Pacifying your Writer Demons: The Suburb of Saints, Wine and Angels...

There are tunnel's through my mind...

and in the streets surrounding me,

They burrow deeply in unseen ways...

they cross beneath Raphael Court,

WE leave our skins and shadows behind...

in the dust and pouring rain,

and join our bones to the hidden wires...

that lace this suburb tonight,

We forgot why we were designed...

what our gears and mechanics do,

We forgot that we had a soul to hide...

before the soul-stealers snatched that from us too,

Now we step forward with ankles shod with iron...

and brands that still singe,

and the weights we carry in our arms...

we fear to drop lest we wake our dead,

I sprinted through a labyrinth of paths this morning...

sprinting ahead of the claws,

I moved about the chalk circle drawn there...

between Monet and Angelo Court,

then through the crows that perch screaming on the hill crest...

they wail at me,

and I wail back...

we all wail,

to end the gale...

yet night and day the wind it blows,

40000 miles per hour...

I see the people,

bent against its' force...

yet they are laughing and carrying on their life,

why is it that WE cannot withstand its' blades?

There was a grain of sand that thought it was a mountain...

There was a hand tying a rope,

about their hands, the bars, the yoke...

showing the sand it was but a grain,

There was a moth that decided not to die...

we die believing we won't,

and we scratch and punch ourselves for living for our heart...

when it is comfort to live for the heart of others,

because both...

require a blade,

either you turn the blade on yourself...

carve out your own heart,

or you hold the other person down and do it to them...

which would you choose?

There was once a kitten...

that fell down a hole,

something sucked it down...

something kept it down there,

what came back...

was something else,

something feral...

and ELSE,

You look into her eyes and face...

and you see something else,

you look in the mirror...

you see something else,

there is no us...

only the something else,

and what we write and speak...

writhes into life in the very air,

moulding and shaping and disintegrating...

again and again and again,

we uncreate our recreations...

There was a road,

that travelled down to nowhere...

it passed ten different gates,

and two-thousand and ninety-five hundred doors...

we stopped by each,

and tried a different delicacy...

a perfect moment in one we shared,

and in another the perfect storm...

we heard a song unfurl like the darkest of octopuses,

and a reef that glowed beneath the moon...

a silent dance of colour and darkness,

falling and weaving timelessly...

a ride into the endless distance,

and a way to live outside...

them,

we are the generation of the 1984...

and so far into the distance,

we tread the paths of the future...

because this is what they dreamed for us,

and hasn't that dream turned into more of a nightmare?

I stood in the oldest part of my suburb this week...

and the pavement turned into an ocean beneath my feet,

the dugongs and seahorses nibbled at my soles...

and I saw the shifting and vast hue,

a lighting storm of comets...

moved throughout the deep,

and the palest of fish swum up into the heat...

to whisper something in my ear,

'They will come in waves...

for the ocean is rising,

for the ocean...

is,

rising...

and our tails chase our tales through the mirrors,

and mirages...

we will be forgotten,

once we are remembered...

so help us that we should die angels,

rather than demons...'

We weave a new story into our lives,

and we roll the dice and play the game with no rules...

yet only one,

a life for a life...

against Fate?

He who changes the rules...

uses a whip and suffocation to place you where it wants,

we are the mice between the cats' claws...

and boy does he love to see us jump,

he who knows where the killing blow is for you...

challenge him?

Sure...

I keep trying,

only problem is...

Fate don't make no bargains Sir,

To weave and bound our way through his mazes...

we must stand despite the missiles,

walk forward despite the thorns...

laugh in the face of the shark,

the knife...

accept freedom in exchange for warmth,

become the in-between...

yet perhaps he shall tire of our games,

and allow all a little peace...

maybe we'll shake hands one day,

and sit down for a bite to eat...

And if dear Fate decides,

to see this as a challenge...

then Heaven help me,

for the next hit...

he'll use an axe.

Tread carefully...

unicorns roam here,

and boy do they have looooooooong....

teeth.

So....I have emerged from my exile to Blogging. Every hour seems to have taken on a blank or charcoal hue...and I know that unless I can get out get out get out get out get out get out out get out out out of Here...I shall not know up V from down ^ ;;^.

Sorry to have such a creepy Blog as a first one after all this time. Endure the silence so as to find the new and yet old light. That's what I always felt when I was very young...that I was running after this trail of golden light through the darkness that was always just around the corner...just over there, keep going a little further.

Sometimes I still feel it pulling me along...sometimes I wonder if it's more like a siren song, leading me on to my end.

Sometimes I think I shouldn't think so much. Sometimes I don't.

What is it that you regret...or don't?

Here...I'll start (then you):

I don't regret anything except that I listened to my homesickness rather than my head.