absolute love

September 4, 2019

To understand absolute love is to realise you are a more than a message scribbled in darkness.

Night music

August 25, 2019

The music of the night lies not in the stars but in the darkness between them.

Chloe Aridjis
Asunder

i will wade out

June 22, 2019

i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

e. e. cummings

And so you haunt me. Always with me, you are the invisible diner at our table, the constant presence that trails me as I go about my daily routine…. In the darkness of a closed-lidded world, you are alive and vital, unchanging, mine. You are the ghost of everything that once was lovely… a shadow casts its majesty over everything that remains…

Samantha Bruce-Benjamin
The Art of Devotion

The blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from something back to nothing again, neither heeding nor knowing the wishes or existence of the minds that flicker for a second now and then in the darkness.

H P Lovecraft
The Silver Key
Weird Tales, January 1929

Dreams & Moonlight

February 1, 2019

Wednesday 30th January

Last night, misty moonlight in the window. Our duvet and bedroom furniture turned milk white in this strange, uncanny light – which makes me drowsy and dull, the same feeling you have after lovemaking.

In reality: I’m the ghost of a third rate Edwardian poet trapped between dimensions, here, in the snow, on this moor. It’s sad you should have to find out this way – but that’s life, as they say.

Now, for my next trick –

P

A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man woke in the night.

J.M. Barrie
The Little Minister

I will wade out

December 13, 2018

i will wade out
##############till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
################################################Alive
######################################with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
##################################in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
###########################################Will i complete the mystery
###########################################of my flesh
I will rise
#######################After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
################And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

ee cummings

Dreams & fragments –

December 3, 2018

Distant lights in faraway places; walking in the woods with the sound of heavy rain beating on the thick foliage overhead; the smell of damp earth and autumn leaves that look like small wrinkled brown faces underfoot; marble statues (with huge marble eyes) that walk in the dark, their purpose unknown, unknowable; endless dimly illuminated corridors; and lost cities trapped in time with secret knowledge of their own wild abandonment –

Sweet girls so full of grace – and naughty thoughts; exuberant October afternoons; Grandfather clocks tick-tocking in a dull back parlour; awkward silences that end in a kiss; The bright light from the moon in your window; darkness like wet velvet against the skin; doors that squeak open upon blackness; ghost whispers in your ear at midnight; the haunting cry of a dog-fox in the night; unfrequented places; a desolate stretch of snow at dusk; January afternoons whirling with snow; leaning gravestones enclosed by yew trees; faces beautiful with strangeness –

pleasure is pain

December 2, 2018

On the altar of the devil up is down, pleasure is pain, darkness is light, slavery is freedom, and madness is sanity –

It is terrible to be alone

October 4, 2018

railings

Each of the hundred bedrooms with their shuttered windows might have held a corpse, rotting in humidity beneath the glacial swathings of the bed. In the lounge, a mist perpetually filmed the mirrors, the wicker armchairs gathering sociably around the glass-topped tables creaked at one another in the silence, so that now and then an apprehensive human head would bob up from over a writing table or the back of a settee. The rain was always audible on the glass roof of the verandah.

It is terrible to be alone in the darkness of rain, swept aside by one’s world’s indifference into a corner of a house. It is still more terrible to be swept aside into a corner of a continent.

Elizabeth Bowen
Salon des Dames