Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "stars"
Inside a mermaid's skull it's always red ; in the stripped Septembers all the forests bleed colors of leaves.
Like any decent sketch, she was trying to tell a story. And while she was showing the world her insides glistening and real, her saddest sketches were trying to tell Her their own gay little story which in actuality was her story. The Rest of the world was listening to that fable in earnest and very very intently, but was she. Even. listening. To her own story. Neither a statement nor a question pretty much like herself, but she already liked her yesterday better than her today, mostly because she was happy today.
She was murmuring something, her breath warm between her words. Only, the trouble was she wasn’t saying all those things to herself, and that wasn’t the only problem. She was still telling her story, just not to the right people. Unfortunately, she had a tendency to talk to people. Maybe her need for an audience was inbuilt, but she should have considered what was touching her hands right now.
All those cold smudges on her roadmaps were tugging at her sleeve, telling her in what they thought to be kindness that she still had something left in her to finish what she started, to end this. She knew what all those places on the roadmaps were, she just knew, she knew. She knew where all those black lines led.
Hearkening to something not yet lost to her in the middle of the desert but not deserted, she didn’t see God, but still, she knew a way out of these heavens.
Carefully looking at the maps, she knew where she was and where she was going. So she let her sleeves get tugged and tugged and tugged on. Then she shook her hands free, irritated, she lowered her steampunk goggles, painstakingly patterned in her native tongue over her small face, wearing it like warpaint. Hell, it was her warpaint for she was declaring for all the unclaimed and the abandoned, all the other hopeless creatures who never said yes, all the Other Hers. She adjusted her goggles over her hazel eyes that gleamed behind the grimy lens, her eyes huge anime huge. She tapped the golden decorative rim of her goggles, her restless fingers running all over the frames.
She was thinking she should go, just not yet. She had traded in her papery tiara for a red cloak that was rippling in the air, but she wasn’t running just standing still on the roof. No wolves were chasing her sadly, for she had tamed them all.
She remembered something suddenly, shaking her head to clear away the cobweb memory still clinging to her; she was recalling what the dried ink on her hands had been telling her, that she still had little something left in her. To do this. With that little of something, she could take a leap of faith making her fate leap and fork around the reddened mouth of her reality.
She blew out a breath; OK . Here . We. Go. go, go go go! She took off from where she was standing. Bounding off from rooftops she jumped in between the metal buildings in her nightly dystopian settings, blotting out the moon her legs crouching up in the air, her red cloak that was her sigil swelling up behind her.
The shadows she cast on the eaves of tall buildings were all honest, they were. As she bounced off between the metallic buildings liberally splashing them with those shadows of hers, they flickered on the walls shaped like a red fox, the faces of the buildings lapping up those shadows with quiet gratitude.
She was coming, she would remove every shackle there was, she would cut down all the fetters. She would find them, she would set them free. And the rest. She would poison the rest. There must be a reckoning for what they have been doing to her in her own temples.
How could she not?
A star gave birth to her, so how could she settle for anything less. She had come forth into this from a very wet star, she was already ready.
Mist and shadows swirling within her chest and down below teeny tiny little hands were stretching out her tummy from the inside.
She was fading like skin, yes that's true, but there is a lot more that's still going to come out of her.
She was murmuring something, her breath warm between her words. Only, the trouble was she wasn’t saying all those things to herself, and that wasn’t the only problem. She was still telling her story, just not to the right people. Unfortunately, she had a tendency to talk to people. Maybe her need for an audience was inbuilt, but she should have considered what was touching her hands right now.
All those cold smudges on her roadmaps were tugging at her sleeve, telling her in what they thought to be kindness that she still had something left in her to finish what she started, to end this. She knew what all those places on the roadmaps were, she just knew, she knew. She knew where all those black lines led.
Hearkening to something not yet lost to her in the middle of the desert but not deserted, she didn’t see God, but still, she knew a way out of these heavens.
Carefully looking at the maps, she knew where she was and where she was going. So she let her sleeves get tugged and tugged and tugged on. Then she shook her hands free, irritated, she lowered her steampunk goggles, painstakingly patterned in her native tongue over her small face, wearing it like warpaint. Hell, it was her warpaint for she was declaring for all the unclaimed and the abandoned, all the other hopeless creatures who never said yes, all the Other Hers. She adjusted her goggles over her hazel eyes that gleamed behind the grimy lens, her eyes huge anime huge. She tapped the golden decorative rim of her goggles, her restless fingers running all over the frames.
She was thinking she should go, just not yet. She had traded in her papery tiara for a red cloak that was rippling in the air, but she wasn’t running just standing still on the roof. No wolves were chasing her sadly, for she had tamed them all.
She remembered something suddenly, shaking her head to clear away the cobweb memory still clinging to her; she was recalling what the dried ink on her hands had been telling her, that she still had little something left in her. To do this. With that little of something, she could take a leap of faith making her fate leap and fork around the reddened mouth of her reality.
She blew out a breath; OK . Here . We. Go. go, go go go! She took off from where she was standing. Bounding off from rooftops she jumped in between the metal buildings in her nightly dystopian settings, blotting out the moon her legs crouching up in the air, her red cloak that was her sigil swelling up behind her.
The shadows she cast on the eaves of tall buildings were all honest, they were. As she bounced off between the metallic buildings liberally splashing them with those shadows of hers, they flickered on the walls shaped like a red fox, the faces of the buildings lapping up those shadows with quiet gratitude.
She was coming, she would remove every shackle there was, she would cut down all the fetters. She would find them, she would set them free. And the rest. She would poison the rest. There must be a reckoning for what they have been doing to her in her own temples.
How could she not?
A star gave birth to her, so how could she settle for anything less. She had come forth into this from a very wet star, she was already ready.
Mist and shadows swirling within her chest and down below teeny tiny little hands were stretching out her tummy from the inside.
She was fading like skin, yes that's true, but there is a lot more that's still going to come out of her.
ANTS
She knew because she was thinking about it herself and no one else was, not really. They didn't think about it at all. Does anyone really see anything other than the reflection they cast on the brick walls of their mind that's the edge of their world?
No, she knew they weren't stranded on some grand Rock of Gibraltar floating away in perpetual coldness hurtling toward nowhere, no that nonsense was just a flight of fancy. They weren't hidden nor lost, what they were, were a speck of nothingness in a lonely space. Just that. That's all she did really, think real hard about how alone they all were in this togetherness. How utterly alone they were and will always remain that way.
Emptiness wasn't up there in an elusive outer space, it was right here in all of them in the nuts and bolts and mechanisms of all. Down here everything and everyone was strangely sparse. Here she was emptily trying to secure the sunlight in wet darkness, while no one was out there trying to procure her bloodied heart. Still pumping air and ink into her, sadly.
But she wasn't giving up this fight; she belonged to the night, the forests owe her much and the night was hers. She had the entirety of it to con herself into believing, already she was feeling the mass of its blackness pinning her down. She gladly welcomed its weight, whole of it, all of it.
She was everyone's wild card, but she had long since decided solipsism was the only way to go, it was even better than her fever dreams. What else could she do? All her heroes were dead, how was she going to see this through to the end? How was she to finish what was started for her? But she'd make do, she has to, she will win. For.
Once dragons knew her, now they knew of her. She could do this. One thing was for sure; she loved Ants, each and every single one of them. Even though they were eating her face off. So she was left without a face. She was faceless but not nameless, not anymore.
From first to the last chord on the final notes of the guitar, she was hers. Who her heroes were was no one's business but hers. Though she thought she was whole and she felt whole, but she had long ago accepted, she like history was in pieces.
No, she knew they weren't stranded on some grand Rock of Gibraltar floating away in perpetual coldness hurtling toward nowhere, no that nonsense was just a flight of fancy. They weren't hidden nor lost, what they were, were a speck of nothingness in a lonely space. Just that. That's all she did really, think real hard about how alone they all were in this togetherness. How utterly alone they were and will always remain that way.
Emptiness wasn't up there in an elusive outer space, it was right here in all of them in the nuts and bolts and mechanisms of all. Down here everything and everyone was strangely sparse. Here she was emptily trying to secure the sunlight in wet darkness, while no one was out there trying to procure her bloodied heart. Still pumping air and ink into her, sadly.
But she wasn't giving up this fight; she belonged to the night, the forests owe her much and the night was hers. She had the entirety of it to con herself into believing, already she was feeling the mass of its blackness pinning her down. She gladly welcomed its weight, whole of it, all of it.
She was everyone's wild card, but she had long since decided solipsism was the only way to go, it was even better than her fever dreams. What else could she do? All her heroes were dead, how was she going to see this through to the end? How was she to finish what was started for her? But she'd make do, she has to, she will win. For.
Once dragons knew her, now they knew of her. She could do this. One thing was for sure; she loved Ants, each and every single one of them. Even though they were eating her face off. So she was left without a face. She was faceless but not nameless, not anymore.
From first to the last chord on the final notes of the guitar, she was hers. Who her heroes were was no one's business but hers. Though she thought she was whole and she felt whole, but she had long ago accepted, she like history was in pieces.
Cyril Van Der Haegen
I know you wanted me to paint from memory, I really want to but I can’t. The moon is ruinous tonight. Be honest, we can both feel the full moon, be fair and admit it weighs so much on this night, the fullness of it is just too much.
Even though, the moon is making me, I want to work tonight- through you and through you, the moon feels ruinous, it does, it is utterly vicious, it is absolutely beautiful. You are definitely there. Part of it, of that. All this sordid affair only because you color my words.
Stuck in this loop, this pas de trios, you are as cyclical as all of this, as the moon itself. Epistles you never sent, Wardruna earworms in your head, exulted; you continue to exist while the moon continues to resent you. There is a story in this; maybe even a stolen one. Maybe even yours. But not yours. Exit now. Thief, you lied; it was you who murdered the murder of crows.
I promise I’ll be brave, please stop existing and come back a monster, promise me. Listen, it’s not like I am expecting you to be a mess, but can you look a little less happy?
Even though, the moon is making me, I want to work tonight- through you and through you, the moon feels ruinous, it does, it is utterly vicious, it is absolutely beautiful. You are definitely there. Part of it, of that. All this sordid affair only because you color my words.
Stuck in this loop, this pas de trios, you are as cyclical as all of this, as the moon itself. Epistles you never sent, Wardruna earworms in your head, exulted; you continue to exist while the moon continues to resent you. There is a story in this; maybe even a stolen one. Maybe even yours. But not yours. Exit now. Thief, you lied; it was you who murdered the murder of crows.
I promise I’ll be brave, please stop existing and come back a monster, promise me. Listen, it’s not like I am expecting you to be a mess, but can you look a little less happy?
