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Alone.

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I live alone, locked in a hedge maze of my own devising. I tend the paths lovingly. I look to the sky and wonder if there could have been another life for me, a life of love and wonder and possibilities. I am monastic. I am shy. I am cloistered. It is better that I am alone than to misstep.

I live alone in a priory deep in the enchanted woods. I wear a red cloak. I gather herbs. I tend to my rabbits and fowl. In the long nights, I work tirelessly by candlelight, illuminating manuscripts. I do not sleep. I think of the love I gave up. It is better this way. I am here with my god of silence. I am complete.

I live alone, high atop a mountain in a small abandoned temple festooned with ribbons and banners, prayerwheels. I go barefoot. At first, the rocks cut my tender feet. I jump from stone to stone like a wild goat. Sometimes I think of dashing myself on the rocks far below. But then I look up at the Great Blue Sky and I laugh. I dwell here in my warm scented skin for all eternity.

I live alone in a ruined villa by the sea. It rains so often here that my tears blend in. I spend long hours at the piano, obsessively perfecting a cycle that no one will ever hear, least of all my lover. You will never hear it, love. I keep it inside me. This dark passion is only for me and you will never know it. I will die before you know it.

I am alone, but I choose it. It is better to be the sovereign of my pain than to share it with you.

a story my brain told me…

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“yadda yadda,”
naysayed the unicorn
in hoarse mumbles that crumbled
over a blueberry buckle sky.
She said to the wind:
I’ve served my Master;
I’ve carried His Lady
to the Dense Grove,
the Willow Grove
where she laid down so sweetly,
so sweetly laid down to die,
a sapphire tear in her amethyst eye.

rizak! rizak!
chimed the charmed chimera
in shimmering timbre that meandered
across a purple velvet vale.
He said to the stream:
I’ve served our Master;
I’ve carried His Babe
to the Flowering Orchard,
the Apricot Orchard
where he laid down so seemly,
so seemly laid down to dream,
the endless pearl-gathering dream.

The Paracosmist

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I am currently working on a paracosm that has been with me since my teens years. I’ve worked on it off and on, abandoned it many times, but it keeps coming back into my head and demanding that its story be told.

A paracosm is a detailed fantasy of an alternate world or reality. It often starts in early childhood and often as a coping mechanism. I began my first paracosm when I was perhaps…eleven? I don’t quite remember. What I do remember is that it involved a boarding school for exceptionally gifted girls and I worked on it sometimes obsessively.

I had lists of names. I knew which girls were roommates, which were friends, which were enemies. I knew their personalities and what their talents were. They were writers and dancers and models and musicians and scientists. I even designed curricula for them.

My current paracosm is a different planet altogether. The genre is definitely speculative fiction; it contains elements both of fantasy and of science fiction. I see a great span of history involving three important characters. They are called madonnas because they are the mothers of different eras and aspects of the culture of their country and their people. The science fiction part comes in to explain some of the fantasy elements. The madonnas are god-emissaries of the players of a grand game. But they don’t even know that.

I talk to my characters a lot. They tell me about their world. History, politics, religion, botany, climate, geology. They occupy my thoughts a great deal of the time. If you see my staring off into space, it is quite likely I am thinking of them.

I believe the story of the first madonna may become my first novel. It is the most insistent of my many, many stories. So watch for that sometime in the somewhat distant future. 🙂