Lost lines of shadows fall across the gleaming night, burning back the last whispers of light.
We wait in the darkness, bleeding hearts in hand, moon blinked & wild.
My new Moleskine arrived. I stared into its blankness and worried about ruining it. Worrying about not being able to fill it with the magick I wanted to. Worried that I can’t use it as a regular journal.
I let that worry go and let the words flow. This journal is more for words than art.
The special words that need a special place to be saved and remembered.
This isn’t a journal for tracking the mundane passing of days.
It freaks me a little, peeling back my flesh and sharing what lies beneath. But it also feels important and sacred.
Ever since the energy working I had, things have been spinning wildly around me and not moving at all. It is a strange space to be in, hurdling toward some unknown future while seemingly standing still.
There’s some shifts and changes. I have no idea what they are. I don’t know where I’ll be or what things will look like when it is all done.
I’ve been told it is for the best and it will be all good. I think that is true. I certainly don’t feel like everything is going to shit. But I’m almost holding my breath waiting for it.
So things might get a little quiet here, they might get a little weird or I might tear down this whole site and start again. Even though I’ve just done that and the thought of doing it again scares me. I don’t know what I would replace it with. More art? Morbid scraps of poem-ish writings? Random brain matter? Ghost Stories?
I have no fucking idea.
All things point toward an all-consuming fire burning me up. I have no clue what will crawl up from the ashes.