Under the sundial bridge today I met a little girl wearing pretty little blonde braids and a T-shirt with a unicorn brutally stabbing a little boy, haha. It said "Unicorns rule".
She couldn't have been more than five. She was wearing one of the pendants I bought and left there, in the sand last week, hoping someone would find it and become inspired to allow magic into their life.
She asks to pet my dog, I ask her mother if it's ok, and mother waves it away turning to her friend on the shore.
"Little girl" says I. "I have it on good authority that this is a magic pendant."

"Nuh-uh!" says the little girl "I found it in the dirt." matter of factly. So, "Watch..." I say, holding the pendant into the light to allow the little crystal to cast rainbows across a brass sculpture.

Her eyes light up, completely forgetting me, And she runs toward the shore with a huge grin on her face screaming "Mommy look!" and my heart is huge... My heart has purpose... This is why I suffer slings and arrows, trudge with fartles and keep bare bodkins away from mine breast.

Hamlet... you should have had children.

 

Backyard lazy... I lay my head down on the grass, my eyes adjusting to micro-cosmos. Strangely devoid of tiny gods.
Sunlight through a virid cathedral, hymns whispered in the space between... and above... blue feathered angels with descent hungry eyes.
The scent of moist earth awakens the primal to act, or facing listless consequence, to sleep.

Action is the game... So I leave the landscape of small and absent gods, returning to elevations more accustomed to my singular brand of melancholic admiration.

Weather torn, gray and lonely, the fence holds some wonder to me... distinguishes it in fact, as one might a well earned pin of prestige while lacking merit in all else... "If anything... I am a good fence. Do I not separate? Do I not stand?"
I think it must be a wondrous thing to be a fence.

I inquire of the roses, and as always they speak in scrapes and perfumes, such a naive nomenclature, perfect that it can express so much, I think. Perfect in the way the universe engages.

Working in my makeshift garden, I think I've fallen in love with the sun on my neck, penetrating my blue jeans, warming my bare back... Leaning there as if garnishing my support in exchange for light and life. Symbiotic perhaps. Hard to believe I used to be such a shadow child. I feel it's reassuring heat until I can no longer suffer it's co-dependent burn.
Then, abruptly, like a blase lover too accustomed to singular touch...
I long for evening, and the promise of stars.

Once inside, I am lost for a time to a glass of iced tea. Enraptured in each gustatory modality.
I raise the glass to my lips and in the re-fractured reflection I realize I have lost my triskele, and it's chain... A moment of selfish panic grips my heart... Still it passes quickly, I reconcile this small sacrifice to the tiny gods of green cathedrals. A fair exchange, I imagine.
Funny that I can still feel it there around my neck, long after it fell.
Much like ancient admirations.

These silent moments are a fortress in my heart, barring the winds of discontent.

I might break my preference for flamboyant vernacular to speak plainly for a moment, to answer a question I was posed in a private message here. Perhaps it was the nail-polish...

Someone asked me my orientation and why it was I hadn't labeled it in my profile. I think it would be best to get this out of the way with everyone I might meet here in the future, so I'll simply refer people back to this post when the question comes up again.

I didn't label my orientation because, the only label I would have chosen was not an option.
I am what is called "Pansexual" Which you can read about on wikki here... [click me]

But for those impatient fae who abhor research, I'll attempt to line it out here...

Sex, as I have come see it in my life, is simply a tactile means of expressing a love and appreciation of another person. Now the God and the Goddess, ever the lovers of variety, have endowed people with any number of various naughty bits. "Male and Female" is only the tip of the iceburg, there exists a plethora of forms and alterations thereof.
I...Myself... being ever the advocate of love, will not limit the scope of my appreciation for another person by virtue of said naughty bits, no matter the form and function such naughty bits take.

I have never been with a man. I myself am male in all of the common ways. With the exception of a post-op transsexual I dated for three months who considered herself entirely woman, I've had an entirely straight history... but I am not opposed to the idea of homosexual romance should I find an attraction there.

Yet I could not be called "Bi-sexual" in that transsexuals and the so called "misaligned" sexes are not at all safe from my amorous advances. If I like you, I'll show you. If I love you and it's not traditional, I'm afraid you're doomed to broaden your horizons very soon because I'm remarkably charming. (I kid, I'm not that way)

In short... I recognize and enforce my basic human right to SLEEP WITH, whomsoever I LOVE, and not a damn soul on the planet can say a word against me.

I met a dog this morning. Do you know what he said to me? Do you know what that dog said?

He said "Woof!" what did you expect a dog to say? Silly...

Tonight bridges the profane in ways that I dare not speak yet my ego is quite reluctant to keep silent upon. And while I am reluctant to set such a dastardly ace to this the first of my house of cards. I asked the sky, and stared into the gunmetal eyes of an expanse most immune to my unseelie turpitude.

(Yes, my vernacular is thick, for words adore being abused, just ask them. I do hope you will come accustomed.)

So what is this lapse of morality I speak of? Ladies! Oh ladies! For which I spied a great many that leant my heart a quiet start last evening. Not a one in my bed, boohoo, but two on the floor! Two loverly changeling sleepers. Can you imagine it? Most unbecoming of my princely mane, yes, but all must break the bonds of conformity at times lest we become as banal as a fence post.
Neither one a clue of their eldritch blood, just living la vida mortal by day and dancing a ravers dream at night. How beautiful they are.

Now if only... I could remember what part I played in their reverie... There is a certain green lady who has stolen the memory from me, She's quite famous, french you know. Mayhap's you've heard of her?

And now you have seen the worst of me, which is I suppose the perfect way to start.

I will append to each entry, where applicable, the body of my "work". That is, A tally of the trinkets I have abandoned recently, their location, and any influence I might have caused with these.

*Last night I left a pendant of Celtic design under the sundial bridge atop the sculpture, with a sign reading simply "Good fortune" underneath it.
**I also left a print of our Lady Brown's artwork inside a copy of "The green man" at the local library.
***I was pleased to find that the copy of "The dark crystal" had disappeared from it's resting place in front of Taco Bell. I hope it's new owner will enjoy it.