Writing Angst Depicted in Memes

 

Found it! The Crystal Disco Ball of Unsealed Fate

 We haven't had any house guests since before Covid, but at the end of this week one of my dearest friends is coming to spend a couple of nights with us. As is proper host etiquette I've been cleaning. I try not to leave it all until the last minute and really the house did need a good deep cleaning!

So, there I was dusting the clock my dad gave us for our first Christmas as a married couple many many moons ago. He knew I'd always wanted a Grandfather clock (preferably one with a secret passage behind it.) but ain't none of us rich enough for that! So this is my consolation prize? Sure, why not.

As I was dusting the clock, I spied my gargoyle box. I like gargoyles, I've got eight or nine at least. Lo and behold what was in there besides my sniff boxes from my trip to India in 2004, the object that henceforth shall be known as "The Disco ball of Unsealed Fate" which is conveniently pocket-sized! This is very fitting as I am currently obsessed with the ideas and possibilities of pocket dimensions.

Thanks mostly to The Legend of Vox Machina adult animated series, because who doesn't want a pocket bear?

The Legend of Vox Machina Episode 1 Recap/Ending, Explained: Is the Boy Dead or Alive? (thecinemaholic.com)

Oh sorry, I got distracted. Where were we.....

Right! Lets open the Gargoyle box and see what's inside:

There it is with the three snuff boxes.

So nice to see these things again.

And there it is, in all its non-glory. 

You won't be changing my destiny anytime soon!

Now back to the study of pocket dimensions....

If you had a pocket dimension, what would you put in there?

My answer: A forest full of animal friends with a creek and a little cabin.

Strangest Interludes: The Bewitched and Bedeviled

 The Wanton Vampire - 1994

Just about everyone seemed to want to be a vampire after Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire came out starring Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise. One of my favorite local haunts at the time was a coffee shop in an old brick building near the river's edge. Few people knew about the alternative offerings in the basement, which at this point changed from part-time hookah lounge to blood bar. I rarely visited whatever underground fantasies lurked down there during the business's short existence, only aware of them.

One night hanging out with my besties while drinking coffee a guy came up from the basement. I didn't see him first because I was focused on what a friend was saying. She immediately stopped and got this look of an angry cat about her. Just sudden sheer hatred. I was surprised and intrigued. This friend had the worst taste in men! No good judgement whatsoever yet here she was reviled by one. The whole table, actually. All three were suddenly enclosing me and facing this guy with open hostility.

I'm usually the guard, not the guarded. I've always been the protector and matriarch of our friends' group and subculture scene. He was bold; completely unflustered by my friends' demeanor and focused intensely on me and nothing else. He tried to extend a hand towards me, but my briar roses weren't having it. He said he could smell I had a rare blood type and invited me to join him downstairs.

Romantic, eh? Say that to all the girls do you? I thought to myself. It's true I have a rare blood type, less than 2% of the world's population have it. Should I bleed out only my mother or son could save me but, in an era, when everyone suddenly wants to be a vampire, I doubt this guy could "smell it."

"It's true I have a rare blood type, but you'll never know the pleasure of it. Best you be on your way now." I said. I brought attention to the room, as if the lights suddenly got much brighter. Everyone was standing around him leaving only a path to the main door. Even the counter staff stood there surly and ready to fight.

The moment he left everyone went back to normal as if nothing happened.

The Shop That Wasn't There - 1991

During High School I took off-campus classes that required me to take a city bus. It was in one of the roughest parts of town. Most of the stores in this part of the city had been boarded up for years. Old newspaper and kraft paper blanketed storefront window after storefront window until one night a lovely little hippie shop seemed to have suddenly occupied one of them. It looked bright and cheery inside. Crystals, gemstones and dreamcatchers hung from the windows and walls. Tarot card sets, books, scarves, and whatever else you would expect to find in a hippie/spiritual store.

I was going through a lot at the time. A friend had been murdered, I'd been banished from the church I'd been a part of since I was nine and my parents were unavailable. I pulled the cord for the next stop and walked back to take a look in the shop although I had very little money.

Inside was a blonde lady in her forties who greeted me as I came in and looked around. We started talking. We had a fascinating conversation about how religion and authority were used to oppress women. I'd said nothing about my church banishment or fight with the Sheriff but I was real interested in what she had to say. I stayed for quite awhile. Maybe hours? It was dark when I left. I think I must have caught one of the last buses home. Before leaving she insisted I take something with me. She'd give me a real nice discount to make it affordable, within reason of course. I knew she was luring me to a particular case. I knew she wanted me to pick a particular crystal from said case, but I was doubtful of her motivations. I knew I was being tested and I don't like it. Something about her was darkened, suspicious. She wasn't being honest with me and I wasn't certain if she was friend or foe.

My life could change in this moment. Did I want it to change? I was scared. I feel the crystal in question but refused to even touch it and only watched it from my peripheral and not straight on. I felt like I would be a pawn in someone else's game. Something much larger than me would take over. So I chose the ugliest of disco ball cut-glass crystal you've ever seen. Hideous thing. The woman was so disappointed. Was I sure? Did I want to change my mind? No, my life is my own, whatever it may be.

The next day the bus passed by the same old papered up store fronts. Including the one the hippie shop had been in. After classes I waited, pulled the cord for the same stop as the day before walked back to where the shop had been but it was as if it had never been. Whenever I doubt it was real I pull out the disco ball of cut crystal to prove that it was.

*I can't currently find the damn thing! It's hiding somewhere in this mess.

Breathe In, Breathe Out - 1996

There's a venue in the middle of Washington State called The Gorge Ampitheater. That section of the state is barren with beautiful sharp red rock jutting up into the blue sky with the Columbia River cutting through a mini-Grand Canyon that is no less impressive. It gets really hot and one has to watch their step if they don't want to die of a Rattlesnake bite. It's in this setting that intrepid teens and 20-somethings venture here to the middle of nowhere to attend such concerts as Lollapalooza in barely functioning automobiles and forced to pay $5 for a bottle of water or risk heat exhaustion.

This particular concert was not a Lollapalooza, but it did involve three bands at the height of their popularity: Bush, No Doubt, and Goo Goo Dolls. I was there with my least favorite boyfriend particularly to see Bush play. Having lost said loser boyfriend off in the background with his wandering eye set on a pair of twins in Diasy duke short shorts I proceeded to the pit near the front of the stage.

At 5'8" (177cm?) and with an athletic build I was no easy push over, but as the crowd surged forward at the first few guitar strokes of their most popular song, Machinehead, I was quickly in jeopardy of losing my footing when a long lean arm wearing a hematite bracelet snake around from behind me and grab me at the waist pulling me into a tall sturdy bare chest. Normally I'd give someone an earful at suddenly making themselves so familiar with my person with the threat of evisceration, but he'd done me a kindness bringing me into his protective bubble. I didn't know how to do such a thing and it was strange to suddenly feel as if it were just the two of us, the band singing, and the rest of the crowd faded into a distant blur at the edge of my vision.

I relaxed and let myself enjoy the moment. I planted my bare feet within his inner soles and leaned back into him as we became one tree wrapped of outer and inner bark. When the song ended, he instantly disappeared in the crowd. I should've been able to see a tall guy walking away from me. I know he had blonde hair at shoulder length because right before he left, he leaned over my head to kiss me on top of my forehead and his hair hung in front of my eyes. I'll always be grateful for that experience.

How I'm Feeling...in songs

 

.

Dogs of War - Blues Saraceno on Dark Country 3

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Hunt or Be Hunted

An interlude with Mago who's been helping me with a story.

Don't get caught up in their youth and beauty, Mago, the music is the metaphor. It's been decades since I've intentionally exposed my bellybutton in public.

Timeless Burnout in Budapest - Estas Tonne & Reka Fodor

Back into the fray. Keeping time with the drums. 

One of my favorite songs (Soundtracks, really) to listen too while plotting and planning strategies for anything.

My friend Takeshi once said, "You're the most Samurai person I've ever met."

It's true I come from a family once noble, strategists and killers' centuries in the making. We've always influenced the reckoning. While discussing this maternal lineage with my son he asked, "What is our family really good at though?" Without hesitation I said, "Killing." He didn't like that answer, nor do I blame him. It would have also been true to say "boatbuilding" and "saddlemaking." We're master craftsmen whatever we do. I want to write stories and influence people to make good decisions that extend beyond themselves. I hope I can be a master craftsman at this.

My family has taken enough debts in blood. While I'm anxious and apprehensive about the future, I ultimately chose my roles carefully with a level head.

Isn't there enough death and trauma in the world?

No one person is responsible for it all. We can't blame Trump or the conservative justices for all of the angst and friction in the U.S. right now. That would be giving them too much credit. They've picked at the scab of a pus-filled wound. These machinations were put into motion long ago and we all know it. On some level, we all know it to be true.

Like the timelessness of these melodies, old expressions are worn by new faces.

Be well my friends.

50/50

 

I don't know where I originally absconded this from, but I appreciate whoever gave us this lovely gem of font appreciation!