Night Film

“Mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love. It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are. Will you step back and cover your eyes? Or will you have the strength to walk to the precipice and look out?” 

― Marisha Pessl, Night Film

I felt my life was mostly the live action epitome of existentialism - existentialism incarnate - with fragmented bursts of normalcy. My reality a single extended exhalation. I felt frustrated, angry, anxious, confused, but mostly, sad.

After a fitful night spent thrashing around between the suffocating sheets unable to embrace the solace of sleep, I finally managed to fall into a disturbed and restless slumber long after the sun had risen. 

I awoke less than an hour later, unsettled, an aching sense of discontent lingering like stale smoke around my shoulders and collar bones. These nightmares are frequent and unyielding.

Love & light,

M xx

there will be no trace that one was once two after I fade into you

I was once told that I am a tragic romantic, to which I protested with the utmost vehemence, utterly and inherently adverse to any and all articulations of myself as any version of an amorous fool. Yet, perhaps, as I twirl through the violent wind at that time of the night when a blanket of deathly silence covers the earth during the depth of a balmy and unrelenting summer, imploring him to follow me, chase me, consume me, I cannot help but wonder if the aforementioned description of me is entirely untrue.

The whiskey has muddled my mind and all I remember is uttering "Until we meet again" as I pull the door closed behind me, upholding the promise we made to never say "goodbye". Sitting alone in the uninhabitable dark after he has delivered me at home, the warmth of the golden liquid coursing through my veins, I am haunted by the feeling of his lips pressing against mine. The cool concrete of the long-forgotten basketball court against my skin, the faded graffiti etching itself into my back. Desperate caresses stolen under a cloak of inquisitive stars. The culmination of months of forbidden longing and illicit fantasies. The inevitable air of uncertainty looming ominously over our heads like a cartoon storm cloud, because we both know that our time together will be both tumultuous and fleeting.

"Have we inadvertently become the cliche we both detest with such loathing?" He asks me as we spin around on the aging, maudlin Round-a-Bout, the only reminder that this overgrown patch of grass was ever a play park. Presently it is haunted by the echoes of forgotten promises and sticky ice-cream stained fingers on a tranquil summer afternoon. The shrill cries of the laughter of children are nothing more than a faint residual memory filtering through the too-long blades of grass. We had spent the night flirting despairingly with a warm bottle of Jack Daniels he had secreted away in a hidden compartment in the dashboard of his car, expressing our malaise and unbridled abhorrence toward those prosaic and mediocre people who are shackled by the most banal characteristics of the platitudinous commercialized ideas of romantic love, vowing never to resemble them.  

I jump off the still moving Round-a-Bout and seize the cool metal with both hands to draw the ride to a halt as soon as he was close enough to face me. I remember the way the wind whipped through my hair as I held his face in my hands, afraid to let go, terrified at the thought of holding on. I tell him that it doesn't matter because in that moment we are limitless, cosmic, paraphrasing a line I had once read in a novel. All at once, in a most fortuitous and prodigious manner, I have the distinct impression that I am a character passing through an airport terminal and meeting eyes with a devastatingly alluring stranger in a Tolstoy novel. It feels a lot like serendipity. When I tell him this much he simply smiles and, cradling my face in his hands, kisses me. And suddenly, I am afraid that all we have left is borrowed time and stolen embraces. 

I told him that one day I would write about him, and now I suppose I have. 

Love & light, 

M xx 

Special Topics in Calamity Physics

 

 

"And I feel like I'm dippin' and divin'. 
My sky shoes are spiked with lead heels. 
I'm lost in this star car I'm drivin'. 
But my air sole keeps pushin' big wheels. 
My world is a constant confusion.
My mind is prepared to attack.
My past, a persuasive illusion.
I'm watchin' the future it's black.
What do you know? 
You know just what you perceive.
What can you show?
Nothing of what you believe.
And as you grow, each thread of life that you leave
Will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs
As you sell your soul and you sow your seeds
And you wound yourself and your loved ones bleed
And your habits grow, and your conscience feeds
On all that you thought you should be
I never thought this could happen to me." 

- Don McLean, Dreidel 

An imperceptible sigh. That is how I categorize my existence now. The slow and steady release of breath symbolizing my inability to hold on to the will to live. My perpetual decent into the various circles of hell. Dante's Inferno beckons me, with whispers that feel like thistles on my eardrums, blood trickling down the side of my face, the metallic aroma prickling my nostrils. I always thought of myself as a writer, yet I am barely grasping my ability to formulate the narrative, the lyrical dialogue, the intro, body and conclusion, as it were. I have lost the plot, a thoroughly post-modern dilemma, some might say. Is it ethical to call myself a writer if I am hardly wont to label myself human? Are the two really indissociable? My perception is warped, not unlike fun-house mirrors, distorting reality, drawing one into what lies beyond the twisted glass. A world of fear, loathing and disillusionment.

Love & light,
M xx 

The Versatile Blogger Award!!!

I haven't posted anything, or even been online, for a while because I have been dealing with some personal stuff that I would rather not write about here. That said, I was so thrilled and honored when I logged on today and discovered that I have been nominated for both a Versatile Blogger Award by Holly-Bella Cassell from The Persephone Complex and a Liebster Award by Stephanie from VidathingS!!! :) Ermahgerd!!! Thank you both SO MUCH!!! I am sending the most positive vibes your way! :) If you haven't already checked out their blogs, please do so now because they are AMAZING - to have been nominated by these lovely ladies is totally awesome!!! :)

It really made my day to realize that people actually like and appreciate my blog (and that what I put out there isn't getting lost in cyberspace). I'm going to address the Versatile Blogger Award today because it was the first one that I was nominated for and tomorrow I will post about the Liebster Award :)

Allow me to escort you through this journey into the thoughts that travel through my weary mind...I will use some pictures as visual aids where I can.

Fact #1: Sometimes I wish my life was a musical. I couldn't tell you the amount of times I am struck by the desperate need to break into song. 

Fact #2: There are few things I enjoy more than losing myself in my writing. Sometimes I feel like reality is a prison. 

Fact #3: I'm petrified of the dark. I can't sleep in a house if there isn't at least one light on. 

Fact #4: I'm a neurotic, overly anxious, obsessive compulsive eccentric. Some people think I'm weird. I think I'm alternative. Maybe this is how I ended up as a philosophy student. 

Fact #5: I am, for the most part, a gigantic cynic but I think I might be a closet romantic. It's the only explanation I have for crying at the end of City of Angels (I generally find Meg Ryan and the romance genre rather painful). 

Fact #6: I really like chocolate and junk food. Which is terribly fattening and unhealthy. And I know this. But I don't care.  

Fact #7: I like things that are old - that transport me to a different time in history. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong era. Typewriters, Singer sewing machines and The Beatles make me feel warm inside in a way that I can't really explain. 

Fact #8: I feel slightly uncomfortable talking about myself. I think that technology coerces us into exploiting our 'personalities' and seduces us into thinking we are more important than we actually are. Most of us are guilty of this. Me included. 

Fact #9: I don't drink coffee, but I really, really, REALLY like tea. 

INSPIRING VERSATILE BLOGGERS THAT I NOMINATE!!!

The Rag Trade 
Pretty Pearl
The Tiniest Firecracker
The Equinox Fashion
Style of Ozoz
Shy But Secretly Fabulous

Stylehush

LE RULES

Share some facts about yourself

Nominate seven other bloggers, and let them know they've been picked

Link back to the blogger that nominated you

Add the Versatile Blogger Award to your post!

Thank you SO freaking much again to Holly-Bella Cassell from The Persephone Complex for nominating me for this award!!! :)

Love & light,
M xx

Silent Night

The night is silent, 

It steals my screams,

It makes me nervous,

It hates my dreams