The Lime Bottle of Mayhem...

 

 

You are in a forest...

 

 

 

Listen.

...

 

..........

 

They are coming for you...

they are coming,

for you...

Child,

we must flee.

 

Now.

 

Over the fields bound by the bent bare trees...

their gnarled and ageless limbs trap our way,

they writhe and coil in silent places...

tangle their branches and claws in front of us,

we fly and screech through their blades...

faster than the wind can howl,

we spirit across the vastness of them...

until we arrive at a bare place,

 

But...

that was before,

and now....

 

You,

are...

 

In a Forest.

 

Listen...

They are coming,

they are coming...

 

The blackness is covering the land,

not a colour...

not an idea,

my dear, dear friend...

I speak not of that,

but a wave a vein...

a sinking of flesh,

the claws that dig deeper...

into our chests,

they bind us in iron...

and with the name of Numb,

we shut out the darkness...

and with it,

the light....

it vanishes,

it goes...

 

gone.

 

We race from the shadows,

across the sea...

we bound fearlessly,

through haunted lagoons...

pass legends of deaths,

and haunted islets...

places where demons rolled the dice,

decided life for life...

in exchange for glee,

and the fame...

and the fire,

because to live...

the only way to live,

is to dance on the knife's edge...

touch the flames,

knick your cheek with the knife to atone your fate...

become the witch by laughing at the terror and the gates,

we are the sea witch...

we know not what we do,

we become what we fear...

what we said we'd never do,

yet you live with a bounty on your head...

and a will to die inside your eyes,

for the demon fears are not the others the world...

no the terror exists inside your soul,

 

a crows nest...

I see them always,

one sits in my pocket...

and the rest hover over all,

I see them everywhere when I run in the mornings...

when I ride home at night they fly with me as well,

the Sea witches time is running to a stop...

let the sea take me back,

lest I become as I was to be born...

 



 

Will you flee with me?

 

They are coming...

they are coming,

 

We run...

through salt,

and across black lakes that swarm with life...

we tread through reeds,

and lands uncrossed...

where we can revert to what we were,

we trust our minds...

when they were not ours to trust,

how can one trust the oceans' deepest trench...

when to see its' secrets,

it would require giving up your last breath?

We kill ourselves to feel whole and sane...

I do not speak of the literal death,

more the inner death...

of what counts for the spirit,

 

Oh Scarr...

did you really think a soul like yours could be saved,

you gave your heart, your soul, your belief...

to the love of dear Sodom,

the relief you created...

for your own mind,

 

Yet from that...

even from that,

we flee...

 

Willyourunwithme?

 

To a path by the ocean...

between buildings washed with bone and silver,

their colour fading out with the ever retreating sea...

it corrodes,

and nibbles...

and takes and smashes and changes what it will,

as it will us...

and we race and we dance and we flee,

along the path by the sea...

and the wind it howls like the rain wolf,

the creature that appears between myth and rain and soot...

and it growls,

and it moans...

and the rain it pounds on soul and on stone,

and we become more...

I still remember that moment,

when my feet were bleeding from the stones I ran on...

and I raced a dark figure ahead,

while the waves pounded to our right and to our left...

we were in love,

but he'd never let me catch him...

and I'd never allow myself to run fast enough to reach him,

sometimes we still race each other along the path by the sea...

even though we are old now,

so old...

and we no longer remember what our faces look like,

and why we should one day catch one another...

yet that knowledge was lost,

somewhere between East and North...

and across ten million seas,

we cannot look back...

we cannot look forward,

and at our feet rests a blade we abhor...

that they scream at us to take into our hands,

to seize with our fists...

and lift against the interior demands,

to break every chain...

and cut every bond,

yet we remain...

and we softly and beautifully die in our frames,

 

 

So I run...

and I have asked you to run with me,

to fade into the distance...

and start anew and otherly,

If I had one wish it would be...

that a clone could be created of me,

 to love and marry...

be happy and merry,

be there for those I love...

so that I - the none-clone - could disappear,

live my life...

maybe decide to be sad,

so that to those I love could be the right person...

let me disappear,

for they are coming...

they are coming,

and if we stand when they do...

we may be cut down,

for they are coming...

they are coming,

and we must flee to someplace Other...

flee with me,

and let us slip past time...

for no time can help us,

and no body...

we spin and we trip and we scramble,

until eventually...

hopefully,

we rest...

away.

 

Far away...

 

Run with me.

 

    Stand in the rain and scream.


Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

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. 

 

 

 

 

 

  Much Love,

 

   Miss CLScarlett xx

 

P.S. I plan to not marry anyone at all. [Try and stop me, Fate].

 

 

 

REFLECTION NOITCELFER...in other words, The Jewell's we Wore...

 

We are the framed and grey-between...

 

Lifting our wrists to shake our glass chains,

oh so prettily they sparkle upon our arms...

He told me they looked like diamonds,

thousands of diamonds scattered over my skin...

 

If only they weren't so jagged,

If only they hadn't cut paths through us at night...

because the diamonds move,

trail their broken edges through the hidden parts of us...

 

Are you scared yet?

I'm not either...

I'm freezing,

the cold grows larger and blacker and vaster...

 

Once I was at a beach,

and the only illumination was a distant lighthouse...

and the crashing of the waves,

creating static...

and I saw something unfurl in the dark,

made from particles and shifting...

and stretching towards me,

now I wonder...

if it wasn't both the sea and Her that broke me,

and yet the sea that recreated me...

How can something both destroy and heal?

 

I can hear it...

Like a faint buzz or static in my left ear,

always moving...

Can you hear it?

It's the sand...

sifting through the slender path between two glass spheres,

sifting away our minutes...

 

Only I learnt,

that eternity and Heaven is no time...

I wish I could go back to limbo,

where I held more hours than panic or ending...

 

We swim,

way down deep...

to touch the broken land,

Beneath us...

 

 

Step away from yourself,

don't be afraid...

 to listen to the silence,

to wait out the night...

to dance the wrong way,

to not feel...

to feel,

to embrace what is wrong and maybe cold and lonely and yet....

there is a certain wakefulness and life to that,

isn't there Scar?

Isn't there friend?

 

If death is what awaits...

then we run to the fear,

we run and scream in its' face...

or perhaps we come to it gladly,

because in the end...

it is one of the only ones that so ever does want to embrace you,

to take us in its' sweet ferocity...

cold and forget,

what light awaits...

when the darkness is like acid,

burning away ninety-five percent of your foundations...

before you even realize how greatly you have already collapsed,

and...

why fix?

Why fix...

what doesn't want...

to be fixed,

what won't let...

be fixed,

we won't.

 

A crow flew through the eves of my head the other day...

and it whispered something to me,

'See, seeee...?

We are the catastrophe.'

He's hidden in my pocket now...

protecting my lungs,

protecting my word...

and every so often he puts on my eyes,

and flies me around the world...

we travelled through tunnel's,

and we listened to the language of kings...

we broke into fort Knox,

just to laugh over their heads...

we stole the worlds most valuable diamond,

and charted the night skies from the tree tops...

we spied a small river,

that ended at a secret pool...

and in its' depths we gazed,

and gazed...

and saw where we went wrong,

we woke up the sleeping doll...

that stumbles along in her chains of glass,

and we tore back her masks...

and shattered holes amidst the glass,

we brought her labyrinth burning down...

and sealed its' grave with stone and sound,

so that no more the claws would hold her tight...

and sleep would welcome her at night,

 

 

till when we wake again...

and upon a gentle grass crest I sit,

to watch an eternity of warm nights go by...

in Haven unto we step.

 

 

 

 

 

  So dear creatures....

 

 

     Miss Scarlett has been swept up in a moving, drifting chaos of no-time...and I miss writing more than ever because of it. Do you know this agitation...? Like a burn, burn, burning or itch. Write now. Write now. Write now. Life however, seems to insist on no such thing.

    To write...it seems I must choose between it or the world, to be melodramatic.

 

    Why indeed not be melodramatic? It feels like melodrama's stepping back into the spotlight again...and boy have we missed it. I mean, be honest with yourself, you can't beat a really, oh-so-terribly-evil-and-fabulous-because-of-it bad guy. A melodramatic bad guy.

 

 

   Sorry to ramble, and I hope your nights aren't too chaotic...but peaceful perhaps.

 

 

Much Love,

 

    Miss CLScarlett xx