A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse. I have no kingdom. I have no horse. To have a flux capacitor, a Tardis, a time pad… to erase pain like the dust of a chalkboard and then clean the erasers until there is no evidence of it ever having existed… They say pain makes us stronger. Where is my strength?
Winter is ebbing out like the tide. I don’t mind the spring, but summer heat contributes to feelings of depression. I have never figured out if it is the heat itself or the fact that it relegates what I can do. Perhaps I am simply a lycanthrope of some kind and the heat of my blood cannot foster an affinity with the heat of the outside.
Loving winter makes me feel guilty. When we were children, books wove a lovely tapestry in the story of Persephone. Here is this beautiful woman with an overly attached mother, and when she leaves to live with her husband for a few months every year, the overly attached mother lets her sadness devour her and consume her command over the weather. The focus is Demeter. Persephone is a prop. Pretty girls should be seen and not heard.
The stories glaze over the fact that Persephone was stolen. Raped. Abused. Tricked. Tangled in a web of divine law that forced her to return to her rapist year after year after year. All because she ate some pomegranate seeds?
Granted, these are mythologies and not documented historical accounts. Children are also told that happiness is easy to obtain if you strive for it. When you get older, you are forced to face the reality behind many fairy tales.
Reaction #1 (0 – 100 nanoseconds): Yay! A note from my dad! I miss him.
Reaction #2 (101 nanoseconds – 1.5 seconds): Cool, it must be a note that got locked in the system somehow and just released. I hope there are more.
Reaction #3 (1.51 seconds +): The account has been hacked.
A dream: “Hey mija, it’s your dad, guess you aren’t answering your phone… so I’m going to leave you a long annoying message like you hate. Really sorry I haven’t talked to you in a long time, I’ve been having to hide out in a cabin in Wyoming so that Sandy can’t find me and there’s no reception. Hopefully I can come home soon. Love you and I’ll try to call again later. Okay, bye. Oh also, what was the name of that chocolate beer I really liked? Okay, bye, love you!”
I also had a dream once that I poured cumin over my breakfast cereal. It was delicious. Turns out – that’s disgusting.
Not sure, actually. I haven’t written in over two years. My soul is dusty, the words that were once there sunken and contaminated by tar like an oil spill. I figure it’s about time to start sifting through the sludge and strive to start recovering from the environmental disaster of my creativity.
For years, I was pressured by those I loved to share my work with them. Then, when I finally did, it was akin to convincing a cat to bathe to get them to actually read anything. The individuals most important to me, whose love courses through my veins and galvanizes my existence, could not be bothered to lay their eyes on my words. It is incredibly disheartening, especially now that my biggest fan is gone, but it is perhaps karma and the retribution of the universe for being so adverse to sharing for so long.
In any case, there are few who will read this. Still, perhaps I just need a small corner of the internet to vomit up all these thoughts and feelings that cloud and clutter the deep recesses of my mind. Liquid petroleum hydrocarbon is not known to wash off easily.