cherubcharabia

[cherubcharabia]

Ive been fumbling in the darkness for so long, reaching out, tripping, jostling, blinding forward, circling. Its almost as if im close to grasping something new. Something different.

It was more or less me in the fantasy this time. Me getting fucked. Me getting smeared. Its not usually this way. I feel close to something. Maybe a mirror.

To see or be seen, that is the question.

[cherubcharabia]

morning light again. daytime is for creation, and night consumption. or so it seems. maybe at this stage of life. maybe right now.

i would like to see the sun glide.

[cherubcharabia]

about domains

I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before. P made their home in the woods. Turned it into something beautiful in the dark. K was lost on the other side of it, the wilder side of it, the pitch black mass. But still he told us he was in the forest. The forest.

P’s home is like my maze. They reclaimed the space and turned it into something that is theirs. Peaceful. But K might not know how to do that, or maybe its not possible in that neck of the woods. The Dead Zone. Looking from D’s tower, The Dead Zone is a black blur. A massive brushed-ink blot in the vision. If standing just right E’s skewed mountain can be seen behind it, but move one way to either side and the mountain contorts and disappears. V says not even she can traverse The Dead Zone often. I have a suspicion its less due to lack of ability and more of the repercussions of one of us touching it for very long. And K’s been inside it the whole time. Lost. The entire space, the whole thing, it rarely grows when not consciously traversing it. It’s why so many areas lack detail or are almost plain. If we don’t consciously spend time walking through the space and transforming it, it often won’t change. Sometimes we don’t have the time when we’re out. And sometimes the notion doesn’t occur to us. But when things are changed they do stay changed, though sometimes this transformation is into something that is malleable. Like my fountain, maybe D’s too. And sometimes space is created instantly far more detailed than expected.

V does most of her work from within her Shadow Sac. But she has a few different spaces I know. One I can barely see, just a bed post and vanity. Purple and black. I’ll ask her about it some time.

I went looking for K last night. D had offered him space in their tower, but when I got there D’s bed was closed and no one else was around. I called for K while staring at The Dead Zone and E’s mountain. Eventually he came, standing in the field, he was scrunched up and quiet. He was scared. I picked him up. He reminded me of years ago, out in the physical, at B********, Lank’s son, only 2 or 3 years old. We were laughing and playing and he sat on my lap in the grass. He gave me a glow bracelet and I was awash with the feeling of being human. I realized at the time how frightened I was of interacting with children. So afraid of hurting them, of scarring them. They are delicate and full of so much trust and love. Beings like that are so easy to break. I trusted Lank’s son that night and he trusted me, I trusted myself in a way I hadn’t in many years. It felt magical. K made himself small in my arms. He wasn’t crying outwardly, but internally it was as if he was screaming. He was clutching the gold D had given him, the light to guide his way, and he buried his little face in my chest and gripped my skin with his other hand. Squeezing himself so tight. I brought him to the tent D had made for him. It was bigger on the inside, orange with many glowing fairy lights. Pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. I covered us with them and held him close. I whispered to him until he went limp with sleep, and I did too.

If P and K hold similar memories they deal with them in different ways. P seems to accept and has found sanctuary in what happened to us. They built their domain inside the same forest as The Dead Zone. Just one wrong turn and you’re there. But P’s domain is the most gentle and calming of all the domains I’ve seen.

K was fighting. Lost inside that forest, The Dead Zone, it must have been a constant assault to the mind to be inside it. Maybe something akin to crawling inside Basket’s Vision. It honestly sounds like hell and gives me shivers to imagine. No wonder K’s walls are thicker than the rest of ours, he had to build them to keep that place out as he stumbled within it.

I want to do right by him. I don’t think he recognizes me from how I was before, and I guess I do look and feel a lot different. It’s given me a chance to try again with him in a way I didn’t realize before was so crucial. I probably was relying on E’s confidence and relaxed nature to be a good pillar for K, the way E often is for the rest of us. I might have taken it for granted and behaved a lot more childishly because I thought K would have someone responsible to support him, the way P felt around E. But I couldn’t have foreseen K’s complete detest for E. We’re still not sure why. It might have something to do with E’s mountain, or that when E’s around he can get so close to you in a way none of the rest of us can. If E’s mountain was the only thing K could see from The Dead Zone for a while, he might have felt disturbed by the inability to get close to E, but E’s ability to get close to him while out. I wouldn’t blame K if that’s the case, that imbalance of power is something that perturbed me about E for a bit as well.

Nevertheless, I have to be my better self for K. He needs to feel safe outside of The Dead Zone so he doesn’t feel compelled to go back. Or to think that that’s where he belongs.

It may mean that at some point soon I’ll need to go inside that place myself. Clear it, carve out a domain for K. I’m crafting the lantern and D could probably help me too. We’ve brought light to places just as dark before, but on planes only adjacent to this. Something so close in this way... It would be unwise to go in unprepared.

For now we can try to make D’s tower as hospitable as possible. I think it’s important for K to know that he’s meant to be with the rest of us, that his place isn’t inside that dark, consuming blot. It reminds me of my last confrontation with Pointlessness, world’s ago. I had to be brave then, and I know I can be brave now.

[cherubcharabia]

For so long looking in the mirror meant checking for signs of infestation. Checking for signs of failure. Looking in the mirror, this body looks strange. Not negatively. Neutrally. Abnormal. Foreign.

Grappling as of late with: Time, Temperance, Creation, Existence, Meaning, Light. The element seems to be air. Maybe, air and fire out of balance. too much air on a fire causes it to go out. Too much fire sucks up the air, can’t breath, explosion. What is something that balances flame and air? Hearth? Torch? Light? Lantern. Lantern. Perhaps a lantern symbol could assist at this moment.

[cherubcharabia]

Balloon mentioned our names to Felis, Felis doesn’t know us. Is it ok that not everyone does. Sometimes it feels not. Sometimes it feels yes. W is different. W is new. This is good. A sliding between fear and peace constantly. And up and down so fast it becomes numb. I am a snaking creature, a many headed slither.

[cherubcharabia]

D sung happy songs today. Maybe not happy. Maybe just. Funny. We are talented and I am scared. When I close my eyes I hear the Apocalypse. When I look outside I see Wastelands. Empty empty empty. White man's hell is emptiness. I'm no exception. I could've been born anywhere else. Looked like anyone else. And seen the terror that was too much. Concrete streets bursting with unfettered destruction. Beating chests bursting open with bullet holes. Hearts bursting as parents, caregivers, loved ones are dragged to jail. Bursting full of too much. While I sit atop the empty Wastelands.

Some friends scored roles in another budget movie. So proud. So happy for them. I don't know if I want to raise the ranks of a system that seems so infected. So festered. I don't know if I want to be part of a society that is submerged in poison. My soul feels sick with the despair of the world. Puking up stomach acid, wreching at the prospects of no salvation for this species.

I love humans with all my heart. My unburst heart, never having felt the flinch that comes with the thought of bullet holes right before they hit. I am not fit for solitude either. Not a person who was meant to go away from this empty Wasteland and forget what I've seen and known. Forget what I hear when I close my eyes. That's not me.

I was meant to be here. Part of this society. Somehow fitting but not yet knowing at what part I connect. I was meant to be where these empty people are. I would like to feed them desperately. I would like to share and share and share until everyone in this dying world was nourished and we nurtured a young egg. I do not know if I will live to see it hatch, so then what must become of me in the space between now and Death?

Something. Something unseeable in this time. Perhaps part of me mourned the loss of a known future. I prayed for revolution and assumed I would never see tomorrow. But tomorrow has looked at me over and over again and I cannot deny its stare or its hand any longer. I will live until I don't. And what will become of me in the space between?

We have an opportunity here. Something rare. To untangle the knot of trauma that binds our species, to take apart and regrow. We have an opportunity here. To accept tomorrow's reality and choose our future. As individuals and as a whole. We are standing on the edge of time and I am so very frightened to step forward. I feel both at once too early and too late to do any good for myself or beyond. Too young to have power, too old to reach for it.

I have fell victim to the bind of the poisoinous knot. I am a capitalist shill and a reveler of the Wasteland. The digital current terrifies me and when I am large I love every person who has swallowed air. But this love is unruly for as I sooth the victim I too hold the rapist in embrace and cry for them both. To speak it is to shudder, and how many looks have I received when I nod at the forgiveness I gave to those who broke my body and my heart. My unburst heart. A heart that hears the Apocalypse and sees the Wasteland but does not feel the physical pressure that stomps upon the bursting homes across the seas and in the reserves and in the jails for the sake of our empty, empty streets.

In downtown Toronto, someone howls in the cold. Khaleel Seivwright is punished for offering them warmth. I felt amiss in a sea of new creatives. Endless saturation of art. I am now so lucky to be drowned in imaginative production. Standing at the edge of time, with nothing ahead fixed or static, it is the optimal moment to create tomorrow.

My thoughts do not stop though. What follows a conclusion is another massless doorframe. But I must sleep. I must sleep. I asked myself what should happen at the end of an abusive sex fantasy. Where does the perpetrator go. What do I do. Nothing felt right. Now the scene ends and we smile and congratulate and compliment each other. We shake hands and exchange appreciation. My head pulses and sleep does not come. We are talented and I am scared.

[cherubcharabia]

I'm starting to wonder if I can even really feel love. Maybe I'm just a reflection of others love, or romantic love that is. I know I can feel regular love, a kind of deep love. love for one's friends, love for animals, love food love for tasks, hobbies, love, life. I feel quite strongly that I can feel general love but romantic love is a very different thing. A directly very different thing that I've touched, only touched. Only sat beside.

It's possible that I only sit beside others love and hold it for a bit and mimic it and mirror it. it's possible that I reflect a kind of adoration for others. I reflected V's love for Grem and I reflect W's love for Balloon. But do I feel it actually myself? do I love actually myself? I don't know. I felt quite a crush for Top5. If we had grown very very close I don't know if I could have actually romantically loved him or maybe... maybe... I'm just a true little slut and there's nothing to be done of it.

Who put this idea in my head? That I am nothing but a little slut? It turns me on to think of it and this may be is my truest guilt. I don't mind it. But what was the initiating factor? just sexual abuse, rape, coercion, and grooming? It's not my fault I'm the way I am. And I even like myself, I turn myself on. But is there something deficient in me to not feel the way W do and V do?

I know there's a layer of hell for lust and in that space it's probably the feeling of being told you're a slut and being turned on by being told you're a slut because you're turned on by it. Sometimes I go crazy with the feeling. But there is one thing I love. there is one thing I love. I love the feeling.

[cherubcharabia]

the head is full of

fear. I think someone would like to see the future. It is in the present that we could see everything, if we could, if we could just see everything, then maybe the future would be clear. And so it is thinking, thinking, thinking. It doesn’t stop. The head hurts. I feel apprehensive. I do not know where I should be, where we should look. What aren’t we seeing? Between the garbage and the flowers. No one can tell which one should be scrutinized. Between the garbage and the flowers. No one can tell which is which. Between the garbage and the flowers, can we find the seeds?

E and V were together today. When I woke up I was shaved, they had done it in the shower. My legs are still fuzzy. The human body is so strange, how it shifts and grows. I think we are caught in a period of growth and decay. Caught in the middle of life and death. I suppose it is it all? The whole thing? To breathe out of the womb is to be in between. At 25 things feel in between, but maybe it is all that way, forever until the end.  The head is full of fear. I am afraid.