Impending Doom

28 06 2012

The earliest nightmares I can remember were all of fire. The most vivid played out like an old side-scrolling video game as I scurried through a maze whose walls were all of flame, seeking desperately for my sisters, searching frantically for a way to get all of us out.

Not one to submit to the phantasms conjured up by my imagination and too many episodes of the Power Rangers, I claimed fire as my constant companion. We developed a strong working relationship, her and I, as I conjured her to consume an ever increasing variety of offerings and she teased me with the promise of submitting to my will. I grew to love the flames, welcoming them in to my most holy moments of grief and celebration.

This week I am reminded anew of the terror intertwined with such shimmering, ephemeral beauty. Madame Fire has danced through canyons and over ridges, leaving in the wake of her merrymaking nothing but the skeletons of those partners which could not match her whirling energies. She has come to the garden of those very gods who gifted her upon humanity. We the people flee from her exuberance.

(via: 1, 2, 3)



17 06 2012

Tonight the wind bears upon its back the memories of this moment, and though my feet have touched more foreign shores than thousands of my ancestors and my heart opened to more pain and love than I ever foresaw, the ken is the same. Everything could change in an instant—mundane or magic—meek or malevolent—meager or momentous.

Still, the windchimes breathe for me.


10 06 2012

This is going to be disjointed, for I am dozens of people–each volunteering the other to take the stage, but shrinking from the lights when their turn is due.


(Portrait of Ross)
Felix Gonzalez-Torres (1957-1996)
HIDE/SEEK exibit

We don’t know how to function, she said, without an enemy.

We cannot function, she said, if we cannot reconcile with ourselves. Own the betrayals, the sabotage, the hate, the men with the guns that spit poison and leave us wasted away. Dying from the AIDS we gave ourselves.

The specter of rejection stands before and behind, we know, surrounding us on every side. It is an emptiness that devours our every ray of colored light. It is insatiable.

It is us, too.

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