Birth of the Goddess
I know it’s cliche -
the virgin nerd
with glasses, pimples, greasy hair.
But he’s MY nerd,
he won’t be hers!
I’ll save him from her wicked lair.
Go through the window,
down the stairs,
and gently now, don’t make a sound.
Next ease the doorway
just a crack…
But ears prick, and She turns around -
And Her eyes, they glow!
As does Her flowing, golden hair.
She laughs, but he -
he makes no sound,
from where he lies, eyes closed, chest bare.
Now from the dark,
a chorus grows:
”It’s dangerous to go alone!”
chant ranks of
She lifts a golden, shining stone.
It spins and
dazzles in midair,
then pauses, jumps - reach out your hand!
A gasp and stumble,
shuddering stop -
all quiet, eyes turn as You stand.
With Power, Wisdom,
and Courage within,
You are the source of the golden light.
She howls and leaps -
stretch out Your hand!
A flash! She drops without a fight.
He opens his eyes -
within them you find
an unexpected result.
For he sees his Hero,
together You stand -
The Goddess, and Her cult.
If you choose to fall in love, fall in love with a writer. But know, you will live in the pages of a poem linger in the words of a song. Be engraved in the ink of a plot twisting your fate and heart into a tentatious knot. If you choose to fall in love, fall in love with a writer. One who will hand you the world drawn and painted in the metaphors of a troubled mind when nothing is simple, not even line. If you choose to fall in love, fall in love with a writer. Your life will never be the same, though. they'll weave stories of yesterday in the webs of your hair. Breathe the sky of the morning. Lure you into their lair, so if you choose to fall in love, fall in love with a writer.
I admire my heart.
At times, it has taken a real pounding.
So many times, I have rejected it, ignored it
and apologized on its behalf.
I have devalued it in the past.
I am selling it short and treating it so cheaply -
yet, it still works.
it loves (you)
it has faith that Ole heart of mine.
it believes that days will get brighter
nights a bit sweeter.
it's a beautiful thing to simply be alive
one heart beat at a time.
tapping into something untouchable
this is the strangest life
I have ever known
― Jim Morrison
The weather seemed to be more reckless today, each gust of wind doing its best to reach and touch every little bit of her skin, becoming almost vicious in its eager attempts at penetrating her right to the bone -its chaotic movements blowing out her hair in all directions, turning it into a precise construction of tangled knots with each passing moment, shifting the light under her eyelashes as they dance in front of her face. She inhales deeper and opens her eyes slowly, looking up to the sky, bare branches swaying to an unknown melody, only a few stubborn leaves still fighting the end of a season. Maybe they will even stay to spring. She smiles at their willingness to remain when so many have already given up. We are all struggling survivors here. She knew that better than most.
Slowly, she tilts her head slightly, enjoying the unexpected warmth from the sun as the wind settles slightly in its evil ways, rolling her shoulders and letting things in her stir, circulating in the bloodstream. The tinted glass reflects strawberry and emerald hues - she murmurs to herself as if chanting a long-forgotten children's rhyme, lost in thought, and then angles her hand differently, gently blocking the sunrays through her open fingers, mind gravitating to the day before. All those red tints and colorful sparks covering her eyes, opening a path to something she had no explanation for.
Another obstacle or an unexpected help in her absurd, erratic life? Mmm, who was to say. The only thing she was certain of was that this time around, she wasn't scared of the change like before, bringing a strange sense of liberation with it.
She inhales deeply and with a purpose - piece by piece, getting lost in the things she had experienced last night, trying to catch every little detail - the scene painting itself in her mind as if moved by brush strokes that she saw in Jeremiah's hand. She wants to dive deeper into the images, curious if she could call out a vision into existence, willing it into life. She knows it's crazy, and the chances of that working even in the slightest way were more than unlikely, nearly non-existent. Don't reach too deep, child, the rocks are sharp on the way down. But then again, one has to jump sometimes, wouldn't you agree? She blinks and feels insanity poking at her, both with strength and gentleness - as if with the small hands of a child tapping at her skin and her fevered state. It goes against all common sense, yet she tests it out anyway, something in her pushing forward, willing her to make some kind of move, transforming her thoughts into something with a shape, nearly physical.
Her shoulders roll again, this time slower, as she focuses on every muscle in her body as if navigating each structure and cell into something more familiar. Something she has control over. She inhales deeper, air filling her lungs to the brim, trying to remember what it felt like to sink into that strange world of images and visions, and suddenly feels something in her mind adjust and switch - as if the smallest of locks opening up.
Twist, turn, click, open.
Her mind expands slowly like an invisible soft fog or some strange organic mechanism, shaping its edges with a precision that she did not expect from her normally so unsteady thoughts. Carefully, she visualizes the milky form swaying gently and growing in size, coloring its structure with pastel colors reflected in the sun - like stretching out a flexible cord, a rubber band bending and changing to her will. Her mind once again moves to the vision from last night, but then it stops abruptly, changing its direction. Instead, for no apparent reason, as if on instinct, she visualizes warm light swirling until it grows into shapes and forms. A million tiny pair of wings exploding with flickering light. Butterflies and fireflies swarming against blackness, creating miniature eruptions of blazing, pulsating things. A slight crack in the matter blooming into life. She gasps from the images dancing under her eyelids, surprise and wonder blending into one, chemicals in her body turning into an erratic state - constantly shifting and re-arranging themselves. And then, without warning, everything disappears as if it was never there, to begin with - nothingness surrounding her for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced with the strangest noise stirring somewhere under her skull.
Blueberries used to be my favorite, but now everything tastes like chalk.
She blinks a few times and stumbles slightly, thrown by the sudden thought that doesn't seem to belong to her. Not scenes, not visions. But thoughts. She swallows and staggers back as if pushed by a blast of wind or an invisible hand. This was not how this was supposed to look, nothing she had imagined. It was supposed to be a repeat of last night. She expected glimmers of another vision, a complete scene, a fresh memory, diving into someone else's subconscious. Like walking slowly into a river with bare feet, currents of thoughts washing over her skin. Instead, a voice echoed softly in her head - it sounded so familiar, but she wasn't sure why. She heard it, but it missed the melody of a real voice - it was like reading someone else's words on a piece of paper, with your own voice coloring them with private tones and hues.
I wonder how soon before I can join him.
Her pulse rushes as a new thought breaks, causing her to take another small step back. This time it's not even her doing, though she doubts the amount of control she actually had the first time around - it always felt like whatever she did was somehow not up to her, the invisible strings of the puppeteer seeming to reach her no matter what. She shakes her head, feeling out of it. Focus. Come on, focus! The last thing she heard rings out again, and she inhales deeper - her mind opened and seeming to pull things to her on its own, constantly grabbing something that she still struggles to comprehend. You unblocked something, and there is no going back now. The thought slaps her across the face, and she trembles from the sudden cold that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
I feel him missing me when I sleep.
Her heart thuds against her chest, pulse ringing loudly in her ears.
Sometimes, I even make myself believe I see him. Is that so wrong?
She moves around a couple of times, spinning like a confused child, the trees in the park blurring around into an unsteady collage of colors and shapes.
He must be so lonely there.
The voice in her head turns softer, the longing hidden in it almost unbearable to take in; it weighs on her chest. But she has been through worse - she knows this kind of ache all too well and can shield herself from it. Most pain comes from loss, so you learn to build walls. Survival above all. She breathes faster, but instead of panicking, she listens more intently, as if wanting to find the source of the sound - just like last night, she doesn't question what's happening or how it's possible, even if fear of the unknown still lingers somewhere in the background of her head. She listens, tuning into the words as if shifting a radio antenna until the signal gets better and stronger. If someone ever asked her how she was doing all of this, she wouldn't be able to answer. Whatever this was, it was happening on autopilot with a device she had no instruction to - she sighs. One giant, freaking improvisation.
I'm only a problem now. When was I not?
They erased me out of the picture the moment he was gone.
Her heart pounds faster again inside her ribs as she stumbles forward, feeling a strong pull to head left, between the north path of the park. She passes people, rushing to catch whoever or whatever was calling to her. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears, blocking out any actual noises. Once again, she stumbles and then stops abruptly, something else catching her attention before she can even register what it is. She looks around confused, and finally notices it, eyes widening as a figure in the distance smiles and waves their hand, willing her to come over. Eventually, the silhouette comes into focus, and she shakes her head in disbelief, wondering if coincidence existed or if everything was already decided in advance. Charlie. She blinks a couple of times until something breaks through. She lost the connection. Fuck. She was so close. Whatever had opened up in her mind was gone now, almost as if Charlie had blocked its signal, his presence louder than the visions.
A different pull altogether, a pull that stood above everything else.
He smiles at her, surprised, eyebrows lifting. He knew that eventually, she would come over - her batteries most definitely on a dangerously low level by now - it's been over 24 hours since they last saw each other, and a part of him gets knocked over the head, realizing he didn't notice before how long it has been. But then again, it made sense. He was too preoccupied with his endless rushing thoughts to take in the passage of time, too loudly centered on what happened between them, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. He knew deep down they would be alright, but the thoughts still prickled at his mind. That's why without noticing it fully, he dived into his work deeper, doing his best to put some things aside for the time being. If he didn't want to go crazy, he had to be practical - hovering somewhere near a neutral state, rewinding himself to a moment when she wasn't so important to him - when their time spent together was much simpler and involved fewer rules to follow, And fewer eggshells to step on.
Yet now that he sees her, a smile spreads on his face - a feeling of relief stirring under the tensed muscles. That strange feeling of coming home after a very long day - he shakes his head at the thought and waves a hand towards her. For a moment, Nora's stare is blank, and she looks out of it, lost and confused, her features suddenly twisting and darkening. His body freezes, mind sending alarmed signals that her reaction was related to what happened between them - but then she suddenly smiles back, rolling her shoulders a few times and running over to him. He lifts his eyebrows again, amused at the sight, while at the same time feeling the physical strings in his forearms loosen up, mentally melting away as if iron elements heated by fire.
I don't think I ever saw you jog.
Don't get used to it, and treat it as an anomaly. Damned souls don't run. They stagger gracefully towards hell.
He makes a face, and the smile reaches her eyes this time. She lifts her hands in the air.
Fine, no hellfire today. Just make sure not to use the word jog and me in the same sentence again.
Deal. Hmm, Nora?
Her stare lifts slowly, her mind still seeming to be elsewhere.
You had a strange look on your face when you saw me.
I... I know. But it would be hard to explain.
I thought we were used to that by now.
He furrows his eyebrows, and she sighs, wrapping her heavy leather jacket tighter around her body, a thick, too-long, grey hoody sticking from under its edges and sleeves, the bottom covering most of her thighs, black skinny jeans looking too thin for this kind of weather. He gazes at the green, woolen hat put low over her head, and then his stare falls to her round, steel-grey eyes. She shrugs her shoulders.
Fair point, Charlie. I just don't want to get into it now, especially since your day is probably very busy.
She has a funny look on her face as she gazes at the hospital building behind them as if she sees it for the first time - her eyebrows pulling together into a frown like she's trying to solve some difficult equation and failing at it. Then suddenly, her stare shifts slightly towards him, a cautious look changing her features.
Did anything unusual happen today?
Not that I can think of, just the regular. Why do you ask?
Mmm, no reason. It's just a feeling.
She crosses her arms and frowns again at the building. It's more than apparent that she's not satisfied with the answer she got. If he wasn't so concerned with her behavior, he might have even found it amusing. She looked like a child moments away from picking a stick from the ground and poking at the hospital entry as if waiting for what strange, unsettling things would fall out of it.
He asks after a while when the silence starts to get uncomfortable. She blinks a few times and shakes her head, returning to reality from wherever her mind was.
It's nothing big, I promise. Don't over-worry about it, stud. You will get grey hairs faster.
He makes a face at the comment, and she waves a hand in the air dismissively and then unexpectedly catches some color to her face, looking embarrassed, shifting sides of her hoody away from her neck as if wanting to let some cool air in there.
No, nothing, my mind tends to wonder.
Mmm, just that salt and pepper looks good on some men.
He lifts his eyebrow, not connecting the dots at first, and then clears his throat as the fog lifts slightly - and watches her grin, in some bizarre way gaining confidence from his awkward reaction.
You're a handsome man, Charlie. That's why, even after all this time, some of the nurses eye me as if they were wondering which poison worked best on the likes of me.
You're not funny.
Oh, I'm serious. And the medicine supplies they have at their disposal...
She claps her hands with enthusiasm and nods with an impressed look.
Well, let's just say I tread very lightly these days around women in scrubs.
Why, thank you. You're far too kind, Mr. Evans.
She bows dramatically, and he sighs, even though, in truth, it feels like an enormous relief that they were slowly setting back into their old routine. He shakes his head.
Come one. As you pointed out, I'm a little busy right now, but at least let's get you away from the cold.
She nods and then winces, face becoming more pale - he reacts fast, knowing the symptoms that would follow soon after. Quickly and without a word, he takes her hand, and she follows as the double doors slide open before them, his fingers lifting in the most familiar way, wrapping around her wrist. He still didn't understand how this strange magic between them worked and what it really meant to be a healer. And maybe he never would. But it doesn't stop him from putting his thoughts into action, focusing on spreading warmth to her body, concentrating intensely on building a vision in which she feels better, willing the action into existence. It takes a moment, but finally, she seems to relax a little, and he turns around to make sure.
Much. Thank you.
She whispers softly, and it takes all of his willpower to let go of her hand. Yet he does. Letting out a sigh, already missing the closeness that the little gesture provided, troubled by how attached to her he seemed to be, by how familiar it was just to be around her. At times, it got difficult to remember life before she stormed onto his path like the unstoppable force of nature that she was. Nora's stare lifts, meeting his, but he just shakes his head.
Sometimes, there were no words for all the crazy things going on inside someone's soul.
55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)
For everyone still keeping up with the story, thank you, it means a lot *inserts gratitude and tons of hearts*
This book is also edited and progressively posted on Wattpad.
Feel free to visit me there ;)
Twas the Night
Twas the night, he said, with much work left to do
Twas the day, said he, when an honest man is through
In the gale, knew we, where trembled hearts lay bare
In his conscience, we knew, demanding salve over prayer
Inasmuch as fear resides
Deep within his soul
Contemplating the labors of alcides
A penance for working proles
Accused of eminence front
His defense would corrade
Agress upon his character
In hopes to break his facade
Once seen as a malefactor, of high crimes opprobrious
Now viewed as a benefactor, of high climbs harmonious
Shall this resurrection, proceed sans consequence?
Or will his transition, miscarry with desinence?
December is for missing you.
Lately I’m at a loss for words.
Nothing I write seems deep enough, meaningful enough.
Nothing I write seems to mete out the angst and desolation I seem to harbor despite any and every effort to heal.
I spend my days in a blurry haze of endless darkness and despair, waiting for the small glimmer of hope to spark my dark skies.
Where I am now, where you have left me is a place I would wish upon no one, not in a million years.
Writing this post reminds me of this Richard Siken quote-
“You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.”
Merry Christmas It’s Christmas time again Merry Christmas
See how low the temperatures will get— this year-
Or maybe it’ll be a December to remember~ unlike any other~ ‘Why?’ You ask. I’ll tell you why…O it’s because December is the most busiest time of the year, for us who work at the north pole that is..we have to get so many toys ready….for all the boys & girls around the world *sighs* but you know what for this year us elves are going on a STRIKE yes…*claps hands*…*stomps feet*...We are going on a STRIKE. So, Dear Mr. Santa Claus we would like to get all our bags, and head to the Bahamas, maybe, for our own little Christmas vacation. Thanks. We will not need to confirm with you for that at this time. We’ve already bought our vacay tickets. Sorry, eh not. Anywho, we promise not to leave you alone. We trained a bunch of gnomes, and we think they’d be fit for the job of: hanging red stockings along the fireplace in a spot where they will not burn, making your favorite Christmas swirly chocolate chip treats just the way Martha Stewart taught us how to, and getting the sleigh ready for the BIG day (sending presents to all the kids around the world). Farewell for now to one and all at the North Pole. We elves will be going on a much needed festive holiday this year! Merry Christmas P.S. Someone please remind the gnomes that Rudolph will not be guiding Santa’s sleigh. We installed a GPS for him that works like magick. Merry Christmas
#MerryChristmas ©️ (^o^) Wednesday, 13th December , 2023.