prayer to the master

tonight I find myself within the chambers of SansinGaulf —remember him, my readers? 

Those silences you fall into —you know them? he hears all those things I silently say.within my inner chambers.to go past but are caught in the snare of the boring same old threats that kept the progress of the journey former road blocked time and again 

no.i just sit in his chamber with its lush celestial, cobalt blue velvets. I don’t talk. I don’t even look at him. but I feel his gaze upon me. his ever patient gaze that never looks away.and indulges me from afar, as I well know but —I’ve run out of the energy to ….believe—?or the faith of it….possibly; I’m not sure at all….but in Sansingaulf’s chamber ….we are away from the world for awhile.So I don’t want words about the very things I want to escape from.the fierce snd terrible pain of life that is really more Hell than what thereafter may afford I’ve awaken to understand ….anymore….

“What am I do—“

I start to say 

“No—be silent and say not those thoughts aloud that will only foul your thoughts down directions we’ve come too far to be destroyed by,” Sansingaulf rises from his marble throne and walks over to me, 

but I look away…. my thoughts ….

“my daughter,” he says unexpectedly 

   perhaps unfair …. he saved her from the trap when her wing was caught ….

“don’t give up,” he says 

my thoughts 

    my silent reply—he cannot censure my thoughts 

    “it matters because there is a reason you were saved ….I have a soft spot for you, call it ….you can still have everything ….my daughter ….”

Tonight

tonight like a nocturnal, feral cat I walk the late night streets, I pass a bum along my path crossing the river’s bridge; arguing with what’s inside his fist. I step aside him by the curb and suddenly he sees me and for a moment and —seems to come to his senses as he apologizes to me.but it does not matter to me as long as he keeps his hands away from me, I walk by and continue down the road ….i don’t care anymore.I’m sick of the feeling I am caged ….and so I wander aimlessly thinking about dumb things about the world I can’t do anything about. sad things. so the sadness takes over and I walk and I walk and ….then I think about all those people ….i knew —was with …. and as I walk, I know I’d never turn back for anybody I ever was with and foolishly hung up on ….they just weren’t good enough really. I’d rather have more living space than be cramped by some dumb guy who could not appreciate me because they were just that shallow ….and I realize I’d never be able to just go walk in the middle of the night alone when I was involved with them….yeah it gets lonely but it’s even more lonely when you’re married to or just with the wrong guy and you know it; which was always the case for me…. it’s such a pretty night. All the stars are out 

surreal 

from the way she walks, her clothes and the way she wears her hair; the hats that hide her face; the coats that swallow her…. everything says: please don’t look at me; please go away; please don’t come near…. because they look; they take and grab and invade at every turn 

celves to self and Celf~it is just as wrong to ignore emotions as it is to be governed by them; they are meant as clues and markers on the journey; to be examined; to gauge the process; to be the teacher; but never to be the ruler nor the demon to fight

Spencer’s

this is so stupid to mention, but in keeping with talking about society and what you’re unconsciously projecting 

I got the strangest look from a man who watched me go past him into Spencer’s. why am I laughing about this? this is wrong, it’s too idiotic but no! he actually stopped in his tracks and watched me go into Spencer’s. 

so what? i mean, what was he thinking?see what I mean? they sell other things in there. it’s in a family mall. they also have lava lamps. 

notes

 I don’t know; I suppose I find myself disturbed. As I look at life, whilst doing my research …. I am researching all the impactful writers, thinkers, artists, and philosophers of a wide span of eras …. perhaps I too look to this work I have decided to spend my creative time on as it goes with my interest in understanding meaning ….

purpose ….ive been so engrossed in this research that I am even dreaming g in it now —I guess I go all the way when I do what I do …. you know it was like that for me in theatre…. I was so into my character —on stage I forgot to be shy and it was magic to become another’s journey; feel their sorrow and wish to convince everyone of how I see her…. I loved being on stage. So writing became that extension for me but —what I was thinking about was something else 

That Keats and Shelly —who were my original heroes from ninth grade English lit; hardly fifteen—ripe for their plucking ….but to find they died so young—that they had tragic lives. But sadder is Shelly in a way because of the way he sank into sexual filth. I got sad as I researched all this…. their competition with Mary Shelly and all that about females are brainless; meant to be brainless; property —how could Mary Shelly create Frankenstein ? No, it had to be a man who wrote it. Because—guess what? We are back there now. Women are just brainless property still so how do I feel about that? I shun the world. I really don’t like people. 

The French Revolution writers —the idyllic fantasy to free humans from chains; free their minds —remove them from their rulers and all that 

well…. It would be nice but seems like utopia; really though, it is not like all of them went to extremes in thought but it seems naive as look at what became of industrialism and upon whose shoulders do they drain the lives 

But look at naturalism as they saw it —there is something I must have not seen until now and that is what disturbs me. You see? They were —Coleridge too, they lost their heads in a wild fantasy when they should have been more industrial so— there we have William Morris who was the success story but he had a few lucky breaks; still, he was not a miserly person at all and wrote the book that inspired Lord of the Rings for Tolkien. 

I think it’s about what I should decide I’d rather focus on and what the message is I am conveying…. is that my role then? i don’t care, i think i need it to be said and maybe that’s the only reason; who cares who reads it?someone has to write this; like why hasn’t anyone done it?

life is fluid; it alters and shifts what looks like today will be so completely altered along the winds the future changes the reality of the ephemeral now

~and there is forgiveness ….it is ok to believe in the soul’s redemption because it is what is actually required