The Call of the Ghost Tides Eve

 

Friday the 13th: 2.21 am...

 

Somewhere in Los Angeles.

 

A street...
choked by mist,

you stand there...

in the dark,

with the shadows coiling about you...

then ahead,

a monstrous shriek...

from within the dusk and smog,

a briefly swift shifting of darkness...

amongst the grey,

pale eyes glinting out...

then,

a howl like bones...

and a creature emerges from the mist,

a wolf...

tall and great,

born with a coat of  bone white...

and teeth that drip daark,

It calls to you...

in a voice like the ancient wind,

 

 

'We have heard...

that they are coming,

they are coming...

and we strip our bones to black,

to dinge the essences of our souls...

for they come swift,

and they sneak ageless...

through the corridors we so long,

protected...

within our maze,

and we speak...

of things that should not be spoken,

Ware!

We saw once a face,

 which did not change...

instead it changed the faces of those,

around it...

we glimpsed the ocean,

claw its' way up onto the land...

grow legs and arms and claws and teeth,

and the shape of a man...

and now,

it nibbles away at our darkest corners...

and slowly ticks away,

the spare seconds of our life...

it feeds upon our fear,

We heard a truth...

that to survive we must,

find another way...

laugh at the darkness,

spin with the blade...

wear the jesters hat,

The upside down moon...

We must canter away now,

into the daark...

into the mist,

for we must...

evade the oncoming haywire storm,

and the leviathan that screams...

within its' folds,

run with us now...

dear traveller,

upon this Full moon...

Friday the 13th.'

 

You begin to sprint...

beside the great wolf,

born along...

as though you tread on air,

your lungs are filled to bursting...

and a haunting tune rocks the street,

as you dive with the wolf...

into a world,

of flickering dark and white...

You pass across landscapes,

swifter and swifter...

a million different images,

and happenstances flooding you...

Briefly you are within a bedroom,

where a pale girl lies asleep in her bed...

her heart is has left her chest,

and a the golden bird that was her heart...

perches and stares upon her windowsill.

 

You scamper with the wolf...

over cliffs,

skimming across the surface of reefs...

through the centre,

of the darkest caves...

where creatures grow without eyes,

and something breathes within the darkness...

and smells,

smells...

Through mirrors you and your guide dance,

their strange pale otherscape...

twisting your mind in circles,

endless circles...

yet still you fly on,

across and beneath oceans...

you see the creatures bound,

in their watery cages...

and the lost souls,

that were taken by the sea...

those who were alive,

and those who still are.

Philip Wardlow 

 

Through forests of dark wood...

and silver air,

quietly distilling thoughts...

you roam with the wolf,

and sometimes you feel the forest...

nudging against your mind,

unwinding your sanity...
and turning gears beneath the ground,

then you are out both...

and wooden planks,

pounded by a thousand years...

of wind and rain,

appear instead.

 

You tread them at a light trot...

and ocean laps on all sides,

you are within a village...

built above the tides,

where people speak little...

and kindness is shown,

by a warm fire...

a fish blistering in its' gold,

tea sipped from broken mugs...
 

 

Then you are within,

a pale and cold place...

and you feel an ending,

and the wolf has stopped running...

instead it turns to gaze at you,

endless and haunted as the song...

that still plays,

 

'You must now make a choice...

dear friend,

for a choice must always be made...

especially here.

So choose...

two ways remain to you,

though there is a third...

which we do not yet speak of,

The first!

See the table...

over to your right,

see the small flower?

Take it into thy hand!

To escape this reality,

devour the flower...

 

Your second option is not so simple,

to pass through the grey...

to make it to the homeland,

to inch into a bit way past nowhere...

for a while,

to see what lies where the streets stop...
stab the flower in the heart,

see its' ink bleed its' petals gold...

and the pale twirls that rise from between,

breathe in the wisps...

and feel yourself drift.

I must leave you now traveller...

for this choice is yours to make,

and for once...

it is yours to make in the quiet,

so choose what you will...

perform your deed,

for it is told...

that a deed performed,

full moon on Friday the 13th...

is capable of power.

Fare well...

and choose wisely.'

 

 

 

 

Here are a few other Superstitious Nonsenses in Honour,

of the last Full Moon Friday the 13th until 2049:

 

• Don't step on cracks in the ground (especially footpaths), it leads to bad luck; most likely something minor, most likely something that day.
• DO NOT break mirrors or glass, as it gives you a thousand years of bad luck indirectly.
• If a crow shits on you despair...for you will have terrible bad luck for the entire day.
• Black cats are un-luck. For those they favour, there is a certain degree of luck to be had. If they do not favour your however, your bad luck is likely to increase.
• Always face doors and dark roads, don't have your back to them.
• Be careful what you say aloud, because Fate's likely to hear and do the opposite thing to what you want.
• Don't look behind you...
• NOW.

 

AROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAR!!

 

 

 

   Well well well...happy Friday the 13th Darling Misfits of the Night....

Just can't get my head around sleeping...especially with how deliciously wired I feel. All I know is that there is nothing like heartily scaring people or heartily being scared. The good kind, the devil-may-care kind.

 

 

   Much Love and Scares....

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

The PostMortem of the Triangular Heart...

 

 

Welcome to the...

 

 

It is half past the hour...

the moon risen bright and distant,

and your heart is wide awake...

you hear a whisper,

in the wind that creeps through your window...

the way the trees sway,

and the night creatures chatter...

you hear them speak.

 

'We have become haunted by the twilight...

through the memories,

that hold us tight...

we wander the midnight halls,

of the prison we have created for ourselves....

for we can't let them in,

we can't let them in...

but alas,

we had forgotten...

that they got in long ago,

distorting our minds...

and making us divided,

we dream of him...

of a person,

a man...

again and again that we seek,

he appears like a flash in the distance...

amidst our dreams,

and dying within our nightmares...

until we loose grasp,

of the thin line...

between our reality,

and what isn't...

what shouldn't occur,

and when it's mere occurrence is madness....

what is left,

but to feel our mind cave in?

 

To...

harbour the jester demons,

that seek...

to eat away the light,

and oh boy is it dark now...

only a splinter of true light remains,

and more and more we find comfort...

with the cold creatures,

that consort with us...

and haunt our ways.'

 

The voices pass away from you...

and you feel a call within your bones,

you rise from your bed...

your thoughts stilling in your head,

and you creep your way...

pressing your fingertips,

 against the cold walls...

you make your way to the windowpane.

 

You see a tattered cloth...

held in place by a black string,

tied to the lock upon your windowsill...

you grasp it tight,

feel its' coarse cloth...

and glimpse words upon there.

 

'Dear reader you are invited...

to a most maddening of Festival nights,

to spin the wheel between fantasy...

and reality,

we require only your presence...

and the most garish of grins and sights.

 

A most splendid night awaits...

if you attend,

your instructions are as follows...

Climb out your window...

Search out the silver lamp,

and drown yourself within the hue...

kiss the lamp once,

beside its' spout...

and whisper your mortal fear.

All shall follow as should.

 

Regards...

The Sinister Meeting Room

and

Their Associates...

The Carnival of Madness.'

 

You climb your way beyond your window...

and steal beyond your garden,

your coat wrapped tight about you...

you are drawn on,

by an irresistible call...

until you reach a grey street,

drenched with just-gone rain...

yet the water rages,

it swirls in patterns...

from within it,

rises...

a lamp of silver.

 

 

You do as you were bid...

kiss the lamp,

and utter thy mortal fear...

of a sudden,

a door opens in the grey wet before you...

and you walk down.

 

Into echoing darkness...

and different lights,

Strange half-times...

of sleepy dragons,

that weave lazy tunes through the darkness...

and stars weaved,

into something you can wear...

and possess.

 

For we are made from stars...

by ninety percent a part,

and that is what attracts us to each other...

that viciously beautiful starlight,

that exists within each of us.

 

At first there is just darkness...

and hiddenness,

around you...

and then you see,

stretching before you...

a grand sea,

lit up by lanterns...

that pattern a forest,

beside the sea shore...

a single rope swing,

cradles the stars...

 in their luminescent arcticness.

 

You move through the forest...

until you reach a curving stretch of beach,

you see a thousand wrecks...

boats and trains and planes,

joined together by strings and ladders...

and lit by a thousand matches,

peculiar laughter...

lights the air about the shambles,

and the feast that rages...

with laughter and stamping,

upon tables bones and floor...

and you are soon drawn in,

enveloped by intoxicating smells...

seized by the wrists,

and pulled into the party...

by creatures with leering humble faces,

and upside-down smiles...

and hidden souls.

 

A drink is pressed into your hand...

and you feel it swirling you away,

lighting up your senses...

each figure reaches their hands for you,

an embrace...

a brief waltz,

the toast of a cup...

a kiss upon the hand,

a soft remark...

and you realize that they know you,

they all have known you...

and you are among your own,

for you are one of the strange...

and one of the ones trapped,

within the labyrinth...

but in time,

you realize...

that there are joys within the labyrinth too.

 

You see a figure smile at you...

beyond the faded lights,

 

 

You near close to the figure...

and they lean down,

from their great colourful light to you...

and whisper words.

 

'You must take your own victory now...

there is not always a helping hand,

when the darkness claws...

and the ghosts beat away at your doors.

When your memories rent you in half...

or your past or present hangs like chains,

But you musn't lose hope...

for we have long ago discovered the solution,

until we reach the place...

where the madness ends,

where the railways run past forgotten beaches...

and pale-haired creatures,

sew on their own wings...

where the city rests,

until then...

we take upon ourselves the masks,

and the diversions...

and we learn,

to scream with laughter...

and play the game right back to them,

dodge the wildfire...

and dream our illegal dreams.

So dream on eternal-young dreamer.'

 

 

You dwell for an eternity or two...

with those of the festival,

their maddening delights...

their fatal intoxications,

and the way we all slip down between the cracks...

beyond their cold eyes,

until we rest...

in the silence and music.

 

Eventually the world sways away...

and you feel the embrace,

of a thousand familiar creatures...

hold you within their deadened warmth,

and then let you go...

and yet you know within your bones and heart,

that you will meet once again.

 

You find yourself back within your bed...

and the world lightening,

into gold about you...

you sink back amongst your sheets,

and drift away,

within your world.

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

Hello there,

 

   My mind is in the deep sleep and a new demon is plaguing my mind. The sea is reaching high about my shoulders.

 

 

  Much Love and 2.37 AM kisses,

 

Miss CLScarlett xx



 

 

 

 



 

 

 

The Turbulant Rise of Our Sea...

 

We creep into the other world...

we catapult into the mad,

we are lost in an ether of glowing lights...

and the eternal swing that sits between,

 the doorway to the stars...

we sew on wings,

and listen to the warm blue whispers...

 of Indian elephants,

for we do not forget where the mist began and we ended...

We dream each night,

that there is an approaching storm...

one that will devour and take all who we love,

and each time we are too late...

each time we are left living,

 with the demons of the storm.

 

Listen to our words,

catch a glimpse did you?

Of a starlight cat...

twining about a doorway?

That is our madness you see...

we chase a cat with fur like the stars,

through our dreams and waking light...

yet we cannot find it,

we cannot find what we were searching for...

 

A night ago we spent twelve hours in the twilight,

we became the leering jester...

lying through our teeth,

and dancing about the bonfires that spat into the Heavens...

our senses spinning,

through a chaos of sensations and staring eyes...

and a world shivering with silver life,

it has left everything void...

and the memory of a dream within a dream,

we retrace our steps back through the years...

and eventually find ourselves beside,

the rock pools of our souls...

 

 

That thing won't protect you girl - that thing you hold so dear,
   Have you forgotten already who held you last night?

Have you forgotten who kept you as you cried yourself to sleep?
That guy can't love you girl,

that guy you hold so dear,
    Have you forgotten already who picked up your heart?

Have you forgotten who cut his hands as he picked up each piece?
The sea won't numb you girl,

 the sea that you wish to hold so dear,
    Have you forgotten already who pulled you out?

Have you forgotten who filled you with breath?
Why do you forget dear girl,

why do you cry at night?

Why is the darkness never enough,

 to hide your shaking frame,

your throat filled with ice?
  Why do you forget dear girl,

each night it is the same...

I hold you in my arms,

yet the night after you're crying again.

 



 

An old Tale...

 

We listen to the trail of our thoughts...

dripping down through the floorboards below us,

and an ancient heart...

within the young,

you see this is our curse...

when we were young,

we saw the swiftening of time...

and realized ourselves doomed,

to have centuries-old knowledge...

in minds that had barely had a chance to breathe,

so we grew up distorted...

and with a radar for things we should not know,

we opened the forbidden doors...

and let the monsters in.

 

 

 

So we creep down the hallways...

of the labyrinth we created,

and wonder when we became so totally lost...

but all the doors are soldered shut,

and we hear claws scratching at night...

and the leviathans in our veins,

keeping us awake...

We sneak beneath the dust,

and the amber light of our secrets...

to find the pathways through our oceans,

until eventually...

each time,

we are faced with a choice...

what did we do,

to lock ourselves in a limbo of repeat...

that presents the same question,

at each point of breakage...

we feel our soul being torn out,

by the beings that feed on us in the low hours...

and find ways to block out the light.

 

So we scramble on...

to a place we had forgotten,

because the true crime of it...

is that we allowed the real power of our bones,

to be forgotten...

we thought,

that we had no right to lift our head...

that we had no right to what we are,

you hammer yourself down...

until the memory of who you were,

fades...

remember what you are capable of,

for it is the only way out...

of this labyrinth.

 

In the end we have no flattery or diplomacy...

only action,

and perhaps then our words will be like dust...

and we will have forgotten,

that they were ever written on parchment...

so we deny ourselves again and again,

and each time...

we see the off-kilter-ness within us growing,

when nothing makes sense...

and the bullet seems the greatest comfort,

Fate drags us screaming back alive...

another punch,

another bullet from his machine gun...

that wounds only what is within our head,

locked within...

we find solstice,

within a troubled word...

that offers little light or compassion for weakness,

and we find our small coves to retreat to...

where the darkness is less,

and we can dwell beside ourselves...

without outright hatred.

 

 

 Ideas are gathering in my mind...a business perhaps? Sorry dears, I'm keeping this one very close to my chest. I am sorry for the absence, I've been writing and writing  my book, and I am close to finishing the re-write of the second volume.
  The space I occupy within the puzzle box is shifting, and sometimes I wish it would stop.

  Much Love,

   Miss CLScarlett xx