Monday, June 11, 2012

that's my heart that's breaking, down this long-distance line tonight

(from the loss album; butterflies in the dark at Alirium Gardens)

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,


It hasn't been years; not yet, at least. But time stretches, time distorts, and each hour creeps by, wounded. Every breath in etches new pain on my worrying mind. I am lost, straitlaced into desperation, and seeking a way out that never arrives.

(from the loss album; awash in light in the cinema at Boof's Hoi Polloi branch)

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.


And I reach out, I keep reaching out, to hear static and absence in return. So much self-doubt at this point, my mind whites out with the force of it. Muscle fatigue is setting in from the reaching, towards the hand that is never, ever there.

(from the loss album; underneath the Forgotten City)

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.


I have thrown myself back into searching for items I don't need, and writing about discoveries anyone else could have made; I have buried myself in hunt entries this week, to the point where the entries won't stop publishing for four more days. I am seeking out controversies for diversion, not for reasons of indignation or enlightenment. I am scattered; I have lost focus. Comprehension of this fact does not alter the feeling, however.

(from the loss album; at Swine & Roses in the Point of Derivation)

Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.


I defer all choices to save myself from struggle and pain; then I fight to take them back, because without my choices I am a nonentity. And I wander. I wander. I wander. Trying to make sense of myself, trying to make sense of the situation. Failing. Trying to ask myself the right questions, and listening for the answers. Failing. Trying to be patient, to wait, to endure, to calmly hope for news.

Failing.

(from the loss album; crouching in the Village of Nyght's kirkyard)

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?


And I try to answer the unanswerables. What if I. Or should I go do. Or Does it even matter if I. And because the questions behind the questions worry me more than the potential answers, I seek diversion, but shy away from actual interaction. Would it be better or worse, even for a moment? How am I to know unless I try? But it doesn't seem to matter. Endless searching for something I know I cannot find. Fear of the end of the journey, regardless of what that ending means.

(from the loss album; resting in the Noweeta Grassland)

They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:--
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.


I toss and turn, I find it difficult to sleep. I push sleep off as long as possible, because I know I will be more rested from passing out insensate, than by going to bed at a reasonable hour and startling awake every few minutes, fearful of any noise that might mean revelation. Last night, I woke, and watched the wall push out beside the bed, adorned with several small, red-jeweled eyes. I suppose it could be worse--the last time, it was malformed spiders in clusters--but it doesn't bespeak good things for my mental state.

(from the loss album; in the dwarven caves at Folkvang

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.


Is is not deception if there was legitimate need to leave for a time. But that time stretches, becomes a long road of its own, and I may not be strong enough to walk it to its end. And both sides of that conclusion could harm, at present, and it is wholly beyond my control how I react, because I have also fought hard to feel, to express, to leave behind the bottled self in the attic and leave the gates of my heart open--if not wide, still open, enough for loves at least to get in and call out.

Yesterday, I was named "pretty" and instinctively rejected it. Horns, faun ears, hooves, skin whiter than bleached stone. I did not want the compliments, I did not want to consider the ramifications. Today, I wander with consumptive eyes and a wound over my heart, and I want someone to tell me it does not matter. Both wants are immaterial, and specious. But the need for validation--inner or outer--is rising fast and hard.

(from the loss album; looking at the goddess reliquary at Spirit)

If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.


I have a jewel of great worth, found in excavations of the past. I treasure it, and I hold it close, but I cannot bring myself to use its power. At least...not yet. I hold it to me, letting its knowledge comfort pain, but...am I able to employ its solution? Will it be the correct action, or the absolute wrong thing to do? Why is nothing more clear?

(from Lord George Gordon Byron, "When We Two Parted".)

(One additional note:

[6:05] jxxxxxx: thank you for your donation at the Help Hub, this makes us feel useful (first tip ever yay) - good luck with everything.
(When setting up pictures for this entry, I did a general search for "loss" to start off with. This led me to Shalom: the Help Hub, which is pretty much a small parcel on a mainland estate in Nessus. But it's a good jumping-off point for information on a variety of life pain, from psychological to physical, and the things in between. I realized fairly quickly I wanted a more realistic, larger terrain for photographs, but I did tip them before I left because I thought they were doing a good job. It's worth a visit, at least, if you're in need of something, whatever that might be.)

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