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Tuesday, April 16, 2013

i like to espresso myself

i like the labeling system for many reasons. foremost among them tonight is how it helps me determine what i want to say, without choosing a title right away. it's only a marker post, but i really need to tell myself a few important things.

there is a quality of life awaiting me, and i need only give up a few things to attain it. i need to give up some of these highs and lows that help me express myself, in order to be a better friend. i need to give up that third gobletful, in order to look & feel & think & play & work better. i need to move my body more, and more often, in order to maintain energy when i need energy and solid sleep when i need solid sleep. i need to stop giving myself the dregs of my time & energy, so that i can really enjoy the time & energy i withhold from others, so that i can rejuvenate instead of just survive, so that i can give others the quality time & quality energy i want to give them. i need to record more music and take more photos, to stoke the passion that fuels my personality and hold at bay the angst and stress that threaten the quality of my endeavors and experiences.

and i need to take more vacations, so that i can do a bunch of the things that i need to do.

and, i need to clear an aesthetically valuable space for myself, one that suits me, so that i can rest more and blog more and not be embarrassed when i Skype more. and i need to further explore and develop this metaphor-heavy narrative writing style that has surprised me with its effectiveness.

and i need to think of a title for this post, so that i can post it. and (because i've finally found a way to let caffeine affect me), i need to not take double-shots at 8pm anymore, so that i can save some energy for heavy work days instead of using it to type more quickly.

and i need to dream now, so that i can be armed & armoured when reality attacks tomorrow morning.

Monday, April 15, 2013

edges (ii of iii)

when she unwoke, she discovered she was drifting through ink.

it seemed that way, at least. she found she could breathe, though the humidity threatened to choke her. the 'air' was thick, and cloying. she could smell nothing, but occasionally a gust of the stuff brought a hint of sweetness to her tongue.

and she drifted. and though she saw only black, she felt she was falling.

hours later, something icy and smooth brushed her bare leg, and she gasped-- not just for the sudden contact with the mysterious object, but for the realization that she had somehow left all of her clothing behind. "what the f-!!" escaped her lips, and the sound of her own voice startled her anew. she was prone to such outbursts, but since she had no idea where she was, she figured she had better mind her manners as much as possible. at least until she could find a worthy victim for her ire.

the object brushed at her again, but this time she cautiously reached down and brushed it back. the texture was familiar, and she forced her way through fear to grasp the object firmly.

it was a chain. it floated as she did, like kelp reaching up from a seabed; but it felt weighty, and strong. each link was 10.922 centimeters long.

the reminiscence of a seabed made her think of home, and she felt a bit of her confidence return. hand over hand, she pulled her way deeper into the darkness, and found the chain was about eight meters long. near its base, she applied some leverage, and rotated herself to 'land' feet-first on a rough surface.

pale yellow light blossomed overhead, a sickly colour, and the landscape it abruptly revealed was unlike anything she had ever dreamt before.

the ground was a patchwork of various materials. she stood on the center of a square of dark, coarse sandpaper, about two meters on a side. next to it, on her right, was another square made of interlocking bones, bleached white. to her left was something that resembled an empty flowerbed, except instead of rock it consisted of crushed white porcelain. she prayed a silent, grateful thank-you (to no power in particular) that she had landed here on the sandpaper, instead of cutting her feet on those gleaming fragments of what might once have been plates and coffee mugs.

in total, there were sixty-four 'tiles,' and she realized then that this was a nightmare. "i despise chess," she muttered, wondering why her brain would subject her to such an unpleasant vision.

from the middle of each square rose a chain like that which she had used to descend. they waved lazily in the now-invisible ink. there were no two alike in material, though they maintained the black-and-white checkered pattern. she noted obsidian arrowheads; charcoal; the splintered remains of a dining table & chairs that had been stained walnut; and immediately in front of her, a tangle of thorned vines.

surrounding the area on all sides were walls of dark stone, and only fifteen meters above her hung a half-moon, its wan light lending an eery finishing touch to the scene.

though the pieces were missing, she could see that her square belonged to the queen. and on the game board's opposing side, where the king would have been, sat the fox.

his fur was a rich red, now, and he seemed freshly bathed and groomed. "step lightly, and choose your moves carefully," he warned her, grinning his toothy grin. "sharp edges, you see."

being naked would not have bothered her, normally... but the eyes and the manner of the fox unnerved her, and probably would have done so even had she been wearing full-plate and wielding her walking stick. so she reached backward in time just slightly, and tugged, pulling into the now a few yards of shadow, which she wrapped about herself tightly. she was dismayed to find that this did not diminish the sensation that she was somehow being invaded.

"what is this place?" she asked boldly; but her voice trembled a little.

the fox lifted one paw and waved it before him in a grand gesture. "it is my playground. be welcome."

"i do not feel welcome." she clutched the hem of her makeshift robe more tightly.

the fox laughed. it was a new experience for the woman, a noise halfway between whooping cough and the jeering of a crowd attending the execution of a particularly hated criminal. "but you are!" he insisted. "and though you would have done better to turn the ring over to me when i requested it, i am most delighted to find you here, for i've been quite lonely since the last game ended."

"i hate you," she replied hastily, though she knew not why. a dizzy feeling had come over her suddenly, and she longed for support of some kind. even her crutch, less comfortable than her walking stick, would have sufficed.

"you'll find no support here," the fox said, seeing her slight sway. "only opposition."

"i do not like chess," she said. "and, furthermore: i may not be able to walk unassisted, but i can certainly defend myself if threatened."

"threatened?!" the fox replied, and he feigned a wounded expression. "perish the thought, dear lady! i wish only a... friendly conflict."

even subconscious and disoriented, the beautiful old woman knew very well that no such thing could exist, even in this surreal nightmare. she knew also that the fox was the most cunning of all the woodland animals, and that the most truthful of his words could still lead an unwary listener swiftly into ruin.

the fox let his pink tongue loll out between his fangs, and gestured again, this time specifically to the board. "so. shall we? i promise an enlightening experience. you may even learn something of yourself that could not be learned any other way. please, lady; i know you to be both creative and intelligent. and," he added enticingly, "i will provide additional incentive."

"what incentive?"

"i will tell you of the ring."

the woman's interest in the ring had brought her here in the first place, and she was unaccustomed to giving up on a quest, whether motivated by need or simple curiosity. on the other hand, she did not wish to remain here, and she suspected the game would require walking the board herself, which would certainly cost her dearly. she glanced down, at a square of various woodworking tools that had rusted over completely. her eleventh toe twitched fitfully in anticipation of the pain.

"i must decline," she said at length, having weighed the pros and cons. "i... well, i'm not dressed for the occasion. and surely you would win at a game of cleverness. and agility," she added, knowing the fox could probably pick his way across the hazardous grid without much trouble.

"ahhh... i see the potential rewards are not as important to you as the gameplay itself," the fox observed sagely. "very well. an alternative, then." he gestured with one paw again, and the board transformed beneath her.

where had been barbed wire and shattered glass, now lay dark animal furs and cumulous clouds. the chains became braided silk rope. the jaundiced light of the half-moon brightened to Colgate-white; it was now half of a chandelier, glittering with tiny stars set in wrought silver.

relieved & delighted, the woman stepped forward onto a bearskin rug. she even released her hold on the hem of her robe to caress the rug with one pale hand. it soothed her immediately, though she still felt a slight dizziness.

...then she frowned. "this change, it is a deception," she murmured. "you will only turn the board again, when my trust in you is fully established."

again the fox feigned woundedness. "and ruin not only the game, but your flawless skin as well? no; i would not waste such things. please, lady, be at ease; put away your steel. let me make you comfortable." he crooned this last word, and as his mellowed tone washed over her, the robe she had fashioned became velvet. and she found that she did indeed feel comfortable. and safe.

"on one condition," she said. "and i will not negotiate further."

"i live to serve," the fox said, though he did not specify which master.

"let me keep the robe."

the fox radiated elation. "eeeexcellent," he whispered.

~     ~     ~

the silk ropes became game pieces. each of his black pieces resembled a different predatory creature: hawks for the pawns, wolverines for the rooks, constrictors in tall coils for the bishops. her white pieces were carved likenesses of her woodland friends: her parrot, her puppy, her friend the owl, and an elk she had once tended to when it had taken a hunter's arrow to its shoulder.

the fox trotted forward to nip the tail of one of the hawks, and it gave a shriek as it hopped one square forward, sinking a few centimeters into the cotton of the square ahead of it.

the jewelry-crafter reached out to touch the shoulder of the pawn next to her, but then hesitated. "how long will the game take?" she asked.

"i advise you not to rush. time is relative here," the fox replied. his face took on a hungry leer. "and besides: anticipation is half the fun of any worthwhile thing."

"but, does my waking body not continue to bleed?" she demanded, feeling phantom pains in her right-hand middle finger.

"nonsense," he said with a dismissive shake of his head. "we could finish ten games for every drop you shed in your waking life. the bleeding will continue indefinitely when you return, of course, but half of the blood you saw belonged to the ring itself."

"indefinitely?!" she cried, alarmed. "you should explain the ring to me as we play," she said, with a mix of demand and plea in her voice. "you see, i really hate waiting. and bleeding," she added wryly.

"some things are worth the wait," he said. "and the blood."

~     ~     ~

the game lasted about an hour. but for the woman, it felt days.

the fox proved his reputation for being clever. he did not simply outmaneuver her. he lured her into forks & pins & discovered attacks, traded pawns for her powerful pieces, and even sacrificed his queen to check her king. a few moves later, one of his hawks reached her side of the board, and was exchanged to bring his queen-- a tigress-- back to life.

the back-and-forth wearied her. she could have held the upper hand, and still it would have wearied her. she could have been the victor in twenty moves, or even forfeited on the seventh. the game itself drained her, and would have no matter how it played out.

with every piece taken (on either side), she felt her energy ebb. also, some of her own pieces would not respond to a mere touch; she had to set her shoulder & apply her full weight (sixty-some kilograms) plus the strength of her legs against them. and whenever the fox trapped her with some clever tactic, or escaped a strategy of her own, she was not only wearied but troubled. even worse, the fox seemed to read her like an open book... yet it was an empty empathy. he seemed to take pleasure in her frustration, her anger, her fear. a few times she actually heard his stomach rumble, and she thought perhaps he was not only reading her, but feeding on her.

"yes," he answered her before she could voice the question. "i am quite hungry, and your troubled heart is a meal the like of which i have not savored in years. even without looking at you, i can... taste it," he purred, sotto voce.

the beautiful woman did not feel complimented. her mind abandoned its thoughts of which piece to move next. it hardly mattered; he would win within the next four turns. "faugh! your tone is so casual... as if there is nothing wrong with inciting and then eating my dark feelings!!"

the fox seemed genuinely confused. "what else would i be doing?" and here his shadow shifted somewhat, as it had on the forest path, taking on a more lupine shape. "it is your move," he added, and the woman thought he sounded a bit impatient.

well, so was she. in fact, she was feeling many things, and none of them pleasant... save for the spark of righteous anger growing in her, which in this situation she was very much enjoying. it gave her courage. and an idea.


the fox sighed. "your mind is no longer on the game. what then?"

"i grow weary of your deception. if you would have me play this out, then return the board to its original form." at these words, the few remaining creatures on her side whimpered. most of them would fare no better than she at traversing the treacherous terrain.

"truly? i had not thought you so brave... nor principled," he added, somewhat angrily. and now his voice deepened, disproportionate to his diminutive dimensions.  "do you not allow the moon itself to deceive you each night, casting you as the principal beauty in its fairy-tale story? by smiling back at it each night, do you not condone the upending of its crescent to appear as a smile rather than a grimace? does the beam that enters your cottage every night come in through the front door, or through a hole it dug for itself when your eyes were closed?"

his oily tenor had somehow become a rough basso. his volume had not increased. if anything, he was a little quieter; but he was almost snarling, and his shadow grew with each word. "when you left the earth behind to stand at the blackened, crumbling edge of the void, did you feel safe? did you feel secure in the eons-old push-and-pull that turns tides and coaxes mourning from the throats of my kin? when you sank teeth into the eldest imager's flesh, did you taste anything of true substance, or did its chalk dissolve to nothingness on your tongue?"

the fox went on, but his voice was beginning to overwhelm her. she plugged her ears with two corners of her velvet robe. thus her attention shifted from hearing to vision, and her eyes widened with new fear, for she noticed that the fox's wolf-like shadow was not synchronized with its owner. its black teeth were bared in a rictus, and though it made no noise of its own, she could feel its rumbling growl shaking the board.

yes... the chess board. perhaps the fox had decided to grant her request, or maybe all the effort required to maintain the illusion was now invested in the fox's tirade. either way, the materials were fading from friendly back to fatal, and the chandelier became once again a simple semi-circle of sallow light.

a sliver of eagerness sliced through her fear. expressing her anger in a proper way was always stress-relieving.

technically, the old craftswoman was a cripple. but that was in waking life. here, she had more freedom to be true to her original design. she was already crouched low to the ground, so the tile of rusty tools was within reach. quick as a... well, quick as the fox, she snatched up a hand axe and launched it into the jaws of the wolf-shadow. it spun once before the umbral jaws swallowed it whole, and then several things happened all at once.

fragments of shattered gloom flew in all directions.
the fox interrupted his own raving with an agonized yelp.
the board folded upward, in half, launching the woman into the air like a catapult.
the moon's pitiful facsimile shuddered and hissed and began to sublimate.

then the room went inky-black again, and she continued to soar upward, much faster than she had fallen when she arrived. so, the return took only minutes rather than hours.

"i win," the beautiful old woman whispered into the night.

moonlight awaited her, as it always did when she left home during the night (which was rare). it had even torn off a piece of itself to wrap her wounded finger (still bearing the ring) with what was, effectively, a glow-in-the-dark bandage. she could tell that it yet bled, but very slowly. she guessed she had a few years at least before she would run out. and she intended to mend well before that.

"that nightmare was horrible," she remarked to no one. even her most truthful dreams were not so vivid as this experience had been.

she was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her left hand when her puppy bounded over the pillows for a surprise attack. "ahh no! ambush!!" she let him lick at her face until the saliva became too much for her. "i am happy to see you as well," she giggled.

from the always-open window, her big red parrot greeted her also. it spoke her first language, no easy feat for a human, let alone a woodland creature. "ma igatsesin sind! ma igatsesin sind väga!" which made her laugh with amusement. to be polite, she made a squawking noise of reciprocation in the parrot's own language. as always, it made her tongue feel strange.

from a great distance, and yet it sounded as though it were just outside the doorway, the moon also spoke. magusaid unenägusid? it asked.

"no, moon," she replied, shuddering. "not at all. have you seen the fox?"

it watched your home from the shore of the ocean for some time, then slinked away moments ago.

"keep an eye on him for me," she said, "and on my home as well. i need to go away for a while. i would really like to take you with me but i need to go alone. i would like you to be there and wait for me when i come back."

the moonbeam flickered, signifying reluctance. very well, lady. may you find what you seek, it said.

"i will," she replied, and she took up the ring's cord to bind it (empty) around her neck. it seemed heavy even without the ring, and her right-hand middle finger throbbed with pain... but she was even more tired than when she had fallen into nightmare, so falling asleep again would not be too difficult.

then the old woman willed herself to dream of pastries & live music & shiny things, and snuggled into her brand-new robe of black velvet to find a small measure of peace. as she faded away, she wondered whether she had actually harmed the fox, and whether she would be able to find the lake that always revealed the truth, and how she would remove the ring without damaging herself further.

you will, the moon promised her. i am certain of it. it spoke not only words but tangible comfort as well, though she would not receive this gift until she woke the next morning.

Monday, April 08, 2013

edges (i of iii)

light spilled through the thatch roof of her cottage, a pale blue, and dust motes drifted lazily through. a wide pile of blankets and scattered pillows took up most of the space; she was sprawled caddy-corner upon them, so that anyone wishing to join her would have had to rearrange her limbs first. a wooden crutch lay discarded near the door. shoes, shirt, and pants were folded neatly on a hand-carved stool of oak next to the only window, which was never shut.

the loudest noise was that of the light breeze across the top of the chimney, and if one listened closely, one could have heard the ocean lapping at the shore less than a hundred meters away. even the breath of the flop-eared puppy sleeping at the foot of the 'bed' was silent.

the moonbeam made her pale skin glow. her hair, having received its hundred-and-one brush-strokes, seemed to pull the light toward itself, and was so fine that a few strands actually floated above the pillows, making friends with the dust motes.

in reality, the beautiful old jewelry-crafter needed a crutch to walk any significant distance. but in her dream, tonight's dream, she danced.

in reality (that is, in the land of affectionate violence), the sky was a deep, deep blue; but here, it was jet-black, and the stars were doubly numerous, sparkling like the gems the one-eyed woman used in her craft. the ground over which she danced was all white chalk, and a tiny cloud of the stuff followed each step. the ground was pockmarked with craters variously as small as her thumb or as large as her cottage. she moved on tip-toe, crossing small fissures and leaping over ridges as if she had memorized them all. her arms were outstretched, and she swayed this way and that, smiling. she imagined herself beneath powerful waves, and went wherever they guided her.

then she stepped on something hard.

in her dream, and in the real world as well, she made a pained noise-- but more from being startled than from being hurt. she bent low to examine what had interrupted her dance.

it was a ring, covered with the dust through which she danced. but when she polished this away, she found it was of a dark metal. though smooth to the touch, and with an expertly beveled outer edge, it seemed clouded. light from the surrounding heavenly bodies seemed to be dispersed around it, rather than reflected.

it was woven into a braided cord- a necklace. and it was caked with a few drops of dried blood.

"moon... what is this treasure you have kept secret from me?"

it is of no use. leave it be.

"hmh... you have not answered my question," the woman said, annoyed. "but very well. since you have no need of it, give it to me."

you may find it heavier than you expect, it warned, and it is much easier picked up than discarded.

the woman shrugged. it was heavy, for a ring, but the moon's cryptic advice dissuaded her not at all. she was strong, and knew her craft well.

"moon, why is it clouded?"

that is its nature. like all things, it can be nothing but what it is.

"you are especially difficult to understand tonight," she remarked with eyebrows lowered in disapproval. "also, i think you are wrong. there is something brighter underneath. but i will leave you to your glum mood."

the moon did not reply. so she shrugged again and leapt away, toward her home on earth. in her right hand she clutched the ring-and-cord.

~     ~     ~

the woman's talent for crafting was considerable, but she had a secret beyond her talent, and it made her legendary even among the master craftswomen in the city.

she could have learned to grind facets onto precious stones with mundane instruments, had she chosen that path instead. she could have learned mining, and her strong arms would have served her well. she could have developed a keen eye for raw ore, and purchased lenses that would see through ordinary rock to the gems hidden beneath.

but she needed none of these things, because she had two things no one else could claim: first, the ability to coax beauty out of ashes using only her voice and a gentle touch. this of course was coveted by all... but she did not consider it her most important skill. the second ability she had, depended on moonlight.

by night, especially on the shores of her ocean (where the sand reflected much of the moonlight back into the air), she could see which chunks of stone held value and which were only rocks. what might seem filthy, crumbling quartz to others, twinkled like a diamond under the faithful vigilance of her perpetually-crescent moon. this was her greatest secret and most important tool: insight into the true value of things.

so, when she woke from her dream (on purpose, which was rare), she immediately donned a robe, retrieved her crutch, and hobbled out to the ocean shore to examine the ring.

"still clouded," she muttered, disappointed. she turned it this way and that, and even disentangled it from the braided cord to reveal its entirety. as in her dream, moonlight was swallowed by the smooth surface.

then she had an idea. "it only needs a cleansing bath!" and with this confident proclamation she hurried into the water to find a suitable tide-pool amidst the rocks and coral.

"i would not do that," said an oily voice behind her.

taken completely by surprise, the craftswoman dropped her crutch and almost fell into the water. she clutched her robe tightly about her and turned to see... no one.

until she tilted her gaze downward, and saw the fox, sitting with his tail curled 'round his legs. his fur coat was wintry-white tonight, except for a splash of black at his tail's tip. he was licking his tiny fangs when she made eye contact with him.

"you are not allowed here," she said brusquely. she had been certain no one knew of her home here on the shores, surrounded by forest and protected by the moon. no one important, anyway.

"you're fortunate i am here, lady; for that ring you hold would have tainted your ocean shore with its gloom." the fox's eyes were wide as they gazed upon the ring she held. it licked its teeth again.

"what do you know of jewelry?!" she asked incredulously.

"nothing, except for this one piece. it cannot be cleansed, nor can anything it touches be safe. have your friends in high places not informed you of this already?" it asked, though she could tell by his smarmy tone that he was being rhetorical. somehow he had seen her dream, and heard her conversation with the moon!

"i had heard you were wily, but i did not know you were so nosy," she spat, suddenly fed up with the conversation. he should not even be here. "begone! i do not need your advice."

"ah, but it seems you do. would you be so quick to foul your own home? i had heard you were the practical sort."

"and you are the lying sort," she shot back. "ever do you mislead. go and lick your teeth at someone else."

at this remark, she noticed the fox's shadow lengthening, and... growing wider? a sudden sliver of fear wormed its way into her heart (and onto her expression) as the shadow took on the shape of a large wolf.

"i seek only your well-being," said the fox, with what seemed genuine concern. "but do as you will... for now. once you've realized the ring is worthless, do contact me, so that i may dispose of it for you, before its ink & blood stain the mind and heart of another."

she began to reply, but something about the way he spoke made the woman take a closer look at the ring. the dried blood she had noted earlier yet remained, despite the quick polish she had given it in her dream. so, carefully she splashed some seawater onto it, and scraped the blood away with one fingernail.

after a brief moment, the ring welled up with new blood.

this sight washed away the woman's indignation at her home being invaded by a fox with a wolf's shadow who offered unsolicited advice. she was truly alarmed now; she had never seen a piece of jewelry bleed. curious as much as concerned, she looked up to ask the fox what else he might tell her of the ring.

but the fox was grinning, very confidently, and his words forestalled hers. "be sure not to put it on," he warned. then he glided away into the forest.

~     ~     ~

still in her robe (and with the hem still damp with seawater), the woman reclined on her nest of pillows and blankets, and held the ring above her, letting it drink in the room's single moonbeam. it was still separated from its braided cord. the woman's brow was furrowed, and her nose was crinkled. "consternation," she muttered, "is the word for this. yes..."

but she had heard rumors of a lake, several days' journey south, that was said to be especially generous with its gifts. it was also said to be the best mirror one could find. some said that one's reflection in the lake was actually truer than one's own face.

"i will go there," she resolved. "i will find the light hidden within this cloudy metal. it is my greatest challenge yet, and i will prove once again that i am worthy of the legend others have built around me," she thought with fierce (albeit premature) pride. and then, without thinking (for she often wore many rings, both to display her best items and for the sentimental value some of them held), she slipped the ring onto her right-hand middle finger.

the ring turned as she did so, and sliced a vicious spiral into her skin. its blood mingled with hers; the woman gave a quick shriek; her arm spasmed.

and then her mind collapsed inward, into a nightmare.

outside, the moon shifted slightly in its orbit. it could no longer sense the beautiful old woman. this had not happened before. it murmured to the woman through the hole in her thatch roof, but she did not stir.

outside, the fox grinned and slinked away, tongue lolling out to one side. the big red parrot was too wary of it to make any warning noise.

inside, the woman's pet puppy whimpered low, and nosed its clumsy way through the bedding to lick the woman's face. but try as it might, it could neither wake her nor join her in the nightmare. so it lay with its back to her, and waited for her to return.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

can't we be

~     ~     ~

every girl gets her dreams cast into reality
never seemed to bother me; only just recently

'cause you seem to believe
that we'll never be free
always gonna be needy
can't we be like the season's trees?
changeably, just not so easily

on and on, we're the same
jumping through hoops of flames
sounds fun, but a dangerous game
pretty picture, trapped in frame

well, you seem to behave
like we'll always be slaves
never running away
can't we be like the season's trees?
changeably, just not too easily

'cause you seem to believe
that we'll never be free
always gonna be needing
can't we be like the season's trees?
changeably, just not so easily

Monday, April 01, 2013

one needed thing cannot substitute for another

when nothing else that matters to me makes any sense, music-- one of the greatest mysteries in my world-- does.

without this to depend on, without this wildly rich inheritance of soulstuff, without this welcome intrusion, without this benign intoxication, without this bloodstream infusion, my confused brain would likely still survive... but only that and nothing further. with claws of rationalysis it would grasp at reality and 'catch' only a swiftly dissipating smoke.

the real world sometimes eludes me as though it were only playing at tangibility. but music...

my greedy ears drink it in to make the goblet bone dry, and then they discard the cup and reach for the bottle. in my veins its eddies and invisible currents somehow lead me straight to my destination, though i may not have known i was on a journey to begin with. music, for all its mystery and inscrutability, can solve riddles i cannot read and, in seconds, throw open locked doors i couldn't even reach to pound my fists against.

when i mournfully claim to be alone, it calls bullshit. respectfully.

music (even sometimes without any words) explains my tears to me before the first one is shed. it unravels the hopelessly twisted knots that i create for myself. it moves me when i refuse to budge, anchors me when i am at the mercy of unruly oceans, feeds me when my jaw is locked, forgives me before i've apologized... and pours out for me when i am empty, paints for me when i am colourless, writes for me when i am wordless.

and when i cannot sleep, as now, it dreams for me.