Time-lapse

footstep on a cloud of strange unknowing

a pause midair that falters in failed tread

cushioned push returns its pressure stillborn

freeze-frame moment captured in my head

a leap from soft to nothing by a tiptoe

bounce back from invisible though seen

enforced figments caught in time-lapse

qualitative queries in strange dreams

pondered pirouettes unseemly balanced

twirling thoughts on razor’s edge too honed

ethereal and uncontrolled they dip-dive

slow-motioned acts and visions – think I’m stoned.

 

My underexertion of the other day resulting in a sore neck has taken on pain of proportions rendering F#°*! useless as a means of coping. My kindly doctor has prescribed a muscle relaxant (that, according to my kids, some use as a means of ‘getting mellow’) and strong pain killers.

I am only fully appreciating that I may be a control freak because this lack of control is now doing my head in. The dreams are pretty good but I don’t usually need meds to induce strange dreams. My brain usually does that all by its lonesome.

I thought I’d post before I trip again unless you want the garbled version I did earlier and saved to draft. Even I don’t know what that one was about.

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Rebuilding Bridges

Our realities were where they lived. They had always lived among us. Mingling and breeding, filtering the external ugliness over millenia, shape-shifting within families, extending their reach and influence, feeding their appetite for souls. We bled spiritual plasma to these psychic vampires; the Trolls piercing, sucking us almost dry and moving on to greener pastures while burning our bridges between the possible and the proscribed. Sometimes the medication helped, blurred the edges of the fairy tale we lived. Sometimes nothing helped. Spent souls huddled in silence awaiting the Banshee, keening their need to end the days, pleading for the stake that would ease their pain and transformation. Some bridges remained. We began the Rebuild.