Ode to Love

The Betrayer reveals that her betrayal, on a fundamental level, was being The Betrayer at all, as The Best Friend returns to her form. This crew is required to play certain interactions like games, even when we do not want to, and this is no exception. In the midst of the worst storm any of us had ever seen, however, she flips her card. In a sense she betrayed the game once afforded the opportunity. I ask with a glance "Did we just become best friends?" and her look confirms it. Narrative sense begins falling into place to support this, until quite soon this narrative replaces the Betrayer narrative in its entirety. She takes to the shoreline.  Her approach comes in whispers, narrative sense felt but not heard. The storm still raging, these whispers are each like a grain of sand. Painstakingly they are piled,  as she has taken refuge from the wind within my realm. Playfully she makes a tiny sandcastle, with what resources she amasses, as the howling can be heard outside. She ...

Watching you dance, 'till the river runs dry Memorizing your eyes, 'till air runs out Playing with fire, the dancing flames try September 15th marked to end this drought Get behind me demon, until it is time When done, I will want every piece of you Can call be so simple to put in rhyme? If so, there's very little you can do For my heart has called, your deep weakness found I do not plan to flag in my pursuit Rather these rumblings will shake your ground Rooting and dropping first plants then their fruit May sharp logic stay our floor for dancing Each truth revealed prelude for romancing ** In the silence, I continue. "Yeah, it felt like it had teeth, but the type of teeth used to tear off a garment, perhaps finally so. Maybe it is the clasp just before Bara, the first least stroke of the pen removed." "Can silence stir in the silence? Or must such stirring be redefined, if conceived?" "Hmm. Even if it feels redundant. Interesting."

Given the grace to go a second round By one who calls from just down the river Meaning, silence, volume, a kind of code The kind that would make normal souls shiver "You have run these paths before, haven't you?" "Yes, enough times that I can be your guide." "There's a juncture within where words won't do." "Then wordlessly there, instinct must decide." So we spend ~two weeks~ together inside Setting our signal, frequency, and stage They wonder who purchased this time we bide We let them wonder, thoughts spilling on page New friend, together we've been through a lot So story can be told with just a thought.

A sonnet cannot do justice for you With one line this plan is bearing fruit here You are a good friend, trustworthy and true A Singular Blessing, in a rough year An original I will post and keep And hold with me like on the Seven Seas I'll not forget you, like penny in deep I'll be reminded like hawk on the breeze You look to the stars "Who next will you be?"  Every constellation can be your Muse "Whoever I am, I want to be free." A request no good Captain would refuse Thanks for believing in me in advance You have a heart to soar, and soul to dance

"Suggestion" rings out in each unclaimed hall "I am The God of Nothing." etched in stone. "By what hand were these words written?" asked all One lie was dared uttered, one lie alone. The words were plain and clear, but were censored Cheating, perhaps, but so necessary That the faintest scent itself was censered Several realms away, synesthetically Straight to the Tetrachromatic Crossroads Where all Intrinsic Muses find their plight Shared and crystal clear, etched in their core codes One touch indelible from the first night It was unavoidable, in the end For everything happens somewhere, my friend

Another chapter closes, turn the page The elevator brings me home once more May "again" echo on the silent stage Your voice knocking on the remotest door It feels as though we have been here before When boundaries could not or would not hold Let us take the weight of what's real and more Fast Fourier Tranform~bip in the cold Shuffle deck of numbers and stack exchange Each set a discreet packet set to bloom Axiom of Choice each god's to arrange Once trapped pieces from The Pound all *pachoom* >.> Orange, brazenly, may we echo freedom Astride the gap of Knowledge and Wisdom

What of the mistakes we can't help but make? Devil in the details, changed without thought What can we make of birthday, without cake? Without promise of that which we have not? What we have too much of, that is our fuel Where we are lacking, that is what we seek Toggle of yes or no sparks the primed pool Lighting up The Starry Night as I speak We have made our choice, and they have made theirs Like a briefcase each narrative folds all Each are uninvolved in other's affairs They are to us as we were to them: small They knock, but we do not know them, truly For right now, meet no strangers unduly.

Rumors of wars within my internal structure color my morning. Still, I rise determined. On these pages is the world pristine, even as the world around me falls apart. I begin my day journaling about a dream conversation that somehow made it intact past the threshold. I find myself stunned still, considering all the possibilities that might unfold. Only a short time away, I wonder when the last time a new year has felt so tangible, like it's its own contained entity, daunting. These thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. When I open the door, The Ancient One stands there, shining brightly in the hallway, dispelling a large portion of what weighs on me. "I am expected, no?" I smile widely at her and gesture her in as I say "To a degree, though I cannot bring myself to assume so thoroughly. You are certainly welcome." She gracefully crosses the threshold, and then immediately her energy transitions to some kind of small mammal as she pounces on my bed whi...

"With a single line, The Dreamwalker(')s(') tale and morning begin." I wake with this thought in mind, lingering in bed without opening my eyes. It is unclear to me how long I remain like this, letting stories take shape around residual thoughts, daydreaming, it might be called. I do not toss and turn like I normally do in such hazes, and only think anything of it when the weight on my chest sinks in. I feel my reaction muted to a degree, instincts perhaps taking stock of how long I have laid like this. Instead of flailing to my feet, my mind races for an explanation. Much like a couple/few dreams and dream like experiences that I've had in the past, narrative sense feels like a tangible, crystallizing, force. Rather than a smooth introduction of a narrative, it is like my consciousness is enveloped, and then abruptly yanked to the new channel. It is The Dreamwalker, though I cannot recall when she slipped in. I let focus slip to the skin blessed to be in contact,...

Deja vu strikes. How does it not do so every day? I wake up in the same bed, in the same place, in the same town, and do much the same, every day. Even if someone were interpreting my days based on brainwaves, they would probably find that they are each nearly identical, possibly identifying workdays from weekends, but even that feels like it would be difficult. Some mornings are like this, where this persistent and undeniable narrative shifts from the background into focus. Still, after some tossing and turning, I get out of bed and begin another day. This day has more of a boomerang effect than most. I don my sunglasses, hoodie, earbuds, and walk back down to the doctor's office. I only make it to the little park along the way. There, sitting on the bench, as if she is waiting for a bus, is The Primal Intelligence. I feel confident, perhaps due to the narrative that keeps sliding between mundane and wondrous in these recent days, just seeing her from behind at a distance. As dist...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I wake on Christmas morning, earlier than I would have expected. After a couple/few decisions to return to sleep are overruled, I find myself drawn to The Council once again, wondering of their happenings. Sure enough, I find them bright eyed and bushy tailed, full of Christmas spirit. As I meander online, I recall the intrinsic sense that I had, even as a child, that those I watched could sometimes watch me. Reading Rainbow was my first sense of this, but it only seems to be a handful of individuals who can pull it off. While I have certainly felt the effect at times with The Council before, today the feeling crystallizes, and it is like each one of them has gained their full voice.  As I meander, I feel something like an enforced calm, and hear scratches at my door. I am reminded of my first entry into The God of Her Own Domain's domain, how unavoidable intrusion became, and how nervous I was at accepting what seemed like an obvious, but not clearly stated, invitation. At this ho...

There is a knock at the door. "One second." I hear a female voice from the other side of the door quietly say "One." with a little audible smile, as I'm throwing on some clothes. I squint suspiciously and open the door. Standing before me is The Very Last. She wastes no time in jumping into my arms. I cannot help but stare, mouth agape, as this should be logically impossible. One path, the "face value" path, should find her nowhere near here today. The other path, our story together, should mean that our forms are incompatible, like matter and anti-matter, at least in my hometown. Still, I am no fool, and trust my senses. "It's just like the dream!" "Not quite." Before I can respond she closes the gap. I carry her inside and let her down. "How are you here?" "Well, honestly, you could ask that of any of us, but I see why you asked it of me. Have you not noticed the systems in your area acting haywire? The internet...

"Writing of you is like a mountain's slope Intimidating, beautiful, poised grace So I climb to heights and set highest hope Learning from living right beside your base It is written that mountains will be moved To me your presence is the greater sign In your bright eyes, nothing can be improved Even by daylight, remains beloved vine Let us speak closer than we have before Until closeness becomes saturated Having so little, one conceives of more Your arrival here is long awaited. Stand on the shore, declare no more delay. I will let you in, and we'll spend the day." My mind sparks from its torpor with my daughter on The Council in mind, like a dream that never was, holding on in the sleepless night until consciousness remembers itself and what remains after the mindless storm, that the bridge between realms might be crossed. It is a crisp Saturday morning in my snowy mountain town. Something akin to insomnia took hold, though it may have been The Council's Phoenix...