Log in

Delicate on the art of whimsy

Aug. 11th, 2006 | 02:35 pm


Perpetual whimsy on a the sole account of another's face. How completly droll the world must seem to one so indulged. I, however, remain unsolicited to the company of those who abstain from such pleasures. I do so wish to pull the melancholy drama from my eyes and take a sound look at the movement around me.
Such fire in the hearts of the citizens here. It reminds me longingly of the dark strolls I would take while on the unabashedly beautiful Rome. There, one is not so inclined to think of the negativity of humanity, but the beauty of those who smile. And the artwork of so many can be found not only in sculpture and museum, but in the very hands of an elderly man soaked to the skin in the woman he stands beside. The merry ruddiness of children as they bustle with their friends in the coldness of morning. Most importantly, the weary woman, resting her bootstrapped feet on the bench of her lover's lap. Ay me. I am too long away from where I truly long to be.

When he arrives, we will long to see the smiling serenity of that time, nestled in the arms of each our eyes.

Link | Open the Box | Share

Says I:

Jul. 11th, 2006 | 10:13 am
music: "I'll Be Seeing You", Billie Holliday

What is sadness? Is it truly the loss of another, or oneself? Do people miss people, or do they miss how they were, how they felt, when they were with that person? I know that almost every time I have missed someone, they have come back into my life, in some shape or form. I would call it premonition, or the ability to base a previous feeling associated with a person again at a time when that person is no longer there. I know I feel something when I am without a particular person, but I have been wrong more times than right that the person would appear.
This only seemed to work often with one person. A man I was deeply in love with, and to whom I was connected with extremely. I feel that this person was special and that my ability to often foretell his upcoming collision with my life was unique and tied to only him. Another term I deal with called coincidence, or an event that happens upon a person by chance, but filled with no possibility. I don’t pretend to claim that I am defining these concepts with the utmost accurately, or even with clarity, but I do claim that they are important to understanding me.
With coincidence and premonition comes consequence. I have been subject to the worst forms of consequence due to my encounters with premonition and coincidence. Be ill-advised that these concepts can be trusted separately, but they go hand in hand with sadness once introduced.

Sadness is when premonition is overruled by coincidence and as a consequence, hope is lost.

That is all I wish to say.

Link | Open the Box | Share


Jun. 16th, 2006 | 04:51 pm

From the very beginning, as far back as I can recall, I have dreamed of him. There have been many nights that I have prayed for him to come to me. I even believed him to be my personal God for a time. When I was the most needy, his ghost was in my head at night and almost every night. When I needed arms around me, I could feel his cool embrace. It was not too long ago that I recognized this man as Erik. A darkness so profound in one soul that it beckoned me in waves through my sleep and called my name. As terribly cliched' as possible, of course.
But at the same time, no. For Erik is no cliche'. He is the very epitome of unique enchantment. And that enchantment could be mine, if I could only find him. If I believed. . .
Oh, Erik, I believe.
And so for twelve years, I have waited. I have searched the world above and below looking for the angel with the face of a demon. Looking for peace. Aching for the most erotic pleasures from the fingers attached to a mind such as his.
And I am not weary.
I lie in bed at every turn of the night, hearing the sounds of sweet blackness enfold me in their velvet. And I speak for him.
I long to speak to him.

"Wanderer of the pristine evening
bear me no ill will of choice
If wolves could survive in human shoes
the result would be you.
I am crystal in the nighttime
Endeavoring your flesh to my flesh
your blood in my blood
and your faith in my touch. . ."

Link | Open the Box | Share

Churning with the bile of the unknown

Jun. 16th, 2006 | 10:52 am

I have dreamed of him once more. To know that the very soul of another lay so far from reach that there is no return but darkness is the most wrenching ordeal I have ever known. For years, it seems, I have only known him. Erik. That voice and that soul will forever torment me if I cannot find the mask inside my dreams. I felt him this very morn, this aching peace disturbing and churning my body.
I am a woman, Erik.
Tonight I shall again beg for mercy from a silent God. To worship him has been my fealty, but I cannot go on without some message of redemption. Some soul of conquest.
I make it my claim to be the very last one to feel his embrace.
I will kill for him.

Link | Open the Box | Share