Calling all Argonauts. Herald those who sailed with me once upon a tale in ancient Greek mythology. The red ranger may have been the captain who received all the glory, but it is the pink ranger of the heart who helms the Carina now. Kalliope is bringing the old gang back together.
I’ve got Caeneus, Calais, Zetes and Tiphys. Pollux and Castor have so far RSVP’d maybe to my summons. I’ve got a bunch of narrations swirling through my head. I wonder if this particular incarnation will I ever manifest in coherent entirety here upon WordPress.
I am a mish-mash mutant mutt of miscellaneous mythological and mereological meta-(fact or)-fiction. An alkali metal linguist: languid and sanguine.
Appropriating eastern spiritual cosmology with northern and western mythological legend.
I live in the southern hemisphere. New SOUTH Wales, how’s that for double-south?! Neonate nation of the north and west, survival station intersection where south meets east.
Down here, in the underbelly of the known worlds, is where things come to die. I find all sorts of assorted snippets and shards of stuff here in the shadowy south. I follow the scented trails of links and threads to the tales told, written and shared.
I pick and pluck the pieces I want. I like all sorts of shiny things that remind me of… something that feels more like the real me and home.
Here is where I am attempting to recreate a psychiatric kaleidoscope of memories through time. Tessellate the abyss of myself into a comprehensible map to dimensional rifts.
You know knot me though you know my ways. The resurgence of mundane magical workings trigger each of our awakenings. Knowledge, I see, knotted like nets to entangle the nescient. Frustration and vexation propagates illuminated ignorance.
I am who I am as I have always been. A descended dissenting master fighting for humanity. Transcendent awakening through realising the power of one’s identity. You first must be willing to face what lies underneath your illusionary mask, and accept whatever you find is not who you are. Beyond the surface facade when you lose all sense of time and space, listen to the eternal empty nothing whisper your name.
Ignite the kindred flame.
Sleep to forget if you cannot handle it yet.
Categories: The Real Deal