i return, dusty, tattered, worn and weary
but sleep seems far-off, a distant possibility..
images float in a brightly coloured stream-
my brother stands there in the sun
cracking bullwhip in his hand
echoing off the brittle trees
flaming stars in the black firmament
fathoms of infinite space
fretted with diamonds
wishing hard on a golden trail
streaking where i searched
against the unblinking blue..
the new year spent in the country with a host of treasured creatures
red craters of stone pucker the martian landscape
stuck through with thorns and cactus spines
stained garnet with the blood of dangerous fruit
some important points for the new year:
1. i resolve to eat no baby goat flesh this year, or any other- ever, ever again.
i realized in the first bite what i horrible mistake i had made, and warn you all against ever attempting to eat one of these adorable, but extremely foul-tasting animals.
2. i resolve to seek further instruction in the art of driving, having tried it yesterday for the first time, and finding it relatively agreeable. it may come in handy at some point in the future.
3. i resolve to never again let irresponsible goblins cat-sit for me, seeing as how they missed one of the finer points of cat-sitting- being the all important cleaning of the rancid litterbox. i came home after a nine hour road trip late this evening to a house that reeked of cat feces and garbage..
now the wee hours are spent filling the house with billows of sage and frankincense and filling our gullets with hot tea, and our brainpans with psychic suspense as to what this new turning may bring..
i am home.
soon the deluge of company descends.
i have rather too much to do.
perhaps i ought to start with sleep?

i loathe inept phlebotomists who bruise my tender veins.

Spinning down a thin gray thread of highway,
our tiny rental-pod rocking with the force
of a rhythmic, pounding rain
careening on its inexorable trajectory into the past-
time running backwards..
Spindly black cypress stumps huddle together
in the dead winter air, rising like black elf-castles
out of brackish green swampwater.
Snowy white herons nestled in the bare branches-
ghostly in the half-light..
A towering shock of pink lightning
cascades through the trees alongside us
its power and propinquity unnerving-
a column of pure electric fire
that hangs there for breathless moments,
its afterimage burned on our eyelids..
We travel towards the eye of the storm
in and out of bands of furious downpour
all still for deceptive moments before
the dead leaves start to shiver
the wind picks up, blowing 70-75 mph
and bright turquoise lightning shatters the sky
Tornadoes touch down as we take refuge
with kind strangers, and in the morning
the cold has come, and the slow nausea
the rollicking movement, mesmerising..
Here I am safe and gezellig in christmas-land
in the loving bosom of family and familiarity..
But I can’t help feeling sad and distracted
knowing of others who sit alone,
these nights like any other- solitary and forlorn
without the slightest hint of cheer..
I feel very guilty, I have so much love..
We sing the gower wassail
and green grow the rushes oh
the violin crackling in candlelight
this is everything, these songs we sing
the heathen musical tradition
carried every year by my family
I am warm, my belly is full.
I am flooded by all I once knew.
I stand in wonder before the truth
of my good fortune
and know myself to be truly blessed.
Two, two the lily white boys, covered all in green o,
one is one and all alone and ever more shall be so.

well, my lovely little creatures, in a few scant hours
i will be hurtling in a rental car down I-10
towards texas, family, and bittersweet memories aplenty..
my ancestral birth-place, that sweet old town..
shaky nerves and muddled mind, adrenaline hum, and no sleep
and mad, pointless present wrapping and packing
i am putting off now until the last few precious minutes..
none of it seems real, this strange season..
as i sit in a silk slip and slap at mosquitoes-
i have to remind myself that it is december..
well, here’s to winter in the dirty south, and global warming..
for these last moments i am alone in my house,
soon to be swarmed in the swoon of familiarity
the beacons of my past-life,
and the blank oblivion that is my future..
tabula rasa, clean slate..
if those elves don’t come through this year,
i’ll skin each and every one of them alive
with my three-pronged knife..

Sorrowful stories
I hear all that’s shown
His posturish shiver on his things
And she’s always known
Things from the forest die here
But I don’t
Dead forest things are offered here
But I’m not
Vassals live lies
Their faith never cries
Giving in, getting in
Wishing what her sad grin finds
Things from the forest die here
But I don’t
Dead forest things are offered here
But I’m not

Snails, I have read, are equipped with a curious organ,
known as a gypsobellum, or love-dart
with which they apparently excite each other…

i think i am slowly recovering my sense of sanity..
barricaded myself in the bathroom for an extended period
and hid underwater in the clawfoot bath.
to be alone, in silence..
i feel like i’ve been in a horrible car crash.
it’s inexplicable.
something’s shaken loose..
i haven’t left the house in an awfully long time,
and honestly, it’s lovely.
perhaps tomorrow.
but my day was made brighter with an unexpected present
from faraway miss sainte-francis
a package filled with rotting silken bits from the 20’s
and seaweed and tea and blue pointelle hankies
and ninja serviettes and aromatic resins and myrrh
and paperdolls (one dress and hat for me, and one for violet)
the text is as follows:
“Dear Angel,
This is because you are sick and lost your job but also because you are wicked and fiendish as Mab. No really. I know what you need right now probably isn’t seaweed and tea and decaying 20’s silk- but lots and lots of money!!! But I hope this helps because you are still my Cousine and I think about you alot and I love you and Ludwig II loves you. Know Always that Ludwig II Loves You.
-B.”


this made me inordinately happy..I think Ludwig II is the man for me- (and Dame Darcy)
even if he had bad teeth, and died young- a true patron of the arts and number one rockstar..He could take me to the linderof grotto of venus with the cockle-boat! and grant all of our wishes! *sigh* also miss violetta made us panaceacakes..

i woke up in cold sweats, head pounding for many mornings in a row..
i think today is the third day..
but today i’m going to wash it off, wish it off…
change it- tabula rasa- purify.
my dream:
i look out the east balcony doors.
a low dark line looms on the horizon
heavy black clouds rumbling with harsh purpose and intent..
a funnel descends from the lowest edge,
its circumfrence is enormous..
it moves inexorably towards us
as we frantically scramble to bring loose objects inside
and tie anything down that might become a flying hazard..
barricade ourselves inside..
then..
i am sitting on the warm grass in an english orchard..
i can see the rolling hills from here
and feel the sun on my eyelids..
lying next to me is an ascetic, a fakir..
he is from here- his skin is pale,
speckled with white scars from his bed of nails-
he is old- but his skin is still taut- papery..
his eyes are palest blue and alive..
his hair is white, intricately braided in buns close to his skull..
these painful hives of hair have been growing for years..
i can tell he secretly wants me to cut them off,
but would never say so..
i ask him why he does the things he does..
this self-mortification of the body, for the elevation of the mind..
he makes me want to tempt him with red apples..
i say to him, “everything in moderation-
i am temperance-
you are the hanged man.”
he tells his name is liliane.
it seems this is the only time i actually heard him speak..
i want him to tell me
where desire begins
and where it ends.
at the tone, the time will be..1..2..3..
wake up.

Which Edward Gorey Book Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
“the next morning, she was wakened in a novel fashion
by lady celia in time for elevenses…”

today was the most hideous, horrible, awful, lamentable,
and generally poop-tastic day i’ve had in a looooong time.
last night i went to bed with a splitting headache.
i woke with a splitting headache.
my cat was sitting on my head,
trying to drink water from my favorite glass on the nightstand.
3 times he was removed from the pillow and given water of his own.
did this stop him? of course not, insistent bratty beast that he is.
i was woken finally by the sound of my favorite glass shattering on the floor.
this glass was the last in a trilogy of three,
“choose your poison” was written around the rim,
and each one bore the name of a different deadly poison-
strychnine, cyanide and hemlock.
the first two were destroyed by clumsy guests,
much to my chagrin..
i guarded the hemlock very carefully..until today..
kitty was very determined to dash this thing to bits.
not a pleasant way to awaken.
my throat hurt badly, head pounding exceedingly, bones and muscles aching..
i hate it when special things get broken.
and then i had to go to work,
in the gray, grismal, bitter cold.
and when i got there,
i got fired.
right before xmas, the bastards.
after i’ve worked there a year, worked diligently.
it really upset me very much.
i’m a capricorn- i take these things very seriously..
too seriously, likely..
but, for pete’s sakes- how cold-hearted can you be?
i was fired for:
speaking my mind
having an opinion
doing what i was told to do
sitting on the counter
going to europe (after i was given permission to, months in advance)
asking off for the winter holidays so i could go home and see my family.
this is what they told me.
oh, and for not going back on my knees after a disagreement with the manager
on my day off to beg forgiveness for speaking my mind.
what utter shite.
so now i’m in the poorhouse, what lovely timing.
flew into a rage, (a very scary thing to see, indeed)
told them exactly what i thought of them..
raced back home on my trusty steed in tears.
head still vibrating in agony.
now i go back to bed.
i want this day to end now.