My taste buds are salivating at the very description you have typed.
Sigh. You reasure me that life is not dull and a gentle grey and that there might well be such things as unicorns and there is hope, but hope is a candle that shines best when staring down the dark. I keep thinking about this, as someone who might be a version of you or a version of cinnamon or a version of Sandman's Death wanders in my dreams: The hardest thing to do is turn your back to the light and face the dark with your tiny light cupped in your hands so not to scare the darkling things that you wish to talk to, gentle and bring a little closer to hope. It involves a lot of walking ashen landscapes and wretched by-ways finding scraps of ... something.. to win over slowly drip by drip by drip. mmmmr, I want to make somesort of comment about how it scars you and hearts but not on LJ.
Damnit I now have scarey pic of cinnamon/death doing a Jesus of the Sacred Heart display.
And that is why dark angels are needed: the ones who's wings are shades of coal and web and dust stained by the walking in the dark ~ we need the silver white rainbow angels too, but the dark ones walk where the light won't, can't, and do not mind the dirt and scratches so very much.
Sometimes normality needs its nose rubbed in the underbelly of the world at the same time as it is forced to look upwards to the sparkly shiny stuff, and remember that they can be the same thing in different guises. you help me do that.
Hee - that might have to be a jacket too, a sort of steam-punk angel with a slightly wry 'well if you drop it in a puddle of course it's not going to work' expression =)
The number of people who hurl their lives into the muddiest, foulest, metaphorical puddle they can find, and then scream and stamp their feet saying "I told you life stinks, I was RIGHT!"
They think we're not looking. But we are. Some days we wish we didn't have to. But we must, and we will.
My taste buds are salivating at the very description you have typed.
Sigh. You reasure me that life is not dull and a gentle grey and that there might well be such things as unicorns and there is hope, but hope is a candle that shines best when staring down the dark. I keep thinking about this, as someone who might be a version of you or a version of cinnamon or a version of Sandman's Death wanders in my dreams: The hardest thing to do is turn your back to the light and face the dark with your tiny light cupped in your hands so not to scare the darkling things that you wish to talk to, gentle and bring a little closer to hope. It involves a lot of walking ashen landscapes and wretched by-ways finding scraps of ... something.. to win over slowly drip by drip by drip. mmmmr, I want to make somesort of comment about how it scars you and hearts but not on LJ.
Damnit I now have scarey pic of cinnamon/death doing a Jesus of the Sacred Heart display.
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Sometimes normality needs its nose rubbed in the underbelly of the world at the same time as it is forced to look upwards to the sparkly shiny stuff, and remember that they can be the same thing in different guises.
you help me do that.
Reply
I carry the tools to take the back off the universe and clean the grit from its wheels.
That is why I can never wash the oil stains from my hands.
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The number of people who hurl their lives into the muddiest, foulest, metaphorical puddle they can find, and then scream and stamp their feet saying "I told you life stinks, I was RIGHT!"
They think we're not looking.
But we are.
Some days we wish we didn't have to.
But we must, and we will.
Reply
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