Sleep slower, and maybe you’ll notice curious things. Be wary of using words like “indefinitely” – this comes with a poem:
Baby, I’ll crawl to you
across the vast mirage of time and space
should misfortune befall time itself
or the laws of physics break
It has been nearly a year since I first read the post “sleep slowly”, and the four lines of that poem still come back to me. Continue reading “Parallel Outlet: 11”
Loddi Frisket is a black hole of neuroses. His very existence centres on an unstable singularity, which sucks in anxieties, crises, and the most outlandishly negative possibilities. From prior experience I can attest that his event horizon fluctuates around a diameter of approximately 15 metres. Sometimes the emotional debris which gathers on his accretion disk is an accurate enough warning that I can reverse course, and get away before his attention fixes on me. Sometimes it is not enough.
To give you a sense of just what I am dealing with, Loddi once asked me if I would rather lose my heart (and dignity) to a psychopathic baker, or flee the civilized world, giving up everything from clean pillow shams to NutriPills, only to waste away in boondocks replete with SABs and smugglers.
In my humble opinion, the baker of Loddi’s bipolar love was not psychopathic (I still buy rolls there), but merely possessed of poor judgement, seeing as she countenanced his Gothic style of flirting in the first place. Furthermore, it is well known that the Carwallian smugglers (the only smugglers within 50 lightyears to whom Loddi could have possibly been referring) live very well in their off-planet colonies, though the latter are admittedly remote places. Politics may be laissez-faire over in the Esten Economic Zone but they still don’t want blatant crime polluting the fine views and real estate values of the elite.
Continue reading “Conditional Holidays are Always Less than What They Seem (1/4)”
My lady, a voluptuous sky her only rest,
The bedchamber become a bower, become a glade,
Sings fain to dampen cheeks and furrow brows
All her own
Of what she sees, I know nothing save
She bespoke rays cleaving Apollo’s dome
Antique palettes creeping ‘pon the clouds
Once, long ago
And here this mawkish discontent of mine
Amid notes spilling chamber to chamber
Amid delights dulled to erasure
Within my breast
My lady, an unseen sky her only rest,
Seeks strings over vanished, varnished wood
And burgeoning days of warmth gone by
Elizabeth Cook, 2016
Imagine from Landscape Painting Gallery
The stone of evening tells me
Live for those few glances shared
A blue as hard and sweet as longing
Golden-crowned, he spares
A voice and space still empty
Humbled by the evening
His distance is my keeping
A fleeting, secret wonder
Where he lays roots in dreaming.
Image of Howl from Alpha Coders.
Forget me, amid the revelry
The incandescent swathes below
Served from my cups gone cold
Crisp in the heat and haze and glow
Neither envy nor reproaches
Pierce the vibrant compass through
And thrice unheard is to forget
All, save how I miss you
Elizabeth Cook, 2016.
Passion made me its marker
Of swells and sighs divided
Regret the tenderest heresy
And each pulse, a watershed
And yet no arcing, tumbling,
Glittering thing of mine
Could rival hers; I remember
That frisson of the empty sky
That cry from below
Of heart and soul and mind
My summers sleep in amber
And to look at them
Is to remember
Elizabeth Cook, 2016. Image from Hyouka.
The only reason she has him, is because she doesn’t.
This man, sitting next to her, who cannot remember to put the bathmat back up on the side of the tub. She sits next to him only because he is so laissez-faire that he let it happen – and then she became a part of his routine. A part, not a prime mover.
Like his cards. Like the music to which he bobs his head. She is the movement of clothes, some his, some hers, into the washing machine. It happens.
She is the added pressure of a pair of feet on his thighs while he reads his newsfeeds. He could be doing the same thing minus that pair of feet; that’s how she knows he would be the same without her.
She wouldn’t be the same without him. Without him, she would no longer be measuring these differences, coming up with distances.