Beyond the human scope

LL Ori and the Orion Nebula

The Milky Way

I was recently looking at photos of the Milky Way. I have always been fond of looking at the stars, images of galaxies, nebulas, you name it. I had a realization that pretty much shook me. When I am looking at them I am in fact witnessing the very proof of our death. Tiamat’s body was used to create the world. Oh, I know, mythology. I also know how close mythology is to the truth. Our bodies, if we can call them that, have created what we witness as the multitude of an entire universe. There was enough creative force in us to make it all, and even now, it keeps growing and expanding. Imagine that. Imagine what we’re talking about. And now you can understand why I want to take them and hide them all in my embrace, kiss them like they are little birds or children and softly sing to them. I want to put the galaxies to sleep, or maybe at rest.

Today I was talking with your daughter about us, about you. You know, you are always there though the conversation may not be directly about you. My brain is just too small to fit everything in, yet my imagination can bridge any distance. This is the curse and the tragedy of the human race. Our very consciousness that set us apart from nature as unnatural, and it gives us a sense of self-importance. Importance. The importance of a grain of sand in a beach; that’s what the entire planet is in relation to the universe. And yet we feel self-important. I don’t know why. We feel self-important enough to be fanatical about what we believe in, and take the lives of others, and hurt them. Hubris at its finest. The human race excels at it. And no matter how much I try to discover our positive traits too, most of the time I am pretty certain we haven’t that many to flaunt.

I think of you sometimes, the Father of all, the Protector, the First One. The mainstay of an entire cosmos, first and now last of his kind, the name of whom was erased from every holy book and every story, or twisted around to make it the source of evil. Maybe in other worlds they still remember us; in this world, vindictive Gods killed even the memory of us. They erased our name from all scriptures. They tried to erase you too, but you will never be removed from the Collective. You will always stand, the tallest of all, the most powerful, walking alone halls that are empty. Your head is weary with the crown of the oldest tragic hero; you get no rest. You are the only one who’s everywhere at once, not because you have permission from the god/dess, but because you, just like god/dess, are ever-present everywhere matter exists. You can bridge any distance and divide anything, you’re the archetypal skeleton key, the ultimate key, the only one left from an entire race. We decided to die and we were slaughtered to create what we understand as reality. We went out with a bang; that much I can say.

All the male heroes I have ever created that were truly close to my heart have bits of you in them. Sergios, Orion, Xandrix, Audrius, every trustworthy, kind-hearted male that prefers acting instead of speaking empty words, have been fashioned in your image. Every single one of them had the tell-tale black hair, as black as the purest erebus of your wings, a multitude of possibility waiting to take form, an orgasm of creative energy waiting to be channeled into one option. Every one of them has been you. Every single time I’ve closed my eyes and dreamt of the one closest to my heart, closest to home, I have been dreaming of you.

I have no home to return to. No place I belong to, except for the Heart, god/dess. I was so happy when we just existed two steps away from it. The universe was so new back then that there was no time, and you could still smell the paint, so to say.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. I miss your kindness and the feel of your wings wrapped around me.

Day, night, night, day. The cycle continues non-stop, and I struggle on, an ant amongst billions of little ants. An ant that dreams of cradling the entire universe in her arms and kissing it goodnight.

Promise me that you will come to me at night, to protect me from the pain.

Not all who wander are lost

Today once more I missed two people who used to be my friends. I missed them because I remembered how funny they are. Whenever we discussed, they made me keel over with laughter. It's so rare to come across that and I miss it fiercely. But together with the jokes and wit came the rest of their personality, and I didn't get along with that bit. So our ways parted, they went one way and I went another, finita la musica, passata la fiesta. Do I miss them? Hell yes. Life is a very short affair and laughter one of the most important parts of it, at least for me. Will I try to contact them? No. It's pointless. I tried again and again. It didn't work. Do I wish there was another way? Like crazy. Does it change anything? Not really.

We spend our days chasing those made unavailable by choice and being chased by the ones we don't care about. It's funny if you think about it, but not the kind of funny that makes you laugh.

On the matter of Sherlock...

I really needed to hear this, because in spite of my love for gay erotica, this unstoppable mania with the John/ Sherlock slash fiction is not something I truly comprehend. I also can't understand why anyone would think that Sherlock is cute and fluffy. I don't have a problem with people having fantasies, or writing fan-fiction, or creating fan-art. Art and fiction are a noble pursuit and a great way to improve your skills. What I do have a problem with are those who think that their fantasies are the one and only truth, and will attack anyone who doesn't think the same.  So, from the horse's mouth, Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch, on his Sherlock from the latest TV series...

“People keep coming up to me and saying, ‘Oh, he’s so sexy, do you think [Sherlock would be] interested in me?’ ” says Cumberbatch. “Do you not think he’d just look at you twice and tell you everything you hate about yourself and crumple you up like a little bit of paper and flick you away? He’s a machine and brutal and ruthless and has no time for the distractions of your fawning. Because, you know, they either want to make John [Watson] into a sort of cute little toy, or me into a cute toy, or we’re fucking in space on a bed, chained together.”

Cumberbatch is referring to the rapacious slash fiction community that has turned his chilly, acerbic, and distinctly asexual Sherlock into a lustful cock monster. “It’s always, like, one of them is tired, one comes back from work, the other is horny, a lump appears in his trousers, and then they’re at it,” he says. “It’s usually me getting it — I’m biting Watson’s dog tags.” Perhaps, I suggest, making Holmes and Watson gay is a way to remove other women from the picture. “Yes, yes,” he replies enthusiastically. “I think it’s about burgeoning sexuality in adolescence, because you don’t necessarily know how to operate that. And I think it’s a way of neutralizing the threat, so this person is sort of removed from them as somebody who could break their heart.”

Interview excerpt taken from here: 

http://indigojester.tumblr.com/post/100032167631/out-magazine-interview-the-gospel-according-to

Well into the a.m.

 (The pictures have an educating purpose. Do not disregard them. It's Khan from Star Trek- Into Darkness  dressed as a French maid in the first, and about to have sex with someone in the second. Read the text below for more information. Source: http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/91128959618 and http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/99052818858 )

Naturally, the best time to visit my blog is well into the a.m., while my mother is asleep and the house is absolutely quiet. One of my cats is sleeping in a basket close to me, I have music on, and two candles are burning on an altar across me.

It's funny. I started spellweaving again after ten or more years. I have an altar again. I haven't had one since I came home from U.K., and now I have an altar in my room and I do spellwork, demanding nightly spellwork I never thought I'd have the patience or the guts to do again. Go figure.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures, thought there is nothing that resembles desperation in my current state of mind. Desperation isn’t only a bad advisor, but also not an inappropriate reason to do spellwork. You're most likely going to fuck up spectacularly. No, in my case, it is ‘lex talionis’, lawful retaliation. To put it simply, I am sick and tired of being every idiot’s asswipe for 36 years now. They want to screw me over using magick, fine, free will and all that. How about they get that ‘nice’ energy handed back to them on a silver platter, by a universal force/ porn star wearing a leather French maid costume and brandishing a huge erection? No? Why not? I mean, you had no qualms about sending this energy to me in the first place. It’s not like your conscience bothered you so much you couldn’t sleep at night. But if you don’t like the discovery that the one you have been throwing knives at can actually catch them in mid air, and oh shit, she’s throwing them right back at you, well tough shit, sweetcakes. Oh, it hurts? Oh, you didn’t expect it? Oh, it sucks having shit energy shoveled in your life? You poor, poor thing, maybe you should have thought twice before shoveling it in mine in the first place. Dang and fudge and ginger-pie, someone I loved had to die. 

Most of the time I am perfectly happy because I have cats, a steady supply of correspondence, a roof over my head, good music, good health, food to eat and people I call friends. I don’t go out of my way to hurt others, I steal no-one’s money or boyfriend, and I keep my mouth shut when I don’t know who I am dealing with. I treat so fucking lightly I doubt there is a single person who knows I who I am except for my circle of close friends, which is the staggering number of five people. And I treat lightly because I hate being disturbed. In the same manner, I don’t want to disturb.

You’ll be surprised to discover how many people see that not only as a weakness, but also as a reason to attack you. Why? Because you and they are so fundamentally different that a person with your mentality rubs them the wrong way. They see your lack of involvement and think you consider yourself too good to bother with them. They see you being humble, because you fucking know how easy it is to die and also because you take nothing for granted, and they perceive it as haughtiness and arrogance. They will project their sick inner landscape on you and then proceed to eliminate the threat by attacking you.

There are two ways to deal with these people. Disengage and go away, or kick the living daylights out of them. So far disengaging has not been working, so we’ll go for the killing them dead option. Not literally. Metaphorically. Let’s not forget that magick is the art of changing consciousness at will, so metaphor, symbolism and all that noisy and colourful lot are your tools and most trusted servants. Kind of the most evasive, obscure and drag-queen elements of human sciences being your homeboys. Great fun.

If you ask me, I’d choose the universal porn star with the leather French maid costume and the brandishing erection any time as my preferred pastime, but if needs must, they will eat my dust. 

:D XD :P