toxic--sunrise

existing is hard. expect more of me in the future. 

i've signed up for this terrifying non-fiction flavor of FFM: Souljournalist Challenge|Signup!

nonfiction. 200 word minimum. prompts and prizes. can't convince me it's not a flavor of FFM. and non-fiction is something i'm entirely allergic to, so here's to attempting.

if you're interested, it's running the whole month of june. please come enjoy hell with me. 

also as a reminder: we're now 52 days from FFM. which means i'm actually going to have to put my crochet hook down, and write something. it's gonna be glorious. 

in slightly other news, i now exist in other places. 

Ravelry, for yarn related adventures: I'm toxic--sunrise there, too.

WorldAnvil, as my Hellverse babies have a home now. Dysfunctional Trio, as well. It's currently afflicted with a perma-construction sign and maybe a foot of dust: i'm anatomyofagun over there

Discord, where I lurk and respond to anyone that tabs me when I see it: i'm paradox#1767 at the moment, subject to change. 

Please, tell me, what's new with you guys?



The Wild HuntThe midnight hour brings howling winds across the sky
dark clouds gather hiding moonlight
the hounds lead us, the horns blaring our battle cry
innocent girl ready to fight
the chaos begins- the wild hunt solidifies
frost covers the land glittering
everything else is withering
hooded rider leads- his will is never denied
she does not want to be his prey
refuses to be led astray
horses beat the earth, witnesses are terrified
shivering she stands determined
offering his hand, coaxing her to say goodbye
denying his evil burden
he turns away, her purity can't satisfy.  In Lieu of FlowersShe knew it made her father sad, how she always looked backward. Jenne would spend her time, when she wasn't studying, or even when she was supposed to be studying, face pressed into the eyeset, looking at the feeds from the left-behind telescopes that still made their journeys, like breadcrumbs between here and Earth.
Her sister would slap the back of her head, tsk, then say something about the boy she'd been talking to over the wave. That one on Charon, maybe. Seemed like a different one every time.
Josephine was a kid. She didn't remember Mom. She had no reason to look through Jenne's eyeset at the grainy feeds. Had no reason to glance over at the small box on the shelf, the one that the man from the Company had brought to Dad, along with the letter.
Jenne had looked up the procedure on her own when Dad evaded her questions. About how they bagged the remains, froze them, then vibrated them into powder. About how they vented the moisture into space. What was left was collected

Here, have some things:

Seasons of SaplingsOut in the forest
stands a little tree.
Although small, it stands tall
against icy bullets of rain
through paralyzing frost
and the strong winds of change.
The rain and frost will return,
but so will the sunshine.
Others come and go.
although some are gone
traces remain,
leaves wither into soil,
rich grounds
for the little tree to grow.
Environments change.
Rocks weathered by rain
hills eroded
yet the little tree still stands,
thinking nothing of itself.
All it can see is how much
taller other trees are.
But I see differently.
Like the rock and hills
it has weathered.
I look in dismay
at worn branches,
stripped of bark
and drying leaves,
ready to fall victim to the wind,
like loose feathers from a blue jay.
Although it brings unease,
I know new leaves and bark
will grow in their place.
I gaze more, it brings
a sense of awe and pride;
to withstand the rain,
wind, and frost, and the tree
still stands strong.
I look up to the sky;
the storm is passing.
More storms will come,
but trees can written on the sky:we sat on the roof of your house, breathing in
stardust and the smell of each other,
hoping for crystalline wishes to
fly by.
it was surreal, knowing that we'd only be seen
by the moon,
and our only guiding light would come from the
stars.
bizarre or not,
i realised i can't keep breathing in asteroidal dusts thinking they're
cosmic dregs to
lap up.
But it was all behind us now.
You've been trapped by the heat of the sun for too long.
Now, I'm going to show you the moon,
and the stars.
And as I open my eyes,
the universe spins in tandem with our thoughts:
this is it, everything
we've dreamed of
is (im)possibly
here.
The old song is over,
The needle has dragged achingly though the old, dusty grooves,
Now we've reached the end loop.
Most people stay here,
But we're going to the other side.
side B, record one,
one, two, take 3
steps down the path of the milky way:
center stage of the galaxy, honey,
let's keep breathing in
(a lack of) oxygen.
we stand where black ho<da:thumb id="676015966"/> aphrodite throws up in the club and shit goes wildIf a body falls
In the        woods
and
  No one
Is around 2 hear
  it
Did it really exist
    Was a body ever
             a body ever
             a patch of
 Un touched grass
With no   sex or scratch
   Upon it
Did it ever have a stomach
      in which things grew
            Or were cultivated
      Gardened
Such as mountainous
Or reddened fruit
  ah
      was it true
   that old siren before the rocks bashed
Her skull in
   combing grey hairs into
  the vomit ocean
      where gods go to bcome nameless
  my god is spilled milk
And fluoxetine & being a bad person
My alter 2 Her is
 a fallen body
    in the woods
        what doesn’t like 2 brush its teeth
          &

the flower backwards1.
half brown liquor
half severed lily-pad
2.
I write
with my finger
parting the cold water
with a mild cursive
fretting the
surface
unhealing &
blackened
by the rocks
beneath
3.
I write your name,
then the name of your favorite flower.
then your name backwards,
the flower backwards.
4.
the more I write
the more wounded the water becomes
until I am gesturing
meaninglessly in a trance,
the ripples
painting themselves
purple on blue,
black on red,
glass
on water.
5.
I scribble in blind
lazy arcs
as if scraping my finger
into damp earth,
reaching for a stone
or a buried coin,
a stray root
or a botched seed.
I dig into the water's
aching cold
for an emptiness
to whisper calmly into,
to drink
silence from.
6.
I draw a crescent moon
then a shredded ponderosa,
a doorway pulsing with memory
& then a river
bleeding
stars.
7.
I draw
your features
from the water
half petal
half backwards
until the ache
from the cold
reverses want
with need,
reflex
with fate
& I can stop peering
through drenched h<da:thumb id="675973713"/> curled around an achei stumbled inside and let myself
fall and twisted
blankets around my wrists
and heaved a sigh into the bed.
i am tired of staining myself
black and red;
i am weary of digging graves for bad days.
stars reflected in water
doubled
fill with light
pretending on a piano bench
nothing's out of tune
i'm used to avoiding the smell of smoke
and
yet
in a forest drawn to a flame
all things in reverse icarus clicheoh icarus, lovely
in the way you fall -
i wonder not for the last time if
it was worth it for you at all
tasting the sun on your tongue.
father's feathers pillowing my daydreaming head;
how could i ever have known ?
you were an angel i wished upon
your wings like a fairytale
the salt in your mouth isn't the sea spray, just
my tears a few thousand years too late

disciplei can't moderate, syntax electrical
valium high, bargain whiskey drunk
with the diode and the dow chewing out the fat,
i frost over, forlorn (and five times rejected);
spin inside my lungs for hours
and hours
pretending to write a reader's digest,
a takeout menu
or half a hundred colors of commercial
bullshit
(but)
i am a broken line, still
untraceable meter lingering subconscious,
imagery afloat in swaths of thicket
and faint, fleeting euphoria
and the dawn will take me
nowhere settle dawncrow back your adorations,
i've vined deep
through abyss lamentations
and breached space stations.
i've spit heresy
down nebulaic throats,
lathed poignancy
from ashed bark and fallacy.
barbaric, i'm no salve.
insolvency and atrophy
prevailing, dark ptolemy
swallowing the epicycles path.
choke back your impatience,
i've not earned
your perfect radiance;
i'm a virus in the matrix. tempting capsizeand justly capsize
      size down,
             downsize
capitals are for the proper
      proper is the four
             legs holding up a table
atop which a paper is part of a
      palimpsest, rewrite the rules rewrite my
             rights, and keep in mind that my mind keeps
up with your bullshit and
      dare to be tempted and
             i’ll be your daring tempest