The Context of Prison

The desert in the morning; it used to smell like freedom for me. Now it's just the smell of a different prison. Looser chains then the one that came before maybe, but still a prison. A prison built by others, and by me. By a hundred lies and a hundred truths, brick by brick I was sealed in again by the illusion of freedom. If I didn't build it, I almost certainly locked the door. Sunlight is an illusion, rain just a half-forgotten echo, only the dead keep me company here, the dead who repeat every lie I've ever told back to me, and every truth I've used as a lie. Demons that chase me around my head if I ever pause to look at the prison walls. That's how they keep you here; it hurts to see past the illusion so eventually you learn not to.

I used to long for the summer days that smelled of the desert. New dirt to play in, new sky to lie under. I didn't know that dirt would just be dirt one day, and the desert would not be this alien world for me to explore, but another familiar dead end, where I could back myself into corners I don't see how I could ever escape from. Is this what if feels like? Looking back before life shattered all your innocence? Remembering things hurts, planning just leads to disappointments but if you stay locked in the present you lose context for life, and insanity is life without context. No one can break me out of this prison but me, but sometimes I wonder if I will ever be strong enough.

Guilt for a dead woman keeps me close to all I abhor, and the resentment that slowly builds is poisoning the purest bond I ever had. I can't be what they say she wanted, but even knowing this I can't stop trying. Manipulation is still just that even when I know it's happening. My love for her is the chain used to hold me, the whip used to beat me, but turning my back on that would be the greatest betrayal I could ever offer to someone I never wanted to betray. Am I the only one who sees the stain obscuring the memories? I'm losing sight of the truths she told, in what they want me to believe she said. "What would your mother want you to do?" The sentence strangles me. She would never want that. Would she? She always kept the peace in the family but I can't seem to fill the void, even as they try to whittle me away so I can. When they look at me, is all they see their ideal of a dead woman? I'm losing her memory and I'm losing my mind. It's all I seem to know for certain anymore.

Love and Other Fairy Tales

Every false dream has to end, but we should not turn our backs to the possibility that the next dream is the true one...









Fairy Tale Ending

When I was young and the world was new
I dreamed of fairy tales and light
I knew that magic was for real
And I waited for my knight
Now the seasons turn, as they often do
And I find myself walking away from you
Tell me please, what do I dream of now?

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive

I was fourteen on that fateful day
When I first set eyes on you
And was seventeen that afternoon
When that dreamed of kiss came true
Now the seasons turn, as they often do
And I find myself walking away from you
Tell me please, what do I dream of now?

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive

But all lonely bitter tear drops
My shadowed eyes can cry
Can’t ever change the fact
That my “I love you” is a lie
So the seasons turn as life is due
And I turn to walk away from you
Know that I’ll find a new dream now

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive
Cry those lonely tears
But forget your fears
Because an new dream will survive.

I thought I knew what being in love felt like, once, and maybe it was love but I know what I feel now eclipses everything that came before. It didn't happen all at once, or maybe it did but I wasn't ready to see it, to feel it, back when we first met. My heart was bleeding so I walled it off. Eventually as I began to tear down those walls I didn't notice it slowly seeping in through the cracks, becoming part of my very being. I didn't realize it until it was too late. At least, so I thought. So I told myself to keep quiet, that I had missed my chance, and really I deserved it for jerking his heart around for the past three years. We could continue on as the closest of friends. He knew all my secrets, so why I thought I could keep this one I don't know. I liked her too, this girl he was with, and he seemed happy enough. Tough shit, I said, you can cut out this feeling, you've done it before. But even the thought of cutting him out that much hurt, even though I didn't want to be in the way. I was doing well too, keeping my silence, until when the smoke had curled through blood enough that I felt my control slipping I fled to the safety of my bedroom. He followed me there, that night, as he always did and in that darkened hallway my secret escaped on an exhale of smoke. "I love you." What was said cannot be unsaid. Not something like this. Three words to turn lives upside down. Some for the better, and some for the worse. There is guilt for the pain cause, and sorrow for the time lost, but there is no regret. Not for a love like this. I always dreamed of that perfect fairy tale love; to find someone that completes you.

I thought I found it once, for a while anyways, but there were aspects of myself that I could never share with him and that wasn't the way it was supposed to be at all. I told myself eventually that love like that, the finish-each-other's-sentences-I-know-your-soul type of love, didn't really exist in life. It was just an artistic ideal in stories, and I was only setting myself up for disappointment. Because really, even if there was someone like that, why would he be interested in me? What did I have to offer other than a head fully of silly stories and daydreams? I never thought of myself as ugly, but I never really considered myself pretty. I thought it easier to keep my feelings in daydreams and I could always settle for someone if the loneliness got unbearable. I closed my mind to the possibility of love actually occurring so well that when it walked into my life I took one look at it and ran the other direction. I knew even then, I think, what he would be to me. I could hardly believe it was real and I knew I didn't deserve it. So I ran. I am good at running away from things that scare me. I do it all the time even if I never move. He just waited until I got tired of running and came back exhausted and ready to work with him. It makes me think of the way you tame a wild horse, and he did it so well I didn't realize it was even happening.

It's new, this relationship, and it's not at the same time. People chastise me for thinking of the future, of planning a life together already, but it really is like they say; when it's the right one, the right time, you just know. They can say what they like. I know where I stand now. I am done running. I'm scared, terrified of losing this fragile, new happiness, but my mind is clear. I won't let my fear ruin this for me. I will fight anyone who tries to destroy this, and for me that mostly means fighting myself. It's never an easy thing to do, except for him, it is easy. Or maybe the fierce joy of love so thoroughly eclipses any hardship that it seems that way. So that childish hope; one day I really would find the right one, that I wrote down years ago at the end of that first taste of love. It did come true. I want to tell her, the girl that I was, that she was right not to give up hope, no matter how much pain it caused her. In the end, it was worth it. I want her to know that he is worth all the pain that would follow and all the pain that preceded it. I can't, and though it all turned out alright in the end for me, I know that for others it might not. I share this to say don't give up hope. Maybe someone will listen and maybe they won't, but it needs to be said none the less. "I love you." Three words to change a lifetime. Truth can be more profound than even fiction can lead you to believe.

Rain Rain, Stay Today, Find the Pain and Wash Away...

Nine-thirty at night, pouring rain and soaked to the bone; this is what I live for.

Not things, I will find and lose so many things over my lifetime, most of which I will never remember, but moments I can never forget.True feeling. The way the rain falls like crystal through the yellow glow of the mock-lantern lights on the side of the building, tumbling through the leaves on the trees. The way the lightning rips through the dark, revealing the roil of clouds overhead. The way the rain collects in my hair and runs down my face and neck, washing some more of the purple dye away. The way my black pants cling to my leg as I move, kicking at puddles in my flip-flops as I go. The smile of the cabby rushing out to his vehicle as I throw my arms wide to enjoy the sensation of cool rain on long over-heated skin. Staccato drumming of each drop as it falls on the carport roof that I should have long ago ducked back under as the lightning flashes across the skyline. Rain bleeding into my eyes as I stare unafraid into the dark, looking for the next spark of electricity.

How long has it been since I last stood alone in the rain and simply let sensation take over the commentary in my mind? Too long I think. No conversations, just raw basic awe, the primal thrill of a storm. As children, we are told to come back inside before we catch our death, before the lightning gets us. As an adult, we can chance the danger and just be. Soaked, and maybe relieved, relaxed for the first time in months. All the lies and deadlines and jagged edges of memories washed away. I feel myself settle in my skin again as the rain rinses off the layers of masks one by one. Disguise gone, I am calm once more. Danger is a risk, but a reward means nothing without it's opposite.

Brain Drool [Character Sketchs in Four/Four Time]

This is just word dribble from work again as I try and get a good handle on a couple of my characters. I'm finally back to writing swords-and-horses type fantasy again but this time around my plot is very political and twisty rather then the straight forward quest-and-destroy-the-bad-guy plots from my younger years. Much more challenging for me because every character has different motivations for what they are doing and all of them are going to have to compromise their ethics at some point to get where they want. Fiction writing as an adult is a lot less fluffy then when I was a kid and with a lot more subtext to keep track of. Anyways, this is dribble from Laura and Rÿche (pronounced:rike), who are my protagonist and antagonist respectively and is just me trying to get my sense of them down.

My protagonist's thoughts at the very beginning of the story:

Overture [Laura-Jane]

This is my home
Whither go I now?
Far away from rock so rusted red
And bridges made rope and wood
This is my home
How can they ask me now
Just to leave it all behind
For the sake of a man who shares my name?

What could I care about there
In that city made of grey unending stone
What secrets could I learn
That would ever make me yearn for more
Than just the sights of my canyon home?

They say this was the way
It was meant to always be
But no one ever thought to let me know
That I was going to have to go
The road ahead is winding
And I cannot see the path
Now all that's left is wondering
Who will I become in the aftermath?

and then again towards the end of the first book:

Reprise [Laura-Jane]

This is my home
Where will the Heiress lead us
If I choose to turn away this day
And go back to the life I used to know?
This is my home
Jimmy, I won't be your Glorianna
But I can only try my best
to rise up to the challenge of a country in unrest

The ink is drying on the paper
As my heart beats now in fear
Elliana is so sick that
She might not last the year
And with Winnie's death I know
That I am all that stands between
A madwoman and Islin's Golden Throne



And a peek inside the head of my antagonist:

Requiem for a Doll [Rÿche]

Everyone has heard the rumors
The scars that mar my skin are hidden
But still within the public view
Where is the child who chased butterflies?
She died

Little sister, little broken doll
I can fix you so you will never crack again
Little sister, little broken doll
I can make the pain you feel now never come again
Take my hand
Let me remake you better than before

Recast in porcelain and ice I stand
A testament to the frailty of man
So many that have gone astray
Will not be saved as I was that day
The pain it caused has long been gone
But the scars can never truly be undone

The laws that stood to break my soul
Shall soon be torn asunder
A new regime is rising now
Godless heathens testify
Death to those who dare defy
It's really just a mercy on your soul

Little sister, little broken doll
You will never crack and fall
Little sister, little broken doll
This much I shall promise you
The world will see when we are through
Just how wrong their sainted Glorianna was

Uncultured Friday [CATS]

A lot of the subtle programming in our minds comes from the many forms of media available to us, especially in this age. Now I am not saying that we should attempt to live in a vacuum to prevent this nor is this going to be a rant against modern technology. One, that would be uncomfortable and at times very loud (though I am sure the dustbunnies would enjoy the company), and two, I quite like my many forms of media. However I do feel we should be aware of how what we watch/listen/read make up part of our fundamental thought process. It is only then that we can decide if that influence is something we like or something that is no longer working for us.

So much of my life had been spent face down in one book or another, lost in the lyrics of a song, embroiled in the world of a movie, as I desperately searched for a way to escape the dissatisfaction with my own reality. Trying to pick apart twenty-two years of novels and musicals, news and documentaries, songs and TV shows and see what is it that makes those special ones stick with me, and which ones are just further tangling my thoughts in the net, is not going to be easy. So I'm going to do a weekly post, on whatever bit of pop culture I am currently caught up in or was at one point.

To start with I am going to take my current obsession and long standing interest in the musical CATS. Based on a book of poems by T.S. Eliot the musical first opened in London in 1981 before hitting Broadway in 1982. The first time I ever saw Cats was on a battered VHS that I rented from the Flagstaff Public Library. It wouldn't be until I was twenty that I would actually get to see it live (which always leaves more of an impact on me with musicals). I'm not going to review the play, suffice to say I enjoy it still, but I am inclined to look at the characters that I like the most and think on what that says about me.

First and foremost is Mr. Mistoffelees



The young, eager magician of the Jellicle clan; it's of no surprise that he was my favorite character from the very first. As a little girl(well tomboy) who spent most of her time wielding a magical staff (read PVC pipe), banishing evil squirrels and crushing the small child eating plants that populated my back yard (which was admittedly ten acres of trees so it was a lot of ground to cover), the young sorcerer-cat was always going to be the one I identified with the most.

Next of course we have the Rum Tum Tugger



If Misto was the character of my youth then Tug was definitely the character of my teen years. Of course looking back now it is amusing how closely entwined the two characters are in the story. Tug is the David Bowie of cats and would definitely be the one to capture my attention as I discovered exactly what the word libido meant. He's the flashy showman who gives Misto his moment to shine and perhaps there is a part of me that simply wanted the same acknowledgment. I wanted to be special, not the outsider, and I wanted someone to notice that. (And if the noticing was done by some hot popular guy...well that would be lovely) Such is the thoughts of silly adolescent girl (ok, still a tomboy, but really...) I suppose. I won't deny I still enjoy watching Tug gyrate about the stage.

And lastly we come to Munkustrap, the proud protector of the Jellicle clan and narrator of the play. He is the character I seem to identify with as I move out of adolescence and into adulthood. He looks after his clan, tries to protect them as best as he can. He is the storyteller, always part of the action but at the same time somehow apart from it. I'm still chewing over the correlations between his actions and my own. I have my own group of friends that I like to look after, to defend, to tell my silly little stories too. Sometimes I take myself a bit too seriously, as it appeared he did sometimes too. So I leave you with one last clip, one I chose because it is Munkustrap as a storyteller (which I always will be, good or not) not quite as in control of the situation as he would like (as I often am) and simply because I love the mental absurdity of people pretending to be cats pretending to be dogs.



Presto!

[Yes the doodle of Misto is mine and yes I was aware that I cannot draw felines at all]
[all clips are from youtube user MrMistoffelees666, I just borrowed them to illustrate my point, so credit where credit is due, but I think you are smart enough to realize that.]

Redirect. Fnord

From time to time I will post things that I find elsewhere. It may have some relevance to things I have been talking about it, but it probably won't. You could try and find a connection if you want, it probably wouldn't be that hard, but it's not necessary.

Words are a huge part of my life. As a self style writer (self-styled because two poems published in an obscure book does not an author make) I live and breathe words. But even I find that I don't always stop to consider what a word means or where it comes from. Or how it could be used differently, thereby opening up a whole new door you never before knew existed.

Example:

ver·dant
   /ˈvɜrdnt/ [vur-dnt]
–adjective
1.
green with vegetation; covered with growing plants or grass: a verdant oasis.
2.
of the color green: a verdant lawn.
3.
inexperienced; unsophisticated: verdant college freshmen.

Now I was aware that it meant green vegetation or at least something that would remind you of that. I have used this word often enough as I try to describe the setting in my latest scribble. I did not however know that it could also be used to describe a lack of sophistication, though I have often used green in that capacity. I could have put two and two together, but I never really thought about it. How many connections have I missed? What other words could I slip in place of other, tired ones, even if it has never been done before. I write mostly because I like to tell stories, but sometimes I write to learn things. Write what you know is all well and good, but sometimes one must be willing to write what you don't know. It is then that you discover things.







Five Non-Definitions of Fnord*

being by
Reverend Loveshade,

Episkopos of the Discordian Division of the Ek-sen-triks CluborGuild


* From the Non-Existent Apocrypha Discordia
The following are not the meaning of

Fnord:
1. Not wanting bad grades: "I don't want an F nor D."

2. dronF spelled backwards.

3. You aren't cleared for that information, Citizen.

4. For no other reason, dummy!

5. Fnord

*******************************************************

In the true Discordian tradition, use this thingy freely--just please
credit the author, Reverend Loveshade, Fnord.

In The Begining

Maybe it's the drugs talking, or maybe it's just four years of life after the world ended, but it's time for a change. Maybe it took my mother's death to make me wake up and realize that while I might have been dreaming about a life that was mine I was living one that was theirs. If you've stumbled here looking for grand revelations I'm not sure I will have anything for you; I'm still stumbling around trying to find my own. Of course that's not to say you won't find any. How should I know? You could find some deep, profound meaning in a throwaway sentence that I will probably never think of again. Life can be like that sometimes; one man's trash and treasure and all that jazz, it's just we don't notice it. If you are here quite by accident (if you believe in accidents) I can only hope you might stay and consider what I have to say, if, on the day you are here, I have anything to say at all.

It started with a story that lead me to a little book and a strange irreligion that I am just fumbling around the edges of.(Yes, I ended a sentence in a preposition. Bite me) I don't know why it called out to me, probably because nonsense had often seemed to make the best sense to me. I gave it a first glance because it looked quirky and I stayed even after I saw it wasn't just about being silly and random. It asks me to think, not what others want me to think, but what I want to think. I'm discovering this is much harder then one would assume, but I am trying and now that I have started I'm not sure if I can stop. I'm not going to pause and explain myself to you along the way (this is for me not you after all) so if there is something you don't understand or want to know more about, I suggest you paste it into your search bar and go find out about it for yourself. That's part of thinking for yourself too and one that I find especially annoying. I liked having everything explained to me, at least in the broadest strokes, but that's still thinking what others think (or want me to think) which is not what is going to lead me out of the dark. I tried that and it got me nowhere or maybe it just got me back to the same somewhere if that is what I meant. The harder I look, the less things make sense, but for some reason I'm almost relieved. As if I never liked the way the world made sense.

So it's time to take the blinders of the horse and get this carriage moving. You can come with me if you would like, or just drop by and see where I am at from time to time. Don't expect all posts to be this obscure, some will be less, some will be more, half the time I will be lying to you (I'm good at it), and half the time I will be lying to myself. Maybe there will be something meaningful in here for you or maybe I'm just beating a dead horse. It doesn't matter; this is what I am going to do.

I am going to think for myself.