Lately I’ve been pondering a lot of things about love and connection. Lost loves most of all. I think because there’s this monumental, eternal quest to find the person who fits you, who loves you, who makes you feel safe – I always wonder what happens if you find that person only to lose them? I read and hear so many stories of loss – every day is filled with so many deaths. How does anyone stand it? How does anyone find their person and then survive the loss of that person? It’s all quite beyond my limited emotional scope I think, to conceive of going on in the face of that. Empty space where once stood someone you love – how is that to be borne?

I’ve also been listening frequently to the Watson Twins cover of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven.”  (It’s on the True Blood soundtrack, which is pretty awesome in its entirety.) When the Cure does the song it’s bouncy and driven. When the Watson Twins do it, it’s mournful and full of loss.

And upon reading them more closely I realized that the lyrics can be rather nonsensical or they can be lonely – and here they’re lonely. And the line “I found myself alone, alone, alone above a raging sea.” lingered with me particularly for the first time in the 20+ years I’ve been loving that song. And then I realized why someone was alone above a raging sea, and how sad it was.

Anyway. I think we’re going to a once per month posting schedule over there, which I hope to be able to maintain. Hope you enjoy the piece.

Not at all a kids movie from what I could see, I would think young children especially would find it confusing, dull or disturbing. But then again it’s been a long time since I was a young child, so maybe they’d see something different in it than an adult would. The monsters were pretty amazing, all fur and snot and a plodding kind of fierceness. That in itself must be enchanting to children.

The movie dealt with themes of wildness, relationships, loving someone so much you push them away, loving someone but being unable to tolerate them, loving someone and having them mistreat you, conflict resolution and rage and loss. And several of those things have been on my mind quite a bit lately—especially the idea of wildness, and whether we have space in our civilized adult lives to be loud and wild anymore. I know I don’t have much. Between my home with shared walls and my office and other public spaces, the need to be respectful of other people’s right to peace is usually paramount. Only in my car do I experience some level of freedom to sing or scream or just listen to music that gets as loud as I need it to drown out my own thoughts. Which is why I look like a total nutbag, belting out angry songs at the top of my lungs as I listen to my iPod on my way to work. But I don’t care. In terms of things I owe other drivers on the road, the ability not to see me singing  like a freak is not high on my priority list.

As far as love and rage and loss, all those things have been very heavy on my mind. Love is very hard. Families are hard. People are hard. Love can be destructive as easily as it can be nurturing. Obsession walks hand and hand with love sometimes, and obsession and wildness are the themes that came out in my writing for The Grand Conspiracy this week. What do you do when you love someone and they don’t love you, and those feelings can’t be made to go away? Do you ignore them, accept them, or do you rebel? Do you demand what you want from people, take it when they won’t give it? It’s our instinct to take what we want, what we can’t stop thinking of. But of course that isn’t permitted when what we want and can’t have is another person. But the instinct remains all the same. This piece is about someone whose obsessive desire for someone else rips through every polite barrier that society has constructed—and I feel sympathy for her, no matter how much she scares me.

Anyway, that’s what’s on my mind lately. I do not wonder why I can’t sleep.

So as of tomorrow – we edit! If you see me not-working you have permission to scold me, but please do not kick my ass, I am a wee bit fragile at the moment.

I’d like to think at least things can’t get any worse.

Florence + The Machine “Hurricane Drunk”

Last week while we were out at the Deacon, we were taking turns doing dramatic readings of “Silk & Steel“, possibly the worst book ever written. It contains descriptive prose of this sort:

Her face had the fragrance of a gibbous moon. The scent of fresh snow. Her eyes were dark birds in fresh snow. They were the birds’ shadows, they were mirrors; they were the legends on old charts. They were antique armor and the tears of dragons. Her brows were a raptor’s sharp, anxious wings. They were a pair of scythes. Her ears were a puzzle carved in ivory. Her teeth were her only bracelet; she carried them within the red velvet purse of her lips. Her tongue was amber. Her tongue was a ferret, an anemone, a fox caught in the teeth of a tiger.

As we were reading, and laughing, and drinking, I perceived of a GC challenge based on the following passage. (I for one think we need more challenges and themed writing events over at GC, since people are Losing Steam and Letting Life Get in the Way and stuff. Asses.) Anyway, read this if you can:

Her shoulders were the clay in a potter’s kiln. Her shoulders were fieldstones; they were the white, square stones of which walls are made. They were windows covered with steam. They were porcelain. They were opal and moonstone. Her neck was the foam that curls from the prow of a ship, it was a sheaf of alfalfa or barley, it was the lonely dance of the pearl-grey shark.

And the sad thing is “the lonely dance of the pearl-grey shark” while it doesn’t really describe a neck to any extent, is a pretty evocative phrase. I thought we should all write a story, a poem or do some artwork with this concept and title. So anyway, at the link is mine. If any of you non-GCers want to submit your Pearl-Grey piece in the comments here or there, please feel free.

Much <3′s,

Your Gibbous-Moon scented superBadGirl

Always for different reasons, reading meaning into what is nothingness. These are like horoscopes, you take away what you want to.

Enjoy.

Poetry Generator

All angry over the spirits

All angry under the bullshit
I cavort with dazzling spells among the clouds
Be aware! The sin was good
So sensuous within the fire
We sense luminous vapors before the fire
Awaken, awaken! The passion must continue

All angry over the spirits
You expel yellow flames among the ground
Heavy! The birth has died
translucent thirsty
across the water
empty hands
How many times
the foreigner
come singing
before help could come

The street sees everything. It saw you arriving earlier, hope in your heart and money in your pocket. It sees you stumbling out at closing time, somewhat less hopeful and with a few crumpled wads of soggy cash left to your name. It feels your toes wavering tentatively between your car in the parking lot and the after-hours bar down the way. It lays beneath you all broken glass and crinkled cellophane, with no judgment for whatever you decide. When your shoes invariably carry you in the direction of more alcohol it throws no obstacles in your way, aside from the odd displaced brick—which is really more the sidewalk’s fault.

via The Grand Conspiracy | Even You.

I hope that you enjoy it.

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It wasn’t like she wasn’t going to drink it. She was looking at the bottle and pondering whether she was going to drink it, but really the decision was made and it was going to be drunk. It was already drunk, in the finality of reality, just not yet in the present tense.

The bottle was clear and cold and so was the liquid inside. What it did to her was hot and decidedly murky rather than anything crystalline. But that was afterward. The crisp burn of that initial drink always presented the razor-sharp illusion that clarity would be forthcoming— although that had never before been the case. Maybe this time.

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