The parts that are absent

August 16, 2017

16th August

Last night was spent between rain and not rain. Counting stars glimpsed between black cloud banks and listening to the owls hunt and the tragic screams of their victims. I closed my ears to the butchery and employed word magic –

Mood this morning: conflicted. The voices in my head are bickering, and one of my personalities has wandered off to God alone knows where! I’m bereft.

Fact to always keep to the front of my mind: multitasking is the ability to mess up a number of things in one go. Men should never attempt it. Don’t believe me? Okay, try brushing your teeth while taking a pee, boys, but keep a floor cloth handy.

Too much time spent sinking into the event horizon of a computer screen. The morning sky is too feckin’ bright. Too much sick-looking sun behind all that watery gloom. Drink more coffee. The caffeine whirls about the blood like a madman on steroids. I really could use a drop of brandy just now.

Night

August 15, 2017

Slides under door jambs
pouring through windows
painting my room black.

This evening was spent
watching old movies.
Song and dance actors
looping through gay,
improbable plots.

All my plates are put away,
cups hanging on hooks.
The towel is still moist.

I blow out cinnamon candles
wafting the air with spice.
Listening now to dogs
barking at winds and
sputtering of heat.

Winter pummels skeletal
trees as the moon’s big
yellow eye haunts shadows.

Joan McNerney

the edge of the dark

August 15, 2017

In Welsh mythology the otherworld is known as Annwn: the not-world, the deep. It is the beyond of adventure, the locus of alterity. Its landscapes are unstill, its deities and monsters have many faces. It is a source of beauty and terror, of awe, of Awen, the divine inspiration quested by the bards and awenyddion who crossed the edge of the dark to explore its depths.

The ways between the worlds are fraught with danger. Safe passage is only granted at a cost. Those who return from the otherworld are never the same. Thus they shroud themselves in the cowl of the edge of the dark.

Those who live on the edge see our precarious reign over the land and its myths is illusory. Tower blocks and elaborate street lamps are ephemeral as Dickens’ fairy palaces. Electric lighting is no defence against the edge of the dark, which seeps in because its memories are deeper than us, its darkness more permeating than headlights.

Lorna Smithers
The edge of the dark

To the otherworld

August 15, 2017

Maponos of the Deep, Great God
I come to you with this plea:
Bring the powers of the Otherworld
To inspire those who are before thee.

Gaulish Inscription at a sacred spring at Chamelières

15th August

So he enters her bedroom through that impossible two way mirror. She’s not there but he finds a mannequin that looks like her and dresses it in a flowing white bridal gown. He utters the words that make them husband and wife, and consummates their union on her untidy bed. Afterwards he takes her to the cemetery on the edge of the moor. It is the happiest day of his life.

‘I think of you,’ he says, ‘at midnight each and every night.’

He takes her in his arms and they begin to dance to the music playing inside his head. He is overcome with passion, and he has her there, bending her over a tombstone and thrusting into her.

She is like a woman from another time. She awakens so many different emotions in him. She has the soft smell of a child about her, and he whispers words of love into her tangled hair as he cums up her.

He loves her, every atom, every particle. Squeezing her breasts through her bridal gown and gently kissing the back of her neck. But she doesn’t respond. She lays quite silent and still over the tombstone, like a woman in some other person’s dream –

Then he wakes.

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The creative artist is much better equipped to exploit the obscure sources of myth, magic and ritual surrounding us than any ‘academic’ writing down pure ‘facts’. Contact with the sacred in nature may effect a transformation in our ways of ‘seeing’. The visible and the invisible and the veil between become momentarily transparent to assist in our enlightenment. It is possible for the creative artist to live in both worlds at once. To live inside and outside of time. The trackless, sheep-wandered moorland beyond my window suggests power, joy, growth – and the possibility of transformation. Here, it is easy to believe, is Pan’s playground, his kingdom, and that he waits, a bodiless shadow, to brutally ravish some innocent female out walking his domain without due care.

One should always propitiate the Gods with an appropriate sacrifice.

Start to feel

August 13, 2017

How to kill someone

August 13, 2017

Strange plea

August 13, 2017

Reshape his mind

August 13, 2017

Heart

August 13, 2017