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30 October 2017 @ 07:31 pm
what are those words whispered just as you turn away  
it all changes in an instant, whatever an instant might be: less than a moment, even, but with repercussions that absorb entire civilizations, much less the two damaged lives that crash on the shore instantaneously, in an instant, in the blink of, in the wink of, winked out and thrust through

we are inconsequential, really. as inconsequential as any instant other than the ones where everything changes. you were calling me. you called me. you summoned me. like i was a devil. you stocked the altar with sulfur and goat’s blood when lapsang souchong and rose petals would’ve done the job twice. you summoned me like you intended to make yourself a deal: to have me without obstacle? to dissect me into something harmless? to shut me down, shut me up, shut me away? again you stripped me of having left you to it, again, whatever it might be you again insisted on being left to: a funeral pyre in shallow waters, a funnel cake just outside the coaster queue. you brought me back into your circumstances: but through no means by which you could be held accountable, or held at all for that matter:

but i came, regardless. here i am, ready and waiting, so what do you want? you brought me here, so why am i here? are you going to tell me why i have been summoned, or are you again leaving it to my imagination? good thing i’m imaginative. good thing my imagination hasn’t gotten me into trouble before. good thing you haven’t once yet used my imagination against me as a weapon. and yet, i know it, you might not know that i know it, but then again maybe i do. those matters you condescend to me about, those are the matters you find the most threatening: so of course you make it into a weapon. of course you use my own pen to write me off. it was supposed to be a gift, but then again

what are you doing, looking this posioned horse in the mouth?

a quarter of a century. more than half our lives. well? you called, i came. are you going to tell me what i need to know? are you going to ask me to stay? are you going to invite me in or just keep summoning me to a point with no entry? what is the point, when there's no entry? are you that afraid of me?

invited or not, i try on dresses, i wrap myself with scarves. i swathe my body in silk and gauze, passing myself over with the perfumes of a hundred strangers. i wrap myself up like a gift, dubious though i may be. i look myself in the mouth. i wrap myself up in stories that have nothing to do with me, in threads that have nothing to do with me, except for that they’ve been abandoned to my discernment

and i am an evangelist of repurposing, salvaging, reclaiming: a goddess of using what is already there, even if it isn’t something ever intended for me or my purpose. i cocoon myself for the coming transformation. i cocoon myself for the coming apocalypse. is it coming yet? is it here? i drape myself in holy vestments as though preparing for some dramatic reveal: the magician flourishes the cloth away to reveal: me, all mystery, nothing up my sleeve, no sleeve to conceal.

covered or uncovered, i will remain a mystery, as would any of us, as would you. the nature of the mystery we bring each other simply changes form, as it always has, as it ever will. will you like that mystery as much? does it matter? is it better or worse than where things are now? honestly, now. honestly?

what i mean is: the mystery is going to change, regardless of whether or not we look it in its mouth. what i mean is: how dare you presume to make such assumptions on me. one instant, that’s all it would take. one instant and everything changes.

music: motionfield - quiet is the new loud