We Fell over Backwards...Grew WINGS and ate dandelions until the rabbits told us to QUIT IT...

 

A wish I give to you...

and a Heavenly dream or two,

for three days you shall be given wings...

and on the third you may very well grow some instead,

The Sinister Meeting Room tips its' hat to you...

and offers to show you the wayy.

Wait until the eleventh hour...

then hurry, quick!

Run to the walls,

search for the peeling edges of wallpaper...

and behind the nooks of doors,

for we have hidden a trail of feathers for you...

and other delights of the senses,

pretty garbled things wrapped up in coloured tissue paper...

and strangely tinkling musical things,

if you wait for the twelfth hour you may even see...

patterns crawling new across your eaves and the leaves,

words written miniscule...

detailing an invite,

to a merry old tea party and time...

in three parts over the next three nights,

To get to the first...

you must count to two hundred,

spin around twice and...

as always,

chant 'Lot's of rice!'...

Be sure to wear the most ridiculous of garb,

garish blue if you so wish...

or top hats as tall as skyscrapers,

 

 

next you must go...

to your poolside or the nearest lake,

and please step in...

outfit on please,

submerge yourself in the water...

and mind you keep your breath,

for you must wait twenty seconds exactly...

before you can come up for air,

ah there now you see...

the world has changed,

I believe you are...

quite lost my dear,

see the new night skyy...

and stare at the rolling fields,

leading to a cliffe face...

that leaps towards the deepest of seas,

where once two rabbits...

debated the world,

and the world opened up to them...

in a manner of words,

See now!

The journey was not so long,

and for once we have insured that you chanced no peril...

for we are capable of such,

from time to time to time...

Now head good Sir, Madmadam!

To the fabulous table waiting for you...

 

 

we celebrate a secret season you see,

though the world claims to as well...

but enough of that later,

why indeed we must toast...

see how there stands,

about the tables great lengths...

many you have known,

and those you have only known in fantasy...

they smile softly back at you,

and you can see in their eyes that they know...

a thing or two,

please gather with them now...

and seize one of the glasses,

lift it up high towards the stars...

and listen for the toast,

given to us by the enigmatic cat-with-three heads;

'Our secret season is thus,

so listen hard and true...

it is to become what is true,

and decide to start anew...

a grand vow,

to together...

become new and mythical beings.

We eat the fear,

we chase the shadows far with the candles now grown in our heart...

until we can laugh at the stars,

and become eternallly marked...

as they who could.'

 

Drink down the drink,

but never mind...

never fear,

for this night you shall not be whipped away by magic...

dine and incline your lightest of wishes,

for the smallest of ones shall be answered tonight...

in the throes of our light,

dance with Madame Ellea...

and debate with Mr. White n S,

for even he...

cannot resist lurking at the party for a minute or two,

we shall celebrate until the sun rises...

and then toast that too,

but startle not...

worry not,

for there are two further nights to come.

 

For now...

sleep and live and be and be alive,

and happy for it...

for today.

 

 

 

  Ah soo traditional Scarr, happy start-of-Easter to all you lovedly ones out there...

Alas, if you are conscripted to work like I am, then I still wish you some fun, as always...there are the nights, and really, the Sinister Meeting Room is outside of time, so any time is perfect to join the party. Drink to being new.

 

 

  Much Love,

   Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 





 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere In-Betwen the Blue and Gold...

We loved mysteries so much that we became one...

I shall tell to you now, the story of the in-betwen,

the ones of the smokes and mirrors...

they that lie in a little smile,

or keep our small ways ticking on...

their stories are like ours,

just one tiptoe ahead...

and keep close to heart the light I pass on to you,

with each golden thread...

 

She is a centuries-past heartbroken lover of the sun,

given over to shadows and nighttime blues...

She is the Siren who calls to us from somewhere deep in our minds,

and far-North of the chaos, and blaring horns and sudden broken windows...

whisper,

through empty attics and trainstations hung with bluevelvetmoon hues...

She makes her home in the in-between,

Ahh now dear Sir, Madame...

step into the elevator,

Listen to the ageless yet somehow royal creaking of the walls...

see the faded lights,

and hear the voice from the middle of night and stars slither out to you...

from the hidden microphones,

 

 

'Going up...'

She does not say much else,

but then she's never had need to...

She dwells for a while in her blue elevator room,

staring into souls and weaving early morning thoughts from time to time...

swirling and breathing her smoke every so often,

for She is a woman of leisure and deepdark...

and a tip of the hat to you and a kiss on the hand,

for Madame Ellea.

 

 

The most beautiful of ones...

I shall introduce to you next,

a close and distant sister of cherished Madame Ellea...

Listen for the strike of each hour,

place your ear to the soft wood...

and hear the way she moves and dances and manipulates the cogs and gears,

beneath the woodwork...

she is spun up full of electric,

and occasionally chases the storm clouds about the sky...

rips like a bolt of silver deep into the earth,

 screams with laughter to the night and sunrise...

Upon each new hour she quietens,

and plays a haunting tune...

deep within each heart and timepiece,

across the world and through each room...

the ClockPrincess,

Miss AnnaBee...

shall surely write a new song for thee,

so listen and reflect on the beauty of her music...

as each clock hour passes,

and the time crawls onn...

 

We were drawn from Farr,

and we are only two of many...

delight yourselves in our quiet secrecy,

and watch the in-between too...

for if you love mysteries enough,

why not become one too?

 

 Just a small wee Blog for you today, feeling very drawn and distant...but, there is mystery still, and hope. Always hope. Maybe it's true...maybe we eventually become what we always wanted to be, only we discover that it is nothing like we expected and that we don't want it. But...no regrets (and perhaps I regret deciding to have no regrets)...but I don't have them. I can't live my life with guilt or that, ahead, ahead...eyes ahead to the pale distant future.

   We move forward, and forward, through the deep dark and pain, because we know that one day it will pass...and if not, if even that's a lie, let us be consumed, and if it is to pass...well, then all that's left is to wait out the storm.


   Much Heart and Such,
   Miss CLScarlett xx

 



 

 

 

 

 





A Hospital for Your Soul...

 

Daughter of the sea...

Son of the waves,

it is your one hundred and first day...

we celebrate with a bit of spun fun,

and a blanket to place about thee...

when there is no sun,

I give to you now...

instead of grief, or hate, or darkness,

10.1(0) ways and moods to be...

 

 

The first night gaze at the Heavens,

revert back to a childhood time...

the second night learn the names of the Solar System,

give them new names of your own...

The third day make a lantern,

of wire and paint...

to light your way through the mist if you ever go wandering onn,

the fourth night make it lit,

and follow a path you've never trod...

The fifth night search for a moth and follow it,

run down the trails that it flies across...

The sixth day wait for the heat of the sun to pass,

then lie on the concrete to soak up its' last warmth...

 

The seventh day stand in the rain,

let the damp become your skin and the mud swirl 'bout your feet...

The eigth day pick wildflowers,

and search for wild berries...

gather the grains of the fields and yards until its' all you scent,

The ninth day build your own wings...

out of moss, or thread, or dead leaves,

attach them to your back and sit by the sea...

pretend you are an angel wanting home near,

The tenth night ride your bicycle or car through the night...

follow blind impulses,

listen to your heart...

On the eleventh day pretend that you are a ghost,

haunt your brothers and sisters...

go and spook the cat,

The twelth day make blueberry pancakes...

and eat them with a friend,

eat a gallon of whipped cream and ice cream...

and don't fret about your weight,

The thirteenth evening spend the night asleep on the beach...

listen to the roar and the wind,

and feel how warm it is here on the sand...

The fourteenth day kiss a complete stranger,

someone you find fascinating...

The fifteenth night fight to see the dawn,

stay awake to hear the sounds...

and feel the cool breeze of then,

 

 



The sixteenth day hide in a library...

and guys :] do not flitter away,

it's where all the girls go to stayy...

On the seventeenth day build a bonfire with friends,

toast marshmallows and play hopscotch over the flames...

become the tribal and take a new name at the end,

On the eighteenth day hunt butterflies through the field...

catch as many as you can and then release them to the sky,

the nineteenth day build a castle out of sand...

a sculpture, a dragon, an ancient land,

On the twentieth day - or day 10.1(0)...

make a better goal or ideal for yourself,

and believe for once that you are capable of good.

 

 

 

 

   I do apolagise good Sirrrrrrs and MadMadams for my absence of late...my computer has been sabotaging my exploits and writings, but it's now behaving...mostly. :] I have ALSO, finally purchased a critique for my first book...a line by line edit and it's awesome to know that I'll have a guide, because often it becomes so hard to keep sight of what the goal is. It's also hard to remember that all this other stuff in my life is secondary...and merely a means to an end, though it is a good place I'm at.

 

   Mainly...you end up giving up what you never thought you'd give, and compromise what you never wanted to. We surprise ourselves, and sometimes I feel that I need a hospital for my soul, because lately...the dark ink has stained it, created painful alien veins that constrict my heart and bodies natural ones.

 

A week ago I fell into an abyss,

three days ago I awoke and realized that it's seamless...

that the terror is only in the falling,

once you've fallen into the darkness you stop feeling it...

until you don't feel at all.

 



 I desperately need...

to make me human again.

 

 

 

  Much Love and endearing things,

  Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

 By the sea, by the sea...we wail and sail, wail and sail...home.

  





We Arched away...closer to Sun, higher to walls...into the Deep Dark...

 

Long pale road....

travel it along,

widen spaces and take the heart...

kept it ice when what it wanted was heat,

Long pale road...

we travel you along,

bare you on feathers...

entwine your veins with iron,

so thy may not be struck again...

I travel far away,

through empty barrens...

and rain that drips away my footprints,

never there...

never talk,

never were...

this feral claws her way on,

on and on...

despite,

what she is...

just because we learn and know something,

does not mean the world stops...

doesn't mean that the trees listen even harder or,

that the wind howls for thy plight...

instead we seek,

knowing we will not find...

not any more,

 

 

I walk through colder places...

and I find,

that the voices I hear in the howling wind...

are familiar,

and one must keep straight ahead...

eyes forward to centre,

because if we were to turn...

or pause,

we'd see their yawning grins and eyes...

and realize that the wind is clawing at us to look,

to turn...

just a little bit,

turn to face us...

your shadows and gnawing moths,

instead of forging your way through the darkness...

stop and see,

stop and see...

we don't grieve for people,

we grieve for what we've realized is missing in us...

don't you know,

didn't you...

didn't we all,

know it?

The night it stretches taught...

and for once,

no stars?

No stars...

they were eaten ten thousand seconds ago by thy eyes,

who decided that they looked rather splendid to eat....

gobble up the light,

gobble up the hue...

shades and shades darker within you,

I fancy I hear a bicycle bell...

somewhere in the distance,

on this empty street I walk...

how long you say and where,

have I been walking now...

I don't know anymore,

come now,

was I ever meant to keep the time...?

 

I stand on a beach...

named Cross,

its' waves stole away the candle inside of me...

long ago,

now we don't fight it...

we just stand and stare and throw bottle,

after bottle...

after bottle,

out into the deep...

did anyone ever tell you dear?

The ocean is made from the bodies of cider and wine bottles...

and we are merely the sower,

the one who casts out...

you cast out your net,

oh absentminded one...

hoping to snag what you already threw away,

what sense is it...

to want what you have destroyed,

and to toss it back once it returns to your grasp...

you bring the grains to feed the flock,

and turn up only to watch them beg...

yet in the last moment,

you keep their bread...

you like to see them wanting.

 



I race the sound...

I race the wind,

I race my soul...

I runandrunandrun,

until there are no more...

burn every bridge,

slice away every trailing string...

and fill myself,

my lungs and chest and veins...

with gunpowder,

to stop the gnawing...

and the crawling of moths,

until there is silence...

and a breeze,

and a place...

where I can stand,

without gaze holding my shoulders down...

where there are no faces I will have to turn to,

where I can look away from myself...

and see someone better,

and less...

this.

 

 

we'll watch the sky-glows now...

and for the next ten nights,

in this tiny harbour...

where the tinnies bob,

and umbrellas laze the day away...

and lights curl from corners and worlds that I have never seen,

we shall stand quietly...

or perhaps,

become the greyhound...

posessed with the runlust,

to gulp in wild air...

and throw yourself into a flight upon the ground,

until every burst of blood inside of you is singing...

and screaming,

and laughing...

you are royal,

as you are...

dear victory hound,

do not give up the chase.

 

Did you know that our streets are made of gold?

We long for what we already have...

and if one would look between the hours of four and five,

you would see...

the streets paved with gold,

are the rain-drenched pale ones...

beneath our feet.

So run...

and run,

for now...

to know.

 

 

  Much Love,

 

  Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

 

 



We Pulled our Seeds of Doom from the Sun, and torched our feet until we Could Run...

 

There isn't much time...

but first,

let me tell you a rhyme...

the story of the moth,

have you heard...

do you know?

For the story of the moth...

is of a particular woe,

to be created a creature...

bound to the night,

yet ever longing for a taste of light...

see yourself,

spiral ever up...

to reach and soar for the glow,

but with one touch be struck down...

it is not their fault,

it is in their nature...

they are designed to want,

but never to touch...

be forgotten.

For no one thinks on a moth.

 

Let the creaking hands lead you...

away from the light,

don't shy away or close thy eyes...

for it is a most glorious night,

these hands you know...

and have run from,

yet...

see how the fear was only in the unknown,

now they beckon here...

trace chalk paths down the black halls,

where dust and grime faded years before...

past fractured mirrors built into the walls,

and shifting faces...

that bare teeth,

and wink deep amongst their sunken skin...

the endless path we follow,

to the country of ghosts...

the floor it sways,

and we lead you through the waves...

you have become what you always were,

a creature of nature...

whose heart is swallowed by salt and coral,

had a heart...

need a heart,

oh dearest...

no one ever believed that a moth or a wolf had a heart,

 

Have you ever thought on a ocean...?

many have become its' lover,

many dream of it...

many desire it,

they flock to its' feet from all over...

yet the sea does not love,

embrace her beauty and she will take you...

crush you,

roll you up...

and destroy you,

she cannot love...

because her waves keep her from loving,

she is injuring herself as much as any other...

the only thing left when your nature swings towards darkness,

when you crush all who come your way...

is to embrace it,

because it is so much easier not to try...

or please,

But perishcherish the though not little one...

see here we go,

further in and further dark...

to maybe a place you know,

for the agitation only grows...

and claws dark paths at night,

when you resist and squirm...

and gnash your teeth,

oh we laugh at your anger...

for it is not fury but fear,



 



you fear the anger...

and you fear what you will find in the dark,

you fear that you'll see a naked face...

and that it will be your own.

I know no other way...

you sayy,

you have embraced the kindest lie...

there is no way to change,

or perhaps I will not...

for change is burning,

my lungs on fire...

and I struck the match,

listen to them wafer and singe...

as they constrict to barely a breath,

Come now...

no need for that,

we still need you...

in tact for our plans,

like your precious government enforces...

we will ensure you live to a ripe old age,

just don't expect to be happy or anything but a pawn.

 

 

we hunt for what is left of the soul...

give in dear,

for we have sent the hounds...

and they seek and find and howl,

until they have nibbled away all the veins and lights...

for dark wolves roam our streets tonight,

dont mind our screeching or laughter...

this is all part of the sport,

to see you flee and fight and run...

here's a bow and arrow,

if you can manage a shot...

oh what a lark you are,

when it's already so lost...

and so near to over,

we could feel the shift into darkness a shade darker...

we know,

and yet you squawk like a proud hen...

protest,

when there was never any point...

 

See where our forest ends,

with smoke and fire and rain...

we travel through until perhaps you will give in,

or find the light and take your heart again...

which we hardly expect,

yet we leave the challenge open for you...

and the choice;

you are balancing on a crumbling wire...

and each step you take now takes you further away,

either you fall and let the darkness take you in...

let your mind be consumed,

or you turn and run back...

to face the wolves and their teeth,

and perhaps their bites  and the blood will reveal to you that you still have a heart and soul...

maybe then you can move on,

but until then...

you are up for grabs my dear,

and the road to the country of ghosts...

continues from here,

on and on...

wail and wail,

for a piece of us missing...

yet dragged far away,

so forget...

and end.

 

Yet who cries anymore??

Not the wolves...not us.

 

 

 

Darkness grows...but maybe one day I will accept light again,

  Miss CLScarlett xx



 



 

 

We arrived at a Path that split the world in three...and opened a doorway onto another world, where we were remembered...

 

'Well do hurry up my good fellow,

I have been waiting for aeons after all...

and it is bloody cold!

They don't like to be kept waiting either,

and we were sure that you had found the notice...

no???

Did you look in the broken panel behind the cupboard?

Or even...surely you searched the 127th page of Jennie the book...

no?

Well you are slack aren't you...?

but never the matter,

somehow you are here now...

and I mustttt lead you on.

To where??

Why dear good fellow - and alright yes -

madamss too if you insist...

to travel through the white we must do before the second hour past midnight,

for if we have not passed through...

perish the thought,

of the deals that would be required to be struck...

to ensure your safe return home,

for we have never promised a completely safe wayy...

and more likely than not you'll get lost before then,

but see here good fellow, Madame...

hurry about it now,

and grab onto one of my coat ends...

that way Jack frost won't be tempted to rip you away from me,

for what or who is more hopeless or hapless than one without a guide...

in a storm like this?

 

Ahh but fear not...

for the storm is only a reflection of the storm in yourself,

and in the end I am merely a guide...

so off we go.'

'Through blizzards and wind-ice,

we find ourselves moving...

hasten all the more,

lest your feet touch the floor...

I hear you yess,

crying out to me over the wind...

no need to shout,

as these old ears of mine are equipped to hear the softest of whines...

It is the Sinister Meeting Room that called you good lad,

for Heavens sake...

who else would go to this much bother and at this hour so late?

Ah and you see already that our storm is clearing,

feel the way the snowflakes grow thinner...

and the pale path we have followed melts,

for really good friend...

it is not Winter we are in,

but a little bit of Masque by dear little BellFeral...

she is the one,

who bundles the Summer awayy...

performing enough antics,

to make the trees drop their loads in embarrasment at the herasayyy...

and engaging the wind in races at great speed,

teasing and begging it to rip and throw away loose sheets of paper...

or perhaps the odd umbrella or poem or piece of fabric,

BellFeral is a horder you see...

but please don't tell her that,

for her moods are as fickle and sudden as the way she weaves...

 

we perhaps shall run into her,

down the road we pace...

or perhaps she shall keep to herself,

yet oh!!

See there she is over yonder...

between the little moving stream and the aging tree,

she has been young of spirit for a very long time you know...

so don't fear,

and be careful what you sayy...

see the way her skin is the colour of ivory and bronze,

and her eyes the sky of Autumn...

while her frock is one of dying leaves and dark wood,

and aren't her tiny elk horns beautiful?

She whispers...

I hear,

the smallest of sentances...

'would you climb the wood,

pass the fence...

go beyond,

and stomp in every puddle...

for me...?'

Travel on we must though,

and watch well as she disappears...

for it is few women that have seen BellFeral,

and even fewer men to tell...

so take your time wisely,

ah but see we come now out of the dark...

and to a wood of silence,

with a carpet that may as well be velvet for all its' hue...

and I see,

that you have dreamt of such a place before too....

 

It is the wood that lies at the heart of each soul,

to wake us inside the sleep of our know...

we must travel on through,

the silence of this land...

until we come to a more wayward place still,

yet ware good friend...

for this forest expands the mind,

and when we get through...

you may well know how to solve the mystery of eighty-two,

even perhaps your world...

but there is an aquaintance awaiting us,

between the trees...

a creature born and bred,

from the Sinister Meeting Rooms' halls...

we walk a hundred paces due east,

then turn around once and head straight west...

before we stop and retrace our steps back two paces,

then about turn...

and there he is,

 

with a table set quaintly for us...

this is Sir EverBlue of the forest floor,

and he bids you right  welcome of your own accord...

listen well to his words please do,

'I happened to be sipping my tea the other day...

when I recieved from the Sinister Meeting Room, a call,

I was told that I was to deliver you a message...

in the most hurried of ways I assure,

good sirs and madames you must cross the mountains...

to see the other side,

to know what you must...

and must what you know,

and give a toast to the one you most hate...

and the one you most love as well.'

We bid Sir EverBlue well and endearingly,

and decline his offer of a cigar...

and trudge on through the wood of red,

until we arrive again at a path...

we follow it on through valleys and inlets,

pass ways and moods and shames...

until the land crawls higher,

about our sides...

and we've left the safety of the ground,

 

 

the air it stills here...

and makes its' breath new,

a pair of lighter lungs for you I give dear Sir, Madame...

and a trailing ribbon to garuntee your wayy,

through what abyses may...

drag you back along your way,

head for the highest of peaks...

and the only way on is a noble heart,

to see what is not there yet...

is a gift,

treasure that dear friend...

hold it close,

and perhaps...

you can re-start,

but harken away not yet, not yet!

Do not begin your journey here...

instead come with me,

one last little time...

to the cliffe precipice that awaits us,

just over there...

look yonder,

past the grassy rise...

we walk a few minutes to reveal a view of startling and divine surprise,

 

 

see the water crashing...

and wonder at the brilliant sudden light,

oh yes it is past sunrise...

but hidden over here,

is a stone that holds a surprise...

a mug of cloudy moon-tea,

for you to commit the toast...

and I it seems shall join you if you wish,

for there is not just one mug but two...

 

 

raise your toast to the sun,

and raise the  mug to your enemies...

raise it to the ones you care for,

and the ones somewhere in between...

believe in hope for once,

and don't fear the hand that takes...

listen to the early morning breeze,

and endure a slice of silence amongst the eves and trees...

drink deep and drink long,

sing a song...

if you wish,

and please dear sir...madame...

do not be alarmed if you feel somewhat drowsy now,

for I believe you forgot the condition of the Sinister Meeting Room...

that anything drunk between its' walls,

enables one to fly...

but takes them back home,

to the start...

tooo,

so I bid you farewell...

my good and faithful friend,

and I hope to see you again once more...

perhaps for a small turn of events,

focus instead on the butterfly...

she will guide you home,

through dreams and bridges...

weaves and fortresses,

until you are safely returned to your bed.

Goodnight...

and do not forget.

 

 

 

 

 Much Love and hope Dear ones...

Miss CLScarlett xx