#“sprout stop making these entries so depressing” no

[ladyofvoss]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #3: Tempest

noun. a violent commotion, disturbance, or tumult.

Set during the later ARR patches

A dying fire, a chill in the air, a foggy night. As if fate thought to bring together the perfect elements to set the stage for this melancholic occasion.

The burial ceremonies were finally over. Hours of being hounded by nobles pretending at sympathy, false declarations of pity as they accosted Seliene and Esmond respectively. But now, they finally had a moment of peace.

Their father's chair sat empty in his study, empty yet ominous and haunting, his lack of presence more pressing than any display of Selinos Voss' silent yet firm authority.

Esmond swirled the brandy in his glass, took a swig, before letting his hand that held the drink rest on his leg. It felt almost childish, for him and his twin to occupy the chairs in front of their father's desk, like they did in their youth, when they eagerly sought to glean from his knowledge and experience. Or in less than desirable circumstances, when any one of them were being chastised on occasion.

"Do you know what they're saying?"

Esmond cast his eyes to the side, taking in the image of his sister. Seliene Voss. The unflappable, indominable Vizier. Even now, her spine was ramrod straight, as if projecting the image of the perfect daughter to their father's ghost. Yet the white knuckled grip she had on her own glass of brandy, the wide and lost look in her eyes. A vault she may be to those who did not know her, but they were not Esmond. They were not her twin, her brother, who knew her for eyars and could read her like an open scroll. Seliene stared straight ahead at the empty chair, eyes boring a hole into the fine leather as if she could manifest Selinos right then and there.

"What are they saying?" He'd humor her. Better than suffocating silence.

"The same that they said when Theo died."

Ah. Those rumors. Aside from the death worshippers that were the disciples of Thal, few were that superstitious among Ul'dahs' citizenry. But it's gilded few loved a good rumor.

Ill omen.

Black mark.

Cursed.

Baseless claims borne in the wake of their baby brother's demise at Carteneau. No remains were returned, none were found to be given unto the Traders' domain, which marked an ill omen to the truly superstitious. And such a fortuitous turn of events for the opportunistic few.

A dark omen that followed them for five years now, and were now increasing in frenzy, after Selinos Voss, the last true beacon of the Voss family authority, passed.

"And here we remain. The last vanguard to our forefather's legacy." Esmond lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Long may we reign, however short it is."

Seliene's gaze on him would have sent him the way of their father, her eyes bright with fury. "You would make jokes now?", she spat.

Esmond sat up, equally irate.

"Better than you. We had just buried our father, and now you spend these hours forecasting the doom of our house?"

There was silence as the pair of twins glared at each other, moments stretching on until Seliene turned with a disapproving click of her tongue, turning from him and finally taking a deep swig of her drink, downing it in one gulp and slamming the now empty glass onto the table between them.

"This is ridiculous. He wouldn't want us to fight."

Somehow, Esmond knew Seliene wasn't referring to their late father. It was true. The youngest between the three, Theo would regard any row the two of them would have with such stark disapproval that it killed any tension in that moment.

"Well...he wouldn't exactly be shocked." he murmured to himself.

That....that startled a laugh out of her. And it was so sudden that Esmond found himself laughing too.

Whatever happened to them? The Wonder Twins, they were called. There was no obstacle insurmountable, no adversary unbeatable to him and his sister. In their youth, there was never a day where they weren't on the same wavelength, where their thoughts weren't aligned. But they weren't precocious youths anymore. And time and Ul'dah's unforgiving court had sharpened them to such a fine point that they risked cutting each other.

In time, his laugh died down, and the sounds of crackling from the fireplace and the wind rattling against the closed window were the only sounds heard.

"I know, Lina. I am not blind." Ice clinked in his glass as he lazy swirled it in his hand, "They circle like buzzards, catching the scent."

Like a wild pack of hounds, drawn to the carnage, circling and ready to feast. The cracks in the foundation had begun to spread, having appeared when his brother died.

Though, if he truly thought about it, perhaps when their mother passed. Perhaps Esmond hadn't noticed, given that Theo was still alive. That the three of them had united in guiding their widower father through his grief. That his sons and nieces were still so young, and they were far too focused on the children as well, to truly know the seeds of danger that had been planted.

But now.....

"A storm is coming. A tempest that will swallow us whole, and I know not.....I know not of what will become of our family."

They were not the House Voss of old. The Syndicate's power increased where theirs waxed and waned. If one were to make a plot, to make their move now....could they truly protect themselves?

"No", came Seliene's voice, breaking the silence. For a moment, Esmond thought she read his mind, but he chanced a glance at her, and there was something....new in her eyes. A frightening, desperate hardness.

"Our family will survive. We have overcome worse. No matter what happens," here her voice faltered, and he followed her gaze to their father's chair. Empty. Empty like their mother's gardens. Empty like their brother's final resting place.

And there they sat. The new heads of their house. The twin flames, the matriarch and patriarch. The last bastions.

Esmond reached over then, placing a hand over where his sister's gripped the fabric of her white mourning robes. He felt her stiffen, before the tension slowly bled out of her white knuckled grip.

"No matter what happens", he echoed her words. A promise. An oath.

Their family would survive.

[thepausedsforzando]

III. The Paused Sforzando

Part I. The End To The Remaining Effort

*******Introduction*******

   It’s been 5 years. 5 years and a month just about. This post looks weird in public because it’s first one. It’s also marked as III. On October 8th, 2019 I nuked my entire Tumblr. Actually, I nuked all 3: hunkee, digitalclothingofhunkee and thepsychologyofdarthvader. That was a heavy day. This series has been shotty and inconsistent, in that gaps have become bigger and the details have lessened. This could likely be due to the feedback and problems I’ve had with people in my posts when I would talk about personal things that were not only private for me but for them. Primarily, these inconsistencies and gaps are because I’ve slowly descended into more of a void of a human being than I ever thought I could be when my life was right. January 6th, 2016. That’s where we last left off. “We” now means, and has always meant, current Matthew, as well as the one who will be reading this. If any Where are we now? Corny, I know, but you wanted to type it.

   I have always dreamed of having a Tumblr where I had literally 0 holdbacks. If it was disturbing or could easily be misunderstood, I’d post it anyway. But coming from a Christian background where the Christian homeschool choirs I was in had its dark pockets of judgement, it, or more than just it, made me severely self-conscious. But that is tied deeper to why I care about what others think, and how their attention makes or breaks me as a human being. But I’m getting head of myself. On purpose.

   hunkee, and it’s other 2 sisters were that of restriction. No more. So many have lost touched, forgotten and abandoned me, so who fucking cares now. I may still care. I’m showing it right now, but I’ll contradict that.

   One thing I will hold back on is the private information of loved ones who never got a voice to choose whether or not to have their private lives posted here. I am transparent and honest to an extreme, and it’s gotten me in trouble more than I ever thought or wanted to. Therefore, what you will be seeing is the second draft, edited to filter out private events out of love and/or respect to those who didn’t get a voice. They will be edited with summaries and I may even redact names or change said names. Those people deserve it. And I should have known back then. But you can’t know everything. I could have learned faster, but respect is being shown nonetheless.

   Alot has happened from January 6th, 2016 to February 5th, 2021. What I choose to be here will be here, and other installments will follow. Where we last left off was- well before I say it, let me show you the progression:

- 2009: The end of my childhood and innocence - 2010: a solid year of happiness in the first chapter of adulthood - 2011: not bad - 2012: The beginning of the dark renaissance; the start of it all - 2013: The Darkness: The darkest point, the breakdown, the intervention and the beginning of me stopping any care and any effort. Laziness became my life. - 2014: The Void: Through trying with little effort, the numbness grew - 2015: I literally forgot most of 2015. The Void at its highest - 2016: The End: The year that I gave up, after 5 years of trying through abandonment. - 2017: Committing to my abandonment. - 2018: Rebirth: The slow growth of the tiniest voice within me. - 2019: Pause #1: Amber - 2020: ugh: - 2021: ugh:

Let’s just begin.

             **************

   As per usual, let’s recap from the 16th. My name is Matthew. I’m 24 and a half years old. I work at Patsco Windshield Repair and had for about a month. I have been living back at my parents now for 2 years and about 4 months. I’d been single for 1 year and 2 months. I still had my Roth IRA and likely got rid of my savings account due to poor management of my money. I had suppressed my love for Amber again, and it wouldn’t be the last time. I was emotionally void after raging and depressing for years. My life had no meaning, nor did I really have many friends or any social interactions. I had a car. I can’t remember what bills I dealt with, but it was likely phone, insurance, health insurance and idk.

   Life at Patsco was pretty lame. I would drive to the corner of a parking lot on a busy road, hold up a sign for a while and repair people’s windshields. Calling insurance companies and cleaning headlights. Great for a high schooler; pathetic that I was there in life at 24. The pay was $12/hr. I forgot if the hours were good. But the best thing that happened then was I read Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. I fell in love with that book. Standing on the grass next to cars at the red light of whatever intersection I was assigned that day. Immersed in the world and loving the darkness. I found beauty in dark things and gravitated towards hateful content. Who would have figured.

   Patsco didn’t last very long. Maybe I got fired, I think I did. My memory has deteriorated so much over the past x amount of years. As has my attention span. And effort. Anyway, it usually takes me 1-3 months to find work, and on April whenever, I became a delivery driver for Jimmy John’s. Yet again, a low end, dead end job. I lasted just about 2 years. I asked Asia to let me stay long enough to make it an even two years, but she couldn’t stand me and it didn’t go that long.

   Amber had either come back or was always there. For private reasons, someone in her life had jealously forbade me to come over and witness the birth of her first child. That didn't fucking happen with her second. I was there. More on that later.

   Remembering 2015, 2016 and 2017 is hard. I'm having to pull up my resume, previous entries of this series and go back to where I was then. By the time Jimmy John’s rolled around, I’d been back home for over 2 and a half years. Being numb and unmotivated, I was also an asshole to live with. I treated my mother horribly. There is much to get into about what I have learned about her over the years and why we clash, but I always handled it wrong and I still do. Too lazy to confront her. She saw me at my worst. Whatever I could do out loud, she mostly saw and had to be the victim of it. She didn’t deserve it.

   What I write about tends to focus on home, mom and dad, work, cars and not much else. I’ve neglected to mention Eva but once. I feel bad that in a forgetful and numb phase, I forgot when I met Eva. I met her on MeetMe, a social app for meeting people that too many guys used as a dating site. It was really, really pathetic. But I was open to meeting a significant other too I bet. There goes the hypocrisy. Take note. I just didn’t advertise it and let whatever unfolded, unfold.  Before I mention Eva, what happened on MeetMe is notable. I just didn’t advertise it and I'd let whatever unfolded unfold. This is where I was at: I met someone who lived across the road from me named Evie. I put what I wanted onto her and god fucking dammit I was creepy. We were barely just talking and I was gushing over her. She was pretty and I wanted to be with someone.

   My obsession with women had always been a tame problem that sprouted when it got to be intense. In 2011, when the neglect started, my creepiness, lack of social interactions and desire to have a girlfriend got weirder. Every girl that was remotely attractive, or not even that attractive was ‘so right for me’ and I’d pursue. Ashley, Andrea, Christa, Amy. I can’t even remember them all. It was every. fucking. woman. that came to Josh's and I's house. Someone I hadn’t been vibing with or talking to in the first place. That’s the key, you get to know someone and if they move that way WITH you, then it’s something. I always bash guys for pursuing if THEY want it, whether they’ve talked to them much or not. In my own way, I did that. I just didn’t assert myself as hard because in this context, it would have been awkward.

   Evie casually told me where she worked. We were barely acquaintances and had never met or even had each others’ numbers. And when I saw she was getting off work one night, I bought her the candy she said she loved and walked over to her in front of the store at night, basically a total stranger, and gave her the Reese’s after clarifying who I was. She was extremely quiet. I bet she didn’t eat those candies because she thought the psycho who I guess you could say stalked her poisoned them and is going to kidnap her. Fuck me that was stupid. But that’s where I was at. My desire got stronger and more obsessive over these 4 years. This might have happened in 2015. Either way, I was doing things that were not Matthew. Using a woman for sex, stalking one, and Naomi....Poor Naomi.

   We were talking as friends. She was beautiful. I wanted someone. She did NOT want to find a significant other. When she was reaching out for someone to talk to, it was a friend to confide in. And she made that clear. I lowkey pursued her romantically. We’d meet down the street of her house and park in a parking lot close by. We’d talk deeply, about her hard life. And I would be there for her. Once I told her my intentions, we stopped talking. She was upset, and had every right to be. When I was pursuing Amber 3 years prior, I was putting her newborn to sleep and said ‘can you say “daddy?”’...............................it’s hard for me to bring that up because as wrong as it was and I probably knew at the time, now I can’t....I can’t even explain the awkwardness and shame I feel for saying that. Like I devolved from already clingy/kinda obsessive/maybe on occasion creepy to.....that. To a newborn whose mother....I can’t remember if she liked me at that time. I think she did. ReGARDLESS.

   The last time I wasn’t like this was Ana. in late 2011/early2012. I was never perfect as I’ve said like 3 times with regards to my intense emotions towards girlfriends. Hell, I wasn’t bad at all to Nicole. But this loneliness, that was a combination of my fault and other things that made me do things I regret. I had my first one night stand years ago. Attaining friends was through the screen of my phone. I couldn’t make friends. I lost my ability to be social. I became more socially awkward. Pursuing women wasn’t successful, and my desire had gone out of control.

   Here I am, miles away from the original point: Eva. She was a female and I was looking for a relationship. Desiring love, affection and to get fucking laid. It came in the form of many creepy endeavors. I wasn’t as terrible with Eva. I liked her because I liked every female that came in contact with me. So it wasn’t even genuine when I told her. But we got past that. Wasn’t trying to get in her pants or anything heinous. But as that small phase passed, for the first time in years, I gained a friend. I made a new friend........it’s not that it’s hard, but was for me. I can’t think of the last time I made a new friend. But I hit the jackpot. No one is more loyal than Eva.

   She was an actual friend. She listened to me. I listened to her. We cared for each other. She invited me to her house and to outings with her friends. She cared about me. Someone finally did. It was nothing to her. Like it should be nothing to anyone else: you have friends and you spend time with them. But it was the universe and all its stars to me. I made a big deal out of it for reasons you already know. She was the true friend I needed, but got so late. I felt included, I felt cared about and I felt wanted. I think she’d even text me first! That doesn’t exist anymore! She became a bright spot, but it didn’t change what was coming.

   I got mad at Jimmy John’s. Aggressive driving, maybe dealing with the occasional dick ‘cause I was in an upper middle class (some would say rich) area of town. Having been void for so long, I felt I was at a dead end. I think I was friends with Eva by then. I had only been at Jimmy John’s for a month, not even. 2 days before Mother’s Day was when it finally happened.

   Despite the angel that had come into my life, I was still lazy and numb, but I feel I was more angry at this point. Regardless, on May 6th, 2016, I officially gave up. From neglect to anger to depression to laziness, it had all culminated to this. It came in waves: neglect, anger, depression, suicidal ideation, hopelessness, self-attack, breakdown, intervention, self-abandonment, extreme sloth, numbness beyond the realm of textual representation, sick of my state, denying help, anger and then release. Release of it all. When I say ‘I gave up’, that seems so small in text, but defined ‘the rest of my life’. This had been culminating for 4 years and I finally just gave up. Career? never. Healthy diet? never. Friends? They already all left me so nothing’s gonna change ‘cause it hasn’t. Love? either I said I can’t ‘cause of my mental state or idk. Being happy? it hasn’t been possible.

    I adopted a new phrase: Until death. It kept repeating in my head. I had a new set of goals and motivation in my life. My goal was to avoid being happy. It was to never seek love or really get anything serious, idk. My goal was never to get a better paying job, but get enough just to live on my own. Push everyone away, not get lied to by people’s flakiness. Be in a shitty apartment and watch my 30′s, 40′s, 50′s and maybe even 60′s alone. Eat junk food and clog my arteries as no one cares and everyone has forgotten me. What’s the use. I tried. I FUCKING TRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I couldn’t do it. After 4 years, I was alone, I had no social life, I couldn’t score a woman and I was too creepy to even get close to the first step, I had eaten junk food most of my life and it was affecting my mental and physical health, I couldn’t hold a job, I couldn’t advance because I couldn’t stay long enough, my mental health was blocking my success rate before I started telling people it was blocking my success rate, I was at odds with my parents, Missy was in Chicago, no matter what I did I just couldn’t progress. It wasn’t worth it. I just let it go. My life and my desire to be happy. And that was a commitment. Hard as it would be for my family to have to endure that, I didn’t do it for them. And they didn’t have to suffer. But they did.

   Missy graduated the year we're talking about now. To preface that, the whole family had vacationed to New Orleans sometime.....2014? idk, but my mental state and circumstances had made me a recluse. My family was outgoing, talking with Uber drivers and the person kind enough to let us use their house instead of a hotel. They experienced New Orleans and were having fun. But not me. I was not fully there. I was withholding myself from participating. I was quiet. if you knew me when I was myself, I was the opposite of quiet and shy. But the darkness had just become me. I was barely participating, sitting away from people and not saying a word, focusing on rooting my phone and occasionally talking about it, not talking to humans outside of my family and not speaking with a sad, distant, vacant expression.

    I learned something through my silence. Usually, if there were family problems, I’d be overly involved and not able to think straight ‘cause I’m thinking of all the perspectives and dividing my attention up multifold. I wasn’t like this in New Orleans. When I said nothing, I got to listen more; I got to see what I hadn’t seen all this time. Or at least what I didn’t bring into focus all my life. And that was more true sides of my family through their interactions. The fighting over nothing and people from different perspectives. The escalations and how my family just doesn’t understand each other. If anyone else is reading this but me, you can learn more than you can possibly imagine when you say little to nothing, sit back and let the conversation you normally are involved in happen in front of you. Don’t interact, just let it happen. Watch what you don’t pick up. Our compassion is valid; we can also get carried away and not notice what’s fully going on right in front of our faces.

    Much changed from that much as I used to. Optimism is ideal in moderation, as is everything else. My father was so aperspective shift. I learned more about where we are as a family and I didn’t brush it under the rug as ngry that my standout silence and being a weird, burdensome stick in the mud of a family vacation was affecting everyone and our time together. Not to mention my sister moved out...........2013? I forget. She had been in Chicago so we don’t see her everyday. Things had changed. I had moved back, but for a small amount of time, mom and dad had the place to themselves. That part of your kids growing up and leaving. He confronted me angrily and I learned something else by what he said. You would think he would say something based on how I’ve prefaced this, but instead what uttered from is angry face was:

“Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent?!”

    Sometimes, maybe many times, the way you say something or the first thing you say reflects where your focus is at. I disagree this is always the case. But in that moment, I believe as a man whose life revolved around providing for his family for 20 years, became focused on that primarily. The man can love. The man loves him family incomprehensibly. Never doubt that. But I learned not only of his perspective but how men (traditionally and mostly) make their life’s purpose of providing....larger than love, communication and interaction. All of that is still there in my father at this point, but when it wasn’t, I learned why.

    Back to the point, Missy was graduating. I had been at Jimmy John’s a bit and even though New Orleans was a while ago, I only got worse for vacations. And going to Chicago was..........terrible. My sister had always been a social butterfly and extravertive. Our personalities were now white and black. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t know how to socialize. I didn’t want to. I’d been burned so much that I forgot how to be a human being, and also tried not to be. The silence and seclusion as people were in my sister’s living room, talking, was bizarre. People would kindly ask me about me and raise small talk and I don’t remember how much I’d say if I said anything. I think I’d straight up ignore people. It was extremely awkward. I was introvertive, shy, quiet, ignoring and reserved like I was an extreme trauma victim or a mute (no offence meant to either an victim of a crippling trauma or mutes). My sister was in love and trying with this man that turned out to be an asshole. But at the time, my sister was showing me her life and a very important man in her life and I was just letting it pass me by. Was it as simple as just getting over it? Faking it and putting on a face? That, is the opposite of who I am, and I couldn’t just shake this off. I was alone for 4 years and upset about it. It changed me so much that you don’t just pull out of that. Who Matthew IS. PERIOD. at this point. IS. too far gone from who he really is and so deeply warped and shaped by his depression that who he IS is hopeless and functionless.

    Her boyfriend got me a present. I practically said nothing. I watched my sister graduate. I don’t remember it. This is trauma. This has affected my caring, my memory and my attention span. I’m not myself or a functioning human. PSA: it is possible to get out of the habit of many things you don’t think you could get out of the habit of. Like social interaction, how to talk to people, react to things. It wasn’t the darkest point, but such a troublesome time. I was 99.9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999% darkness and 00.0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001% myself. There has always been a voice inside that never wanted this. That disagreed with the (verbal) self harm I’d convince myself. After a while, if you tell yourself the same thing, whether it’s good or destructive, you’ll believe it. You’ll trick you mind. Same thing with your environment. You become affected and accustomed to your environment to some extent. When you don’t realize it.

But this was never me. Me just got smaller. The darkness took over. The darkness was my Caretaker, which leads me to...

[tehri]

Things that have helped me get over the last hurdle of seasonal depression

Started going to the gym again. It’s hell to drag myself there, but I enjoy it when I’m there and I feel good when I’m done.

Picked up 2 new hobbies during the winter. Started with crochet, and remembered that hey, I do like embroidery. I may be pretty shit at both still, but at least I’m doing something with my hands, and it feels good.

Started keeping a journal where I am only allowed to write things that make me feel relaxed or just generally make me smile, try to write in it in the morning to carry some positivity with me over the day. Each entry is ended with a small note like “Today feels good” or “Today feels relaxing”.

Giving myself space. A little bit tricky, but important. This is not about letting myself wallow in feeling like crap, but rather stating that “yeah, right now kinda sucks, let’s do this thing for a while and think about something else”.

Letting myself cry when it happens. I am overall crap at this, I really don’t like to cry. But I also recognise that I actually feel better once my brain decides that it’s done with that, so if I start crying, I don’t look for a way to stop.

Looking at animals. I’ve been seeing foxes around where I live lately, and it’s just wonderful to have seen that none of them have mange and that they seem healthy and happy. I’ve heard a woodpecker, I hear blackbirds most of the time, and I see a lot of starlings. There are dogs everywhere. Animals and birds just make me feel happy.

Looking at all the flowers sprouting now when spring is here. SO many flowers. Everywhere.

Telling myself that even if I might feel gloomy when it’s cloudy or raining, hey, it does feel nice that it’s cloudy or raining because it’s just nature doing its thing. Same thing when it’s sunny, the sunlight feels nice.

Just generally a lot of telling myself “it’ll be okay”.

[triumphorce]

under umbras of bundles  of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white, 

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens, 

amidst a higher sense 

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope, 

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs 

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath  road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power,  & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

 in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

 changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

 daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle,   almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue     how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

   attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me       to learn to teach                     myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never  get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question  everyone,  everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner,  do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering..           whether I'm right to do any god damn thing        'cause if I don't do it right..       was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here       in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance 

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears,  see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges 

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers   modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via           hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

     helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation    goin in circles,        time wasted pet peeve number 1

    a nowhere never felt before        but something seems familiar.. overlooked,   under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of.. 

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to  understand self an urge that intensifies the more  i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of 

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of  takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars,   to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

[archivesdecreole]

DIARY ENTRIES #6

BY ZULAIKA MAEKAELA SALAZAR

May 13, 2021

Dear diary, So, today is again a new piece of collection to our disappointing gallery. I hate this day! Anyways, I started to be creative and productive with my time now. I did some drawings and I planted tomatoes. Hoping to make tomato sauce in the next two or three months. I really wish I did not install those sick online games. It keeps on pulling me back to the screen and wasting my time. Also, I went to Ateng today. My intentions wasn't actually helping her but to hehe you know like the usual. So, I rode a bike and because I'm a bit distracted today I almost got in an accident and instead have a not so little wound on my knee. What a careless bitch! So, school works are loaded and I still don't give a damn at the moment. Feelin' on a "vacation mode" and I terribly hate it. I feel so bad today! Plus having a loose steak on that shitty game. Life's so frustrating. And I'm sounding depressed. They don't care, anyways it'll pass by. So, I wrote just to say hi but hahaha I like doing this. Thank you, I'll try to write daily ( cross fingers🤞)... Bye, I'm out.

-----

May 14, 2021

I woke up again because mom is noisy, today's boring. I did the usual, I draw again. Today I tried sketching. I'm not good at it, my portraits always fail. The face was always not symmetrical, sometimes it looks like an alien. Anyways, I water mom's plants but deep inside I want to pull them all out in the pots. But, I'm not that brutal. After the long day, I cooked a meal. Afritada was always the best meal for a very long day. Hoping this small vacation last longer. Additionally, the group chat was banging because Shanne Mae's turning 18, hoping I can sneak out this time. I played online games to burn my hours, feeling unmotivated to draw. I lost interest in God knows why. But I'm really excited to go out, Shanne Mae's turning 18 and I'll be able to see my friends. So far having a good sleep, hope next to be allowed to go out. See you tomorrow diary.

-----

May 15, 2021

It's Saturday, woke up 10 am. I don't feel getting up from the bed. Anyways, I visited my cousin again. Helped her with her business. She has milktea, burger, and siomai business btw. So I helped her just to get out the house. I went home and played the game in my phone. Today's unproductive, I did nothing worth it today. All I want right now is the sun will set so I can sleep in my bed. Bye Diary.

-----

May 16, 2021

Hello diary, I have a very good dream but I remembered only one-fourth of it and it frustrates me. I washed the dishes, trying to remember it but it turned out I had a headache. Whatever! Today I feel like painting clouds so I did. But it failed, it doesn't look like a cloud lol. Anyways, I rode a bike and just did some turns around the neighborhood. Everything looks fine today, so I smiled because it is. Played the shitty game again, this one only made me a bad person, I made too many curses while playing it. But anyways, I badly want to get back to bed hoping I'll remember that dream.

-----

May 17, 2021

Woke up early, cuz its Monday. Get in the loop without taking a bath or even eating. Only wore my glass so it's not too obvious. I'm listening why my hands are making sketch, I do multitask sometimes lol. After the class, I did some undone worksheets. So burned out, I need sleep. But after finishing it, I ride the bike again and bought some Siomai to reward myself. It simple, boring, and cloudy Monday. The tomatoes are not sprouting yet, I'm doubting it. I'm thinking maybe it won't bloom. Anyways I water mom's plant again. Her red rose is blooming beautifully. Writing this at 1am, hope I woke up early tomorrow. See you tomorrow Shanne Mae.

-----

May 18, 2021

Woke up on the good side of the bed; it's good . Not until they refuse me to go to Shanne Mae's debut. Feels like hell. Imagine already dressed up and you have to change again but this time change for your usual home attire. I hate this lifetime! I don't get to enjoy every moment with friends anymore. They always stop me or don't allow me to go! I'm just really upset, frustrated and stressed at the moment. Plus, I have to do the pending work. Heck! Bye gotta do it. Still distracted ang upset, I hate everyone.

ps. I hate it when they make me look like a fool. I'll hate you from this day on jackass jake

-----

May 19, 2021

Woke up still hating Jake, whatever hope karma finds you. No, I don't really mean that. Hahaha. Anyways, I woke up. The usual classes, activities, and lectures. They called, the gc is loud I can't relate:'<. Distracted myself by playing games again, I don't feel like going out today. I watched a movie, romcom is cute but I want tragic endings like the one movie called "Spontaneous" . It's not a romcom but yeah. I made dinner and ate a lot. Dunno what to do next. Sat and spend all of my time with Facebook. See you in tomorrow's diary...

[somefinelipstickonthatpig]

Omfg yes please write Sormik hanahaki, it will be so painful

done and done i hope the angst is to your liking my friend (╯’ u ’)╯

FYI, This whole endeavor was heavily inspired by @doodlesala‘s work for Sormik Week 2017 found here (really it’s beautiful you should go see it).  

Enjoy!!

[Read on AO3]

The first petal came without warning, in the middle of a fight while ontheir way to Rayfalke Spiritcrest. Sorey had just deflected a hellion that hadcharged for Mikleo’s open back—a weird and filmy moment in the Shepherd’s memory—andfelt a tickle in the back of his throat. He shoved himself in between, behindthe water seraph, and swung his sword in a wide arch to move the enemy and theother beast with it back. He purified the first hellion. He felt himself gag.

He bent his body away from the battle. Something was rising with everyawkward and half-obscured breath and when whatever-it-was turned out to be softand tickled his lip after he coughed it up, he curiously lifted it away to seea soft blue petal.

Funny, he thought as he stared at the petal pinched between his twofingers in puzzled shock. He couldn’t remember eating flowers for breakfast.

“Sorey!” Mikleo cried out. His voice was strangely distant.

Back to the fray, then; as quickly as he had left it. Sorey dropped the petal,spun, and parried off the beast that came for him with an open maw.

He forgot all about the petal until Marlind, when a second one surfacedin the middle of the night.

Like before, it started with a tickle. Sorey sat up and pressed a hand tohis throat with a wince. He pressed his other hand to the mattress beneath himas if holding himself upright would help get whatever was stuck in his airwayout. He coughed; Mikleo beside him stirred. Alisha slept without a care in thebed to their left, and Edna and Lailah were nowhere to be seen.

Sorey’s knees pulled up to form a tent in the blanket. He curled forward,covering his mouth until finally he felt the slip and slide of something softfall out of his mouth and into the palm of his hand.

It was strangely hypnotic to see such a bright, pretty blue thing lie thereso innocently, damp with his own saliva. It had been the cause of suchdiscomfort mere minutes prior; why was it so beautiful? Sorey turned the petalover and over, tracing its surface. He wondered if perhaps the far moreimportant question here to answer instead was: yes it was pretty, but why was it in his throat?

“Sorey…?”

Green eyes darted to bleary violet. Sorey’s hand clenched tight aroundthe petal and he smiled. “Sorry. Had a weird dream. Did I wake you?”

Mikleo made a sound somewhere between a groan and an affirmative grunt.His hands slid under the pillow, pressed together like a prayer. His amethysteyes closed. Sorey would be lying if he tried to claim that some part of himwasn’t fond of the endearingly human way Mikleo had taken to sleeping. “Whatwas it about?” the water seraph mumbled.

“Uh…” Sorey’s fist clenched tighter. He could feel the petal fray in hishold. “…nothing.”

Mikleo hummed. “Wow, what a ‘weird’ dream.”

“It was just…flowers, and…stuff.” Sorey stared at Mikleo. He shiftedunder the covers. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Me too,” Mikleo said, though he was already out by the time Soreyfinally laid back down.

The third time happened just after Alisha left and he was supposed tofeel “better.” Without so much strain on his own resonance, Sorey knew the ideawas he should be able to heal and recover and get stronger to fight moreMalevolence.

But if that was supposed to be the case, the young Shepherd wondered why inthe world it was, then, that he found himself doubled-over under the treebeside their camp early the next morning. He coughed and hacked his way throughthree petals that slipped out of his mouth. Harrowed breaths and shakingfingers reached for the small, blue things that had fallen among the roots,afraid to touch them—but more afraid than that to let anyone else see them.

Again…?

“Sorey?” Mikleo’s voice carried to him, gaining volume as the seraphapproached with measured footfalls. “Are you all right?”

Sorey’s hand snatched the petals out of sight. “Fine!” he answered. Bothfists clutched tight to his chest. He turned to look over his shoulder in timeto see his best friend stop within arm’s reach. From Sorey’s angle beneath him,the sunlight seemed to frame Mikleo’s pale hair around his face like a halo.

Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest. His amethyst eyes trailed alongthe ground around Sorey at the base of the tree carefully; Sorey thought hisheart might pound right out of his chest.

“You didn’t sound like it,” the seraph commented quietly. “Almost soundedlike you were throwing up.” All of a sudden, those eyes—so royal and violet andbeautiful—snapped to his and narrowed. “Were you?”

“N-no!”

“You’re not just trying to play the ‘strong’ card again, are you?” Mikleoasked flatly. “Because if you’re sick, you’re sick. Let’s just head back toMarlind until you feel better; there’s no need to make a big deal about it.”

“I’m not sick,” Sorey tried to say, but his voice sounded weak even tohis ears. Was he?

Something unreadable passed over Mikleo’s face. He paused, his formcompletely still; his eyes stared into Sorey’s with an intensity that almostscared the kneeling Shepherd. But when he spoke, his voice was quieter thanbefore. “Sorey?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Sorey turned to fully face the seraph. His hands, still clenched, fellaway from his chest and pressed to his knees. “Yeah! Yeah, of course I would…!”

Mikleo’s face tightened. His jaw clenched and unclenched as if workingfor words that wouldn’t come. Finally, his hands dropped to his sides. “Yeah,all right. Well.” He took a breath. “C’mon. I’m telling Lailah and Edna.”

“Wait! About what?”

“We’re going back and you’re going to rest.That’s what.”

“Mikleo…!”

Going back to Marlind, Sorey found, actually turned out to be both ablessing and a curse. Briefly bedridden in a town full of books first gaveSorey the idea to research for information as to what was happening to him. Butthe truth about petals popping up out of peoples’ mouths were nowhere to befound in the literature Marlind had available. He had to keep looking.

Lastonbell had some tragic folktales whispered among their cobblestonestreets that mentioned unrequited love and lips full of flowers, but they werenothing concrete Sorey could glean information from. They were just depressing.

The first bit of hope Sorey could get his hands on didn’t come untilPendrago, and by that point, he had already been steadily leaving behind thegroup a small trail of petals drifting after their footsteps along theirjourney. Stolen moments hidden away—“I need to go to the bathroom”—as soon asthe itch in the back of his throat started. Vignettes of solitude interruptedby swirling nausea and one, then two, then three, then four petals.

One horrible day, he coughed up seven.

It did not escape his notice he could have folded himself a pale bluerose with the fallen pieces; he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The petal count steadily increased week by week, and soon, day by day.

Then, Sorey finally found the word: hanahaki.

It was in an old mythology textbook in the library at Pendrago. A namefor the mysterious flowers that sprouted up from somewhere deep within; a ‘disease’born from a spell (not that Sorey remembered ever having been struck by such aspell) that only worked under very specific internal conditions:  the intended target had to have a love foranother that was, to their knowledge, unreturned. Should that condition be met,the target of the spell would slowly, over time, start to choke on the ‘flowersof their affection’ stirred up from inside.

Sorey traced the short entry with his fingers and committed them tomemory. Hanahaki, hanahaki. At somepoint, he had to have been hit with such a spell as the one detailed in thetext, but what boggled him was how? Why? And perhaps more importantly than bothof those questions:  was there a cure?Sorey’s eyes drifted to the words below.

Sharply, he snapped the book shut and shoved it back onto the libraryshelf. He stared for a moment at the innocent, faded navy siding of the tome.He felt his heart pound hard inside his chest at the same time as it pangedwith guilt. He spun away and wondered how long it would take to find the otherswho were still milling, he hoped, somewhere in the library. He wondered if theywould notice if he took his time trying to find them again.

Sorey wasn’t a fool.

He had known even before he and Mikleo had left Elysia that he loved theseraph. He knew that fact as easy as he knew his own name; it was obvious. Mikleowas easy to be around and so deeply intertwined in his life that whenever Soreythought about the great and unknown expanse of the future stretching beforehim, there had been no question in his mind that he wanted Mikleo there with him to face it all, more than anyone else.

He loved Mikleo.

There had never been a need toquestion it. So the success of the hanahakispell wasn’t surprising to the Shepherd in the least. Yes, there wassomeone he loved; yes, there was someone he deeply cared about and wanted toprotect. But the only arduous part of the entire matter was that the key to hiscure, then, didn’t rest in his own hands.

It rested in Mikleo’s.

And it quickly became apparent to Sorey as he walked by shelves andshelves filled with books as far as the eye could see, endlessly wandering andchurning this newfound knowledge over and over again in his mind, that if theonly way to rid himself of this spell was to have Mikleo return his affections,then there might really be nothing he could do to save himself.

If Mikleo loved him back, then that would be great—for many reasons otherthan just not dying because of flower petals.

But if Mikleo didn’t, then that meant there was no safe way for Sorey toarrange for his own survival.

What am I supposed tosay? Hey, Mikleo, please love me so you can save my life! What kind of questionis that?

No, that wasn’t an option. All of the expectations and pressure thatcould be placed on his best friend, putting Mikleo in such a situation where hehad to somehow find it within himself to love him in a way that maybe the waterseraph hadn’t ever really wanted to—Sorey didn’t want anything to do with that.He couldn’t put Mikleo in thatsituation. Wouldn’t. Ever.

“Sorey! There you are!”

So that left him few other choices if he wanted to survive this, if thereeven were any leftover. The entry in this book in the Pendrago library wassmall, but Sorey had to hold out hope, right? Perhaps there were other booksout there. Perhaps there were other options available to him than justmanipulating his best friend’s feelings—

“We’ve been looking everywhere foryou! I’m so bored; are you ready to leave yet? We might want to think aboutheading back to the inn here pretty soon. Edna’s threatened to gouge outMikleo’s eyes if he doesn’t stop reading, and y’know, I can’t quite tell yetwhen she’s joking or not….hey, you listening?”

—a hand on his shoulder turned him around.

Sorey raised his gaze from the carpet, bright green meeting sapphireblue. Rose’s eyes raked over his face. The bright grin on her face faltered.

“Hey,” she said. Her voice dropped in volume; her hand didn’t leave hisshoulder. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Sorey looked back to Rose and didn’t know what to say. What could he say?

He licked his lips. “Can I…talk to you about somethin’?”

Rose’s back straightened. Her hand squeezed his shoulder; it didn’t fallaway. “Hey. You know you can, Sorey.”

Sorey nodded. He took a breath.

Rose, to her credit, did not look away once. Sorey told her about thespell—or maybe curse—he was under. He confessed he didn’t know when it had beenplaced on him; she didn’t laugh when he said he didn’t remember. She didn’tpull away when she heard about the flower petals. She didn’t even blink when heconfessed to her his affections for Mikleo—actually, for some reason, shestarted to smile at that but Sorey wasn’t sure how to interpret the way it soclosely resembled a feline’s—and the awkward place this put him in.

She stayed right with him until the end of his story and in the quietafterwards, she sighed.

Rose placed a hand on her hip and raised the other to scratch at the backof her head. “Wow. That…sucks.”

Sorey chuckled softly, a little hopelessly. He nodded; he wasn’t sure ifthat was the words he would use to describe it, but they were close enough. Hiseyes dropped to the floor. “Yeah, I guess so,” he murmured.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. Her bright blues reevaluated theShepherd before her. “Do you think you’ll tell the others?”

A cold jolt sparked down Sorey’s chest. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I mean, this is all because of a spell, right?” Rose asked. “Andseraphim are like, centuries old. Somaybe Lailah knows something about it. Heck, even Edna. They use all sorts ofweird magic to do what they do, yeah?”

Sorey’s cheeks dusted red. He raised a hand to scratch just under hiseye. “Yeah, maybe.”

Rose sighed after a moment of pause. “You’re not going to tell them, areyou?”

Sorey pressed his lips tightly together. Something like shame colored hisface and spread down his neck to his collar. “Rose, if Mikleo found out—“

“—no, no, I get it. I get it.” Rose shifted her weight. “Believe me, Ido.” She frowned, eyes taking in Sorey, the carpet, the books to their rightand left. All of these pages of writing and years of history and no guidance onwhat to do when a hanahaki spell forcedyou to hold your silence. “Look, I won’t tell you what to do, because I don’t know what to do here, but if you needhelp at any time as we try and figure this out, let me know. Okay?”

It was more than Sorey had wanted. He nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

“I mean it,” Rose stressed. Her blue eyes pinned the green ones acrossfrom her. “This doesn’t have to be like that Shepherd thing, okay? You alreadygot to deal with that; you’re not dealing with this alone, too. No, scratchthat—I’m not letting you deal with italone. You don’t even get a choice. So you’ve got to let me know when you needsomething, all right?”

Sorey smiled and for some odd and wonderful reason, he laughed. Relief,warm and happy, slid through him. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a quiet bounce.“Thanks, Rose.”

Rose hadn’t known how tense she held her shoulders until she felt themrelax. “Yeah,” she said back. “Don’t mention it.”

They set up a system. When Sorey felt the familiar tickle in the back ofhis throat, he gave Rose a sign. All the assassin had to see was a tap to thefront of his neck, and she understood. She came up with excuse after excuse tohelp Sorey get a moment to himself. It ranged by the day.

“Hey, Sorey, why don’t you get us some firewood? I hear it’s gonna getcold tonight!”

“Wow, Sorey, you smell. Take abath already! Go on, get out of here! Pew-pew!”

It worked until it didn’t.

Until the attacks took more and more time because the petals just keptcoming. The gasps between coughs grew too short and the nausea swept in like athick cloud. There were days Sorey thought he’d black out because he couldn’t breathe around all of the blue. Sevenpetals at the end of an episode became a mercy; more often than not Sorey foundhimself coughing up to ten. Sometimes, fifteen.

The numbers continued to increase; Sorey didn’t know what he could do.Gododdin offered no new hope or information in their small library to analternate route that could stop the curse. Sorey began to wonder if the spellwould really kill him before he got a chance to purify the world.

Then the night came where Sorey couldn’t stop coughing and Rose wasn’tthere to help him and everything changed.

It had been after the Fire Trial. Rose was bedridden because she had beenheavily injured in the final fight against the armored Salamander; she restedback at the inn in Gododdin with Lailah, who also needed to recover fromIgraine. Sorey felt the timely, familiar itch at the back of his throat andfumbled for an excuse about taking a walk outside.

He should have known with such a throw-away line he would have beenfollowed.

Sorey had taken a single step outside of the inn and gagged. He stumbled.He clasped a hand to his mouth and forced himself to breathe. In and out—in andout. No matter how thin each inhale and exhale was. He could feel the firstpetals flutter in the back of his mouth.

He pushed on.

Sorey got just far enough away from the small village, tucked away in acorner between the cliffsides where he was sure he wouldn’t be seen, before helet his hand fall away. The petals came, one after another through seizingcoughs, steadily. Sometimes, three or four fell out in a single heave. A gaspand a gag and then more fell out and onto the ground and Sorey couldn’t stopit. They just came. He tried to breathe between every other strangled rasp, buthe couldn’t get the chance to inhale enough to even exhale.

He raised one hand to his mouth, shaking, trying to stem the flow. Thepetals came anyway, slipping out, between his fingers. He raised his other handand felt a harsh tightness in his chest. Two at a time fluttered past his hands—

“Sorey?”

His gasp nearly choked him on the petals still coming up. Sorey, with ahandful of light blue still pressed to his mouth, snapped around. His greeneyes were wet and wide.

There stood Mikleo, with amaranthine eyes equally as wide, his hands athis sides.

“D—“ Sorey gagged. He bent over, shoulders curled in.  A tear slipped from his eye and his headpounded with pain. He dropped a hand to the ground, keeping himself upright. Hecouldn’t breathe. His lungs hackedfor air. “—I’m—“

“Y-you idiot!”

It wasn’t the response he expected. Neither was the shadow that fell overhim and the hands that grasped his shoulders, pulling him back towards aslender chest. Mikleo’s touch was cool against his fevered skin. Soreyshuddered; his stomach flipped. “Is this whatyou’ve been trying to hide from me? I knewthere was something wrong!”

Sorey coughed over the next three that landed on his tongue. He breathedthem free. “I’m—I’m sorry—“

“Don’t you dare try and say that right now. I’m—“ Mikleo shook his headand sighed out a horrible breath. “—just…just breathe, okay? I may not know what this is, but I can bet that panickingdoesn’t help.” The hands on Sorey’s shoulders squeezed. “So calm down, breathe,and let it come. Okay?”

“’Kay,” Sorey warbled. Two more petals dropped through his shakingfingers.

Mikleo kept him pressed to his chest and didn’t let go. Sorey could hearthe shudder of his breath in the gaps between his own haggard gasps. A handfound its way into his hair.

“This has been going on since Marlind, right?” Mikleo’s voice was quiet,unobtrusive. His chest rose and fell and Sorey listened, shuddering. The waterseraph corrected himself. “No, before that. Ever since you took that curse. That’s when it really started.Isn’t it?”

Curse?

Sorey moved to sit up. His stomach swam; he swallowed and felt anawkward, choking flutter in his throat. He coughed out two more and groaned. “C-curse…?”

Mikleo frowned. “You don’t remember? There was that spell in RayfalkeSpiritcrest that you took for me. We were fighting that one hellion with that…wolf-thing.”

Vague images swim to the forefront of Sorey’s mind; filmy snapshots of abattle that he half-remembered, intermittent with the familiar feel of hissword in his hand and a wide arc to his swing that left him open. Kind of likeMikleo’s back, which he had been trying so hard to defend. It felt so long agocompared to now, where he was cradled in the middle of a small pool of petals thathad been born from within himself.

“You leapt in the way of it and got hit with this spell we’d never seenbefore, but you didn’t go down. You kept fighting like nothing happened, so weall assumed you were fine and it didn’t work.” The frown on Mikleo’s facedeepened. “I should’ve known it wasn’t nothing.”

Sorey’s chest shook with another rattling cough. His hand caught the nextpetals. “S-sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”Mikleo asked.

Sorey shook his head, unable to find the words, but Mikleo shook his headright back, quick and firm. Forcefully, he turned Sorey’s shoulders to facehim. “No, stop that. We’re talking aboutthis, you idiot. I don’t care if you’re mad at me; I’m making this right. Rightnow.”

Sorey’s brow dipped down. He frowned. “Mad? Why would I…be mad at you?”

“Because I was the reason you got hitwith this—whatever-it-is!” Mikleo waved a hand towards the petals lyingaround them; petals he himself was kneeling in without fear or disgust. It wasa strange time for Sorey to suddenly feel overwhelmed with gratitude andfondness for the seraph who hadn’t batted an eye at the strange sight of hisbest friend coughing up blue flowers. But warmth blossomed through him, anyway.His stomach gave a twinge of warning.

Mikleo continued talking. “I thought you were mad at me because of something the curse was doing to you.”

“Why?” Sorey wracked his mind to try and understand. He coughed out apetal, then two. They floated to the ground between their close knees. “Whywould I be mad at you for something—“ –a thin breath— “—something like that?”

“I don’t know!” Mikleo’s hands clenched into fists in the arms of Sorey’scloak. “You wouldn’t talk to me aboutit. You wouldn’t say anything anymoreand you started acting weird. You’d come up with these pathetic excuses to gooff and be by yourself at random times, and I thought you didn’t want to bearound me anymore.”

“W-what?”

“Let me finish!”

Sorey could see the sheen in Mikleo’s violet eyes. It made him quiet,staring at his friend, his dearest person,as he clung to him by thin handholds.

Mikleo visibly swallowed. A strange tension started to form at the edgesof his temple and in the clench of his jaw. It reminded Sorey of a moment undera tree some months ago when he saw that same handsome face work for words thatjust would not come.

“We have always told each othereverything, Sorey. Always. And whenyou started drawing into yourself—“ –the water seraph shook his head—“—watching you do that because you’re the Shepherd is one thing, because thereare some things you do and have to deal with that I can’t understand. But whenyou didn’t want to talk to me about this cursethat had been put on you all because you were trying to protect me—and when you started hanging out withonly Rose more and more, Ithought—w-well, what else was Isupposed to think?!”

Guilt dropped heavily into Sorey’s stomach, a cold and sinking stone.

“It’s not like you to be angry or hold a grudge at anything. I know that,more than anyone. But I guess I was still…” Suddenly, sharply, Mikleo shook hishead. His face grew tighter. His eyes snapped to Sorey’s. “No, what I thoughtdoesn’t matter. I want to help, Sorey. I know I messed up by getting you inthis mess, so I want to make this right by getting you out of it. Let me helpyou.”

Sorey’s back straightened quickly. Alarm blared through his mind; hishead swam. “But—“ What could he say?

“—let me finish, Sorey,” Mikleorepeated, his gaze unwavering. His hands freed themselves from the Shepherd’scloak and raised to the young man’s cheeks, cupping them with a suddenreverence. “Even if you don’t like me as much as you used to, please, let me help. I still care about you, okay? I still—”

“—Mikleo—“

“—I love you, Sorey.”

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat.

A soft gasp escaped him. His eyes widened.

For one surreal moment, time seemed to stand still; all life stoppedbreathing, stopped existing, stopped turning just for one small moment when Sorey stared into Mikleo’seyes and something loosened deep in his chest.

“W…” Sorey found himself unable to breathe for an entirely differentreason than the bright blue petals now encircling them, lying in stark contrastto the deep red earth of Biroclef Ridge. “…what did you say…?”

Mikleo’s eyes shut tight with a wince. His hands slowly pulled away fromSorey’s face. “I said…I said ‘I love you.’”

Silence drifted between them.

Mikleo didn’t dare open his eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have saidthat. I know that puts you in a bad positi—“

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

Soft lips pressed to his own in a messy kiss. They tasted something likehydrangeas and lavender and Mikleo gasped into it, electricity shooting throughhim. His eyes shot open.

Sorey’s hands had latched themselves into his shirt.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mikleo found his own hands wandering back firstto Sorey’s cloak, and then his shoulders. They gripped tight the fabric theycould find, fingers digging and holding. One hand slid up to cup a tanned cheek.

They parted too soon.

“S-Sorey…?” Mikleo licked his lips; he could still taste Sorey on them.

The human before him chuckled, something warm, soft, and husky that madeMikleo shiver for reasons he couldn’t fully name. “I guess I’m not the onlyidiot here if you honestly think I would have eyes for anyone else but you.”

Amaranthine looked to emerald. “So Rose isn’t—“

“—not in a million years.” Sorey’s grin was too wide to be a lie. Mikleofound himself easing into his hands as they slid around the small of his back.“I’ll explain it all later. I’m sorry I couldn’t have told you earlier, but now,you more than anyone deserve to know what’s been going on.”

Mikleo nodded. His eyes drifted down to the petals still lying aroundtheir legs; a theater of flowers for the stage of their little ‘budding’romance. Lailah would be proud of thatone. “I imagine it’s quite a story.” He raised his gaze to Sorey’s eyesagain, growing serious once more. “Do you promise to let me in, too, this time?I can help. I’ll do everything I can to help you get better, Sorey. We can lookthis curse up in the libraries we’ve visited; there’s got to be something inthere on how to cure—“

“—Mikleo,” Sorey said, with a smile on his face that could rival the sun.“As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already cured me.”

Skepticism painted itself on pale, porcelain features. Mikleo raised athin eyebrow. “Is this from one of your awful poems?”

“No,” Sorey stifled a laugh.

“Is this you playing the ‘strong’ card again?”

“No,” Sorey repeated and laughed again. “This is me finally telling youthe truth.”

He leaned forward and kissed Mikleo again, bringing their bodies as closetogether as he could. A clear wind whistled through the canyon and swept up theremains of flower petals around them. It tossed them into the sky.

[trulyowenfree]

Why Norwood Fisher might think I'm the Devil!

  Well, after that random roadside run-in with Johnny Knoxville (see my last blog entry), you can bet I was ready and gunning! With game stickers in hand, and the tie-straps of my backpack (it's an old olive-green canvas military one) halfway undone, so I could get into it quick. Even though it's not what I expected when I went to LA, or certainly not what I went there for, serendipitously meeting one mega-celebrity had me vow silently to myself...that the next one wasn't gonna get away so easily. After such a huge 'defeat' I decided very firmly, that if I ran into any more celebrities on that tour, like Sean Penn, Josh Brolin, or even Crispin Glover...then I was gonna make darn sure that I at least got a book into their hand. And hopefully even tell them something about my TV and Movie ideas. Though of course...I also really didn't think any of that kinda stuff was gonna happen again. Not to goofy old me anyway. But, if you are a True Fighter like I am, then every defeat you get handed is only an excuse to fight harder, and so that's exactly what I did. I hit those sweet old LA streets the very next day! Right back out there, trying to make my own Luck! And I even put that lucky Devil Pin on my hat (the one I found on the train down from Seattle) to see me safely through the city. This time I caught the train out to Santa Monica, and planted stickers all around the college. Then I hit the library and handed out some more fliers until the cops started looking my way, and you can say whatever you want about the folks in Los Angeles, but most of them are at least half-friendly. I mean, nobody threw the fliers back at me or anything, but no one really seemed like they cared a whole bunch either, and I even found a few of them cast down onto the ground around the corner, like brightly colored leaves that had just fallen off the Give-a-Damn Tree. So of course I picked them up, because nobody likes a litter bug...and they also have a link to my website, right there on the front. Next I rented another scooter and cruised down the beach-path through Venice, and on to Marina Del Rey, where boy-oh-boy do they got boats! My skull and crossbones stickers didn't look out of place at all either. Not there among all the sailboats and mega-yachts. Like any minute now a group of Real Pirates might shamble down the sidewalk and invite me out to lunch or something. Or maybe even rum, but I only drink coffee now.

I stopped off at the library there too, and people seemed very responsive when I told them about my books and handed them a flier. People who live on boats tend to be a literate lot, since cruising often has a bunch of down time to it, and books don't eat up your batteries. So a well stocked library is a fine addition to any good vessel, and especially books about pirates and treasure, or even just a few short sea tales, or traveling to another country. After Marina Del Rey I headed back to Venice, and my dear readers...I have to tell you...that place is kind of a Heartbreak now. It used to be one of the most magical parts of the Los Angeles metro area, or am I wrong? More than many other places in the City of Angels...Venice will make you feel like any second you might become famous. Like any given moment you and Roller Skate Guitar Guy might end up on the big screen, or that some big producer might spot you loitering by old Muscle Beach and ask you to be in their film. And the Boardwalk... But now...in late 2018...the whole neighborhood smells like some kinda' thrown-away-dirty-hippie-super-polluted-gutter-punk-Hemp-Fest; with two-block long piles of garbage, and super depressing homeless encampments in almost every alley. Even all along the main sidewalk at the beach, like nobody cares at all anymore, or like The Desolation has just gotten so far out of hand now, that there just is no way to ever catch up again. Like there really never was a way to take care of everyone, and we are all on our own now. Welcome to Hell. And don't get me wrong either, I'm not against Marijuana legalization or even Weed itself, but when it's all you can smell all day, and there are kids and families around, but so many crowds of heavily unwashed people (who are obviously the ones smoking it, right out in the open)...well...it just doesn't have the attraction it used to for me. Which is totally fine actually. I've been meaning to quit anyway, and the outside thought that it might lead me (back) to a life on the streets someday...is a clear and easy deterrent. Nobody wants to be a smelly old street bum. No matter how high or drunk you get all day. But I was just being dramatic above. Ganja by itself will probably never force a person out into a life of blatherskite level homelessness, but it's still a good idea to be careful. I bought myself a new hat from one of the vendor booths along the main drag. A distressed-looking ball cap with the big brown bear from the California flag riding an even bigger bright green surfboard. Then I went to find myself something decent to eat, away from all the smells and commotion. Which wasn't as hard as I am making it sound really, because Venice, California is still one of the hippest, coolest, and most interestingly flavorful places on the planet, so I ducked into one of the many colorfully decorated breezeways off the main boardwalk and found a cute little one-of-a-kind coffee shop to get a sandwich from. Two fried eggs on good wheat toast, with broccoli sprouts and feta cheese...and yes oh yes I poured a whole bunch of hot-sauce on there too. Then, what was shaping up to be a super-fine day turned into an even brighter one, because when I stepped back out into the courtyard a long thin and lovely Mocha-skinned lady was sitting at one of the tables underneath a brightly colored canvas umbrella, and she smiled really wide and toothily at me when I looked her way, so I walked right over and sat down next to her. I guess I must have looked like Mr. Confidence about the whole thing too, because she even cleared all her papers and books over to one side of the table, just so I could put my plate, cup, and backpack down. But, if you've ever read anything else I write, then you know darn well I was actually coaching myself through each and every played-out moment, like: “Oh man, you're doing good, Free...don't screw it up. Just keep your cool and do not let her know how fine she really is. Holy crap! Look at those...cheekbones. Ah ha ha ha!!” (Look, I'm really only asking your opinion here, but do you guys think it means a person is clinically crazy...if they laugh out loud at their own jokes---but only inside their own head...a lot? OK...maybe even all the time. Well? Huh? Does it? Wha'd'ya think? And...what about if it echoes?)

Her name was Nadia and she said she lived over in Inglewood, but liked to come out to the beach to visit her mother in her condo. She reminded me of a dancer as we talked, with quick graceful movements of her long lovely hands, and an evil-sweet toothy smile that could melt the paint right off a gas pump from fifty yards away. Nadia smelled like some kind of bright purple flower too, so I leaned in close as we spoke, just to breathe in as much of her as I could. And she didn't seem to mind at all. “So what brings you out here to LA? You come down to try some of this Cali bud? Shit'll knock you right out if you ain't careful...” “No honey, I'm visiting from Colorado, and we have all the Weed you could ever ask for. It's like going to Baskin Robbins or something; 33 flavors in every store. I'm actually out here on a book tour, to promote my new Treasure Hunt Game. I write coffee-table adventure books, and if you solve the puzzles inside...you could be the first to find my Hidden Pirate treasure.” I took out a copy of the first book, and I even had a couple copies of Three Short See Tails with me too, so I laid them out on the table for her to look through, while I bragged about myself some more. But don't be trying to judge me for it either. You would have pulled all the stops out for this girl too. I mean it y'all...she was fine! And the sizzling hot idea of me scoring even one of her Cappuccino kisses made it seem like the whole rather uphill tour might just pay off after all. Yes! “So you're a real shipwreck treasure hunter? Wow! Man, my horoscope even said I was gonna meet somebody interesting today, but I didn't know it was gonna be someone like you. This must be our lucky day.” The way Nadia looked at me right then, with just a bit of flush to her cheeks, and dilated auburn eyes, let me know she really meant what she said, so I took her beautiful brown hand and moved myself even closer, suddenly feeling a whole lot warmer in the cool December air. “I actually have to get going right now, Babe. I'm out here today doing a bunch street-level promo work for my website, and I want to cover as much ground as possible before dark. Sunset comes kinda early this time of year, though not nearly quite as bad as up in the mountains, but I want to try and hit the gym before dinner too. Do you think maybe we could meet up later? If you're not busy...” “I actually am busy tonight.” As she picked up my phone and started typing her number into it. “I have my kids this evening, but we could go out tomorrow night if you are still around. I'd love to show you all the local sights.” She gave me another one of those smolderingly fantastic LA Woman looks, and let it linger even longer just to punctuate her last sentence, so my dumb old heart fell right into it. Pounding so loudly now at the thought of what 'sights' she might have been exactly referring to, that I was totally sure sweet Nadia might even hear it. So I gathered up all my things as calmly as I could and excused myself quickly, before I fumbled and failed, but then made sure to steal a kiss from her velvety fragrant cheek as I walked away. Just in case it was all a dream. Out on the sand again, I ran into a regular looking middle-aged guy running an expensive looking metal detector back and forth across the golden cinnamon sand. We met over by the graffiti walls, near Old Muscle Beach. I stopped him to talk, and he was very friendly, especially when I told him about what I was out there doing, and that I was a detectorist too.

“Yeah, I actually live up there in Ventura, but we come down here on the weekends and do really well sometimes. One weekend me and my partners found six-thousand dollars worth of jewelry. Not too bad for only the cost of a tank of gas! But I sure would like to get down there to Florida some day though. I bet I could really clean up.” I asked him (I think his name was Jonah) if it was OK for me to put a picture of him on my blog, and he said it was no problem at all, so here you go sir, and Good Luck: Next I stopped by the book-store in Venice, to try and consign my work, but the buyer wasn't in so I made my way over to the Santa Monica Pier, sticking my skull-and-crossbones Treasure Hunt stickers everywhere I went in between. On the backs of signs, on light-posts, dumpsters, newspaper stands, and especially onto any pieces of graffiti I really liked. Though of course one has to wonder at the possible efficacy of a sticker-marketing campaign...in a place so very sticker-polluted as Venice. Like everybody who has access to a printer and a pack of label-paper tried to leave their mark at one time or another, but at least I'm not the only one. Santa Monica was totally crowded that day too, since it was a Saturday. Just imagine a half-crushed case of sardines thrown down into a trash compactor, then getting squashed by some gigantic falling boulder. I mean it. We could barely move! And then a box of canned peas and carrots showed up on the very next train. So it was packed! I put up with it long enough to fight my way out to the end of the pier. And I was lucky enough to spot a long silver sea-lion playing around in the foam while waiting around for a fish. The ocean was green and cool-looking, with long strands of red-blue Kelp undulating around the barnacle crusted pilings, and the sounds of carnival rides and screaming children hung in the air like diurnal sonic fireflies. If there even is such a thing.

And it sure is funny how the dank and briny smell of the sea goes so perfectly well with the savory floating scent of hot dogs, popcorn and cotton candy. Sorta like mermaids and pirates holding hands. They're not even of the same World really at all, but still somehow just seem naturally made for one another. The sun was getting low in the sky by that time, so I walked into the shopping district on the bluff, to go get some weight-lifting in before dark. I'm not a beef-head or anything either, in case you were wondering, or a gym-nut, health-freak, or even all that into the whole thing really, but I started going to the gym last winter (in Colorado) to keep from falling asleep when the sun went down (at 4pm), and fell totally in love with what a half-hour-a-day on the weights does for my overall energy levels. Plus I have a few deep nagging joint-injuries, from being a construction worker most of my life, and whatever beneficial chemical it is that weight-lifting releases into my body...does absolute wonders for all that stuff too. So yes, I highly recommend it, and especially after you work at a physically demanding job all day. Because then you get the real benefit. Going to the gym, or running, biking, surfing, or even playing sports after you bust your hump outside all day...is like putting the icing...on a steak. Plus, higher-end public gyms generally have really nice showers and saunas in them too, so I walked out of there feeling like a Movie Star or something. Ready to take on the World...again!

The cool evening air felt amazing on my clean and freshly-worked body, while the wafting smells of food and cigars decorated the Santa Monica streets, and I was breathing it all in deeply. I stopped at a food vendor across the street in the park on the high bluff (forgot the name), then leaned on the cement balcony and watched the lights out on the pier as I devoured three more very heavenly tacos.  I walked toward the train feeling very satisfied, and was just about to call up Nadia to make the whole day complete, when I looked to my left and noticed a couple walking leisurely beside me, which seemed out of place in the Saturday evening bustle. The man turned towards me a bit so I could see his face better, and I couldn't believe it! It was Norwood Fisher; the bass player and founding member of Fishbone!! “Excuse me sir, is your name Norwood?” “Yeah, that's me.” He replied with a wry little smile. His date was a cute and tiny surfer chick, with shiny blue eyes and a bob-style haircut. She seemed especially amused that her date was getting recognized, so they stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk, just to talk to me. I immediately pulled up my shirt-sleeve, to show him my Fishbone fore-arm-tattoo, and told him “My name is Truly Owen Free, and I've been a Fishbone Soldier (it's what they call their fans) for a really long time now. We've actually met before. A couple times, and in different towns around the country...but I'm sure you meet a lot of people....” “Well alright! That's very cool man! What you up to this evening?” “Oh I'm just out walking the city and promoting these books I've been trying to write.” As I reached for my trusty backpack. “Would you mind if I gave you one? I think you'll like it.” I handed him a sticker too, then pulled out a copy of How I Became a Real Pirate, and he took that graciously too, but I have to go ahead and tell on myself again, when I say that I was making another mistake right there. And it was because of that stupid Starstruck thing again. Norwood Fisher is one of the most down-to-Earth Rock Stars you could ever want to meet, but for some stupid reason I was getting nervous while I talked to him. I guess part of it is I feel weird for treating someone special, but I was also interrupting his date. It was all inside me though. I was the only one having a problem. If I had been paying better attention I would have realized he was ready to have a real conversation, and was genuinely interested in what I had to say, but of course I assumed otherwise, and I really can't tell you why. But I did manage to spit out, “Yeah, I'm on a multi-city promo tour for my two new books. I'm riding the trains around the country and trying to generate some sales. Grass roots style! Street level.” “Well that's the way we do it!”, as he turned the book over a couple times, to check out the cover. The copy I gave him was the older out-of-print version too (see my Amazon account); with the black cover and only the skull and crossbones on the front, and the somewhat-sinister sub-title that only comes with the full-length novel. And I don't know if it was the very piratical cover that spooked him, or if he was picking up on my nervous vibe, but when Norwood looked up again...he gave me a cock-eyed taken-aback guard-dog look, like he wasn't too sure about me now. Like he had noticed something new about me, which he hadn't seen before, so maybe now he better put his guard up. And of course that just made me even more nervous, so I said “Thank you Norwood. Hope you enjoy it, and there's links to my site inside. You guys have a good night.”, then walked away quickly, before I made it worse. I walked backwards through the crowd, away from the train (?!), so I could cross the street and not seem like I was following them. But then when I started walking up the opposite side, I looked over...and they were walking parallel to me across the busy street. Norwood just happened to look my way at the same time too, and we even met eyes...so now it looked even more awkward! Like I was stalking them, and trying not to look like it! Celebrities are so weird. Of course I called my friend Terrence back in Tarpon City, just as soon as I was on the train. He's the only other person I know who is as big of a Fishbone fan as I am, so I just had to let him in on the story. “Are you serious? And you met him in LA?! Oh man, you are out there living life, my brother Truly! I wish I could be out there with you. And you say you even gave him one of your books? That is amazing. I bet he's gonna like it.” “Yeah Terrence, I can barely believe it just happened, and I was there. I totally screwed it up though. He was being really cool, and I think he even wanted to keep talking, but then I made him nervous or something. And I totally gave him the wrong book too. I gave him a copy of the pirate one, but should have totally given him Three Short See Tails. It even has Fishbone glyphs in it, from my tattoo, but I got all nervous again. I'm such a Starstruck little kook!” “Ahhh, don't be so hard on yourself buddy. At least you're out there trying, and it sounds like luck is on your side, if you ask me. Maybe you'll run into him again, or even somebody else. So you should just keep right on doing what you're doing. But hey listen I gotta run. I'm at work right now, and somebody might have a heart attack if I don't pay attention to these monitors, so let me get back to you later. Good to hear from you, bro. Keep on truckin'!”

But you know I still beat myself up, all the back to my vacation rental, which was really just a bunk in a tiny bedroom...with four other people in it. Not even a hostel really. Just some guys house he was paying off by running an Air-BnB mill. Pretty good trick really, and you would probably meet all kinds of people. Hmmm... I got back to the room about eight, and was feeling so low I decided to call it an early one. I put my bag in a locker and was just about to hang my hat up when I noticed the shiny red Devil Pin winking at me in the lamplight. “Oh! That's probably what freaked him out! Norwood saw the black sinister book cover, and the devil pin...and thought I was The Devil himself or something. Especially with my weird old name, and especially here in LA. 'Cuz I'm sure The Devil has a house around here somewhere. Probably a few...” Fishbone has some pretty strong ties to the Gospel community, and are known to be mostly good and spiritual people too, so maybe Norwood thought I was some kinda evil weirdo trying to get at him. Or at least that's the best I could figure. And that really sucked. What another major fail! Just trying to do something good, but I ended up freaking out someone I wanted to get closer to. Dammit! I vowed right then and there...to go to the very next Fishbone show and explain myself. But if you are an adventurer too, then maybe you should check out my armchair treasure hunt. Bet you can't crack the code. Copyright 2020 Truly Owen Free. All rights reserved. Read the full article

[motheronthemountain-blog]

Postpartum Anxiety  

  I’ll spare you the two page pinterest recipe story; I have it. Remember in a previous entry where I talked about how finding the time to educate myself, prepare my body, and research further about this whole mountain climbing goal would be a struggle against time? That definitely has proved to be the case. My time does not belong to me, it rides on the whim of my (almost) one year old, and my five year old’s demands, which can be unpredictable. I’ve actually been planning this post since Mother’s Day, so that goes to show you where I am at with my time management. 

  I actually debated writing about this, and I didn’t know to what depth I would go on the topic of postpartum, but it seemed untruthful not to include this struggle in my journey. It is a part of me, ingrained in every decision I make, occupying the most inconvenient parts of my mind. It has become the little parasite in the control center of my brain, panicking at every picture that comes across the screen, and haphazardly pressing buttons. And yet, I am still me. I still have goals, I still have dreams, and hopes for my future. 

   Having Postpartum Anxiety AND Depression at the same time does little in the way of achieving these goals. At best it has left me feeling like a pile of flesh heaped on the floor, afraid to move, apathetic to the world moving around me. Except I have a baby to feed, a child to raise, and very rarely does the world stop moving, simply because I cannot gather the strength to care about it. A small part of that aforementioned control center knows that the baby must be fed, cuddled, loved, and made to feel safe, and even when that part is beating itself silly against my skull, it can be hard to muster the strength to put spoon to mouth. For me, coming out of that depression bumps my anxiety into top gear.

  When I have come out of that heap like state, it’s almost like my anxiety doubles down, as my consciousness and empathy return, my awareness of neglect promptly grows. “I haven't been looking enough into my baby’s eyes, he’ll probably grow up to be the kind of person that tortures animals now!” “I haven’t told the older one to brush his teeth in three days! His teeth are going to rot out of his head!” That little parasite pushing buttons has all of sudden sprouted six arms and hands, and is now putting out fires in every corner. Images begin running across the screen of disapproving looks from other moms, teachers, and strangers in Target. My five year old looks on in bewilderment as I start doing seven different tasks, running from one end of the house to the other, barking orders at him to clean up his toys, while trying to gleefully sing “Let’s Go Fly A Kite” to the crying infant on the floor; like some kind of disillusioned Julie Andrews on speed. Then finally when the fires are put out, (and there’s no telling how long that will take) I am restored. 

  With the parasite’s feet kicked up the desk, I am able to return those soft loving glances to my baby, I proudly maintain my five year old’s hygiene routine (and mine). This blissful period is where I am free to do things for myself, like exercise, eat right, read books, and make crazy goals like climbing/scaling a mountain. Only after of course, my boys have been taken care of, and their needs are met. When I talk about climbing a mountain, there are so many obstacles to overcome, and postpartum so far has been the biggest and the most surprising. Even knowing going into something that your mental illness may be a hindrance, it never fully prepares you for the struggles you might find along the way. I still intend to face my challenges and accomplish my dreams. I will climb mountains, and then I will climb more.  

[ceciliajwu]

Dream Eating

We are tempted to try to taste what we want to eat. We are tried for tasting the eating, or for eating the tasting. To be on trial for culinary satisfaction, or for the surplus effects of metabolism - charged with gratuitous hedonism or condemned for ostensible obesity - is a fact of a morally proper social existence that limits the having and being of earthbound denizens. To the extent that we embody ‘food factories,’ our bodies occupy the conflictual crossroads between pleasure, energy, and mass.

Temptation and trial are as inextricable as pleasure and intoxication. The truth of satisfaction is its own consequence, collapsing the apparent choice staged by the game truth or consequences - as if truth were a strictly metaphysical construct that could protect us from the grimy physicality of consequences, or vice versa.

This conundrum of embodiment manifested in a dream I had last night, an installment in a series of dreams involving the automatic pallor of my morning commute, typically manifested as the abstract sense of a long walk through an indistinct tunnel initiated by a perfunctory stop at a cafe to fuel myself with some placebo or another. In this dream, my customary cafe manifested as a spare white countertop perched on the sidewalk, attended by a dark skinned man in a staunch white uniform. I was expecting to be served my usual stick of dry pumpernickel bread, but it was out of stock (In reality, my current placebo-fuel for my daytime engine is free hot water from Starbucks to make herbal teas I stash in my pockets. I haven’t eaten grains in almost 2 years, though my husband will sometimes consume German fitness bread, a variety of pumpernickel. I often wonder when hot water will stop being free. This dream was preceded by several botched grocery deliveries where critical items were not available. I needed brussels sprouts and red butter lettuce, not ham and toilet paper!).

I experienced the lack of pumpernickel stick as if it were tragic. How could I possibly have a day without this dark, grainy satisfaction? I desperately scanned the countertop and noticed an isolated mini white crusty baguette which seemed to offer itself to me, as if it had no better purpose than to suit my paradoxically predictable whim (habit being nothing other than a mechanized fixation on a whim). It seemed to be a similar enough substitute satisfaction (to the extent that I could graduate from a paranoid schizoid state of emergency to a depressive compromise). I figured that if I could slice it up it would be metrically manageable as a calculable equivalent. (Math was important, even in the dream, perhaps as the narrative glue of secondary revision. Most of my dreams do not escape a mathematical logic, though the math is often playfully inexact, like acrobatic figures dancing around the bars of fractions in attempt to balance their structurally implicit counterparts.)

Suddenly others appeared, gathered around the countertop which expanded to become a banquet table with a luxurious white linen tablecloth. Many loaves of white bread appeared in various shapes and sizes, replete with nooks and crannies. (By contrast, the isolated baguette, wanting to be loved by the id because it is ‘so like an object,’ and the obstinately habitual pumpernickel, arbitrarily cast as the maker of my day, were homogeneously dense and dry.)

A man approached and personally offered me a special loaf, boasting of its unique property - it harbored cheese. I tasted the loaf, and the pungent cheesy flavor crystals exploded in my mouth with the vengeance of interloping pop rocks. (This intense experience of taste violates the principle of the primacy of the visual, as emphasized by Meadow. The cheese likely derived from the day residue of our discussion in class regarding the ability of cheese to trigger wild, vivid dreams. In reality, I am lactose intolerant and have not consumed cheese in decades. Scientifically, I know that cheese is high in free glutamates, the natural analogue of synthetic monosodium glutamate, which acts as an excitatory neurotoxin that can lead to hallucinations and cerebral overdrive.)

The pungency of the dream-cheese was enough to wake me up. Later that morning I went to Starbucks for belated free hot water on a non-work day, destined to become moringa tea, en route to the gym. I noticed a bag of moon cheese on the shelf as I waited, and wondered what was moon-like about it. Was it like astronaut ice cream, dehydrated and reconstituted by virtue of salivation? The monotonous music at Starbucks effectively erased the hard drive of my dream, or at least archived the recent files. Thanks to a brief hypnopompic review immediately upon waking, coupled with a conscious intent to incorporate it into my dreams class log entry, I was able to revive it and bolster its mnemic fortitude via transcription.