Tuesday, January 9, 2007

some dark underbelly...

Lifted from Maeve's myspace blog, a fellow radical parent in this South of Sounds.

... of fantasy catches my eye. A small craving before I sleep, a whisper of nightmare softly written, hidden beneath frolicking faeries, and fantastical landscape, it awaits. No Cthullu here, just a rolling eyeball, a crested helm, an appointment with the nothing that stands behind the door, one drink too many, one heart too hard, a sad and pregnant silence that catches in your throat and hurts when you swallow. This is the remnant of a heavy dinner, spurring your stomach on to mutiny, keeping you levitated in the sleep of dreams that don't die upon waking. I count on this to be my muse, my warrior, my hard heart that shelters within my soft and open one, and also my memory of what my soul has glimpsed in those dark times and places in my past.

We all wear red, and keep ourselves holy. We all dance to music that can only be heard in graveyards and in alleys of the nightways, while pretending it is unfamiliar, lost, and unknown to our complacent ears. When you are a child, you hear it clearly, and fear the dark righteously and with utmost attention placed where it should be. Most of us grow deaf to the suggestions that come out of closets, covered over by organized intentions, and summonings that conjure only mundane mutterings, only tame tears.

But a child knows the fear that is felt in the face of nothingness, her tattered hem tickling our panic source, her whispers gentle and hinting of white beings that have no faces, only mouths with which to scream.

In some small, unmentionable (yet I do) way, it comforts, and promises to those of us who Wonder great doings and goings on beneath what we wish to view of the world in sunlight. A secret place that may be filled with horrors unimaginable, a dark underbelly, written, for those would run screaming at the thought of Everything Explained and Ordinary. I'll take the fear with the fantastic, I'm afraid, I'll wait here with my mind opened, a million stories untold, my tongue tingling in antici pation.

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