2005-06-21 - 3:54 a.m. - Changeless, And Yet...

Azini.

There are changes in the wind. Changes past, changes present... is there a future for me in all of this? Is there any hope that it will stabilize, become... solid? The Collective is talking so loudly that they can't really think, can't concentrate, can't focus. So...

So we write. So I write. And create. And dream here, in text and pixels, trying to grasp this sudden newness that has us all breathless. That has me breathless.

Azini.

There... is not really much I can say, after all. What's done is done. There was a price to be paid and it was paid gladly, lives bought and sold and traded away, given away, for what? We know already where this path leads, we do. We know. We've walked it before, you see. We remember.

Plurality. Heh. You can tell I'm not doing too well as far as emotional and mental stability when I have a hard time saying "I" and want to say "we" or "us". I think there's panic brewing, fierce and strong, and I am praying, desperately praying, that for once it will not catch us all up and sweep us away.

"Running Blind" by Godsmack is suddenly in my head.

I don't know where to begin. There's so much suddenly pouring through me that all I can do is hold my breath and hold onto what little stability I have left and wait for the floodwaters to settle. The images in my head are jagged, twisted. Broken wings. Shuttered windows. Cage bars, rusted steel, the little death visible on a girl's face, the sound a violin string makes when it snaps, the sight of a coffin lowered, slowly, so slowly, into frost-touched ground. No mourners. No priests. Only a single watcher, and his eyes are dark, hidden.

Yes, Inari, this is how I think. What I think. This is the flutter of mothwings just before they touch the candleflame. This is me. This is what you want, right?

Sorry, sarcasm is hard to fight back at moments like these. I ache.

We are in agreement about a very few things these days, we the collection that lives in the back of my dream-drunk mind. We agree that we are yours. We agree that we will not let go of what's ours. We agree that suddenly, all of us save the smallest, most submissive fragments, are terrified.

Hold me close, if you want to keep me. Bind me down, give me something to bite, something to claw at while the first hurtful birthing pangs tear my soul. Grant me chains and ropes, gentle touches, stern and loving words. Hold me close and please, please, don't let me go... because I am running scared now, my mind is buckling, and it's all I can do to remember to draw breath.

Something else, an illustration... an image... a momentary vision... can be found here: "Union"

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