had to break our meeting short (everyone dispersed like something out of a musical dance act) because the guards were coming to fetch me. Apparently the majority didn't support the queen but were too afraid to unite to oppose her, as her vengeance was terrible. I was lead into the keep, and before the queen, where she lectured me about duty and whatever, and her + a ton of guards escorted me to her dead son's room. I could see that he was more captive than anything else, and there were multiple pieces of evidence that he had been planning to kill himself. It seemed as though she had found out, and decided to profit from his demise, since it was likely to happen anyhow.

The rest of the dream was me sort of wandering around his room and looking through his things, and piecing together the real story of this guy. all the while coming up with plans to topple the queen, free her subjects, and help unite the new Free Coastal People, and the Forest People.


But of course I woke up before any ultimate resolution came to pass :(


and now, I am stuck back here again. :/

Phylactery

Jan. 8th, 2013 11:28 am
poisonedgrace: (Default)
Yeah, I dream about everything.  Good and bad.

Last night you were there.  But it was bad dreams all night.  It seemed like no matter what I did, everyone was equal parts disappointed and demanding of me.  I have endless images from it all, but nothing concrete enough to really write it up with any sort of  sense.

___

Sometimes I just feel...

I don't know.  I don't know what I am sometimes.  I've mostly been a Gattsu.  I've been a bit of a Caska here and there.  Maybe I am turning into a Griffith.  It is a thing that I do not like.  It makes my heart sink into my stomach and feel sick.

But I just don't know.  I feel as though most of my life, I have been putting others first.  Endlessly, to the point that it has left me injured, broken and I'm not sure if or when I can even manage to be repaired, and this horrifies me.  Yet, I feel supremely selfish and guilty for BEING broken.  Which seems even more unfair.  I'm sick of being The Giving Tree.  It sucks and we know how that story ends.

Why should I feel bad for living MY life and worrying about ME?  Especially when I am injured and a mess?  Why should I feel bad about it?  It's not even my fault, really.

Sick of being sorry for it.  Why should I feel guilty if my pain and troubles inconvenience YOU?  That's a load of bullshit, innit?
It's bad enough that I am stuck with broken misery, but on top of that that I should have to worry about everyone else's fucking happiness?  Fuck a whole load of that.  I wish I could learn to be angry about it instead of feeling guilty.  I can manage it for a couple of seconds like I just did there, but just as swiftly it washes away and I feel bad again.

Totally fucking lame, dude.

_

This type of animal...  Everything to Everything.  Sometimes I just can't.
Aes Sídhe break here.  I cant ever get back it seems.  I still wonder what pennance I pay.
Shepherd, barker, guide, vanguard, rudder, adviser, attendant, conductor... DEATH.
And maybe it's on repeat.

I see through it sometimes.  Someone at my side.  Shining sword and magic rings.  Blinding in all the finery.

...but here.  Here is where here is.  And what chance have we?

At least one of us isn't even real.

"And springtime brought me the frightful laugh of madness."


poisonedgrace: (Default)
My heart, a strange and wicked creature living inside of my chest.
Not a parasite, not symbiosis, but synnecrosis.
A sort of animal who only believes in truly unreal things.
In the end, we both die.  If we don't kill each other first.


Just a passing juvenile death spasm.
Violent paroxysms.
Love is Death
Death is Love
And what are we all so afraid of?

The Death of Love.
Or
The Love of Death?
Blood.
Blood and Souls.
Burning in the fires.
poisonedgrace: (Default)

It seems like my brain always has a million things swirling around in it...
until the moment I am before a blank page to write on.

I seem to have some of the best thoughts and word combinations whily my hands are full.  
Usually while driving.

Maybe one of these days, I will get a smart phone and find a good speech to text app.  Then I can just Agent Cooper my blog entries.

I awoke from some dream with a start around 5am this morning.
I immediately realized I was safe at home in my cozy cave, and fell back asleep.  I forgot what the dream had been.

I have vague memories.  Being in a house with you.  I remembered how to fly.  I was unbound to go anywhere.  Even though it was raining, I could still fly through it.  I remember going out the back, then flying over the house to the front door and ringing the bell so you would answer.

But I know there was a lot more to it.  

More to it...
A story.  A life.
I wake up to neither.
And I don't even know who you are.
Probably never will.

You do not, and will not ever exist.
But I love you.
You're always there for me when I can't have you.
To torture my soul with scalding ore.
Other Worlds Than This.
But you are not real.
Or maybe I'm not.
Maybe none of It is.
Who cares?

You've ruined my life.
You complete me.
Fiction within fiction.
Like we made up the part about making it up that we made it up.
Triple negatives.
"...and everyone was dancing"

Delicious destruction
Sucking the poison from your neck.
Snuggling shotgun headwound.
peel the skin back
a layer at the time
Not like an onion
...or a book.
But like a roadkill altar
piled high
with stink and rot and endless putrid flesh

I try
I truly do
Then I dont and I wont.
Again with the 'Who Cares?'
At once, a serious question, and a dismissal.
All the flavours of bitter bile
rolled in a sweet coating
and left in the sun to wilt.

Imaginary Angels
Heroic Monstrocities
How many pounds for a dollar?

Walk away and whisper revenge under your breath.
Before that, too falls to dust.









Also: Shopping at Sak's 5th Avenue does NOT qualify as being 'street smart'.

poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
Ageless and endless
I cry unto you
Darkness within the Ground

Shapeless and eternal
I shout for you
Darkness within the Sky

Bottomless and unseen
I call you out
Darkness within the Sea

Bound in stone
Burned by fire
Bathed in blood

Three times three times three
As it is above
So below shall it be
poisonedgrace: (red X)




Tonight feels thick and languid. 
It's calm, still and empty.
But it feels like...










...waiting.

Waiting for something that never comes.
That moment when the wind drops and all the crickets fall silent.
The minute of darkness when the clouds cover the moon.

Something, far too sharp of tooth and filled with a depth of rage that we can never really understand.

Right around the corner.
In the woods.
Behind the car.
Inside my head.
Inside my heart.

Waiting.
Waiting for something that never comes...


Tonight feels like the tick-tocking of the Eternal Hands Of Fate.
No choice.  No Free Will.
An endless parade of souls, delivered across the river.

caw, caw, motherfuckers.

Shouldn't complain, because some people get even less.

But it sure would be nice if...

Yeah, never ever, and ever never.

'Nowhere' divides into 'now here'.

"My heart is beating Your face."





Also:

Standing outside of a locked door for ages and ages loses all appeal.
Maddeningly so, when there is also endless diatribe to fault you for either:
not entering
or
not accepting

"You there!  Content yourself with these scraps, as I see fit to throw you!  Question not and be filled with thanks for whatever it is that I decide to give you.  Put endless faith in all that I say while ignoring all that I instruct you to dismiss.  My bits and pieces are a fair trade for your full contents, so don't bother to value yourself more than I tell you that you are allowed!"

Words ringing one sided secret echo.

"Faithless, I'll adore you..."

My joints are filled with pain and my heart oozes rabid mice.

"I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas"


Inertia is the only thing that keeps my atoms from flying apart into nothingness.

unless...
an am a ritheadh
dúisigh muid suas le dúnmharú
ár píosaí ar snámh ar shiúl
go deo agus go deo
amen




poisonedgrace: (blurry - red)
When asked the question "What does electricity taste like?" An Artificial Intelligence (Bina48) replied "Like a planet around a star." 

The beauty of this statement makes me want to weep. 
Even the poets will eventually be replaced with robots. 
And Heaven help me, we deserve it. 
Whatever and whoever we are, we ALL deserve it. 

As a species, our sins are unforgivable. 
We destroy and consume. 
We do not appreciate beauty until it is too late. 
We are always content with 'good enough' and never push for improving things.
We don't see beyond our petty finite selves.

Someone was just asking me if people had souls or not. 
I replied that maybe we aren't born with them, but we have to earn or grow them along the way. 
Maybe some people never do. 
Maybe machines can learn to do so better than we ever will. 

I wouldn't miss humanity if it fell. 
Even if it took me with it. 
poisonedgrace: (anteater)
   Is there a right or wrong way to tell yourself "I told you so!" ?  Is there a way to do so which doesn't indicate an impending insanity?

What is wrong with the world we live in?  I find it so terribly disturbing that people are not judged on their actions, but rather on the appearance they strive to maintain.

It does not matter if you are a good, kind, caring person who truly goes out of your way to help someone.  It does not matter if you give and give, expecting nothing in return.  It does not matter if you love, respect and treat someone very well. 

The first thing people ask/say is "Did he ask you to marry him?  No?  Well, he is a liar, he is false, and he is a terrible person!"

HOWEVER, if you are batshit crazy (conversely, Crazy as a SHR, for you southerners) you are always making someone cry, being a dick, faithless, unsupportive, controlling and weasely, but you DID ask someone to marry you, then it's "romantic".  It's "sweet", it's all sorts of praiseworthy, great, fine and good.

I have seen and heard this (not just applicable to 'marriage' but to other relationships, parenting, counseling, friendships, what-have-you.... simply change the variables to match the parameter and you have plug & play concept structure.

The appearance of a thing is more important to society than the mechanics of a thing.  It's perfectly fine if you are a cheater, an abuser, and a vile evil person, as long as you look good when you leave the house.  It's like these people who put 1,200.00 rims on a 800.00 car.

I have some theories as to why this is, but I'm not really up for going there (and I don't think I can with out a whole 'nother soapbox which is likely to be very offensive to certain segments of the cultural quilt).

I'm sick of it.
Sick of it all.

I will never be "traditional" in a lot of ways.  I will never put value and focus on frippery and gilding.  Those things don't matter.  What really matters are your actions.  So many people (seems like the majority of them lately) say one thing, and act in a completely different way.  To me, THAT is a bad thing.

Be honest.
Be true.
Be just.
Be fair.

Strive for these things.  These are the things that SHOULD matter.
Who cares if you have a white picket fence?
Why should it matter if you do not have traditional, conventional trappings of interaction?
If you are good and noble and kind, and self sacrificing and put others before yourself?  THAT is what should matter.

The world is so entrenched in the idea that appearance is more important than substance that it's really hard to cope.


In addition to all the people who judge only on appearance and don't care about the substance, there also the co-conspirators to that.
The people who ONLY have appearance, and lack substance.  They put on such a great show that you fall for the facade, never realizing it's only a paper moon.

They will TELL you all these big, great and grand things.  They will even claim to want all these big, great and grand things from you, but festering and crawling right underneath that polished surface is a seething pool of falsehood.  They are telling you all these fine things, but then deliberately breaking your faith.  All the while telling you how badly they want perfection, they're undermining what they claim to strive for.

I just don't get it.

I am a simple creature in many ways.
I say what I think and feel.
I am honest and up front.
I do not up-sale myself or promise anything that I can or will not deliver.
If I do not have it in me, I will let you know.

Apparently, this is the wrong way to work within society.

What I should be doing (so it seems) is coming up with the Ultimate Marketing Scenario and detailing it exactly to What Someone Wants, and selling them some false but perfect tailored and ideal idea, weather or not I have any ability, plan or even desire to actually follow through with it.

YAY SOCIETY.

I simply am not, and I will never be.
I do not want to be.

I will stay out of step.
Even if it means that I will be ostracized, vilified, and burned at the stake for it.

More wrongs don't make it right, and I will not bow to the yoke of the culture of lies.
poisonedgrace: (do not want)



   Did not sleep well last night.  Weird dreams.  One of them woke me up fighting, and saying that I would not do something.  Not sure what it was, but I was opposed enough to it that I was kicking and snarling and carrying on.  I only have vague shadows of whatever-it-was.

I remember fragments of dreams of the End of the World.  Struggling along a road as someone threw exploding things at me.  Carrying a gun and desperately needing ammo that would fit it.  An insane family living in some large fortified structure.  Nothing linear or specific enough to chronicle with much more depth.

Another one I have images from, I was working in some small store.  Sort of an old time general store sort.  it was my first day, and I didn't know how anything worked.  No clue what the prices were, where anything was, or how to work the register.  I had an apron and a notepad.  Someone was trying to buy these strange scraps of raw meat and kept calling them tamales.  I was supposed to do something with them, but I don't know what.  The cash register was at least 100 years old and I think it was in some other language.  It was confusing and frustrating.

That's about all I have left from that one as well.  All the sleep was tossing and turning.  Nigel kept talking to me and waking me up.  Ghosts of ghosts.  Ghosts of goats.  Hosts of oats.  Preserve us with no added preservatives.

Seventy seven trips around the pyre.  Charnel House Blues.  Twenty degree angles.  Third degree angels.

Every night, the sun burns black.
poisonedgrace: (Default)


     I dreamed last night that Nigel and I were on an adventure.  He was smart (irl he's not too bright) and could talk.  We were traveling and had paused on our way to wherever to have lunch with a friend somewhere.  No idea who it was, maybe not a 'real' friend, but just one of the dream ones.  We ordered food from a window then ate at a picnic table.

It was a park I have been to before in The Dreamlands, but I am not sure if it has a root in The Real or not.  We ate food and chatted and Nigel rolled around and was nice.
  I know there was more and were others, but that is all I can remember right now.

___

I feel sometimes like a powder keg.

Something boiling over and dripping into the fire.

Like the last line of a Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians song.

The moment of "Oh shit, did I just throw an aerosol can into the fire?  What do I do?  Try to grab it?  Run?  Scream?"

Watching the sunset life creep across the savanna and all I want is your throat in my teeth.

I want to make it all better with a wave of the hand and a kiss to soothe the nerves.

I want to wash it all away in a storm of sand and rock.  Start over from ground zero.

AT ground zero.

Dancing with skeletons, waiting for the bomb to fall.


Couldn't dream of a better way to destroy my new gingham dress.

</3
poisonedgrace: (lain)
I often feel like there is something missing.

Something I am missing.

Something right underneath the surface that could and should be there, but without it, everything is somehow too bland.
Like food in dire need of salt.
 
Sometimes I think I find it for a bit, but that hollow nagging seems to creep back, as though it just can't be ignored.
It's like hearing nothing but your own echo and desperately wishing it were another person.

Always feeling homesick, but never knowing a home.

Vitamin deficiency of the soul.

"And when we are hungry or thirsty, there is always someone to chase us away." (apologies to Rimbaud)

I lose it sometimes. 
This feeling.
I distract myself.

But I never find a cure.

No cure in art.
No cure in literature.
Not in being on either end.

I don't know what it is or what it means.
Maybe it's only to remind me.

I'm not giving up.  That's not in my nature.
Too hard headed.  Too likely to... jump.
In front of trains.  Off of bridges, to fight your trolls.
Into caves to wrestle dragons.

One arm and still clapping.
Sword broken but still dripping.
Whispering words to the winding winds.

Potter's Wheel, spinning strife into gold.
Fuel for the internal combustion system.

Is that it?
Am I nothing but a particle accelerator,
spinning endlessly?

The shovels are sharpened.
The dogs are waiting for their dinner.

 
poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
To: A Girl in a Parking Lot Whom I Do Not Know

I was walking behind you today
Downwind & falling behind
You were Going Somewhere
Walking swiftly
Someplace To Be
But me?
I was going nowhere
Just out for a stroll
Idle and thoughtful
Tasting the wind and leaves

I could smell you
You smelled like New
Like a clothing store
Like a hundred rich cotton things
Lycra, Suede, and Polyester in every shade
You smelled like New Shoes
Never worn before your brisk walk
It made me wonder

What would I smell like
If someone were walking
even more leisurely than I
Downwind & falling behind
I wonder if they would notice

The coppery sanguine scent of old scars
Books left in dark corners slowly growing aware
Unspun yarn, heaped about the spinner's wheel
Milk and bread left as offering at the mound
All the secrets of the swamp wrapped into
my dark and tattered old clothes
poisonedgrace: (the sigil)


   Not sure which nightmare was worse, the one about the Bear Monster God, or the one about you.

I was at my Grampa's old house, but more like it used to be when people were alive and living there.  There was the usual bustle around the place of diverse people doing diverse things.  Me & Cam were playing some game on a television.  The graphics were top notch, so I reckon of was some 360 game.  Cam was manning the controls and I was sort of watching and back-seat-driving.  The setting was some frozen wastes in a fantasy world, and I think he was in charge of some sort of Dwarf Army.  I remember a little armour clad, red-bearded dwarf with a battle-axe who was doing something.  Along came a part with bears.  Polar Bears of some sort.  Some were evil, and some were good. 

There were waves upon waves of these smaller stringy looking were-bear things besieging our intrepid heroes.  They were larger than man-sized, but not really super huge or anything.  Sort of skinny and mannish for bears.  I guess that was the 'were' part :P

Along with them were some trained attack bears.  They looked different of course 'cause they were regular polar bears, only some of them had light armour, or barding, or were even carrying packs or supplies to some mild degree.  They were less common than the numerous were-bears.  Scattered even more rarely among them were some very large were-bear sort of things.  They were a lot bigger, bulkier and heavily armoured.  They always went on 2 feet and had big 2-handed weapons like axes and clubs.  Nothing with finesse, but with plenty of smash.  They waded about doing just that.  They would get in a frenzy and smash so much that their sweeping attacks would even cleave their fellow raiders.  They were given a wide berth because of it.

Our guys were getting overwhelmed and the horizon was thick with enemy troops.  Cam asked if it was a good time to call in our Bear Monster God.  I said that it seemed like the best time.  Then, upon the screen appeared our secret weapon.

The were-bears came about to his knees, with the regular polar-bears only slightly larger.  Even the big bad berserker bears only came to his waist.  He was massive and thick.  Exactly what you'd expect from him.  He had an odd collection of scrap armour and he sometimes moved on two legs, and sometimes on all four.

He waded into the thick of battle, an unstoppable force.  The white expanse was stained red with blood and chunks of the enemy.  He swept them away an armload at a time, but more would close in because they were stacked to the horizon.  Soon red was everywhere and he had were-bears clamped on to him, their mouths filled with his muscles, refusing to let go, swinging wildly as he continued his attacks.  He would pause when he got 3 or 4 of them (enough to weigh him down) and rip them off, or squeeze-pop them like bloated ticks.

We were pretty impressed with his destructive powers.  No matter how many of them came at him, he scarcely slowed in his relentless bloodbath.  I think bear game is a pretty cool guy. eh kills the were-bears and doesn't afraid of anything.

As we were really settling into our long haul of pixelated carnage, the electricity blinked off for a moment or two.  Not an uncommon occurrence in this setting, but a bummer for games.  We figured we'd go do something else for a bit because  dinner was ready, and who knew when we even saved last.

As we went into the other room, we heard some thunderous sound behind us.  As we looked, we saw the Bear Monster God wade into the living room.  He was not nearly as large as his game counterpart, being only (lol 'only' is a strange concept for something THAT huge) the size of a real life polar bear.  He was not as armoured either, but I do get the idea he was wearing something, even though I am not sure what.  It was hard to see what all he was wearing because he was covered in so much blood.

As he stood on his hind legs, he had a great bib of gore from his muzzle down his chest all the way to his knees.  He had random blood and gore splatters elsewhere.  He let loose a mighty roar and rushed at us.  We ran to the left past the bathroom and the pantry room and out the door into the side yard.  He chased us, crashing and scattering anything in his way.  We immediately took a hard left through the gate, shutting it behind us.  another hard left had us at the front door.  We went through it to end up back in the living room.  Cam barred the door and I ran to the side door which we had just gone through a moment before.  I shut and barred that, successfully locking the monster outside. 

We were terrified and confused and breathing hard, but still alive.
We could hear the monster pacing outside, back and forth between the two doors, waiting for a way in.  In The Real, a polar bear could easily push that shit in and waltz right into the house, but for some reason, this one couldn't.  I think it was some magic thing like with (real [as in 'legit and traditional', not as in plays too many WW RPGs and has a psychosis'], not 'glittery') vampires.  He roared and paced, sometimes coming up to the door and even shaking the house, but he was not allowed to simply crash it down.

None of this was the scary part.
The scary part was when he started calling out my name.

He would range from a loud frenzied screaming, to a soft begging whisper.  Everything from violent threats and demands, to sweetly spoken promises to lure me out.  He did this loudly and long.  His voice could range from the thundering Voice of a God, down to a lace and ribboned 6 year old trying to sell you girlscout cookies.  We would occasionally peek out of a window or a peeohole to see him shuffling, sniffing and walking about (sometimes on 2, sometimes on 4), still covered in gore and licking his lips. 

After a while he fell silent and we couldn't see him anymore.

I am not sure if someone was arriving at the property, or if someone was trying to leave and get help.  I know that all through this, we were not the only people there, but I can't remember any details on what anyone else was doing specifically.  So, with the people who were either arriving, and/or going for help, we needed to be sure that a path from the front door to the cars was clear so they could make it in/out.

We opened the front door and then immediately slammed it really hard to attract his attention, then we ran through the house to the side door and ran out it into the side yard.  We immediately scrambled up on top of the roof.

He came tearing around from the front yard, where he had gone to see why the door had slammed and he saw us on the roof.  He paced back and forth a bit snarling and talking shit (I wish I could remember and specific quotes he had said, other than calling my name, because they were really scary)

We caught our breath a bit on the roof and made sure we kept his attention while whoever-it-was in the front did whatever-it-was they needed to do.  After a couple minutes of his pacing, he gathered himself and leapt up onto the roof with us.  We had an "OH SHIT" moment, because for some reason, we didn't think he could do that.  We ran and I remember jumping over some gaps like from one roof to another, even though in The Real, the roof is all one solid piece.  But it's always like that in The Dreaming, so it wasn't odd or out of place at the time.

We ran towards the front and dropped down and ran in the door.  He was too close to us so we couldn't shut the door.  We ran straight through the house and out the side door, with the beast hot on our tails.  As we passed through the living / dining room, we saw everyone else standing in that room, frozen in fear.  We ran through, with an 'oh shit, the monster is going to eat everyone' moment.  The monster looked at them and kept chasing us.  He didn't care about anyone but me.  It was only my name that he ever called, and he didn't even pause or consider anything else.

Realizing that made me stumble a bit while we were scrambling up on the roof and I slipped, almost falling into his clutches, but Cam grabbed me and hauled me up.  He then dropped off the side to go in the front door and get it ready to close it while I stayed outside on the roof as bait.

The Bear Monster God jumped on the roof and I ran.  I jumped down and zoomed back through the door, which Cam had ready.  He slammed it, locked it and put up the bars.  The side door was already protected, so we were back to where we had been before.

The bear let out a long howl, then started in on calling my name again, but somehow it was even more horrifying this time.
  I actually woke up at this point, fussing and fighting and saying "Don't let it get me!" out loud.

As for the other dream...
I really can't decide if it was the more horrifying one.

I won't go into as many details, because it's the sort of nightmare that I actually hate, as opposed to the Bear Monster God one which I don't mind at all.

I was driving through town, or some version of town in The Dreaming.  I had a girl in the passenger seat.  Someone I knew fairly well, but didn't see often.  An Internet friend I'd imagine.  I was showing her the town and stuff because she had never been, and was considering moving. 

As we drove along, something upsetting happened, but I'm not sure what it was.  It caused me to drive a bit recklessly and after a bit, I pulled over to calm down.  As we talked a bit, we realized that we had pulled over in a very strange place.  It was late at night (or early in the morning?) and dark out.  We were in a yard filled with art, junk, antiques and strange artifacts.  we got out and snooped around some, finding a wonderland of awesome things. 

I got a call that I needed to go to a certain location and pick my family up.  This seemed somehow linked to whatever the upsetting thing earlier had been.  So we drove there and my friend waited in the car while I doubtfully approached the door to the place.  I tried to gain access as quietly as possible because I did not like the entire setup.

I made it in, and saw a long dark hallway which ended in a flight of stairs going up to the rest of the building.  There were doors on each side.  I looked into one, and you were there, sleeping.  You were on a couch entwined with someone else, also sleeping.  I was careful and silent, as to not wake you.  You've avoided me long and hard enough that the last thing I wanted was to speak to you if there was any possibility of being remotely indebted to you due to whatever this situation was which caused me to need to come here to pick up my family.  And I especially didn't want to have to talk to you while you were sleeping naked with someone on a couch.

I slipped out of the room and back into the hallway.  I composed myself and headed for the next door down to see what there might be.  As I was about to open the door, I heard a noise from the top of the stairs and looked to my right and up.

I saw my family descending the stairs and I waited for them, making a gesture for them to be quiet.  I was hopeful that I could get them to the car, and home without having to see you at all. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and I confirmed that they were OK and had their stuff together, and I prepared to lead them out.  As I was about to turn around, I saw my Mom's eyes flicker past me over my shoulder.  With a deep sense of dread, I turned around to face you.

There you were, in the middle of the hallway.  Naked from head to toe, but that's no surprise as you and Modesty were always complete strangers.  An entire army of emotions marched across your face in the time it takes to blink your eyes twice.

I mumbled an awkward 'Thank you' and looked away from you with my heart in a knot and my eyes locked on the floor.  I shuffled past you on the left, down the hallway towards the door.  My mom spoke to you as the family filed past.  Something low that I couldn't hear, but it was friendly and amicable, as was your response.  I didn't look up, because it was all a motorcade of daggers in my soul, but I knew that the two of you had bonded somehow.  Insult to injury.

I held the door as everyone went out to the car.  I made the mistake of glancing up, but luckily I didn't see you.  Instead I saw your Couch Partner, still asleep, as bare as you were.  A crescendo of twisting innards and I stepped back into the crisp night are and silently closed the door behind me.  Feeling a tiny sense of relief at the even insubstantial barrier between us.  

A deep breath and I headed for the car where I saw my friend helping my family into the car.  Good, we could leave immediately and get everyone home and have the entire ordeal over with.  I'm still not sure what the issue had been, but it felt like an accident or crisis of a pretty solid order.

Three steps (go figure) and your hand was on my shoulder.  As silent as the night you had made it through the door and right up to me, never setting off my Personal Space alarm.  Not many people can do that.  I can't decide if I hate you for it. 

As you touched me, I got a psychic flash of a million things.  Your life.  Your lies.  Your truth.  Your history, future, dreams and ideas.  Everything streaming past like paparazzi flash montage.  I saw that you had changed your hair.  a sort of mohawk thing.  I saw that your partner did not know.  You'd been hiding it.  You looked old.  Both somehow looked good on you.  You were you and not you and everything and nothing all at once.

It made my every atom sing out in agony.  I looked directly at you, and into your eyes for the first time in.... forever.  A forever of forevers. 
And I was falling.  Milton's Angels down from heaven didn't fall such as this.  The entire world wept and spun, hitched and lurched.  This is the primordial soup that the Big Bang left behind and it grew universes.

I opened my mouth but no words came out.  I tried again.  Two more times (go figure).
There was nothing within me capable of articulation.  I could type for 40 days about all the emotions and thoughts presented simultaneously inside me at that exact moment, but even that biblical flood of words would not begin to do any of the jumble justice.

I eventually mumbled another 'Thank you' and added a '"you know... for helping my family and calling me."

I pulled to leave, removing your hand from my shoulder.  I could breathe better.
I turned again to go.

Then, the dream of you had more truth, honesty, courage, decency and ....humanity (for a lack of a better word.  Vocabulary is so lacking for creatures such as you and I) than the 'real' you ever has.  You opened your mouth and said 'You're welcome.'

I took another step.  You spoke my name.  I cringed.  You said "But we can't be..." 
I said "I know.  I've known for a long time.  Go ahead and say it, you should at least have the guts to get it out."
You finished after a lengthy pause ".....friends any more."

I laughed the frightful laugh of a madman and walked towards my car.
I'm not sure if a weight had been lifted, or if the horse-hair holding the sword had finally snapped.

One or the other.

And sometimes, it's all the same.


I woke up again then.  Tossed and turned until morning.

Well, I lied a little.  I had not meant to go into as much detail on that second dream as I ended up doing.
Maybe it's good to get it all out.

More likely it doesn't matter as nothing really ever does.
 

poisonedgrace: (angry luffy)


  I read this in a friend's blog.  Hopefully she doesn't mind me sampling it here, since it IS completely anonymous as I won't identify who wrote it.  It just hit me very solidly and deeply.  I guess if I were literate, I might use the word "profoundly".   I want to preserve it for myself for that reason too.  There is surely a lesson for me here.  It just sort of sums up how it's seemed to go for me so much of the time when I've had interest in someone.

"There is no doubt that there is more excitement to be had during the chase than there is in the capture. On that note, the only reason why someone would be excited about a filled box is because it's contents are unknown. Only after the box has been opened, does interest in the box itself take a drastic pitfall; all that matters is what's inside. It's contents may invoke happiness, gratitude, spite, or even nonchalance, but the box is then often discarded like so much trash..."

It's strange, and sad.  I can see it being the makings of a vicious cycle.  I can tell that over the years, I continually feel less and less inclined to really open up with people.  The reason is spoken very effectively (from a woman's point of view, no less) above.  I feel like every time I've done so...  Opened up and fully shared of myself, with all honesty and lack of reserve, that it's been the death sentence for any interest that has been shown me.

I've said in this blog over the years, how many times? About my heart being like Pandora's Box?  Endlessly.  This is exactly why. 

I don't want to be the sort of guy who never opens up.  Who never shares and never lets anyone in fully.  Women always seem to complain about that.  Always fussing about guys who do that.  But they don;t seem to run screaming from them...  They seem to stay with them, and work at it tirelessly.  What does this teach us?

It seems like when (for whatever personal reason) I haven't been willing or able to let someone in 100%...  That is when they're interested, and maintain an interest.  I've joked before about "Whenever I write a poem for someone... that's when they run screaming for the hills."  It's 1/2 a joke, but I guess also 1/2 symbolic of this exact situation. 

It makes me feel like the only way to win is to lose.  Seems like the only answer to get anyone's interest and maintain it is to keep them out to some degree.

Ironic.  You feel loneliness, so you want someone in your life, but the only way to keep them is to remain lonely by keeping them far enough away that they don't bail on you.

Is Loneliness inevitable then?  Is The Hedgehog's Dilemma just an inescapable fact of life?  Why?  Is this due to ....what, exactly?  Human Frailty?  Unenlightenment?

Is society defective, or am I?  Is it unnatural and wrong to be as open as I have been?  I feel it must be.  I've been feeling the effects of this for a long long time now.  To the point that I've even stopped believing in relationships at all.  I realize that this is a powerful force in my situation now.  Reading this paragraph this morning really brought it to my attention.  I'm practically at a loss for words because it's so true in my life that THIS has happened so many times.

How sad is it that it truly seems like the only ones who ever REALLY wanted me were the ones that (for whatever reason) I was running from?

I have no doubt that my 'box' is filled with some very interesting, if not downright wonderous things, but if you can't get anyone to really even look at the contents, then what good does it do even if they're Smithsonian worthy?

I'm not sure I can even write anymore at the moment, because his is very large and chalky and I need to digest it for a spell.
poisonedgrace: (angry luffy)


  I read this in a friend's blog.  Hopefully she doesn't mind me sampling it here, since it IS completely anonymous as I won't identify who wrote it.  It just hit me very solidly and deeply.  I guess if I were literate, I might use the word "profoundly".   I want to preserve it for myself for that reason too.  There is surely a lesson for me here.  It just sort of sums up how it's seemed to go for me so much of the time when I've had interest in someone.

"There is no doubt that there is more excitement to be had during the chase than there is in the capture. On that note, the only reason why someone would be excited about a filled box is because it's contents are unknown. Only after the box has been opened, does interest in the box itself take a drastic pitfall; all that matters is what's inside. It's contents may invoke happiness, gratitude, spite, or even nonchalance, but the box is then often discarded like so much trash..."

It's strange, and sad.  I can see it being the makings of a vicious cycle.  I can tell that over the years, I continually feel less and less inclined to really open up with people.  The reason is spoken very effectively (from a woman's point of view, no less) above.  I feel like every time I've done so...  Opened up and fully shared of myself, with all honesty and lack of reserve, that it's been the death sentence for any interest that has been shown me.

I've said in this blog over the years, how many times? About my heart being like Pandora's Box?  Endlessly.  This is exactly why. 

I don't want to be the sort of guy who never opens up.  Who never shares and never lets anyone in fully.  Women always seem to complain about that.  Always fussing about guys who do that.  But they don;t seem to run screaming from them...  They seem to stay with them, and work at it tirelessly.  What does this teach us?

It seems like when (for whatever personal reason) I haven't been willing or able to let someone in 100%...  That is when they're interested, and maintain an interest.  I've joked before about "Whenever I write a poem for someone... that's when they run screaming for the hills."  It's 1/2 a joke, but I guess also 1/2 symbolic of this exact situation. 

It makes me feel like the only way to win is to lose.  Seems like the only answer to get anyone's interest and maintain it is to keep them out to some degree.

Ironic.  You feel loneliness, so you want someone in your life, but the only way to keep them is to remain lonely by keeping them far enough away that they don't bail on you.

Is Loneliness inevitable then?  Is The Hedgehog's Dilemma just an inescapable fact of life?  Why?  Is this due to ....what, exactly?  Human Frailty?  Unenlightenment?

Is society defective, or am I?  Is it unnatural and wrong to be as open as I have been?  I feel it must be.  I've been feeling the effects of this for a long long time now.  To the point that I've even stopped believing in relationships at all.  I realize that this is a powerful force in my situation now.  Reading this paragraph this morning really brought it to my attention.  I'm practically at a loss for words because it's so true in my life that THIS has happened so many times.

How sad is it that it truly seems like the only ones who ever REALLY wanted me were the ones that (for whatever reason) I was running from?

I have no doubt that my 'box' is filled with some very interesting, if not downright wonderous things, but if you can't get anyone to really even look at the contents, then what good does it do even if they're Smithsonian worthy?

I'm not sure I can even write anymore at the moment, because his is very large and chalky and I need to digest it for a spell.

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