The Squat Angel's....



I'm still lost in the dreams...

It's hard to pull my head from the dreams anymore and,

still I see the faded lights of the Cities...

and the ice-cold wind,

we road through with thin woollen jumpers...

bicycles whirring beneath us,

and miles of rugged coast unwinding beside us.

We met them...

The Squat Angels,

-

[and I hope you don't mind Loralai, I used your words...and they will always be yours...]

were the real angels of the city of Anaheim,

but as they told us...

they were merely wanderers of Los Angeles,

Punk Rock creations...

They took us beneath their mechanical wings,

 in the side alleys and streets...

with their unravelling clothes,

and beautiful features...

coloured hair,

dark symbols and a lostness...

that had long-ago tattooed their eyes.

Their heart...

the three crazy Kings of Her,

took my sunglasses off...

and we saw in our eyes a reflection of ourselves,

She wears the same clothes I do...

and in this land they stare at her and her friends in horror,

as though they were monsters...

not Lost Angels.

I left my heart behind there with them...

You...

with your black and yellow stockings,

darkling symbols...

screw through your ear,

and green in your hair and eyes.

The colours and ancients lit our way...

We saw the darks and shades of Huntington,

I felt the hold of their Irish warlord men...

I discovered life fearless and unburdened,

and felt a fury all the way down to my core and dread...

Splintering wood,

bruised knuckles and knees...

dying spirit,

tears...

we drank high on the spirits,

and raced thoughts and memories to the forbidden beaches...

With a jester king,

dark eyed and with a voice like the blues...

we released golden lanterns,

up towards the four a.m. moon.

We created for ourselves a dream life...

smoke drifting over railings,

hunting for treasure...

becoming lost again and again,

in fantasies and pulsing images.

One night I dreamed a dream...

Two lilac gazelles,

falter together on a dark African plain...

the sun deeply setting purple.

The gazelles flee forward,

with a movement like liquid...

and catapult themselves into the darkening skyy,

they dart up and up...

becoming instead,

fabulous blue and gold comets...

that dart about the sky,

exploding eventually...

 into a million smaller gazelles with wings,

who then transform into a million foxes...

with their great tails swaying,

dancing in time to the music.

Wherever the music went...

the images followed,

until eventually...

I became.

Lost.

I found Heart Breaker.

I saw again...

the light that could be in me,

in the smallest of derelict shops...

I found in there,

a golden rose...

an ancient beast,

and a sleeping Cheshire...

the smallest of shell earrings,

and the living image of Santa Klaus...

we talked for ages,

talked about darkness and Brilliance...

shared the pieces of whole left in our souls,

though later the darkness reminded me again...

that we can perhaps always be freed,

almost certainly be hinged and bound...

and broken to pieces eternally,

you stop sleeping...

because you fear the nightmares,

you start the vices....

because you want to block,

the darkness in your mind...

through each sip,

but all that unravelled...

with a slow spelling of time,

as the laces and twine unlatched...

and I began to see the world again.

Only problem is deary,

you dream so much of that other breathing life...

that this life you live here in transit,\

has become the real dream.

Wake us up when this coming month is over.

   Much Love,

 Always.

     It seems to me that all that Fate does it take things away from me, and each time I think he'll just let me live in peace...he fires another shot into my gut, head and heart. One day...I won't come back. One day...I won't wake up from his next blow. One day...all of me left will be gone.

   Miss CLScarlett xx

P.S. I have spent the last twelve days in incredible New Zealand, LA, Huntington Beach and Anaheim. Four absolutely marvellous locations. Here, by the way...is some advice we desperately should have known before we left to go to the States:

    - Go to Galaghers, the Irish Bar in Huntington Beach. They have all delights you need under the sun, cheap drinks and live music. The most liveliest part of the whole Beach with great food too.

   -  Go to TK's on the beach, right before The Hyatt (believe me, you won't miss this place) . It's covered in bizzaro stickers, surf photos and gargoyles and is right beside an old green beach house for sale. It sells the cheapest and best burgers and French fries this side of here.

  - Do not trust anyone named James near Galaghers.

  - Make sure that you use a card instead of cash. It's a pain and a half to change currency in America outside of the airport.

  - DO NOT go onto the beach after ten p.m. If you get caught you get a $10 000 fine.

  - Loitering is a fine worth $1000.

  - If you are looking for ANYTHING ask the street people.

  Hope everyone get's to experience Huntington Beach one day. Live a little and dream a lot. Remember people like Walt Disney XD.

   xx

 

We Stumbled in the Snow...

 

 

My time I measure through the clinking of bottles...

and the shadows that curl in the corners,

marking out each hour and second...

inside my head,

 

 

 

I sat in the darkness of a shadow the other night...

and I tipped fluorescent green down my throat,

I felt it buzz my heart into flame...

and I pressed my ear-wings against the cement wall,

I saw the stars move...

and heard the city unwind its' secrets for me,

a sea of treetops and neon signs...

and just me,

you feel no hand grasping your wrist...

and nothing changing you,

or adapting you...

it is merely a silence and a doorway opening,

to someplace...

Other.

 

 

 

 

We are netted up by the darkest of strings...

and we feel anew the weight of our wingsourwingsourwings,

and so we dance until our feet bleed and break...

we speak nonsense to disguise the truth,

and we stare at the monsters through the corridors...

There is a place,

broken and shattered...

where red lies in tatters amongst shards of glass,

cracked shell lights...

You can know a story for so long,

that eventually it is more real than breath...

 

You search for answers amongst the dust,

and the half-fragments of memory...

have you ever realized that there aren't enough memories?

Not for what we need...

not for us.

 

You search deep into your mind...

and maybe the seeking churns up something,

maybe something sees the wound and strikes a bargain...

with you,

or not...

and then it binds and swarms and catapults,

like a creature of myth from under your bed...

and suddenly you are bound in it,

running through the hallways it has made...

and hiding beneath blankets it has knit,

sometimes...

you can't get back out,

sometimes...

you are only running in place,

and sometimes...

you forget that you are already dead.

 

We tick slowly byyyy...

 

Stop.

 

Imagine instead that your feet are standing in the softest sand imaginable.

 

No wait...

 

Close your eyes.

 

 

 

Feel something soft beneath your feet...

and the pounding of warm waves in the distance,

a gentle breeze on your neck...

blowing away the darkness and cold inside of you,

you open your eyes...

see a deep sky of blue as far as your sight can reach,

you taste the salt in the air...

and smell something like caramel on the wind,

you walk forward...

up a gentle ridge in the pale sand.

 

You cross the rise and stop...

a clear ocean lays swaying before you,

a couple of breaks rock to your far right...

while a row of colourful long boards stand waiting,

to your far left...

way down the end of the beach,

a hut built of old timber, straw and mud sits against the cliff...

straight ahead of you,

is a great wooden jetty...

it creaks its' way out into the ocean.

 

Fastened to the very end of the jetty...

is a small yacht,

and beside the yacht stands a figure...

almost impossible to make out,

yet strangely familiar...

 

What would you do eh?

 

Maybe you would ride the breaks until dawn the next week...

maybe you would stop by the hut,

see why it smells so much like warmth and caramel...

Maybe you would live there awhile.

 

Each day you would see the figure waiting...

and each day you would wonder,

and then maybe one day...

you turn from your fears and what you've known,

and you walk down to the end of that jetty...

you find that the figure is someone that you know,

and have been waiting for in some remote part of your being...

you step onto the boat with them and slowly sail away,

to someplace...

Other.

 

 

 

That boat will always wait for you...

you are never too late.

 

 

The smallest of sounds...

curling in the darkness,

the most tiny of wrens...

battering itself against its reflection,

and the most skeletal of seahorses...

whispering through my dreams.

 

Thank-you for your Admittance...

the Theatre is now currently,

Closed.

 

 

   Hey there...

    Long time...no speak.

My life has gone flat-out insane lately...it's almost my 22nd year on Earth and I'm preparing to send my book off to proofreading, then to the publishers. I have only hope...because I know it can happen.

  Don't give up your dreams or accept a life that they design for you.

Miss CLScarlett xx

  

 

 

 



The MegaLossa DramaTica Celebration of MayHem and Other-ness.....

 

Do you hear it?

 

No wait...

 

Listen.

 

Open your ears...

you hear the wind don't you?

Or perhaps it's the rain...

often the two sound alike,

but you can still hear...

a whispering,

words...

behind this sound,

and you realize that the voice is familiar...

and speaking things that break you out of the numb cold,

that has invaded you lately...

 

'An invitation...

an invite,

Sir and MadMadam...

to a Belated Christmas,

 and an early new year celebration...

for this is not our Christmas,

this is a party of another kind...

For those who toil through the late hours,

and bear bonds that are not visible...

not to the naked eye at least,

For those who cannot...

and perhaps have never wanted,

For those who are tired in bone...

and heart,

For those who went without...

this is a celebration of Mayhem,

and a night of thrill and Far Away...

now,

To access that path that shall lead thee to us...

Go into the barest,

most forgotten room you know of...

It does not matter where,

and it is guaranteed...

that this day there shall be a clock there that you never before noticed,

a clock with a glass face...

Listen.

 

 

To it's deep noise...

a gong that shudders through the souls of your feet,

to your head...

Look,

inwards...

see the numbers reflected in the glass,

and reflected back and back...

and back again through your eyes,

say the words...

Magia Scura.

Let the journey begin.'

 

The voice ends...

and you find yourself doing as it asked,

standing solitary before times mirror...

and a clock you've never seen before,

and all at once you feel yourself travelling...

past buildings that decay at rapid speeds,

and curious lights that dance above the sea...

scattered music follows you and guides,

and you feel yourself eventually settling...

back beneath your ribs and skin,

you are Elsewhere now.

 

Dust...

is everywhere,

thick at your feet...

and falling through beams of light,

through the wiry shadows...

and you walk,

forward...

towards the strangest of lights,

 just around the curve of the corridor...

just out of reach,

always ahead...

but then,

you come upon it...

not a light,

not a being...

but a small hallway,

Shattered mirrors cover the walls...

and torn red curtains hang from banisters,

shell lights emit a faint glow...

 

Then...

the whispers again,

'This floor that you walk...

be older than time,

the Red Mirror Room they called it...

and it is still known by,

careful not to gaze too closely at the mirrors...

Don't let parts of yourself be fractured away,

for the mirrors carry beating hearts....

and reaching arms to bind,

to snatch a piece of yourself into its depths...

and mark you as its own,'

 

You travel on...

past the fabled light of that room,

and into another spinning vortex of hues...

that whisk you away from There,

 

 

You feel the world open up beneath you...

and laughter drawing you down,

you feel a speed course through your veins...

and you begin to sprint on,

faster and faster you move...

the world becoming pulsing flashes about you,

you are not out of breath...

you are not in pain,

and your feet hardly touch the ground...

you spirit through tangled woods,

and beside rivers and caves...

through snow and blizzard you scurry on,

and through warm waters...

across open plains,

until eventually...

you arrive,

at a sight that catches your eye...

a whale dying upon a  cold beach,

beside a statue made of pale white stone...

a spinning image of a peculiar bird,

just in flight...

and behind it,

a jetty that travels out way past the white break...

and to the shores of an island,

long ago...

long away,

long locked away in your memory...

 

You reach out to touch,

the whale upon its side...

you feel its secrets,

its stories...

its clues,

rushing into you...

and as it passes away you hear the sound,

of a thousand hounds baying...

a thousand hills breaking,

and yet...

you know,

that you too must pass on....

too,

across the jetty...

above the toiling blue,

and reach the other side...

of sea,

You sprint across the pale wood boards...

the sea cascading into your ears and mind,

and you see creatures there...

through the corners of your sight,

strange pale fish...

that glisten with diamond scales,

 peculiar ones with spikes and shifting colours...

a million eyes,

and ten transparent floating bodies...

seahorses the size of pennies,

Until finally you arrive...

at the party set for you,

with all you have long dreamed of...

 

 

You are ushered into a mansion upon the beach,

you are drawn into the party...

by a pale figure,

tall and watching...

and you realize that as such,

you are fashionably late...

a hundred different faces grin and laugh back at you,

and delicacies and splendours are offered to you at every turn...

you find that although you cannot recall,

 being to this place before,

you find nearly everyone familiar...

a face that made you smile,

a word someone spoke to you...

all the fragments of people you have met,

here in the mansion by the lagoon....

and they...well,

they treat you like an old friend...

You find yourself losing track,

of everything that has been within your mind...

all the terror fades away to nothing,

and you lose track of time...

how long have we all been here,

a year?

A century...

we do not care.

Let it continue on and on...

until we are as light and high as the air,

you solemnly agree...

and as the stars burst into all their brilliance outside,

you see the many different lanterns...

flickering on and on,

lighting our warm dusk and then evening...

we race through corridors,

that lead through other corridors...

laughing so hard it's painful,

we are free from it all...

as we play our ridiculous games,

come run with us...

put on the leering masks we give to you,

and do whatsoever thy will...

throw plates,

engage in mock fighting...

throw cream pies in each others faces,

a good old game of hide and seek...

the night sky spins on,

as you drink cocktails in the breaking waves...

and you know that it will never end,

 

As first light creaks its way in...

we remember watching the galaxies,

creating names for the stars...
and stars of our own,
some lay entwined in the arms of others...
in the many nooks and crannies,
that scatter this place...
some have simply faded away,
while others float off with the tide...
in broken rafts and upended umbrellas,
You make your way to the grand table...
and remember the millions of coloured bottles,
that the night before we drank...
the way we shrieked and danced,
high above the floor...
pounding our feet against its' wooden surface,
but now it is set out with an early morning feast...
cinnamon scrolls that melt into caramel in your mouth,
whiting on toast...
hot chocolate and thousands of berries,
pancakes stacked ten feet high...
dripping with maple radiance and cream,
Anything you could imagine...
and then once you've eaten,
you see the pale figure approach you...
and smile gently at you,
they place a hand upon your shoulder...
and guide you away from the still-remaining people,
You hear them speak...
and their presence surrounds you,
'Away now dear...
from the mansion by the sea,
a century you have been gone...
and everything is new,
you have a clean slate to start again...
for all of that is forgotten,
and now you start once more...
Open your eyes.'

You do...
not realizing that you had them closed,
and gone is the ocean...
gone is the island,
and there you kneel...
hand pressed against your clock,
it is dark now...
so ever dark,
yet an island shining gold rests in your heart...
you take the clock into your arms,
feel it beating against your frame...
and with the smallest of grins,
and no fear no fear...
you walk out into the night,
and back towards home.

 

 

 

   Happy 2014 lovely ones...

 

I'm sorry for the lack of Blogs lately, my computer's been horrid and so has Fate, hmmm but in other ways he's been very generous lately. [Don't tempt Fate too much, he has a wicked habit of proving me and others wrong].

 

   I wish you all a fearless Christmas and New Year...that you survive to see something better than what you've known. Keep forward: No Fear.

 

 

   A New Year's Resolution?

 

      Have my book receive a contract by this time next year...or at least have been submitted to every publisher on my list.

 

      What is the weirdest resolution you've ever made?

 

   Much Love,

 

      Miss CLScarlett xx



 

 

The Shattered Window and the Light that Bled from It...

 

We flew through a million different shades of light and then dark...

from pale emptiness skies,

beneath which we darted and wove...

past hundreds of beaches,

washed across with strange winds...

tearing the sand across our cheeks,

scratching their tiny claws upon our skin...

I saw a sea filled with wasps,

the other day as I was riding by...

I went ankle-deep into the water,

and saw the thousands floating beneath...

I heard someone whisper,

a velvet voice behind my ear...

'Do not fear,

they are not dead...

just sleeping within their tombs.'

 

He walked with me again the other night...

his claws digging into my shoulders and wrist,

always guiding me forward...

yet holding me tight.

My dark creation and stage master...

Mr. White n S has come to guide us through the night,

to horror or wealth I do not yet know...

yet travel on,

and listen to he...

 

'Step forward,

dear Sir and MadMadam...

mount your steeds,

bury your hope of sanity deep...

and step forward into the lightlesness,

for truly...

it is only to reach the true sunlight,

that we allow ourselves to be torn down by the darkness...

for this is only temporary.

Now enough of that...

choose your ride and into the darkness we quickly step,

our heads held high.'

 

 

 A tunnel widens around us...

its' features shifting in from the gloom,

an array of destroyed temples...

forgotten and buried in time,

a labyrinth built from lost things...

and its' roof constructed from unwritten books,

 and sunken sails...

The palest of lights,

Mr. White n S holds within his hands...

he leads the way forward,

and his pale figure we follow...

down deep,

The tunnel winds deeper...

its world mesmerising,

we are told about the thousand pockets...

that exist within a single pocket,

and the way to grin like the dead...

and haven't we learnt that so well?

For we are the dead walking...

but along through the tunnel strange we go,

walking dead and neither afraid nor sad...

 

but somewhere between,

and with a haunting music that echoes closer with each step...

a turn in the tunnel,

and Mr. White n S stops...

the music grows louder,

and around the corner you see...

not an orchestra,

not a radio...

but the most curious of dancing fellows,

with a gawky kind of charm he ganders about...

and from his pointy shoes to his angled hat,

he breathes a blue fog into the air of the tunnel...

his slight feet twisting in unseen ways,

and the music sparking from his heels...

he,

you realise...

is the music,

isthebeat...

he doesn't speak,

but boyyy is he a talkative one with his eyes...

he smiles at each of us,

grins wickedly at Mr. White n S...

who does likewise,

and then twists away back down the way...

soon the music fades,

and we travel on...

into an increasing cold,

 

 

Our feet are bitten...

by the ice that scrawls patterns upon the wooden floor,

we realize that our shoes have been stolen...

and have only our souls between our heart and the cold,

we continue to walk...

Mr. White n S never stopping,

the wooden floor gives way to limbs....

 that rise and climb from beneath the ground,

charcoal branches and white leaves...

a forest of giant trees,

draped with snow...

we clutch ourselves tight,

for who would hug us instead...?

We begin to forget the existence of the sun,

and down a trail we stumble...

our names tumbling from our fingers,

we turn haggard with the forgetting...

and the sleeplessness,

and the inner screams...

yet we keep on,

and eventually...

we hear our guide call out through the dead world,

'Deeper...to deeper ground we go...'

We descend into the earth,

down a needle-thin path...

it spirals and weaves,

and it creeps into our minds...

binding us deeper still,

until we cannot...

differentiate.

 

 

We slowly turn into creatures other...

than what we were,

and we walk on...

despite the fact that we don't remember why,

not anymore...

we pass strange corners,

cloaked in darkness and exotic smells...

with peculiar music played from rusting gramophones,

and soft furred creatures lurking between the corners...

we travel further in and out,

and then...

we discover that our forest,

has transformed into a timber house...

around us,

and we see...

the cold and mist,

seeping through and beneath the walls...

and doors,

and the white reaching and spreading through the heart of our timber,

until we are as ghosts...

but,

we hear Mr. White n S...

wail out in a voice like water,

'Do not let them in...

do not let them in,

no matter how they knock and wail...

no matter the promises they make to you,

do not let them in...

don't open wide the doors,

don't let the midnight breeze in...

for it is through it that our hearts and minds are changed.'

 

You see silhouettes pressing their slender fingers...

up against the windows,

and the stranger words they whisper into your thoughts...

you are lead pass their creaking voices,

and desires...

until eventually they too fade from your memories,

 

 

 

and then....

you feel a shift in the temperature,

a change in your blood...

a myth unravelling,

within...

the shadows grow warmer,

and the light grows more solid...

the ice beneath your souls and skin starts to melt,

and shift into summer-warmed sand...

grains sinking into your pours,

and your mood...

Mr. White n S leads us ever on,

out from the icy jaws...

away from the labyrinth of steel and cold,

and up a gentle incline...

and onto a salty shore,

we feel the cold and our terrors too...

be swept away with the breeze,

and a settling within us...

like a great dragon turning over,

of a peace and exquisite ease...

and then you see ahead,

a burnished sandy beach...

a turquoise crashing of waves against flour sand,

and the shine of pale  city walls...

just around this stretch of beach,

and there beyond the breakline...

beneath a curious canopy of blue-green palms,

rests a table for all of us...

shining empty and bare,

 

 

Mr. White n S commands of us to sit...

and a small buzzing fills the air,

as the sun rises from somewhere deep below the darkness...

and free thoughts are exchanged between all,

and slowly the buzzing grows louder...

until it forms into the shape of the sound,

 a million and one...

white hummingbirds,

with feathers of red and aquamarine...

they come bearing gifts,

the most tempting of delights...

Red Velvet chocolate cupcakes,

and violet and pear macarons...

whatever your heart fancies,

they shall bring upon fluttering wings to thy plate...

a thousand songs are played and weaved,

and curious adventures unfold here...

the night progresses,

and the Christmas lanterns are lit...

we unfold within the sound,

Each of us is imparted...

a gift upon our souls,

a piece of our heart back to us...

to take back to our homes,

and as Mr. White n S raises a glass to our journey...

and you drink deep and eat well,

you see a light...

brilliant and vast rise up about you,

it whisks you from the chatter and the table by the ocean...

you feel the seaside rest hidden within your heart,

as you open your eyes to the soft light of your bedroom...

you hold your gift close and rise to face the world,

safe with the first present of Christmas...

and the certainty there will be more.

 

 

 

 

   The wind has been blowing differently...of late [and I am sorry for the late-to-arrive Blog]. You eventually feel a shift in the person you are...when enough things happen. I wish I could just stop one day, untie the bandages from my feet and just walk away from everything. No more.

   Soon...we will wait.

 

    May your Christmas time be something better than before, and for awhile...please enjoy the light; what little there may be. For it is not long before the darkness approaches, but for now...drink and be merry.

 

   Have a wonderful December dear ones,

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

Ware....Incoming Fog and or Ocean Swell may Cause Excessive Delusions and or hope. Batten down the Hatches!

 

We stood and were hypnotized by the moon the other night...

a white grey hound and I,

we stood there silently in the breeze...

as the moon pulsed magnificently,

 

I heard birds singing....

in the latest hour of the night,

and at deep dark black...

I hear them each time,

geese shrieking through the sky...

 

and Behold,

I hear a story upon the breeze...............

 

We are withering in the dark water,

watching our skin be worn away with the tide...

and our hearts melting through our feet,

we feel the sensations leaving our fingertips...

and we know that we are dying,

a sickness in our soul they said...

we have been commanded to wear the faces of demons,

and bear the jesters grin despite the pain...

we run our lives upon the blade edge,

and really...

only beauty is achieved through the cuts we receive,

 

So we decided one night...

to sew wings upon our back,

to stare into the midnight madness...

and directly into the heart of the storm,

we faltered upon our windowsills...

and felt the rain caress our faces,

we leapt into the jaws of the abyss...

and then soared our way up high,

we saw the planets spinning....

psychotic twirling orbs of fire and ice,

they whispered things to us...

as we soared through those ancient wind-waves,

up in space...

we felt our hearts falter,

at the shapes that formed in the sky...

and when a darkness of form crept in close,

it took and took...

wrapped its' claws about us,

placed us in cages...

 

 

we shook,

we broke...

we wore skulls in our braids,

and placed dark powder upon our cheeks...

we ate little or nothing,

and would stay up all night...

walking through our hallways with the lights off,

reaching and searching for something each night...

that we couldn't remember in the day,

we no longer remember what it is...

or how we became trapped in this maze,

why we are drowning from the inside out...

and why the tears we shed are never in physical form,

we sewed the wings on long ago...

and have forgotten how or why,

and now we are caged up in the sky...

those who tried to fly,

to escape the darkness on ground...

we flew and soared and fled,

only to discover ourselves a prisoner of another kind...

to a darkness that plagues us both body and mind,

the chains they have placed on us are within our thoughts...

and the lights they make us wear have fooled the earth,

the stars we are...

and they have bound us in the night sky,

 

Eventually...

as aeons slipped by,

we gnawed away at our wings...

at the chains that held them down,

we chewed until our teeth had been filed to fine points...

and our skin was fractured and bled,

yet eventually the bonds we cut...

and the world fell,

about us...

we wept for our wings,

as we plummeted deep into the abyss...

its jaws open and reaching and pulling us into the black,

is there only darkness and sadness?

We ask each other,

we are too young to be feeling this sad...

yet we do,

yet we are...

and often we think we should have died when we fell,

that our bones would scatter across the earth...

and the shadows would forget us,

 

yet...

we hear,

something......

 

 

We see amidst the darkness that swamps us,

a hot air balloon...

the palest of blues,

we run from our captors...

from ourselves.

Scramble into the basket and feel ourselves lifting out from the mire,

and then there is the blue...

it is all we see,

an ocean vast and beautiful...

and a city by its' shores,

and then...

we feel ourselves start to change,

white feathers...

trembling skin,

the smallest of true hearts...

and we are given what we never dared to desire,

 

 

 



Escape.

 

 

 

 What are you trying to escape from? Is there escape? Maybe escape is an illusion. Maybe it's not.

 

 I went to the smallest of venues last night in the heart of Brisbane, to see my brother rock the stage. [He's awesome, btw]. A mesh of painted faces, old school class, screaming and motorbikes...whatever indulgences could be had.

 

    We are always lost I think...but occasionally we come across a piece of something - maybe even a piece of us - lying amidst the fog and snow, and we add it to us. We're still lost, but slowly the fragments are being gathered. Then maybe life won't feel like this.

 

 

 

 

 

   Much Love,

              Miss CLScarlett xx