Take a deep breath my friends, find a nice quiet space with lot's of paper and no people. Then...I want you to scream and tear all the paper up. Don't worry about wasting paper, and don't worry about how you look.
We are terrified to scream because it so blandly says that we are unsettled and not proper and how the world wants us to be.
Without the ability to scream, the world, and all of us shall suffocate.
On other notes I have been convinced through slight-of-hand that I should go and do my stress down day thing tomorrow. Alas, the gathering-donations-side of it won't probably work out as apparently there's too many legal ramifications, especially if I kinda wanted to just set up a donation tin without telling Lifeline first. Mm, conflict of interest and all that.
Ah hoo...enough talk about that, what I want to know is your soul. (serious eyes blinking). No, you can keep that safe.
You know I was up at exuberant late hours last night and for the first time in a while I found that I could write at that time of night. It was quite eerie though...what with the storm and thunder raging outside, hey, maybe that storm was the key to my inspiration. (It certainly made me feel more alive)
I also had a half-formed weird idea while I was pacing the house muttering to myself and Sodom yesterday. An idea that I tried out. To see if by staring at my own reflection in the mirror and talking to it, as though it was talking back to me, if I could eventually convince my mind that the real me is the one in the mirror and I'm just the reflection. Didn't really work but it gave me a great idea for a possible video tape: in which 'my other half' is giving strange advice to the real me, as I take it in turns filming them both.
Teehee.
I also tried something similar with a spoon once, in that they say that if you try and do something enough, eventually it will happen. Such as if a very stupid person decided from birth to press themselves against a wall and will themselves to pass through it, and stayed like that for their lifetime, that eventually they would succeed.
Okay, you ask, why would anyone want to do that? Yes you might be able to walk through the damn wall on your death, but who in their right minds would consider it worth the effort? In that respect anything is possible. Ah, so is it a fact than that we don't accomplish all we could because it seems too time consuming?
The answer? Of course!
However back to the spoon. My idea was that for an hour each day I'd stare at the spoon, memorizing every line and silver contour of it until eventually, I would be able to move it with my mind.
Needless to say, I gave up, heehee.
Also needless to say, I have far too much time on my hands.
In regards to more time-bending nonsense the part of my second book in Cara's adventures is kinda unsettling me. In that, she (Cara) has woken up to find herself deep in the subconsciousness of her darker side: which comes to her in the form of a gravelly voice and a dark presence.
Meanwhile, she is at times transported back and forwards through to memories of her previous self and life while also discovering that she has a part of her that belongs to a brilliant, golden, living force of light.
Sound complex? It's doing my head in, but once again not all is lost.
I don't seem to have a lot of inspiration today, so I'll basically end this journal here, with this small line:
DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU.
( :] I made you look, didn't I? Didn't I? :] )
No seriously, look behind you now!
We shall joust more later, much love,
Miss CLScarlett xx
P.S. I have decided that I'll post up the four-part poem that I wrote while I was in Bali, about a wolf.
Hope you like it...
Wolf of Night:
Story of a Wolf Part I
Wolves are prowling my streets tonight, they follow me wherever I am...
Trying to teach what I already know, leading me through the corners of my eye...Some are blind, some fill my heart...others I can't bear the sight,
Yet the one I know more than any other, can fill up the very night...
His shadow it sways, the moon dims glowing...his howl, the scream of wind,
His paws are molten, while his fur leaks tears...he is bonded to me by flight,
He was dying that first time – when I found him late one night...
His eyes lunging razor claws,
As I stooped into shadows when what I wanted was light, reached down and gripped hold...
His body weighed me down, yet his bones were thin...like splinters and his heart like ash,
He could not stand, yet I could, he leant on me...took and took,
I cried my heart, held him strong, that black fur of night, herald thereafter by a song...
Each night I write of him, his ghostly beige eyes – they haunt my thoughts, hiss – guide...
I took him to my deepest chamber, wrapped him tight in mind and slowly healed his many wounds, that were deeper than just skin and bone...
He raged in me, filled me with black nights...his claws slowly became mine,
I healed him but...he healed me, yet wounded me deep as deep,
Days turned to nights and black into light as slowly he regained his name,
Became not a beast of dust but a wiry strong thane,
Soon he could run and I ceased to try, soon he could scream, my sound ceasing...soon he could live, while I could not.
He left, like a winters last day, never-ending but gone just like that.
You couldn't see, you couldn't think
I couldn't be.
Now he is forever and I am his past,
he can toss a stone for me and howl at night for the time I took my last breath.
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