Scales, and rods and such

24 11 2012

ἀπέπεσαν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν

I have been in a fog.  Deeper than the tule fogs of the San Joaquin Valley.  Obscurity more profound that the blindness that drives the 100 or 200 car pileups on the highways.  Me the old lady.  Me in the house in the woods, me sleeping in my old used up gurney.  I keep forgetting

λεπίδες  ἀνέβλεψέν

I keep forgetting that place .I keep forgetting I’ve been in this fog because I want to be here.    Me as me, me as bad guy.  I’m a bad person.  I’ve been in error, I’ve not done enough–it has not been sufficient.  I am not good enough.  I have outreached myself.  I am not capable.  Shifted footing and the stones in the little house in the wood are stippled with blood from my busted knee and my scraped knuckle.

immediately there fell from his eyes

Once the scales fell, once I saw a gurney for sale.  How charming it would be to sleep on that gurney.  How charming

as it had been scales

How very, truly, horrifying.

I have almost forgotten the taste of fear

Once upon a time–that old fairy tale, there was a forest made of the metal bars of a child’s hospital bed, there was a witch with a mask and an ogre with a stethoscope and there was, as always, copious amounts of blood in my nose and mouth, choking me and making it hard to breathe.

I have supped full with horror

Then I grew up.  Then I was this–was the child then become the bad person.  What that space, that lack means bad–bad guy.  Old lady in the woods, on her squeaky stained gurney.  The scales have fallen and I am afraid.   This is difficult for me to write about.  It is  embarrassing.  Perhaps you will use it against me.  Perhaps you have.  This is why I’m writing it.  So I’m no longer afraid.

look’d toward Birnam, and anon

I am so tired

methought,/The wood began to move.

Liar and slave

tired

who are you?

I am the bad guy

a moving grove

I will be a bad guy I will own all I do with a clumsy precision and a cold hearted focus.

That after Horror–that ’twas us–

Kaiser Soze and Lady Macbeth and also Lucifer, of course.  I cannot seem to don their armor though.  And maybe, at least in Lady Macbeth and Lucifer’s cases, it’s no real armor.  They end up fallen again or dead  that candle.  I was that woman in the woods.  I was the old lady with the candle wax burning my fingers.  The smell and the taste, I remembered the fall once–I look up and the light came down and pierced through me.  That was Lucifer in his fall–that was the sunlight in Seattle.  That was the water and the stone.  It was and will be and is.

The Cordiality of Death–/Who drills his Welcome in–

I want an iron will and a strength.  I want to call it to me and to embrace my errors–I want to hold that iron inside my heart.  I want to know who I am and what I have to offer.  I’m human, I am all error,  but I have an open heart.  I am on fire and I am a mess–I believe we can all go into that space just a bit farther and I will take you there, farther than neatness or cleanliness allows.  In this way I am  human and a teacher.  It is not perfect, perhaps it is not sufficient.  But it isn’t without my heart.

I don t even have death to fear/midday though/scares me   there s a

haunted and people

A stone and the sea–the wax on my arm and my heart.  An old lady because the crone.  Because old is frightening old is afraid or perhaps just light, translucent skin.  Some things are more valuable than breath.  I’ll light them on fire.  Welcome you to my cottage.  Welcome grey stone and snowtipped peaks.  Welcome lake and river.  Welcome cold.

became/a fugitive and a vagabond on earth

Welcome vagabond.  Welcome in.  Come into this space of my errors and my mistakes.  Welcome in–see that corner, that is where I’ve misled you and that corner, that is where I was inaccurate and there was the place that I didn’t do enough where I took the time back to myself because

Such heartache/dancing heartache

because I needed to so I could come back and be there.  Though the door is now closed.  We learn these things–we old ladies in the woods, with our bloody noses and our tangled up hair, sticks and ribbons, coffee and pain.  Aches and sorrows.  You know these things.  Trick or treat, hold my hand, I’ll lead you to the pit or I’ll forget you along the way.  I’m the bad guy.  I’m a bad person.  I’m bad.

I am the one who puffs horror

Quotes are from Acts 9:18, Erin Mouré, Jesse Pinkman, Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, Antonin Artaud, Julie Carr

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