daturas' garden

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Location: Ontario, Canada

January 31, 2006

Of cabbages and things...

nce upon a time there was a girl who went to yoga class for the first time in almost a year. egoless and outgoing for her, she kept up with the class for an hour and a half and found herself in instructor-assisted-headstand-asana before an ending of OM-ing thrice.
...and on that note, don't be fooled. Three is the magic number. I have two more short stories for you. Dreams I had last night to be precise. They formed an email to a friend today and i thought they should find a space here in a similar format.

Enter a dark house, i'm already walking up an ornate dark walnut staircase. this place looks like a church. why is my dad staying here?this is really creepy. everything is covered in dust. really really thick layers of dust...looking closer, it wasn't dust. it was like dried leaves, deteriorated to look like the bones of a baby bird, with an almost sheer skin attatched to the crunchy remains. mmmm organic.
so yeah, all this dust, this frail bees nest of webby weirdness...i could poke it, but if i pressed to hard it would crack. and i definitely didn't want to do that because trapped between the layers of wall and nest, there were big beetles. flat like beetles, dusty and black and brown like the rest of the house. i assumed they were all just shells of once living things, the house had been deserted forever. but no. they started moving with nowhere to go. my stomach turned and i looked around only the see that the whole top floor of this creeky house might as well have been composed completely of beetles and the translucent layer dried leaves keeping them from separate from me. the sound of a thousand ancient creepy beetle bugs in your dreams is enough to make you cringe in your sleep. its like they were activated by my presence...so gross. i'm just glad my brain kept it a dry gross and left the giger queen space drool out of it.
i find my dad sleeping on what looks like a box instead of a bed with an antique pink blanket on it, surrounded by all of this. sleeping! i whispered dad, get up what are you doing here..i'm trying to wake him...dad, get up, this housed is disgusting and severly omenous, we have to go...he speaks to me in Coraline, button eyes glaring. they draw me in to say without words that this is a most natural place...he wasn't leaving. but i sure was. i couldn't look out the top floor window, it was so dirty... i remember every shadow clearly, even the smell of the musty floor boards, the dust particles in the air. Really makes me think that moving all that energy around in class just unearthed a part of my brain that probably looks like the top floor of the beetle house.

in the second dream (and final story) i was with people from work, at their house in florida. as the day droned on, i went wandering the house alone. down a long hall and up three floors i found a friend of mine who has since disappeared from the face of the earth...artists are hard to pin down sometimes.
he had a girlfriend with him, renting part of this house in florida. wow what a coincidence. wow what a reunion. wait, i hear this girl screaming from the room. so i run in to find an open closet, and a corpse on the floor. our screamer is paralized in the corner of the room. her body is still, but her eyes are trembling. our closet monster is very nearly mummified, sunken black eyes, she is wearing a patchwork dress, the cotton has held up astonishingly better than her leathery flesh. whats left of her grey hair is matted to her skull, she had tight curls at one point in her life. her mouth is shrivelled and open. there are no teeth.
her hands are clutched and i get the feeling she was devastated when she died. how she got into a closet in florida we'll never know, she was clearly misplaced.

the delicate flower who only went to hang her clothes is now completely damaged. as grey as the patchwork mistress on the floor she will most likely be scarred for life if she ever comes blinking back to it. at this point in my waking mind, i looked at William and said You HAD to pick a sensitive girl huh...and how are you going to take care of her now? she'll be insane, we'll have to commit her. what will her parents say? i started yelling at him for assuming he could be with a "normal" girl knowing full well that these underwordly circumstances seem to follow people like us around. i was so angry at him for being so careless, not taking her energy, her mind into consideration. she is not prepared nor is she meant to see such things! i lectured him about knowing his path in this life and taking responsibility for it.

This only made me think, i really should track this friend of mine down. i have his parents number, i bet he's there hanging out in the cemetery in his backyard. typical poetic soul. i was saying, sometimes you just have to roll your eyes (and let them lecture themselves.)
crawling out of bed i wondered, how doth the little crocodile start a day after waking up with all of this? i'm not sure how you like you're coffee, but i chalk it up to some sort of release, grab a chai latte with cinnamon on top (its the sweet taste of anti-evil, not to be confused with auntie-evil) and listen to Slowdive on my way to work.

cheers boys and girls.

January 28, 2006

Blatent Blog aBandonment

i saw a big horse today.
clop clop clop
a light brown and white spotted horse.
being walked...very slowly.
by a man in black rain boots, a worn sagey green canvas jacket, and a matching knit hat. no stripes.
this farming archetype no younger than 60, with a weathered face. the horse i'm not sure.
funny thing is, i was driving. with coffee. on my way to work. did i just see that?
yes, yes i did. on Lawrence Avenue, just past Dufferin.
(a substantially busy area for those of you out of town)
trotting past a gas station, a busy intersection, an elementary school, and almost a walmart.
clop. stop... clop.

a horse. out for a walk. and not sauntering down the road majestically either like the police you see on horses in canada. this one was on the sidewalk. like a dusty kid riding a bike with training wheels. of course i saw our friend in a feather head dress instead of a helmet, and the man was painted clown. one of those old school sad faces...it was perfect.
brilliant if you ask me. and even if you don't, i tend to think out loud.
clop clop clop.
íts nice to be back.