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The Wasps Could Swim

Love prefers twilight to daylight.

20 August 1982
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I came into the world in harsh sunlight screaming like the rest of us did with the small exception of the extraordinary and the stillborn. I was innocent, cradling things with poisonous bites, and stingers from a phobic world and it's misunderstandings. Then I stood unharmed with an out stretched hand for all to come see what they let their unchecked fears needlessly destroy.

Yet, whatever magic I might have had then has now faded.

I was an outcast, candle worshiping, and incense burning coasting with the underflow of the Will that was my heirship.

To the terror-stricken culture of then I was left exposed
To some of the sickest and most profane sides of humanity...

Soft flesh of a baby raped with murder and hate, that awakens the soul to find nothing is accountable other then the sickness that touches this earth. It's force, fierce and beyond our cerebral comprehension but known to us just as well as the use of water or our mothers breast just the same. It is the thing we fear when we turn off the lights, and the thing we fear seeing growing in the dark of our most beloved when they begin to change. Of course it also comes for us, and even whilst in denial we turn a violent eye to it. We try to stamp it out like a cockroach after the contents of our kitchens, just so that we might prolong our current rest in whatever fools paradise we might be in at the time. Yet the back of our minds will never let us forget that it is there, for it curls it's tendrils around something in our fleeting mortal lives every second we can be ailed to blink, and overtakes. Sometimes forever. Sometimes for just enough time to...

The harshness of the bleating rays of the day became like poison in my veins that delivered me anew into the perfect unweighted balance of the twilight when the darkness began to take hold in my womb.

I am Two.

Split and solipsistic. The deep well of caliginosity in which to drink, as well as a forbidding manifest of lambent bleating pools of illumination that the thirstiest of low wrung desperate spirits come to fill their mouth with when nothing else can be found.

Much later, I stumbled upon the Sacred, sparingly splintered across our cracking earth in the miracles of anomaly and spirit. I felt the sun de novo, not as a foe that eats away my skin whilst slowly summoning death to me, but as a parlor of God upon my shoulders holding me in some sort of sweet aquarium of what could pass for... blissful normalcy.

Although the glass had long shattered, and the sweet water poured out onto dirty piss soaked floors with it's coveted fish.... for what felt to be one evanescent moment, one snatch of a singular sequence of time jointing for the lovely in my small mind, it's momentary warmth devoid of disdain has lasted me greatly in the years of the Arctic Winter of my life that found me once again, since.

It can hold you like a sweet mothers eyes under tender wing, but if you cross it, become It's enemy, It will surely strip the flesh right off your sorry bones... and I've fallen into the night again as The Moon has never betrayed me like The Sun.

Yet, I am still Two, and I am on an adventure.
A stream of consciousness "Hide and Go Seek".
.... would you like to join me?