I feel like something ancient and forgotten...
two centuries removed at least,
something that was lost two million years ago...
in a cacoon of amber and sleet,
and now I can feel myself changing...
my limbs and my skin shifting,
claws growing from my hands...
my reality fracturing,
the blood burning...
and shrieking within me,
disjointed melodies plague us in the dark...
and the whispers crawl like the crows their eyes they dart,
I have decided you see that this month of October...
shall be haunted all through,
and perhaps fate shall have the luck of you...
I find myself writing these days,
away from reality and with the lights off...
we are dreaming of smoke,
that pours from a thousand hills...
and a figure on the mountain opposite to you,
whispering your name...
'We are shadows of what they believe us to be,
and we are more...'
Imagine an ocean,
if you dare...
dream deep and long,
and envision...
that your ocean looks like a lake,
you see it...
and believe it to be shallow and clear and beautiful,
yet beneath it...
it is plagued ever-long by depths that spiral down,
down deep...
into the bones of the earth,
while the pale and sharp creatures nibble their way through its' sides...
Through its' core,
and it is changed...
and we are changed with it,
dear creatures of myth and legend that read here...
the Triangles are expanding,
and the time is rushing more furiously...
we are tripping over the feet that once held us,
all the while unaware of the mouth that yawns behind us...
we run and we falter and we scream and we sprint,
a wolf did run...
shrieking through the night,
and the rain and the pouring hail...
until finally it sunk,
crying into the night...
for all it had ignored.
We listen to riddles so as to forget the rest,
and we decided...
to hear.
Now the sun beats down...
on a street that wavers and flows,
I wish again for the jazz to break this heatwave...
and that devil-may-care grin,
shining out at me from the warm night shadows upon the roof...
we feel ourselves flickering,
with the world around us...
and once,
sometimes...
I hear the wood in the walls creak about us,
telling us about ways hidden in the structure of this ancient house...
Take a minute,
and step again to the shores of your ocean-lake...
Step in: tread carefully.
You feel yourself being pulled down deep...
the bone-jarring coldness tearing your senses to life,
the heat of the day slipping away like a second skin...
as the sea grips you by the wrists,
and drags you down...
you float past hues,
the barest shade of violet and green...
and a million shimmering fish,
fly past like a dream...
the coral coils in the shapes held inside your head,
and you feel yourself resting...
as though in the softest bed,
you are enveloped by the waves...
and countless grains of salt,
murmuring around you in an array of patterns and silt...
you sleep still.
You claw your way up the shore of an island...
from the sea that heaves and rolls,
you hear a solitary cry...
wind-like and forlorn,
echo about your head and the earth...
and as you look up,
you see a house built of off-white rock...
and from within beckons,
the scent of caramel and cream...
you walk forward,
through the cooling air...
and feel the sea-smoke,
rising from your skin...
as you breathe the oxygen in,
and you see that the house is covered in chimes...
and strangely broken shapes,
the smallest pools filled with shells and galaxies...
glint up at you from the sand around,
you see a figure beckoning...
and the smallest glimpse of feathers and sleek shadows,
dark ones that gaze from emerald eyes...
peering at you from below the awnings,
Inside you sit down and a gift is offered to you...
wrapped in black silk,
inside are two objects...
one delightful,
one horrid...
though the interpretation is up to you,
a slender knife of grey...
and a key fashioned from bones,
one is for the golden chain fashioned about your feet...
the other is for your heart,
the figure stoops...
and hands to you a dish of banoffee pie,
for strength and good-feeling...
they say,
a way to lighten up your soul...
on this your day your choice,
choose to plunge the knife...
and free yourself from this,
or unlock the chain...
and run like the wind,
like they'd never let you before...
Run child,
Run.
Hey there Spooky-Monsters...
The leaves of the trees are dying, and it feels like Summer now. I can only imagine that when it actually arrives, our skin and souls will be sinking through the earth...to get to some form of cold. Perhaps I shall sail and fly to Antarctica. Forget the warmth for a while so as to want it again.
Drinking my prescribed Miracle Cider by Dr. Pilkington. I have been issued it for my troubles caused by barking and Bowerbirds. I was beginning to wonder....
Much Love and endurance of this insane heat. Life is only fit to be beaching and drinking cider now or escaping to the darkness of the theatres.
Miss CLScarlett xx
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