wyrdwind

Kindled Spirits

Well it must have been my late teens early twenties,

and chalk it up to my subconscious doin’ her goddamn best

to hurl a meat stuffed pumpkin in my tiger enclosure—

you’ll’ve seen this motif before—

smack dab in my banshee ass La Llorona phase,

I dreamt

the hunt for my fictitious other half, my ultimate

imaginary friend, my Wilson,

took me over the hills and into a twilight forest, long blue grass,

galaxy awash above, radiant carotid, tiny flowers crest ultraviolet firefly glow

rushing against the heady darkness, vibration black, a dense stand of wood,

I soared and dove four legged (?) swift as the wind, bit o’ wing,

this n’ that and the kitchen sink,

and there he was,

and by “he” I mean

a border-less jumble of artful blurs and smudges,

visible primarily through patterns of movement,

think octopus camouflage or mirrors in space,

frolickin’ in them woods tryna get got,

like oh no whatever shall I do,

I’m just a simple boy with the two legs blues,

and of course what other reason would such a creature,

who was clearly a Shapes like Me, or tryna be someday,

invite this game?

Obviously flirtatious behavior. So I said alright

I’m a big scary monster

and I’m gonna getcha, so you better run, love

like to get my blood up, but once I bore him to ground

he was all aflutter, actually scared scared, strangely

dulled, temperature off, lost his fire somewhere.

Not fully aware. Out there

havin’ a completely different genre of evening.

I waited patient but firm

for his feeble struggles to settle, grow inquisitive,

like oh wait this is kinda nice, oh, oh my, and took the form he found

least menacing, whatever that meant,

until at last he reached the same page somewhat,

and the longer I went about my fiend business,

all up on that muladhara we’ll call it,

the more solid he became—

human I guess—

y’know I know how to put a body in a place,

whatever plane,

my breath over embers inside,

Audhumla on the cosmic ice,

tongue tip traced and fingers splayed,

arched and rooted

where my ministrations did indicate,

everythin’ assembled in workin’ order, my lips

the conductor, the significant bulk

at my disposal

held him down. Shapes remember. All’em. Everywhere.

Wherever gone I met him there, currents outmaneuvered, oh

he had to stay put, I gave him no choice, the freedom was me.

My pretty little sleepwalker given over

saw stars in the end.

One with the Earth, a beloved loam. My bed.

When I woke,

for the briefest moment

all was right in the world, the eye

of my hurricane, my instincts

all a choir like yes that’s him, that’s your man,

and I said are you fuckin’ serious?

Vaguely a Guy?

Pile of Vibes in Disguise?

Nothin’ Shape?

Make for a Silent Hill ass milk carton, pass the salt,

call an exorcist and a shaman rope that missing person.

Thanks guys. Thanks. So helpful. I know for certain

exactly one of his traits, but it’s hardly

polite conversation.

@~^~

Auxiliary material for some larger projects. Hi res rendering of this key piece of my…creative thesis if you will. Pleasant dreams are few and far between for me, so this one really stood out. When I kicked off this whole journey, I’d just taken several big life swings back to back, including the abrupt termination of a ten year relationship. When you’ve gotten by sustaining yourself in every environment, none of which are your natural habitat, you don’t necessarily think much of continuing to do so while pursuing “milestones” that ordinary people have long achieved by your age. Until your body lets you know there is indeed a hard upper limit to how heavily you can mask or suppress your true nature.

And as everyone around me assured me that I’d find the right man one day, that he just needs to be xyz, this or that way, I kept thinking to myself… wow all of those guys sound terrible. Zero connective ports or pleasing parts for the enormous love I’m capable of. It’s like no one really saw me at all, which isn’t anyone’s fault, but still. So I thought back to all the pleasant intermissions I’ve ever encountered in my dreams, and said, what if I made a man out of these? You know like that which you seek is already within sort of thing. Even if he only exists as my creation, it’s worth putting my pen to, like maybe someone else enjoys my favorite meat pumpkin too. Maaaaybe someone sees my meat pumpkin and says oh shit that’s me. Girl can dream.

It’s like that one quote about how you don’t want to die, you just want everything in your life to change. I’ve got something in captivity that must express herself or else she chews all the furniture in the house and kills her handlers. All this to say, you gotta stay true to yourself! Especially if you’re weird.