epihany before coffee

I just realized; I'm the one who'll get out of here alive.

outbalanced

the need for Love is now greater than my fear of the havoc it will wreak in my life.
my need.

it's all this mutilation, murder and rape.
all this pretending-for-real.
it's getting to me.

opening night is sold out
i know it will be worth it.

but right now i just need a warm hug

a deflated valentine

Now that I think about it. Now that it's the end of the day. And nothing in particular has happened. Except for it, for that. Now it seems queer. Unusual.
Hollowly significant.

I was unloading my whites from the washing machine this morning. They'd been in there for a couple of days. I have a tendency to forget about laundry. Done and undone. Once everything was cleared out, I looked down, just to catch stray socks before they slipped down into wherever it is they tend to disappear to. And there it was. Dark and rumpled. I didn't recognized it at first but it didn't look organic so I fearlessly reached in a pulled it out. Rubber. A balloon. Or more like, a fragment. A party balloon that had somehow made it's way from some long over festive occasion into my washing machine.

There was white writing on it.
"Happy Valentine's Day".

I kid you not.

And for the rest of the day, nothing particular happened.
I guess it was just a 'hello' from the gods.

Thanks guys. Because, for the rest of the day, well. It just went along. In no particularly epic fashion. Still. Not yet. Nothing. And now it's time for bed.


I suppose there's still tomorrow.

volunteer imagineer

I love my work.
If only I could get paid for it.
I've spent my day working. At home. The wind howls and tries to tease the cedar fence from it's moorings.
It's unnerving. Yet fitting. This unrest.

I'm at work, imagining rapes and mutilations. War and murder. Emperors and punishments. I just realized why D&D held no interest for me. They weren't nearly serious enough in their pretending. Snakes and Ladders compared to Shakespeare's game of Risk.

I love the mental gymnastics required to untangle the code of thees and thous and thys and twisted epic sentences and the thinking/feeling on a dime.

To watch myself progress; from barely holding onto three words in a row, let alone a wriggling sentance that compares blood gushing from a severed tongue to a bubbling fountain stirred with wind; to finally riding the music when I know the course intimately enough to just submit and fly. First comes an astounding relief, followed by a God-like High.

My body doesn't know the difference between this pretend-for-real and real-for-real. And because of this, Life lived at this altitude of Drama becomes comfortable and everyday. The usual personal confrontations pale in light of revenging an virgin's unjust rape and mutilation.

Way better than playing horsey.