Illumination, Explosion, Perfection
Previous - this entry written on June 20, 2004 at 2:48 am - Next

Such a sweet idea... sugarsweet, honeysweet, crystallizing slowly through a lobby, padding over concrete, cement, asphalt, the hum of an idea that I am not entirely sure I want to lay claim to.

Aw, who am I kidding? I'm damned proud of this idea, purring and pulsing and breathless, just thinking of it.

The real question is simply, how to write it? After all, something like this, to draw it out properly... short story at the least, no art. None. You see, this isn't something a few scraps of image could give life to. This is something that needs to take shape slowly through ink, text, words bringing it into full existance.

I just chased Caleb off from petting me because it was distracting me from this. That should tell you something. Or at least, it should if you're paying attention. Rhett, are you listening? Are you reading? I've a pretty locked inside my head to make your lovely Blondie blush and her stomach churn. I've a dream that oh, I would love to tell to you.

That... perhaps that's the tone the tale should take. Spilling out dreamily, whispered to a close companion. Made clear, made perfect, by the fact that it's just a dream.




Perhaps not though, and that's the core of my difficulties right now. I've no way of telling myself the tale that is caught in here that brings it full and fleshed to my lips, nothing... right. Nothing right, not yet. I shall, though.

The world will burn. *grins softly* The world will burn and tremble, and time ticks... pleasure, the cause of death.

Not enough to give the idea to anyone else, I trust. Not enough to leave the half-formed thing lying bare to the world. Just enough to make sure I remember.

This pulse that beats behind the words, behind the thoughts... this tale I am longing - dying? - to tell... oh, how I look forward to this one. Perhaps I'll never find a way to write it proper, perhaps it will be told twistingly, the vision beome speech, that one telling and nothing more. I remember a world formed thus, vats of blood, running, clotting, painfully thick. I remember the dream, the girls, blue hair dyed by nothing more than the telling. I remember nights spent heartaching, my body wracked with pain that I could only bring out into such forms, words, words...

...will this be one of the few, the ones that are locked so deep in my memory that they become part of me? I rather think so, honestly. I think that this dream, this hunger, this vision...

THIS, I choose to keep.

Let it become.

Let it take shape.

Let it draw its form from me.

*purrs softly, spiralling back in on herself slowly, capturing each wisp of thought, each stray flash of inspiration, tangling them together until she is wrapped in strands of light, clothed in this blinding illusion*

Some nights are perfect. Apparently this is one of them. Right now I feel as if I hold the universe in my grasp.

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