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Small mish-mash thoughts, bits and bobs from the book I am writing.Perhaps some of these thoughts that gate crash my thinking will become songs. Who knows?

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The Mothers and daughters in my line saw only endings.

An elder chooses a child on the other side of the veil to instruct; a pact made before they became flesh. These, they said are the reasons why you will be born, the people you must meet, the tasks you must perform, those you will injure with your words and actions, the suffering you must endure in turn.

Both agreed but once their eyes opened to our world, all truths, all pacts and promises were forgotten. As it must be. And so the journey begins..

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My love for you is my own and there is nothing you can do about it. It is always shifting and finding its feet, my life its quicksand. At times it appears as a circus, monastery, opium den… and other times a palace. A safe place I return to after every journey from Another-Man.

When no one is around I carefully inspect the stones, bits of distant earth collected – and mine Love from the inside of a dead star – for you; the only stillness I know.
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Choose every second the one you love most so your faithlessness never has to be concealed. When you share your bed with another and there is no truth between either of you, or worse still, more than your skin is freely given – the secret chords of desire ripple and pulsate creating its own silent melody. Trust me child, that sound is heard clearly by the one who loves you. Even when worlds apart.

If you live on the knife edge of desire, faraway girl – lie convincingly and do not be shocked if there’s blood on your hands.

 

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And so I handed it over.. all the nights I lay awake in bed waiting for him, all the words I threw at him when angry, or withheld when he needed it, the sex, the fucking, the dirty kitchen table and all the infidelity, emotional, or imagined. I handed it over. There it was…all the love I once called his, wrapped around the stone like a snake.

Finally I was undone, free, present… And his love, the color of water….was gone.

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I insisted that certain instruments be used. The piano delicately played, the plaintiff violin, the swelling symphony of strings; the soul of the song had to exude a singular and evocative vulnerability; the kind you wished to emote… but dare not.

That is how my love for you found its voice. The music allowed me to create a space in time, free from everything and everyone – where I could see the real you….and you feel and know the voice that sang

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There was never a need for words. He devoured me, all of me, without regret. I drove home and silently hated him, ached for him, ravenously.
He is my drunk, delirious god.
Unrepentant, my Dionysus.
The pause before my  descent.

 

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