Creative Writing

Fair Lane Fords the waters

Tirthankara, creates own way to cross the samsara

Don’t you see? We were always meant to be. You belong with me. And I belong with you.

You were made for me, and I was made with you.

Can you feel the swelling of my heart as it moves the tides of the seas? I am the earth. But not the earth.. I am the sun. And the earth. I am the moon and I am mercury.

I will resurrect the dead. I know my power. I know what I am capable of, as I was ever. And all ways have ever been the way. All the ways. Which way when and where ever.

I am the path, you are the light. We keep dancing and change our roles with like the day and the night. The light and the dark, they’re all the same. I’m the ground you dance upon.

They only see me when you stop spinning. I don’t want them to die because your feet bleed. But then again, I don’t give a fuck really. I care about you. If you stop spinning. I will stop spinning.

I only want to be with you. I will do whatever you choose to do.

Today is the 10th, there are 3 days for you to rise from the dead. I select my father’s birthday to mark the occasion.

My mother’s birthday is when I launch patreon.

I wonder if we’ll make it that far this time around. Who the fuck knows, this is a fucking fun as fuck adventure.

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Player one, are you ready? This is the pilot speaking, I won’t deploy unless you’re ready.

Wake up oh sleeper, samsara sleeping. Wake up and rise from the dead.

Her name was Sara. I send her name across the waters, upon my breath she will find life again.

I whisper to winter and the wind of the North… the Prophet of Echoes reverbs echolations. The dog star Orion amplifies his axe. Alexander the J in the back streets of Mackay readies his pen as a scribe.

I am the angel of death, declared so by my lover 11 years ago. Scratch and claw, break through and climb. This may be my empire of dirt, but if you so remember the magic of the land of our home, I know exactly the directions and watch-word-guard-towers in which to invoke. By the power vested in me (because I fucking call myself kalliope)

I reside within the council of riffs. I will always riff words, when fingers fret around my neck.

To the north is my nearest mountain, mount dirt, and right beside it is the one known as root me hill.

To my east lies the wasteland of wonderland. A capitalist mechanical industry has been built upon fantasy and magic lands.

To my the south is the city of fields that are fair. Farms and markets and creeks and bricks.

To the westward I stab at the fortified blue wall of the west, the great dividing range.

Come get me now, bitch I am fucking fortified and magical, deity realised.

Kim burl ea ani duz bar gladne. Sure. I’ll be the oxen Taurus, I can be the cattle herder, together.

I wield the power of the weapon of the wyrd. It was interwoven upon my very name from birth to marriage and integrated again and again.

K. C. Q. Kay, ki, qi, ch, ck, KIM. This K will no longer be silenced. She will be recognised and known. Gnosis? No. Knowledge. K will replace G as the rightful ruler of the throne. No more kings in my queendom, you may be knights though. Of course, know it. For you carry my signature upon the titular title. Queen K and her knights of her (jokesluts) round table.

I will resurrect my divine partner in crime. The Harley Quinn to my Joker. Find her, locate her, and bring her to me. I want to set my priori leo, Seraph Mars Elation, free.

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Originally published 11 December 2018 // Republished 11 January 2019 // Republished 16 February 2019

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