Can You Feel it in the Air?

When you want badly enough, so urgently that it becomes increasingly difficult to experience another day unfulfilled, eventually that ball of energy will explode.

It has to release before the pressure feeds upon itself.

When thoughts coalesce into wiry threads slitting through cuticle matter, entangling upon layers already laid, there is bound to be eruption.

Pan

When Pan burst from the glen, there was momentary silence. The Forest Keeper spritzed about, somersaulting as the center attraction. He bore no reservation-how could he-with Dionysus and Bacchus in the family as equally eager to strut and garner more willing admirers. Each note in the reed pipe delicately tended to, interpreted as it was played, individually affecting each spirit, addressing each particular yen to make everyone feel loved. All of the inhabitants felt His connection, His playful mood- cavort and carouse and you have my attention.

Come watch me frolic and be inspired to join.

It Once Rained Upon Me

I lived in the rain. ages ago, I ran naked in it...It never relented, and neither did I. It pounded into my skin, whipped into my hair, and stung my face. My nipples always hardened as the drops smacked down...I slept in caverns embraced and caressed by wolves, their downy fur cinched around me till dream land pulled away for another foray into the storm. Passages never weighed much - no need when the lands spewed alive, and conceptualized eclipses held no meaning...

I know he was with me too. Who he is now, what he is, no clues remain as to his appearance, essence, or mannerisms, but I know he was there. I know I did not drink in the rain alone, did not canvas and journey the landscape unaccompanied. The Earth and I shared blood...shed blood...we fed off of each other in a time unconstrained. There was snow that tickled sleet and hail that taught and tested resilience.

Never sun though. Warmth in a light that defined black, washed in a milk bath cream surfacing just enough to destabilize pitch totality. It was the time when everything had a pulse for the taking, eager to threaten and tempt and eliminate and capture, a jumble of pro-active intensity.

I knew then that I was happy. Fulfilled. Confident and insatiable in the bareness of the world. We fucked in the mud and gnawed on our meals atop stones uncarved by human branding.

Venture Once More

My dresses hang uninspired by the bones that I think can pathetically prove me sexy. I am the poor bridesmaid, the confidante men reveal their uninhibited cocks to for when they want to get to the centerspreads. Mind as well go out tonight- Winter Moon is cracking smiles. If I never come home, no one would really notice - maybe the guy I buy my herbal smoothie from once a week - well the bill collectors and the grouchy editors, although then the editors wouldn't have to part with the checks I probably claim too much for.

Actually my darling NicNeven, sweet Nevvie, would weep my absence, for else would there be for her to scooch up into and purr away her daily philosophies? Nevvie would have to find a way out of the apartment, then hunt for food...Poor girl would remain stuck, rely on an occasional roach, and then...And no one could ever understand and honor her like I do, cherish her stature and respect her magick.

In her ancestors' time, how would I have fared? When rule lay at the queen's fingers and courtesans flaunted about, would my bed sleep one?

And I Will Bleed...

I have come to realize that I need to change. Something is coming, I don't know what, but something needs to step in and make me feel. I draw the circles, I call the Elementals, I invoke and evoke, I throw the die. I lay in child pose to make it come - grab me by the wrists and shake me, prove that something does exist within me, that my soul does indeed function. I need to know that I am not merely a devoid shell, not just brain matter connected to a pumping heart silk-lined wrapped in this pallid skin. There is more than two feet shuffling because the wired network upstairs says so, right?

I want to know that I am alive.

The very first time I walked these streets, I knew I was home. There was piss in the air, grimy, dirty, dank odors, and smog, but my nose surpassed all of that. The only thing that infected my senses was the totality-the madness and the settlement-the sexy and the squirming lechery-the hustle bustle main streets and the dark corner back alleys. Ah, there was an Elysium Field in the mundane plane to cavort in! A misfit could blend in, only now the new trick was to fall into another costume. Even though plastic Barbies thankfully did not hold complete reign, talking with a fanged smile sold pretty well, but not enough.

I embrace the addiction.

The itch has spread from the outer surfaces - pretty boys, suits, artist junkies and flunky poets - the elusive dream every good little girl whimpers to placate their self esteem with. I might have an upper edge with having a psyche already so fucking scarred. I just need to find which game I belong to.

I am neatly filed, accurately and pathologically described and transcribed. I represent the challenges and the pacifications that an identity encounters when against better intentions, it becomes jello. Preserving even a fraction of my insanity has become priority.

And I will bleed, bleed till time actually suffocates under the crumbling Moon. I will inhale the dust She descends in and absorb it within every orifice. Make me whole again as the numbness attacks my diseased essence.... I will drop to my knees, your sugar coated sycophant....rain down upon me, dare you grace my repulsion, my reviled facade with the tartness coursing through your labels...the venom you taunt me with. Loom over my tongue, threatening to lock away if I so much whisper that uncertainty, that undeniably intoxicating hanger...Stick me. Hurt me. Cut deep deep deep deep deeper-there is no markable depth. Darling weaponry for free disposal. This is the only time I will beg. To kill pleasure is to kill me. Isn't that what the snake wants? To ride where it slithers? Where it tricks its cosmic Chaos?

Nightfall...

The storm has passed into reflective darkness. Vibrating with one inhalation, the barest nose dive into the soliciting sky permeates into what breeds below the soil. Throughout space continuums, the shadows who love to tease me continue with their come-ons. For them I leave the windows open, for it's a two way dalliance - they don't bitch as much as the ghosts.

Afternoon...

When all becomes too much to once again revisit how painfully broken I am, I relish my humble retreat. This is my haven, the one place that does not reject, does not scoff and critique. I bear all control here. The air pulsates in tempo.

Morning...

The city is astonishing in the rain - gray tones undulating as they ward off threatening pastels. When the lightening penetrates the darkened sky, the sky that should have cast dawn upon the expectant clocks, you know that you are living in a world unto itself, a die cast model birthed by star burst laughter. Blood, spill at the first peach grove to preserve that orgy - welcome thus to every soul seeking nomad and their vein splitting mentor.

Alone...

Floating on that island-that oasis of nothingness killing me slower and sweeter- every day passing into another week, another month, another torturous year. My surroundings are just what society likes : a dysfunctional castoff becoming a cog in the great mechanical wheel. Everyone is doing it - pretty girl scarring herself for what? Who wants it? That way? Feel pain to find semblance of pleasure? Why be multi-linguistic when homogeneity is so damn attractive?

I don't think it is possible for me to feel genuine human experiences. I have made this rat maze a stage, and the danse macabre in the broken glass slippers are too well crafted to waste upon the indignant. Come walk with me through the sheet rock and I will always find the bramble to cut your feet with.

Channeling

It was flight. It was freedom - bleeding for everyone and letting the life flow. Did you ever see the Moon cry its pallor upon the city when desperation led to re-stitching? I hold the scalpel. I hold the sutures. My hands know what it would be like to use that power and set it free, to see the Night run and laugh. Yet I also know the fear in surrendering when the whispers come to bait, just how gleeful they are to scratch the reality and disappoint once more.

Can't sleep. Can't focus on the lollipop stutter I need to suck on to let the ghosts reprieve me. They don't like to relax for they're too hyped on the mess I run through each attempted slumber. The very second eyelashes flit upon my eyes, they crawl beside me - can't allow me much quiet- my toes feel the prickly slivers first. The itching eventually becomes managed breathing as the evenings come a' calling. I cannot have what I want. I cannot rise above and present someone something of substantial worth.

I still dream though. Most would equate dreams with actual sleep, for how can there be one without the other? I am down deep at the furthest level, far beyond REM....my brain just shoots me right into that neverland. And as I smash right into the pits many would force themselves awake from clawing for breath, I simply fall into the hands. I want it, want the suppressed orgasm dying for release to come round my throat and follow me back into the waking. I beg to send its coiled energy into the common arenas and knock off the oblivious.

What do these words arouse in you?

insipid
tangy
pulp
fragrant
musk
citrus
floral
woodsy
deep
full bodied
light
hearty
flat
bubbly
thin
heady
bitter
sweet
salty
sugary
berry
caffeinated
subtle
subdued
strong
weak
hearty
spicy
hot
boiling
simmering
watery
roasted
medium
inebriated
narcotic
sour
peppery
airy
smooth
savory
overpowering
rich
minty
dark
red
maroon
burgundy
wine
strawberry
crayon red
candy apple
pink
purple
black
ebony
onyx
grape
raspberry
cherry
bordeaux
fire engine
flame
poppy
chili pepper
paprika
ruby
garnet
rose
brown
cranberry
tomato
plum
auburn
beet
koolaid
fruit punch
coppery
pungent
carmine
vermillion