A Dreaming For Witches' Night...

Seeking the Enchanted Wood
beyond the Gate of Dreams
again another night
naked but for my Silver Key
that heavy antique carved
with undecipherable
arabesque
symbols
stolen from the Messenger
of the Faceless One
hung from a chain around my neck
the Key to the Dreaming
a comfortable weight against my chest

I descend those too-familiar
Seventy Steps of Light Slumber
ancient worn stone cold under my bare feet
climbing down through the dusky emptiness of Pre-Dreaming
one-by-one
until they suddenly end
at Nothing at all

Without hesitation
(I've been here so many many times before)
I take the leap
and step off into emptiness
and enter the hidden Cavern of Flame

In the far corner of that inky darkness I can almost see
the shadowed forms
of Nasht
and Kaman-Thah
the Gatekeepers
whose temple this is
those towering black figures
bare-chested with carved, curved beards
and elaborate head-dress
stand stone-still but all-aware
waiting to judge my worthiness
again
I perform for them
a different routine every night
to demonstrate my power
my understanding
my worthiness to traverse The Dreamlands beyond

Tonight
as most nights
I begin by conjuring myself a robe
a simple black thawb with cleric's collar
hemmed just below the knee
black linen gi pants
in the Thai style
and comfortable black tabi boots for my feet

Now dressed appropriately
I begin the ritual proper
so They may see
my mastery of The Dream 

I rise myself up to float in the center of the cavern
in lotus-posture
and expand out from my center
a dodecahedral lattice-work of blue plasma
until it fills the space
and I float serenely in its center
From each pentagonal face of this construct
I then project white-hot jets of flame
offensive defense
effective ward against
the many horrors that await a Dreamer
But here in this realm of un-real
this is but simple hedge-magick
unimpressive
amateurish

They require better of me

I reach out
and project myself
to the far end of the cavern
and instantly I am there
And then again
and then again
teleporting myself around the cavern
disappearing and re-appearing at random points
to demonstrate my control of Self
and reality here

They continue to stare down at me
black and stone-faced

I draw my perception down into the center of my form
and push Out
against my flesh
against my skin
until I feel it begin to tear
down my back
and I keep pushing
Out
and Out
screaming
until it all comes free in one blood-soaked blur of agony
and I am left standing as
naked muscle sinew bone and nerve
From the scraps of my skin I fashion
a new robe to wear
to show them
my immunity to the horrors I will face beyond

Finally
they consent

From the center of the cavern erupts
the Pillar of Flame
floor to ceiling
I step into it
and my flesh-robe self-sacrifice burns away to ash in an instant
the price paid for passage
but I am left unsinged
and after a moment I step free from the flame
with a new skin
and again re-robed, as before
black thawb and gi and tabi
but now also something new
something never experienced before
(every night
something never experienced before)
something not of my own crafting
a blue turban
electric royal blue
adorned with an onyx jewel
I do not understand this gift
or who
or what
might be the giver
but I accept
with gratitude

An open door appears in the cavern wall in front of me
and I step through
and begin my descent
of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
gleaming black stone staircase
descending into darkness
through an empty night
I know that at the bottom of these stairs lies
the Enchanted Wood
and further beyond the rest of The Dreamlands
Ulthar and Dylath-Leen
Oriab and Celephaïs
Leng and unknown Kadath
and as I descend further and further
and closer to the Dream
I can feel my Self coming apart
as if dissolving into mist
and I try to hold my Self together
and focus on those far-away lands
and their cities of Dreaming
and remember how much I long to see them
how every night I long to see them
and I try
and I try harder
and I take another step
and I am gone

 

And then I am awake

I will try again tonight
as I try every night
and I will make my way to the Cavern of Flame
and I will perform my tricks for the Gatekeepers
and I will begin my descent of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
and one night
maybe tonight
I will make it all the way
to the bottom
to the Enchanted Wood
and to the Dream beyond
and I won't ever
have to return

Falling Back Screaming...

Tomorrow night, at sundown.

I can't believe it's almost here.  The other end of this beginning.  It's almost staggering, really.  It's very difficult to concentrate on anything else.  And every hour seems to crawl slower and slower, the closer I get to the finish line.

I wish I was happier about it all.  I thought I would be.  I always thought this would be a joyous moment of celebration and triumph.  But I don't feel any of that.  I'm just anxious and worried.  I don't know what about, exactly.  Just fear of the unknown, I guess.  And I'm kinda pissed off, too.  But that's unrelated.  Just getting in the way, and making everything just that much more confusing and difficult.

And disappointed, too.  Because I was looking forward to this so much, and I worked so hard to get here, and it just seems really unfair for me to not be enjoying it now.  I feel like I earned this, bought it with pain and sacrifice, but now in the end I'm not getting my reward.  Just seems wrong.  Fucking cosmic gyp.

But I think I'm looking at it the wrong way.  I've been so obsessed with this moment over the last few weeks, that I've lost my focus.  It's not about this moment.  It was never about this moment.  When I decided to do this one year ago, it wasn't so that I could feel happy when it was all over.  It was about the experience of the past year.  It was about learning, and growing, and earning another opportunity to shape myself to the form that I want.  This moment was inevitable, but it wasn't the point.

I don't need to enjoy this.  Any more than I needed to enjoy the past year.  I just need to do it.

And maybe that's all this is, really:  natural grief over the end of something important to me, something I've spent a significant period of my life focused on, and working toward.  Every ending is also a new beginning of something else.  And grief is a natural response to an ending.  And since I don't know what to expect from this new beginning, there's little joy or excitement about what-comes-next to temper that grief.  And so I just end up feeling sad and anxious, when it seems like I should feel proud and elated.

And the bitter irony of it all is, all this just leaves me feeling like I could really use a drink.

Tech Solace...

I got a wide-screen HD monitor for my work computer today.  It's beautiful, and it makes me happy.

I wish it didn't make me so happy.

I wish I had some other reason to feel that way right now.

Exercise #4 - Painstuck...

why can't i write?

i'm feeling so much and it hurts too much and i can't think of anything to say about it
i can't think of anything to say
not a single goddamned thing and i just want it out out OUT GET THE FUCK OUT OF ME
JUST STOP
just stop just go away and leave me alone
i can't take this it's just too much
i could take it if i could write about it if i could describe it if i could express it but i can't
it's just stuck it's overwhelming it's too big to fit inside my massive body and i feel like i'm going to split open
and i need to get it out but i don't know what it is and i don't know where it is and
i don't know what to say
i don't know how to say it i don't know i don't know i don't know

I hate those words so much.

this is an act of desperation trying to find the pressure-release valve in my mind to find the off button in my chest
each new line like pulling one of my own teeth
just trying to get the words to drain from my fingertips until i'm empty and numb but they won't come
the words won't come
just words about the words but not the words i need just empty useless mute words that laugh in my face
when all i want to do is scream at the top of my lungs GO FUCK YOURSELF
please just go fuck yourself to death and get away from me i hate you so fucking much
still not right still can't write that's not what i need to say just a violent reaction to the words stuck in my throat
oh gods it hurts so fucking much just make it stop just make it stop whatever you want just make it stop
just don't make me say i'm sorry
just don't make me say i'm wrong
just let me keep my pride please just let me keep my pride don't make me humiliate myself just to end the pain

I'm doing this to myself.

you did this to me but i'm doing this to myself because i know how to end it but i won't because

i don't want to
i don't want to pay that price
i'd rather respect myself in agony
than hate myself contentedly
so i'll hate you instead
and torture myself enough
for the both of us

Why?...

We were happy.





God dammit.

Fifty-one Down...

Only one week left.  Just seven days (and three hours) from now, I will have completed one of the most significant accomplishments of my life so far.

I wish I knew how to feel about that.

Blah-urble...

Mondays are always extra busy, and today was worse than usual.  Combine that with no particular inspiration, and I end up with another nothing post about how I have nothing to say.

Bicycle Blurble...

I got nothin' today.  I just wanna go home.

Happy Bicycle Day, everybody.

In Sheep's Clothing...

I love seeing the looks
on the faces of the shopkeepers
in the occult store down the block
sudden surprise
or annoyance
immediately morphing into pleasant
plaster
shop-keep smiles
I don't look like I belong there
they think I'm a tourist
come to gawk at them
or that I'm gift shopping for a
hippie-witch friend
or relative
They have no idea
until I decide to
open my mouth
and tell them what I need
why I'm there
and they hear me use the words
suddenly realize I'm serious
I know what I'm talking about
I know what I'm doing
and they take a step back
and look me up and down
as if to say
Really?
You??

I used to look the obvious occultist
when I was younger
and still learning
passing me on the street
one would've not been at all surprised to learn
that I was a black magickian
Hell
one might've even assumed that
to begin with
just by my outfit
But that was a long time ago
Now to all outward appearance
I could be any other computer nerd
But I'm still a cultist
though a different colour now
I learned the value of
not broadcasting myself
my every intimate personality trait
to anyone who happens to pass me on the street
I learned to pass
as a Normal
as a Mundane
(please don't make me say
"Muggle")
and now no one notices me
I can go about my daily business
and my sorcerous shenanigans
without attracting unwanted attention
without arousing any suspicions
of satanic blood pacts
or virgin sacrifices made
to blind idiot gods
which makes everything so much more
pleasant

But sometimes I forget
that the Me people see
isn't really me
until I see the shopkeeper's face
down at The Magick Box
at Bell, Book, and Candle
at Foxcraft's
at The Crystal Cauldron
or whatever it calls itself today
in this particular town
I'm there to buy a component
some specific mineral
or herb
or root
or ritual tool
or color of candle
required for some particular spell
or sigilization
or pathworking
or ceremony
or casting
Magick is now modern
and so when I need the dried petals
of a rare and deadly Black Lotus blossom
to throw a curse on the drug-dealing thug
who moved in across the street
and keeps threatening my neighbors
for the crime of daring to look
in his direction
I don't need to form an expedition to Tibet
to climb the peak of
the only mountain where it grows
no, I'm an American
other people do the hard work
so I can simply pull out a credit card
and laugh silently to myself
at the look on the shopkeeper's face
that says
What on Earth
does he
want with that??

About To Get Wet...

thirteen days
and I'm feeling unlucky
less than two weeks
until
I break this self-imposed fast
and I don't know
what I'm feeling
anymore
so excited
overly anxious
prematurely proud
afraid
it will all go wrong

I've never wanted
a drink
more than I do right now
and every day
that is true
all over again
how will I feel
with three days to go?
with two?
that first sip of whiskey
might make me cry

what if I can't handle it
what if I get depressed again
what if I lose my creativity
what if I can't write anymore
what if I can write
but I don't want to
what if I can write
and I want to
but I don't feel anything when I do
what if I don't feel anything

I only learned
to express myself
when I stopped
only started to write
when I dried up
so now I'm afraid
dipping my toe back
into that
golden Kentucky spring
could take that all away from me
and I don't know
what I'd do without this
how I'd deal without this
who I'd be without this
joy of
turning inward
feeling around
pulling something out
pouring over it
crafting it
shaping it
until it's just right
and then
casting it out
into the universe
to be its own

if I have to choose
I know what I'll choose
but either way
I'll lose
something
I love
and I won't be
me
anymore

Three-hundred Fifty-one...

Only two weeks left.

Two weeks from today, I will drink a beer.  A Guinness.  In a bottle.  And then I will have a glass of whiskey.  Eagle Rare bourbon, my favorite.  On the rocks, in my favorite glass tumbler.  And who knows what else after that.

I can't tell what I'm feeling.  Something like excitement, but not quite.  Almost anxiety, but not exactly.  Anticipation?  Fear?  Some jumbled soup of them all, most likely.

I want it so badly.  I've never wanted a drink this much in my entire life.  I want a drink right now more than I ever, ever wanted a drink when I actually was drinking.

I feel so proud of myself for actually accomplishing this.

I feel guilty for feeling this way, and I try to suppress it, reminding myself that I haven't actually accomplished anything yet.  I have two weeks left to go.  I can feel proud then.  And celebrate with a drink.

I'm so scared that something bad is going to happen.  That I'm going to go off the deep end and lose control in some way that I never have before.  That I'm going to end up in another of those deep chemical depressions.  That I'm going to lose all of my creativity and desire to express myself.  That I'm going to lose the ability to write poetry.  Or worse, that I'm going to lose the ability to enjoy writing.  I'm scared of some other bad result that I haven't even thought of.

I'm scared of the fact that I don't know what's going to happen.

But I have to find out.

I have to know if I can handle it or not.

I have to find out how else the last year has changed me.

I Require Servitude...

had a minor-league nightmare
last night
thinking I forgot
to pay my taxes
which is so unfair
I did my taxes
almost a month ago
specifically
to avoid
exactly this
Anxiety

waking
this morning
I realized
just how much
I truly
despise
Authority

Subjugation For Spring...

it's all about sex

really

it's always about sex

no matter what else is between us

no matter what our hearts are telling us

what always brings me back

in the end

is the sex
we wrap it up in layers
of beautiful poetry
romantic ideals
but the heart is fickle
and fluid
it waxes and wanes and
wanders and wonders
while the body is constant
consistent
and so simple
the flesh Wants
nothing more
and so in the end
that is all that matters

that I see you every day

every night
can't escape it
even if I really wanted to

maybe it's the curve

of a hip

suddenly exposed

when your pants slip a little too low

maybe it's the sway

of a heavy breast

unconstrained

beneath your loose top

maybe it's the conspicuous
delicious
surreptitious sighting

of a hard nipple

or two

pressing through

your too-thin tee-shirt

maybe it's all your cute

underwear

hanging up to dry

maybe I glimpse you

getting out of the shower

or catch sight of you

getting changed

or you're sleeping nude

above the covers

in the warm still night

I try to avoid it

I try not to see

but you're all around me

I try not to notice

or let myself care

but I can feel your heat
next to me
in our bed

and I want so badly

to warm myself in you
to bathe in you
to luxuriate in you
lingering everywhere

your every curve pulls at me

your body's gravity

drawing me in

ignoring my will

tying me around your waist

to dangle and sway

against your flesh

forever

yours

all ways

Pyrus Calleryana...

where I live
the blooming of the Bradford Pear
is always the first flower of Spring
a tree filled with tiny
bright white blossoms
raining petals like snow
a pastoral picture of seasonal beauty
scene in almost every suburban community
but the flowers give off
a powerful stench
like rotten fruit
or an infected wound
or a diseased crotch
that hangs in the air forever
like a fog of swampgas
I hate the smell of Bradford Pear
it can hit me from a block away
and stay with me for hours
pounding at my sinuses until
I think my head will explode
it overwhelms everything
for the first few weeks
of every Spring
and even though it makes me miserable
and even though I hate it
and even though it stinks all to hell
because it is the first sign of life
the first sign of Spring
every Spring
it always makes me feel
so happy
a delicious pain
reminding me
that I am alive

Eye Heart Trash...

three days in row now
I've seen flowers in the trash
outside of her office
not old flowers
not dead flowers
not cleaning-out-my-valentine's-day-vase flowers
new flowers
blossoming flowers
roses and carnations
all vibrant reds and soft creams and sexual pinks
three days in a row now
each day a new bouquet
blooming from her wastebasket
on the floor outside her office door
adding floral notes to the remains
of her discarded lunch
making her garbage look like
it's gotten dressed up
to go on a date
at the dump
looking like a first-year art student's
commentary on still-life
or on the notion of "romance" 
And I wonder
who hurt her
and how

Filler...

Wanna write.  Can't write.  No inspiration, no time.  No time left.  Wasted it all on work and play.  Got nothin' to say anyway.

Gotta save Expression for some other day.

Want And Will...

I've waited too long for Spring
Last year Winter never came
this year it wouldn't leave
And now I've waited too long for Spring
and now it all feels wrong
We should be halfway to Summer by now
but Spring has only just started
yesterday
was the first day
that we could really feel it
We opened the windows for the first time
since last Summer
and realized how long we'd been holding our breath
And, oh, this morning
it was PERFECT
in our home
The soft yellow light of our star sliding
through the slats covering our open windows
The soft, cool, petal-scented breeze blowing
through our rooms and halls
caressing my skin
I wanted to stay there forever
I've waited too long for this
I need it so badly
I need it to remind me 
that I am alive
and breathing
But I couldn't stay
I had to leave
There are bills to pay
I have to Take Care of Us
I have to work
I can't stay home
just because I want to play at feeling human
It took everything I had
and I stumbled along the way
many times
but eventually
I forced myself to do it
And I put on clothing
that covered my skin
so that I could no longer feel the breeze caressing me
And I closed the windows
to still the air
so that I could no longer smell the soft, petal-scents of Spring
And I closed the blinds
so that I was shut away from our star
and could no longer feel its warmth
or see its soft radiance
And then I stood a moment in the darkness
of our now ruined home
steeling myself again for what I knew
I had to do

In the office today
I could not stop wondering
whether I'm a Hero
or a Fool

Summer Smoke...

dreaming of drinking and grinding up smoke
laid-back and laughing while having a toke
summernight fireflies flash through my head
while i doze through delirium snug in my bed
with summer's lost loves and old friends gathered 'round
we play and we love as the stars settle down
the night sky above paints a portrait of grace
and we lie on our backs and we soar into space
we fly free, we are young, we have nothing to fear
and our latest new love whispers red in our ear
those words we've been waiting forever to hear
and we are back on the earth with our dearest held near
the world's just right now, in our favorite arms
as fingers trace skin, weaving delicate charms
to love and to lust in the grass under sky
open wide to the world and to gods passing by
we sing out our paeans to pleasure and loss
we have yet our whole lives still left to exhaust
and there's nothing for us in this world but our need
each for the other in word and in deed
we roll in the grass and we burn up our hearts
'til we're lost in each other and coming apart
one in the other we dance in our sins
and the juice of all summers drips sweet down our chins
awake in my bed, i was them, now i'm me
and that mythical summer i'm longing to see
now forever is gone, but these visions remain
of a dream of lost love sought forever in vain

Where We Played...

An old beat-up couch
and an antique desk
were the only furniture we had
We slept our first nights together
had our first kiss together
had our first come together
on a plastic air mattress
on the living room floor
The carpet was a thin industrial
floor mat
barely thick enough to keep out the splinters
We hung candles on the walls
and watched them glow
and watched the shadows dance
and let the wax drip spires on the floor
We built an altar
and a playspace of blankets
and quilts
piled high in the corner
by the door
We spent so many hours there
days and weeks all-told
in that corner
on those blankets
in front of our altar
playing
Playing with friends
Playing by ourselves
feeling each other out
figuring each other out
falling in Love
over and over again
and pouring it all into our life together
building it piece-by-piece
shaping it to hold our desires
to hold us together
Later on
all our friends
and family we Loved
would gather around
to watch us swear ourselves to each other
on that same spot
where we played
and Loved
in front of our altar
I can honestly say
I've never been happier
than I was
Loving you then
in the empty home we made together
in the place where we played and Loved
and built our altar

+     +     +

That it's only a memory now
is so bittersweet
So much joy to remember
but remembering only reminds
that those fantastical days are gone
Our altar is just a table now
the blankets packed away in storage
Even that corner of the apartment
where we'd built everything together
is gone
Where we'd made our Love and played
so carelessly and free
now cluttered with piles of boxes
full of junk
accumulated from the years of our lives together
Everything we had no place for
we stacked in the corner
filling in the space
where we used to sit side-by-side
and play
and Love
and weep and sing and dance and scream
until it was gone
until it was lost
and almost forgotten

+     +     +

I won't forget
The memory is all I have left
And even just the ghost of those times
means more to me now
than all the piles of junk
we clutter our hearts with these days
I won't forget
And I won't grieve
and I won't regret
I will remember
and I will Laugh
and I will look into your soft blue eyes
and I will remember how I saw you then
and I will be grateful for all we ever had
because it was so much
though we didn't know it then
So much more
than we ever needed
So much more
than we ever deserved
though we didn't know it then
now I cannot help but see
it was more than enough
More than enough
to fill a lifetime