Cannibalized By My Own Jealousy

I saw her sitting on the shoreline by the sea collecting small shards of light that sparkled in infinity, tiny twinkles that flickered in my eyes, and set the sweet night sky a light.

Her gown looked like a thin veil of fog with little fireflies floating about shrinking and growing while glowing then blinking out. Her hair was adorned with a fresh multi-colored crown of flowers intertwined with thin shifting vines that seem to be alive.

A cousin to the creatures a buzzing, childlike being with transparent wing fluttering, while thin limbs orchestrated the music mother nature layered, sounds of clicking critters, and rhythmic raindrops, with winds whooshing through the leaves and I could just barely see the silhouette of other fair folk and their family moving in unity, obscured by the beauty of mother nature’s natural graces.

Twas a night of strange delights, and I was drunk with awe from what I saw, until with a panicked thrill I witnessed the night succumbing to the burning sun’s unrelenting hunger as it devoured the eve’s softness and replaced it with heated harshness.

All that was mythic and mystical left and in its stead the mundane came to claim my befuddled mortal brain.

-2023

i sit. i listen to my number one song from spotify wrapped 2023 concorde by black country new road. i think about dead poets society. NO YOU DON’T GET IT BECAUSE YOU LIKE CONCORDE I CAME A GENTLE HILL RACER I WAS BREATHLESS UPON EVERY MOUNTAIN JUST TO LOOK FOR YOUR LIGHT??? BUT FOR LESS THAN A MOMENT WE’D SHARE THE SAME SKY??? AND I’LL COME TO LIKE A CHILD BTW.

Crows

by Mary Oliver

It is January, and there are crows like black flowers on the snow. While I watch, they rise and float toward the frozen pond, they have seen some streak of death on the dark ice. They gather around it and consume everything, the strings and the red music of that nameless body. Then they shout, one hungry, blunt voice echoing another. It begins to rain. Later, it becomes February, and even later, spring returns, a chorus of thousands. They bow, and begin their important music. I recognize the oriole. I recognize the thrush, and the mockingbird. I recognize the business of summer, which is to forge ahead, delicately. So I dip my fingers among the green stems, delicately. I lounge at the edge of the leafing pond, delicately. I scarcely remember the crust of the snow. I scarcely remember the icy dawns and the sun like a lamp without a fuse. I don’t remember the fury of loneliness. I never felt the wind’s drift. I never heard of the struggle between anything and nothing. I never saw the flapping, blood-gulping crows.

Journal Page #2

Joan of Arc rant

Statue of a woman in the Vatican

Free my woman she did all of it but I don’t care

what if a PROPHET LESBIAN was giving you the SHROOM WILDERNESS equivalent of MKULTRA and you get so HIGH you become a GIRL and another girl but DEAD hijacks your BRAIN and thinks about LESBIAN ACTIVITIES with the LOCAL TERRORIST literally ALL THE TIME

silly goofy post

one thing about me is that I WILL be trying and failing to rhyme, just for sillies.