just this

always at night when wrapped in black, looking but not with eyes, spirit unbuttons my body, stains the sheets and dances where the moon pulls the tides to the edge of the world, where i notice more than you think and think more than you know.

so far the revelation has been that crucifixion isn’t necessary to be reborn, and the stone they all crave lies within our chest.

now is everything that was and is and will come. welcome. i will come and meet destiny face to face to discuss authorship of every love story i ever lived. until then, in the hope of not losing them, i knot my memories and write these small cartographies to help me not to forget...

i used to believe that i often turned my back on reality to partake in frequent flights of fancy, when in fact i now realise that is my reality. i am the ultimate composition of all my contradictions. a strange womanchild. a romantic realist. all corners and curves comfortably straddling the line between darkness and light. i live through my five senses whilst attempting to develop a few others. i adore the scent of grass after the rain. i love the varying textures and opacity of light in the mornings, the smell of used matches, mythology, ritual and folklore, the secrets of the amygdalae. i love the old ways that were the new ways that now shape my way. i love the smile in your voice and eyes. personal hieroglyphs and ancient maps, interior maps, battle scars and passionate hearts, lives lived as poems. i love the smell of autumn in the air, decadence, simplicity, instinct, personal mythologies. i tend towards people who make me listen and see and want to know more. i feel more truth from earth and nature spiritualism, green and blue and everything in between. i like to play with matches, adore the scent of sun warmed skin, hot chocolate and turkish delight. i love people's stories, hand written letters (wishing i was less sporadic in my replies.) i relish the collision of lives and worlds, however fleeting or long lasting, and the marks they leave behind, the way their fingerprints and hearts help shape us..

so pity me not for daring to call it love. for being helpless to the laws of ascension shot from the chests of prophets and held between and in each breath. i sink ships. im an alchemist, an electromagnetician. quiet thunder. a hermit. bigger than my body. tiny tiny tiny. im evolving and regressing in not so equal measure. maybe one day my edges will fail to contain me. i think and feel stuff.

lots of stuff.

mostly...






and
in another language...

( images.. anni leppälä, a letter to georgia o'keeffe,  unknown, emilie faif and ronit baranga)

10 comments:

alvaro barcala said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Tiberius said...

There used to be person that went by this moniker on myspace many years ago.
A dreamer, a pirate, a powerful Siren.
It's you, no?

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

indeed, mr N?

Tiberius said...

No. Can't pretend that doesn't sting :) Try another letter.
This is like a game of hangman with my ego.

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

mister T?...who is the same as mister N..

Tiberius said...

I didn't mean for this to become a riddle, but while we're at it;

Both N and T were in my name, but I started with K - now continue the game...

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

what about football clubs that could be confused with a girls' name...?

Tiberius said...

That's easy - Accrington Stanley.

What is often returned but never borrowed?

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

that was me letting you know I've had my epiphany and fathomed your identity!


however.
to answer your question...
faulty goods, burned cakes, thanks, affection, birthdays(?!)

Tiberius said...

Aw gosh, you remembered me!
I'd love to hear how you're doing, but feel I may be hijacking your blog post comments. Can you message on this platform?

All good answers, very creative too. The official answer is.....thanks!