#bought it on steam a week ago but it just. wont. OPEN???

[azstral-wanderers]

fucking god kotor is not cooperating

[tiens-letters]

with these hands, I vowed to love you

with these hands, I vowed to care for you

and with these hands, I ruined you

Childe (angst)

tw : slight gore and just pure pain

...

It was that time of the year again, going back to the snowy region was a bliss for you. Having to visit your fiancée's family was an unspoken tradition after he introduced you to them. They practically took you in as one of them immediately, especially that little angel brother of his.

Teucer.

The train ride was comfortable , the window giving you the familiar beauty of the snowy landscape of snezhenaya. It was snug inside the rather spacious compartment Childe rented out, even when you told him that you'd rather share a normal one due to your thrifty nature he'd shrug it off, claiming it that he has too much mora and nowhere to spend it on other than you.

Gifts from him would scare you as you knew these weren't anywhere cheap. Everything he gave was expensive, he loved showering you in gifts and it made you feel so overwhelmed.

"Ajax, you're spending too much." you were visibly sweating beside him as he picked out another one of the dresses on display at the local boutique of Liyue.

"I think this one would suit you better, don't you think so love?" of course he wasn't listening, placing the dress in front of you

"Ajax." you frowned at him

" I just want to spoil you." he whines

"I know but sometimes its just..." you stopped yourself before saying anything further in fear of offending him

"Was it too much again?" the tone in his voice softens as he puts back the dress, he knew how you didn't like that habit of his, formed from the first time he saw you down by the docks.

"One dress, Ajax. One is enough since you picked it out for me." you gave in not wanting to see him so dejected, he immediately brightens up as he pecks you on cheek before rushing off to a different aisle of clothing. Sighing, you sat down on the sofa present in the shop, watching the ginger decide thoroughly of what dress to buy.

But of course, your love for one another runs deeper than things bought off gold nor silver. No, it ran deeper than anything else, rivaling the oceanic depths.

"What are you thinking about hmm?" he hums below you, head resting against your lap.

"Im just happy to be visiting again, that's all." you smile, nimble hands brushing through his soft hair "Sleep well?"

"You bet I did." he grins taking your hand and placing a kiss to your beating pulse and then another and another, showering you in his deeply rooted affection. Soon his kisses reached where they are supposed to belong, those soft lips of yours and then inching their way to the sensitive spots on your neck, leaving marks only he can place on you.

Breathless and bothered, you pushed him back "The attendants are gonna see, you idiot." at least you still had some control in you

"They will only arrive when we call them , so its fine to have a little fun before we arrive." there was that sly grin of his as he continued in where you both left off, ears perking to hear more sounds exclusively for him and him only.

"You horny bastard!"

...

It was cozy by the hearth, you and his siblings huddled together in one single fleece blanket, steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Childish giggles and hushed stories erupted amongst you. Teucer having wrapped in your arms as he snuggled closer. Anthon and Tonia flanking your sides.

"Hey, who's fiancé do you think you guys are coveting?"

"Oh don't be like that, your siblings just miss them." his mother chided from the couch where she sat, an open book on her lap, she didn't seem to age and always looked so young that at first you were shocked to have been introduced to her.

"But mom, I haven't seen her all day." her son pouts as if he were still a child denied his candy

"Give me a break, you're always clinging onto her you know." his sister rolls those identical thalassic eyes at him "You wont die if you go a day without her."

"Listen here you little---"

"Ajax." you interjected, as much as you enjoy the siblingly banter of theirs, you cant have them going at each other with offensive words. His pleading gaze aimed at you as he practically begged for you both to go home.

"Please?"

"After I put Teucer to bed." you sighed, standing up with the youngest in your arms

"Seriously this guy." his sister groaned "I was having a good time."

"Tonia dear, we can continue our conversations tomorrow." you winked at her, it was a promise

"Fine."

Both of you bid farewell to his mother and made your way towards Teucer's room and tucking him in.

"Happy?" you turned to your fiancée, a narrowed look in your eyes as he grinned beside you

"Of course, sweetheart!" he pecked your lips as he pulled you closer

"Can you not do it in Teucer's room? Have some shame." his siblings' comments were endless, this time it was from his older brother.

"That's why were going home." Childe picked you up as you made a surprised yelp making the other party roll his eyes "Also, get ready to lose tomorrow brother. I'm getting that white deer for my lady."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The walk was short towards Childe's home as he preferred living alone. It was a grandiose manor and you were sure you will never get used to how big it was and filled with such furnitures of the finest quality.

"Well, how was your day darling?" you hummed, arms snaking around his neck

"Oh you wouldn't believe it."

...

It was there.

You felt it in the cold breeze that wafted into the room.

A shift in the flow of the wind, it was different yet familiar at the same time. Leaving the window open as the harsh temperatures of the night climbed and crawled inside. The curtains danced in the turbulent current of the gale, carrying songs only you could hear. Songs that made mountains tremble and build civilizations at the same time.

there was something foreboding, something terrifying and something heavy and dark that devoured anything in its path.

You heard him first before he came in through those doors, that tousled ginger hair of his caked with melting snowflakes in the warm glow of the lamps. His rugged appearance caused by the hunting competition between him and his older siblings induced his worn out state. That soft yet jaded smile of his was what welcomed you as he trudged inside the bedroom, lazily discarding his clothes on the basket for dirty laundry and entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

"why is the window open? " he asks you, sliding inside the warm covers

"I just wanted fresh air ." you smile as you shut the windows and pull the blinds enough for you to see the moon that hung above the sky. Joining him under the covers, you cradled him, his head resting on the crook of your neck. Your hands finding their way into those soft locks of his , entangling them as he hummed softly against you. Those arms of his that held weapons and skin littered with scars both old and new now held you close, so tenderly as if he'd never taken a life before.

"sing me a song, sweetheart. " his queries were simple yet genuine

"of course." you sang until you equated him to a sleeping newborn

It was warm, so warm that you could have mistaken it for a summer afternoon in Liyue, resting on the couch with silken pillows and window showcasing the view of the harbor below. The steaming cups of soothing tea Beidou would brew for you when nights became cold at times she would pay you a visit after trading that would take weeks, months and rarely years.

you slept.

Why is it cold? you wondered, Did Ajax open the windows?

You were blessed by the tsaritsa so such climates shouldn't matter to you.

You woke up.

A shadow was cast over you by the man youve sung to sleep. Virulent blue eyes looked at you with so much abhorrence, for a second you couldnt recognize them and thought it was a stranger to which you were ready to terminate.

"Ajax?" your voice was hoarse, as you slowly lost the feeling in your lips.

He was crazed, still trapped in that dreaming state of his, drifting between experiences. Today was a re-enactment of a memory he would never speak of, not even to you. There were parts of him he'd never tell you, such a soul as yours should never hear.

You choked and coughed as the metallic taste of mortal ichor filled your throat. How could you have not felt anything earlier? Was it because of your futile attempts to coax Ajax back into reality or was it because of the numerous thoughts your mind came up with to he answer as to why he is in such a virulent state. Excruciating pain filled your whole body as you writhed and struggled under his grip. It felt as if something was being ripped out of you.

"Ajax, darling come back to me." you cried, it took so much to even utter a word as you bled out, you know not where but you could feel it. The liquid vital for your survival was seeping out of you, flowing like a lazy river on an autumns day, only that it was warm, sticky and addicting.

"Ajax?" a hiss comes from that mouth, he cringes as you freed your numb hands to hold his face and he let you, seeing as to there was no point in stopping you as you dangerously danced on a tight rope of life and death. You couldn't tell in that delirious disposition of yours if his eyes were shifting between Ajax or the primal eyes of a beast hunting its prey.

It wasn't too late was it?

But why didn't your eyes meet his?

Who snuffed out all the lights?

"I've abandoned that name a long time ago."

The cold took over you completely, freezing you until you broke under his touch with words left dying in your ichor filled lips

and then fear was the last thing you felt.

fear that he might not return to his sweet, charming self.

fear that he will curse everything in his path.

fear that he might attempt to use different various methods to bring back what was lost

and fear of his ruination.

you care not for your death, even in your last minutes of life, you dare not blame him for what he's endured so far. only wishing he never had to experience such in the first place.

This is what the wind warned you about in its lullaby.

...

Childe woke up for the second time.

Oddly more worn out than the day before, but your songs always worked, how come? . He wondered if you left to make breakfast as the covers felt empty as he reached out for you. No, you were a late riser, always having to slumber in the middle of the warm covers of the bed you both share. It was he who mostly did the cooking in the morning. So your presence gone was a displacement in the moment of his waking.

His eyes had to adjust to the view of the room as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he called for you. The pitter-patter sound of the water on the bathroom tiles were non-existent as he strained his ears to hear for any trace of you.

"What..." he was confused as to why the room was trashed, furniture broken in half and strewn about the room, the drapes shredded and laying on the floor and the mirror shattered to pieces, shards sharp enough to cut through skin yet he slept through such a thing?

his first concern was your safety as you had not been present in the room and it him.

the heavy stench of blood lingered in the air. His enjoyment for such things turned into something suffocating because blood was never shed in his own home nor in his very room. In the state of confusion, something dark caught his peripheral vision. A large blemish in the covers beside him, it was dyed a deep dark crimson and he knew well what it was. He began to shake in worry, telling himself not to panic until he finds you safe. All he could remember was you singing him to sleep, held captive in your soft arms, encased in your warmth, so how did it come to such a morning that looked like a result of a monster's tantrum. He calls out for you, his bare feet on the floor as splinters punctured them and he didnt care. he had to find you.

The hallways looked haunting, the portraits on the walls taunting him and he swore he was going lose it if he hadnt found you sooner, every room was achingly vacant and it felt like a dream. He calls for your name again in a frenzy as he rushes through the place, had the mansion been this big? he thinks as he runs down the stairs.

There in the fireplace, the dying embers of fire lit from the night before, wood giving away and turning into coal as the burning smell mingled with similar stench that engulfed the bedroom, the same dark liquid on the sheets was present as well, only that it was painted into the wall and bled down creating a cascading waterfall.

Because there you were, with arms spread out as if welcoming each and every sinner for solace and blessing them with forgiveness, the drying mortal ichor behind you creating a halo. Your lips upturned into something soft as if you'd do anything disgraceful to keep the effeminacy on a soul lost to ruin.

an angel crucified.

that oh so heavenly face of yours could rival anything beautiful, even statues would crumble under you, nations would go to war for you and bodies of those who want you would turn into a throne built for you and you only. You were immortally ethereal even in death.

Ajax, dear sweet Ajax felt his legs give away, energy having siphoned from him as he trembled so much that it could rival the mountains when they shook. Thalassic eyes, wide blown into grief, anguish and all other emotions crashed against him like strong waves that could drown anyone caught up in it. He knelt as pain spread through him like wildfire, burning, scorching and killing. Agonized cries filled the room and if someone were to pass by, they couldve mistaken it for a dying animal. He gasped and choked on his own breath as he dared to look at you, the tears freely flowing from his eyes, down to his pale cheek and finally falling off his trembling chin to be hungrily absorbed by the carpeted floor that was also tarnished by ichor.

He felt crazed as he wept and in that moment of insanity, he remembered. That most disgusting sin he's ever committed that he should never be pardoned for in the life he has right now and the next ones he will be in. Through the blur of tears, he saw his hands and he wished he didnt.

Sullied hands befitting a murderer.

He screams into the ground, doubling over as his hands find their way into his hair, gripping it and ripping out those jacinthe locks of his. He could never forgive himself now and he never will. He wails out loud until his own throat collapsed into a croaking mess.

and then he couldnt find himself no longer.

The sand of time seemed to trickle down slowly. His eldest siblings came looking for him, to continue the hunt. A once peaceful encounter turned into a nightmarish reality as they witnessed their brother rocking back and forth with you gingerly wrapped in his arms, mumbling your name. Lips pressed to your forehead as he prayed and begged for forgiveness over and over in hushed torn whispers as if it were enough to bring you back and cover that gaping hole in your abdomen.

"What did you do?"

...

"Brother, when are they coming back?"

Oh darling Teucer, innocence reflecting off his eyes as he tugged on his brother's sleeve. The toy you gifted him clutched tightly at his side.

"I dont know kid, their mission was sudden so its best to wait. Can you do that Teuc?" the truth about you was kept behind closed doors, only adults can speak of and if they did, it took time to keep the conversation smooth and off of any grief nor sadness when your name reached their tongue. The younger ones would never know until the time is right. When everything was taken care of and hearts moved on. 

Your funeral was held in secrecy yet was it was grand. Something that would hold the significance of your memories with them. It was beautiful, your favorite flowers lined along your coffin, and you. Looking ever so ethereal even when death has kissed you, clad in that dress Childe bought for you. 

"uh huh!" the youngest ginger nodded eagerly and skipped away as the eldest sighed into his hands, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders as he worried more and more about his younger sibling. Another memory, a mind broken and a his soul withering. was there any way to save him? 

Days seemed to go by as any glimpse of the man was scarce. Until one day they ceased to see him altogether. It started at lunch, a week after the funeral when it took everyone to coax him into eating more as he lost weight  and trickled down to a whole day. Cooped up in his room, clinging to a pillow with the fading scent of you. and then he was gone, like a snowflake melting upon ones forehead. They grew anxious and thought of the worse until they caught wind that he was back in Liyue from one of the agents only then were they allowed to breathe a little better. 

"Childe, what finds you here?" the calm tone of the geo archon's voice broke him out of his trance

"Have you seen my fiance?" Zhongli blinks at the question of the harbinger, he knew what befell you and yet this man before him seemed clueless enough as to what he committed. How Childe did what he did, he seemed to sympathize with in a way that would make him understand his behavior. 

" I have not." he couldnt bring himself to tell this man the truth. Perhaps he was sparing him, spearing that mind of his into spiraling down into nothingness and a heart that was held by a thin piece of thread. "Perhaps it is better to enjoy yourself while you wait for them." 

To deviate oneself from the loss might be the best way Childe right now until his mind is ready to accept the torment of the heavy truth that would slew this man. 

"I see. " he smiles and yet it feels so empty to Childe, the reason? He wouldnt know or atleast his mind wouldnt allow him to know 

"Ill see you around then Xiansheng." 

Everything that he portrayed lacked and all he could do as he's always did. 

...........

i had to.

I hope yall would get Childe :)

[elenathehun]

Challenge! Mito sealing Madara in some fashion during or just post the events of VotE (including but not limited to - sealing his eyes, his chakra, or him inside of herself). Bonus points for world building.

Literally 3.5 years later…

~~~

The first time she tends to her prisoner, it’s a spare four days after Madara’s inopportune return.  Mito’s belly no longer burns, which is more than some parts of the village can say.  She won’t forgive him for that.  In that, her husband and she are as one mind.

It’s for that reason that she rips Madara out the slowly-smoldering scroll she’d originally sealed him into, and just as quickly shoves him into the black iron tea kettle she’d hastily re-purposed for just this task.

He doesn’t even have time to scream out loud.  The kettle starts steaming, but there is no tell-tale sound of metal warping.  Good.  She’s bought herself another few months before she has to handle this pest in a more permanent manner.  Rebuilding the wards around Konoha is the highest priority at this time.  Whatever else can keep, will keep.

Mito leaves the kettle on a corner of her desk next to her ink tray, slaps the stray sparks out before they can do more than mar the lacquer veneer, and moves on to the next task on an ever-growing list.

~~~

The kettle holds together for a week shy of three months - longer than Mito had expected, given Madara’s hateful burning chakra.  Tobirama is practically foaming at the mouth to take custody of the body, but Mito has no intention of releasing her prisoner just yet. Tobirama, impatient child that he is, will just have to amuse himself with those students he’s taken on.  That should occupy him for a few years, at least.

Mito intends to take all the time she needs for this next task, and here, in the underground chamber she’d prepared specifically for this task, she has all the time and assistance she needs. The entire cell is tiled from ceiling to floor, and each tile is inscribed with a master seal for containment - both within and without.  

That master seal was her first masterwork, when she was a girl.  It elevated her above her siblings and cousins and brought her to the attention of the man she married.  It has never failed her yet.

She pulls Madara out slowly this time, ensuring the re-materialization is precise and Madara’s body lands exactly as planned on the mosaic floor, the seals inlaid into the tile activating as his body lands on the floor.  At the end of it, he’s lying spread-eagled, naked as the day he was born, and twice as angry.  Understandable: most shinobi greatly dislike the sensation of complete paralysis..

“Madara,” Mito says, ensuring her enunciation is perfect.  “I know it’s been awhile, but surely you remember the Lady Bunko, of the Akimichi Clan?”

He snarls at her, still as incandescently angry as he was a season ago, riding toward the village on a creature that should have stayed hidden far away from humanity. He didn’t impress her then; he doesn’t impress her now. 

“No?  A shame,” Mito says.  “ I do believe her to be the best surgeon in the village, even above Tobirama.”

Bunko, as tall and plump as the rest of her kin, merely kneels over Madara’s head and places her hands at his temple.  He loses consciousness in seconds, as deftly as Mito had said.  She is not inclined to false flattery when it comes to the skills of her closest associates.

“Well, the good news is that my earlier estimate for extraction still applies,” Bunko said quietly, voice barely reaching Mito’s ears.

“And the bad news?” Mito prompts, more gently than her general wont.

“No bad news,” Bunko said, a sweet smile crinkling the tattoos on her cheeks.  “I should be done in three hours.  Will you remain for the procedure, or return when it’s complete?”

“Remain,” Mito decides.  “Madara has an unpleasant habit of exceeding ordinary expectations.  I won’t have him do so again.  Proceed with the procedure; I will stand watch until the end.”

~~~

Bunko is finished well within the estimated time.  Madara’s eyes are sealed away in a glass tablet inscribed with the strongest seals Mito can create for both preservation and protection.  Madara himself will survive the enucleation, at least as far as Bunko can tell.  He’s going to get the best medical care on the continent, at least until the point when all viable information has been extracted from his feeble brain - Mito will accept nothing less.

“I’ll follow up on him in six hours,” Bunko says, offering the glass tablet to Mito.  “Do you want me to revive him, or will you wait for him to awaken naturally?”

Mito thinks for a moment on either path, before taking the tablet from Bunko’s hands and sealing it within one of the tags hanging from her bound hair.  “Revive him, please.  My second will escort you to the exit.  You’re free to come and go as necessary for this task.”

Bunko nods, and revives Madara in short order.  He tries to play dead at first - old habits die hard - but Bunko is experienced in all the ways people try to fool medics.  A quick sternum rub by the younger woman is all that’s necessary to rouse Madara back to rage, and she slips away from him and around Mito until she reaches the door to the cell.  

“Bunko,” Mito says, right as the other woman lays one capable hand on the lock.  “I thank you for your service to the Hidden Leaf.”

Bunko nods seriously, saluting a final time before exiting the room.  Mito settles back to wait Madara out.

~~~

It takes less time than she thought it would.  Apparently, Madara is familiar with the sensation of enucleation.  That’s something to think on, later.   He calms down quickly after he realizes what’s been done to him, and for the first time in a long time, seems more like the man she’d known…five years ago, perhaps.  Before Tobirama had slain Izuna, and Hashirama had made the Uchiha bow their stubborn necks.  Hashirama had such hopes for him in those days.

So much for all of that.

“How did you release the Nine-Tails?” Mito asks, as mild as milk.  

No answer.  She hadn’t expected one, really.

“It doesn’t matter if you ignore me, Madara,” she says calmly.  “I’ll learn the answer eventually, one way or the other.”

He snarls at her, as expected.  Still so utterly predictable.  “You know nothing of the power I hold-”

“What power?“  She asks, finally moving around him in a clockwise pattern.  The susurrus of her robes could be quite…distracting, especially to a man whose greatest sense was lost to him.  He can only rely on sound and smell and taste and touch.  But not sight.  Never again.  "I have your eyes, Madara, and without that, you are nothing more than a man. But go ahead and tell me: what power do you hold aside from that?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.  The muscles in his jaw flex as he grinds his teeth.  Mito nods, and kneels at his head, close enough that her breath creeps across his face.  “So there is something.  Good.  I wouldn’t like to think I’ve wasted my time and capital on preserving your worthless hide.  So know this, Madara: in the months to come, I will learn everything there is to know about your betrayal.”

He jerks at that, hissing, and Mito tastes something.  Something foreign, something more akin to her husband’s sense of earth-water-death than the more straight-forward sense of ash the Uchiha all carry.  She never used to be able to taste chakra, but many things have changed since Madara rode the Nine-Tails into war, and that is one of them.  But it’s not urgent.  Just something else to think on, and maybe to pass on to Takara, when the other woman takes over the interrogation.  She leans over even further to whisper directly into his left ear.

“Before I leave you, Madara, I want you to remember that for all your vaunted sight, you never saw me. Otherwise, you would have known to never bring the Nine-Tails within my grasp. I’ve wrenched it from your control, and your eyes as well.  But I am not without mercy: a tree is nothing without strong roots, Madara. I intend to see that the Hidden Leaf develops strong ones. In time, you will understand this. Even you still have a part to play in Hashirama’s grand peace.”

[11toe11-blog]

String Hoppers/ steamed rice threads of attention

I sit to write. To enter as gently as i can. Not for power or greed or fame. Steer me past them. I enter for truth and meaning, illumination and insight.

Om.

__

A right leaning cliff near the throat. That rides up to the right nose and slopes out the right nasal cavity.Extending in volume to the back of the throat to the right, slightly against the right ear and extending back to the curve of the skull. 

No inclination to smile.

Just a sensation of wearing a mask. Multiple masks.

In the play - the character of the man, perceives himself believes himself to be the man, finds his justifications for it.  But somewhere along the way discovers that he is the disguise for the little girl. It is her. Wearing the body and mind of the man.

And the little girl discovers that she is not really who she thought she was or the story of herself she bought into. But a part of the Third. 

Like these characters picked up these roles and entered the game. The intentions in the outer world are markedly contrasting to the intentions or pursuits engaged in, in the game. Like a gaming scene. 

When one goes in deep, as the observer, there is a distinct sense of looking out through this body / identity. Gazing and observing and experiencing. And if the attention is briefly turned inward, to look at the observer itself, it loops before falling into an abyss. And in that loop there the sense of a tall long torso-ed being gazing out though me, or a mustachioed stocky man, or nothing. 

The heaviness today is without a certain emotional quality. In the realms of physical, weight, gravity, hanging.

A contraction near the chest left leaning, and a tug under the right shoulder blade. 

I am jumbling up words. Lots of backspaces. 

Breeze outside. Soft morning breeze which i love. Yes, i do truly love it.

And a squirrel hanging upside down nibbling on red gulmohar flowers.

I m as usual dressed and bandaged and oiled. And not to the floor. But in front of the computer. I wonder if ill make my way to the floor. I can sense the muscles easing off from missing more than a week of rigour. 

I want to try and go over the connection in the morning meditation.

The connection between the sinus and the voices one hears as ones own or others. Is that the connection between the connection of the sinus and the sound of ones thoughts, maybe. A release in the sinus point held far out between the nose and the eye, in my case right one and there is some release in the right side of the throat. And somewhere inbetween the two, if a line were to the drawn, the point where it passes by the plane of the ear, it starts quieting down. This is the connection between the “Muu..” breathing exercise of Tai Chi that Marco taught and is explained in the book of Stevanovich, and quietening of the mind. Vibrating starting from the nasal passage and all the way down the throat to the core. Relaxing along the way and connecting to the core. 

I wonder what the life patterns of those with sinus problems are. Mucus. Over thinking. Foggy thinking. Allergies. Sensitivities. From the sense of it. Must look up. Difficulties in self expression.

I think of G reading this. I wonder if she will be impressed. I wonder if she will make the same connections.

Visited R’s parents yesterday. R announced my haircut so simply and louly like only he can,  that the intensity of embarrassment was over in a few minutes and life was back to simpler conversations after, for me at least. 

I realise that what  I most look forward to hearing from R’s parents is about their relationship, about how they navigated life. And also what they ordered in, from where and how it was ; uncle placing orders on swiggy feels like an adventure to me. Full of excitement. 

R was mentioning to them about how we were navigating rough patches these days, in the lock down with nowhere to hide from each other’s demons and our own. Held prisoner by the other’s embrace. Ofcourse he didn't say all that - he summarized it his favorite words - painful / irritating.

Shift in throat.

Held prisoner by each other’s embrace. 

Held prisoner by the other’s embrace. 

Holding the other in the cage on one’s judgemental gaze. 

Prisoners to each other, in a wrestle where neither can give up. A give up is a give in. And that must not be. The truth of individual experience and rights and wrongs wont allow it. Its a wrestle, where far more important than winning, is to not lose. 

I feel life force models that, not so much about the winning - but the drive to keep living and not lose or let go. And in the tension, things happen. Creations?  More like collaborations. Colors fusing into the other.

Uncle had advice to offer, as he always does. Patiently. When a question or a riddle enters the space and some pause or silence comes along. Which is usually after a while, past the exchange between R and Aunty, which feels like watching a trapeze artist going from one swing to the other. Then his quiet deep voice gently walks into a spot light lying in a far way corner, laying out the thread of the riddle he was holding on to patiently. And examining it based on some experience or anecdote stored somewhere in the recess of his memory.

Something of what he said yesterday - which at the time i heard it was colored in patriarchal language, held new meaning this morning. He said something to the tune of “ i was adviced early on in my marriage that the man keeps to himself all that is told to him about his wife”. Ofcourse aunty took offence, i knew that line of thinking - who is this bitching about me. What have i done. Why didnt he tell me. “Its not nice to talk about the wife to the husband. It is in such bad taste.” What wrong did i do, are you saying i was terrible - all these unsaids flowed by the said, as R casually dived into this phone and i mumbled - “Oh! I am sure he has keep a few compliments also from you.” And trying to change the situation with “uncle, maybe you shouldnt let out your tricks and techniques just yet”. Essh. Yuck. negative marking for wit and humor and ability to transform a scene for me. I’ll be demoted to KG.

Anyways. That and much passed. 

Conversations on Objects with R has been one of the most illuminating one on our relationship. How my eyes glide over objects, perceive them to be dead zone,  not registering much except a few which seem to be breathing on account of some association or their very make. But everything in nature is living and breathing to me.  And how he is surrounded by the same objects and find them living and breathing, the associations run far and wide. He feels like a collector or memories. 

In many ways the quirky tramp who sees value in most things people discard.

And me like the insurance guy on the park bench, who has taken for granted everything that his race has produced and doesnt care for any of it, finding some peace only on the park bench.

R was in a play -where he played the insurance guy. Some two decades ago. 

Connections. Where are the connections.

Right here. Under my nose where i cant see them. And its true. Under the nose is one place which one can see unless there is a mirror. 

And the other becomes the mirror. 

After that long contemplation on Objects that we went on together just before bed, quite a rare exchange in that sense, we reached a park bench with a nice open sky and a canopy too, a great place for truce.

“My liberated self and your liberated self are keeping this together, keeping this going. “

Otherwise this would have fallen apart long ago. 

Quite true. We managed to articulate together what we both knew right from the beginning but did not have the words or the spaces between the words available, to express.

Morning stretches also threw open a connection between the clitoris and the space between one's ears. A gentle expanse of the space between the ears invites something in the clit. A rub, a long rub, while holding on to that expansion is a series of unusual pleasurable sensations - not so much as a giant peak, as much as a mountain plateau with icy winds and many interesting contours. 

Some bells tinkle, linking  listening, having the space to listen and sexual arousal.

Writing feels like less in flow. ANd more of reporting from memory. Judgement ahoy.

Uncles wisdom and his thread reappears. I realised this morning that how ever he articulated it - and however i perceived it then - he was most unmistakable talking about holding space for the other. Standing in the peripheries and warding off unnecessary and unwelcome distractions, as the other dances her/his dance. Good or bad or great. 

I make him sound like a saint. And their marriage perfect. 

One look at R and well, i know i am painting rosy pictures.

Such nasty. I am just saying that for effect.

 VG’s lecture comes to mind. 

So powerful something in there, inspite of the rain and tech glitches that it triggered a deep contemplation and collaborative contemplation. On life. Though we spoke from our perception of objects. Revealing more to each other than we had managed to in months. 

__

Its is easier to write when one is writing to save one’s sanity. When some semblance of sanity returns, some sense of comfortable corner, the tension in the rope slags. And one wobbles. 

Breathe into core. Slackline. Focus.

R’s bum. Sigh. so yum.

Its a bit odd writing this when i know someone is going to read.

R rescud a string hopper maker from the attic yesterday and just showed it to me. I have never seen something like that. Its fashioned as a stool. I imagine the piston that goes into it would have to be atleast two feet long. 

Sexual connotation appears after sightadichying bum. 

So much of the earlier tools, particularly kitchen tools was designed to engage the core. Work from the core and work the core.

Now its so much of engagement of extremities. If i were to trace this stringer hopper maker itself. My memory of it was until now, as a something that was gripped and clenched to push the rice paste out of the very tiny holes. The action centred around the grip, as in finger workouts. Or holding and rotating that pedal like thing around a cylinder held in the other hand. Both tolls more complex than this simple stoop with a built-in cup with holes, taking less space. But not quite directly engaging the core. This leaning over, this memory of engaging the core can fade away with a generation or two of using the smaller seemingly more convenient and space saving tools that are designed from thinking out of only of extremities. Making it harder to work and use as one’s connection with the core fades. I couldnt at one point fathom using the finger gripping string-hopper-maker mom used. Even with both my hands it was tough to make the beaks touch each other. So the harder it get, we look for easier. And in comes elecrticity! A magic wand and push button and conveneince. And any memory of core dissolves. And everything outsoursed. 

Doctor. Medicine. Food. Security. Joy. Expression. All outsourced.

Good point to pause.

Its a lot like working on the hand gestures, the mudras. The more i am discovering the movement to the the finger tips starting from the spine, the more meaning and experience it holds for me. And far more satisfaction. 

While earlier it was about how the mudra looked, it felt meaning less. Reflecting back to me only the crookedness  and gracelessness of my fingers which was the last thing i wanted to see. Now  the fingers are still curved and bet. I remember Ra finding them funny and me taking offence at his comments. BUt now its about the experience of the the line and connection and stories in the shapes, and the long uneven, sometimes uncharted and rocky road that leads back to the spinal core from the tip.

Now. Now is a good point to pause.

(Will make / would like to make a separate note on VG’s lecture yesterday. Will that happen?) 

Core calls.

__

I leave gently closing the door behind me. Thank you for letting me splash around aimlessly. And sometimes sending a wave my way to ride.

___