7 to Midnight

all the stars in all the skies
will never understand the reasons why
i got so lost over you
underneath by gravestone blues
an epitaph that told you so
my compass points that look as though
i caught my death in the cold
i got so lost over you

you & your stars

No Way Out

There is no way out. The world is a locked room and our deaths will not be a mystery. There is no way in, there is no way out. It’s a trap. (more…)

Sing the Blues

What does it mean to be blue in the world?

What is the sound of blue? Blue like a donut, empty in the middle. Blue like a sticky note, scribbled with words long forgotten in context. Blue like an old sweater, cozy and warm. Blue like a calendar, lines of blank days waiting to be filled in. Blue reflected in my eyes, a quick glance and then looking away for fear of seeing all my worst demons glaring through the mirror.

When my heart turns blue and the sound of the clock ticking is like a hatchet hitting a tree trunk, chop chop chop, I wrap my arms around myself, I close my eyes, I swallow my tears. When my heart turns blue, turns from ruby to sapphire, pulsing with a light both cold and hopeful, I turn the lights down, I turn the sound of the ocean up, I look out at the moon and whisper its name. When my heart turns blue and night turns to morning, the stars still singing in the sky, the sun still sleeping, I dance around my head, all the space I could wish for, and think of writing oceanic words.

How blue does blue get? Blue as a kiss, blue as a dream, blue as a spark on the tip of a matchstick. How far down does blue go? Blue as old fruit fallen from an ancient tree, deep deep down in the underworld, on the shores of a blue blue ocean beneath a sky of cerulean stone. How far does blue go? Touching and tasting the ends of the cosmos, far far far from our little blue dot, one tiny sphere of stone and sea. How grand does blue get? Even when the chill, skeletal hands of loneliness bewitch my shivering skin, there is a blue light held in my hands and under my tongue and between my ears, waiting for a burst of sighs to set it free.

In a sparse white room, stuffed full of silence, there is blue singing songs of mad, grinning dreams and laughter that echoes across threadbare carpet. There are blue notes tacked to the pale walls with sigils to drive away dusty ghosts. There is my heart, turned from red to blue, jewelled forever, prismatic and brilliant, deep deep down in the cavern of my chest.

Compass Rose

how long can i feel like this?
cracked & crushed under the weight of stars
i wish i could speak with my blood
i wish my world turned in that direction
but for now
i keep whispering to shadows
hiding my heart in my skull

i will gladly accept all the sugar life offers me
fighting off the lonely void with a song
i will bear the weight of starlight
wishing i could play the fool
but for now
i keep whispering to shadows
hiding my heart in my skull
dreaming of a time
when the world might change its direction

Book of Dreams

I’ve read that one way to trigger lucid dreaming is to look at something printed because writing is always unreadable in dreams, unless you take control of the dream. Look at the writing, see it as blurry, fuzzy letters or unknown symbols, realize it’s a dream, take control and make the writing focused. Now, I’ve never had success with lucid dreaming. As soon as I realize I’m in a dream, I wake up. (This sometimes makes me worried that at times when I feel like I’m awake, moving through the waking world, something strange will happen, I’ll realize I’m in a dream, and I’ll be instantly pulled out of this reality–or what feels like reality.) But I distinctly remember a dream I had last night where I was reading from a number of books. The text was very distinct and I could even remember bits of it when I woke up from the dream in the middle of the night. Of course it’s all gone now from my head now, except for some vague impressions and images that remain. I think I was reading RPG books, looking up different rules. I think I was also writing notes about the rules in a notebook.

I definitely wasn’t lucid dreaming. I didn’t know I was in a dream until I woke from it. I didn’t think to take control of the dream and alter it to suit my whims. Which makes me wonder if the lore about illegible text in dreams is true. And it makes me wonder exactly how I can tell that typing this blog post isn’t a dream. Does it even matter? Dream or not-dream, at least I’m not being chased by monsters. Not right now, anyway.