Glitter and Bone

There are days that I am disappointed that the natural world does not react in the haunted way I think it should.

My Creator speaks but doesn’t seem to give two figs at the space between His words or that I would create fairy tales in that space.

My ceiling is not quiet tonight. It has become rain.

Today someone thought that I was 23 when I am not 23.

A thing is soon to end. It is both a shadow and a leash, draconian and clumsy. I will smile at its end.

In order to keep up in any conversation, I have to forfeit any filter. Forgoing this end step gives the illusion that I am sharp and witty. It has a robust success rate but when it fails, I look like an absolute eel.

I am simple and I am happy.

There seems to be a flavor, a common thread that rouge voices whisper to us. End the lives of others, end the life of yourself. This narrative is proof to me of movement behind the curtain, of many bodies working in unison to bend and break a holy thing. And if the narrative to this dark campaign is to die then the holy thing is to live.

Preschool theological building blocks, I know. 🤭

The unholy hand is shown by perhaps looking beyond clinical designations and chemical imbalances. But to most folk that is simply a gateway drug to nymphs, Odin and sea dragons. I have begun to ramble.

The longer I go without hearing a language, the better I think I speak it.

I cannot babysit every Théoden from every Wormtongue.