Luzdestrella y Nosiendo

Come back to me greyest of egrets
My regrets rhyme steering left
Toward a preferred target
Made of stone, and where no
The flying can reach
O one who sees
Run
But listen to me
Crash on the beach
And don't stay in shade below
Place where he the sun can't get
A staying hold, so all that's left
Are those brightest lit regrets

Valerian makes water taste softer. Tap water, and you get wet.
Ha.

I would like to tell you all that thing I wasn't going to tell you before. Someday. Heeheehee.

YEs, well.
The other night I had a dream in which I obtained a device from some people that let me control the space and the characters of the dream. Of course, as I was playing the character of a small, pregnant Mexican woman, I didn't know that it was the dream.
    I was a very smart lady, though, and as you can imagine, it would be difficult for a character in the dream to discover that other characters had this device, for obvious reasons. I sort of blackmailed them into letting me examine it. I told them I didn't want to use it, I just wanted to taste it. Er... look at it. Because I was curious.
    So they let me see it, and my mind immediately began experimenting with it, moving space around and manipulating things.
    Then I started leading everyone out of the communal building in which I lived, and I gathered a crowd of people, all following me like zombies.
    I couldn't stop it. So I switched bodies with another character and told the guardians of the thing to take it away from me.
    So that was the end of that.

Dreams are the best trips. And there are so many drugs involved in just going to sleep.

Stampede on the Western border
Of our simple hollow land
Our heliums are causing games
Although the games are lower
This nonsense that pervades
Pervertedly reversing cause
And effect, and our home
Is not whether it's in order
Or if it's peat or sand
Stealing life or sybiosing
Or making pupaes for our hands
Our suns make shadow masses
Of the butterflies that come
All their big-small feetsies
Making pained their way to
Fill up our space and
Kill us all
And pile into
Hills that
Chill the sunless
Dirtpile
Where we stand

Nobody appreciates my genius.

Fuck. Crucifixionfuck cuntmongoose shitballs thrown at fucking suffering dying kittens in a little box. Fucking.... box.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Here is a poem.

Gamely I approached the chair
Startled someone sitting there
And I could smell it in the air
I knew I would no better fare

Changed the coarse in my demeanor
Wished the rowing room was cleaner
Took a filthy paw in hand
Led all to what from all demand

Sometimes I find that I've a notion
Pertaining to a strange devotion
That like the rising dauntless ocean
My hands won't stop the killing motion

LEFTJEIHughfghskv˘√ ˜ßdefvu










*pathetic emo sigh*

"Is that what you want, Emo? Your goal in life? PULP?"

I like to taunt the comatose.

How to wake from this strange dream?
Often, viscous sleep may seem
Never to release its hold.
Ever growing dull and old
You take the symbols at face value
But doing this will not allow you
All the clarity you seek--
Tap lightly where the base is weak.

Eleven fighters laugh as sand rolls over.
"Something should be done about the weather here."
They set about it early in the Summer.
Hidden water drowns their efforts in a year.

As a small child, Cynan had many strange and wonderful imaginary friends, but none were so extraordinary as his best friend of all: Lumagius Orion.
    Each day, Cynan would come home from a long, tiring, boring day at school to find Lumo waiting for him. How Cynan's spirits lifted at the sight of the graceful form of the great grey wolf with the golden eyes, staring confidently back at him! When Lumo was by his side, Cynan knew he could do anything.
    Both of them were glad when Summer came. Cynan was free of the monotony of schoolwork and his dull teachers and classmates (none of whom seemed to like him), and Lumo no longer had to wait half the day for their adventures to begin.
    Then came the day when Lumo was unintentionally introduced to Cynan's parents. The two had come bursting into the living room, having just escaped a nasty fire storm wrought by a pixie they had angered. The two collapsed on the floor, panting, when Cynan noticed a flash out of the corner of his eye.
    "Lumo!" he shouted. "Lumo, your tail is on fire!"
    Lumo began beating his tail and Cynan folded the rug over it.
    "Cy. What are you doing?" Cynan jumped. It was his father, sitting in his chair and looking authoritatively over his book at his son. His mother was sitting in her chair, also staring.
    Cynan gathered his courage for his defense. "I took action," he said decisively. "I saw a problem and solved it quickly."
    To his surprise, his father only looked amused.
    "What?" he asked, looking back and forth at his parents.
    "Nothing," said his mother, coming to the rescue. "We were just wondering who Lumo might be."
    "Oh," said Cynan.
    "Is Lumo a dog?" asked his father.
    "NO. Lumo is NOT a dog. He is a wolf."
    "Ah," said his mother.
    Cynan and Lumo did not discuss the incident. His parents did not ask about Lumo again, and gradually Cynan was able to go back to normal, keeping each of his lives comfortably separate from each other.
    Then, one day, Lumo said something very strange. They were at the edge of a vast lake, overlooking the drop-off point at the end of the world into the three-dimensional starry sky beyond. Nightmares weaved in and out of the thin edge, glowing like violet fireflies.
    "Cynan," Lumo said, staring into the distance, his golden eyes flickering in time with the atmosphere, "How would you feel if I died?"
    "Died?" repeated Cynan, confused. "What do you mean?"
    "If I were to go away, Cynan." He turned to face the small boy, looking, as humans do, into his face, making sure eyes could see eyes. "If I were to die. How would it make you feel?"
    "You can't die, Lumo," said Cynan. He was starting to feel a little anxious now, as his friend seemed so unusually serious. "Why are you asking this?"
    "Everybody dies some day, Cynan. I think that, very soon, that time will come for me."
    Cynan couldn't say anything, he just started crying.
    "Now, Cynan, don't cry," said Lumo, touching his nose to the boy's forehead. Cynan let out a tremendous sob and hugged his friend's neck; his arms barely reached halfway round.
    "Your mother is going to have something very important to say to you, Cynan," said Lumo quietly, his eyes fixed once again on something far away. In all the confusion, these words were what shocked Cynan the most.
    
    July arrived; it was almost Cynan's birthday. He walked from the back yard into the shade of the kitchen one morning to find his mother and father both sitting at the table, holding hands, and when he approached they both looked at him, smiling in a way that immediately put him on guard.
    "Cy," said his father, gesturing for him to come nearer. "Your mother has something important to tell you."
    Cynan looked at his mother, who was smiling at him in a strange, loving way, although her eyes were almost filling with tears. "I'm pregnant, Cynan. You're going to have a new brother or sister."
    "Oh," said Cynan, surprised it wasn't something more serious. Then he said, without really knowing why, "I hope it's a brother."
    His mother laughed, sort of, still smiling that strange smile. "You do, huh?"
    "Yes. I don't know why. I just do."

    Winter came, cold and strong. With all that had happened, Cynan had almost forgotten about what Lumo had said about dying, and they continued to roam through the ice, confronting the mischief of those who thrived in it. And then, when they were resting from a particularly vicious storm in a shallow cave in the side of a tall, gleaming mountain, Cynan paused. "Lumo, do you think my brother will be born soon?"
    "Not for another few months, Cynan."
    "Lumo, do you remember what you said, about dying?" he didn't look at his friend, just in case he did remember. "You didn't mean it, did you? You're not going to die."
    Lumo laid his huge paws out in front of him and rested his body with his face toward the cave mouth, snow glistening on his back and stray currents of wind ruffling his fur.
    "I did mean it, Cynan. But..."
    "But what?"
    The great wolf waited a while before speaking, and they both looked out at the world below, the horizon curving in a bow toward the white sky on either side. "I wish to ask you a question, Cynan. I want you to think about your answer very carefully, as this decision is yours and yours alone."
    "Okay."
    "The question is this: Will you give your brother to me?"
    
    When Spring came, Lumo was already gone.
    The earth melted slowly, freezing and unfreezing, and when the last of the ice had been loosened from its deathly hold, Cynan's brother was born. They called him Mabon, and loved him dearly.
    Through the years, the brothers grew, and Cynan forgot his imaginary friends, as one does when one grows older. The brothers' bond was a wary one, as they began to diverge on separate paths. Mabon became headstrong, dynamic and strange, while Cynan went about life more quietly. Mabon took on characteristics that Cynan had once displayed in his early childhood-- he was often unresponsive and behaved erratically, lost in some unseen dilemma. Most of the time, he could not even look people in the eye. After the brothers had left the house of their childhood, soon Cynan and Mabon could no longer even talk to each other.
    Cynan's only brother, the young one, was searching for something no one else could see.
    None of the family wanted to acknowledge it, but it became increasingly apparent that the second son was not made for this world.

However, it was clear to me as it was clearer to no one else, I being of the age when I was neither adult nor child, and neither had the dreams nor applied them with logic to the childhood fears of the unknown, that these dreams had basis in a repulsion that went beyond what was unknown or unseen.
    The nightmares would start in different ways: the children would be chased down the hallway, or they would fall through the curtain as they were walking, or become sucked in as if into a black hole. But toward the end, all of these nightmares shared a common element: at the end, the children would be robbed of their sight and hearing, and each child described some sort of physical change, their bodies becoming not their own.

One after another, whole chambers caved in, and the dark rooms were full of beds with days-old bodies because anyone not in bed was busy with the ones who were still alive. No one really stopped to think about how strange it was that they had not considered sending explorers through the hole before then.