Speculatrix, a fortress

Look at me through the glass, mirrored soul of Mirach. It felt like forever but I am back by my side. Oblique flesh, a self embrace.

Mirror, oh mira, what sight do you see? A mirage in the desert, their god is hydrophobic. Lurking in deserts for the hopelessly lost and despondent wanders.

Alice Through the Looking Glass, 2016.

Reader, be(ta)-ware of the walking dead salesman.

mined and named. of labyrinth halls, through 9 realms de-light, the only way forward is to ensure clarity accuracy.

Something I’ve rambled somehow, some point slapped together and found them like this…

No wonder he never delivered those guys out of the desert, led them wandering aimlessly for 40 years. Perfect environment to reinforce subjugation upon a peoples: lost in the frikken desert, dude! That’s the meal ticket to the formation of a cult of personality! People get grumpy when they feel hot, I’d be mean spirited too if I was dragged around on a wild goose chase after some crap or another that has never worked for me, or whatever.

Felix St. Ragen, 2002.

A precious jewel shines from me. From my heart, focused light pierce stricken skin; the rays with names are calling. Hades and his hands upon my shoulders. A reassurance, his strength is my foundation. Jain and his expressive praise of my words. I am speechless and self-conscious.

With a sleight of hand, my neck is adorned with the returned Brisingamen. I am bound again, I am home with them. I am the first of my kind, not all kind, but that is very kind of you to exclaim.

I can’t tell what, exactly, I’m supposed to do, or where I am to begin doing my “something”. So I just continue on as I do, strive to try and thrive in the material world.

Thanks for the rope, it reminded me of myself. I never did see it nor it’s significance until before this day see it. I don’t know what you mean by ‘tomorrow’, except I know what it reminds me. That is the sign I weave to initial my name. A signature mark by my own hand.

I had to break up my mark into the separate base and specific lines that are used to create it’s visual appeal, so you may see the subtle influence to which I am allied and lovingly bound. I am nothing without you, my self depends upon for emotional, social and spiritual security. You give me your soul and I make you whole.

But I don’t want your soul. I am satisfied, I am happy, I am enough. (at least my psyche is compliant and peaceful, in this moment).

Seated upon her throne of silver gun metal grey, the shining charioteer is a Patriot. I’m sure I wrote about being a pretty schmick driver.

Ahh, freedom for my keys. Jingle jangle. Found them.

Ahh, shit. I lost my point. Where I thought I was going to be going when I started typing. Something about the 9 of us. the core units that make up my microcosm.

14 thoughts on “Speculatrix, a fortress

  1. thecultofanne says:

    You are a mystic poet, K – or should I say “mystik”? I love how it seems at time that you are trying out words or phrases, just for their sound. I’m into sound and to sexy turns of phrase. Sentences like, “I am the first of my kind, not all kind, but that is very kind of you to exclaim,” do it for me in a deep (dark?) way. If I smoked, it would time for a ciggy.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Kalliope says:

      Kimystic, kimystique oooahhh. All Kimmy, all key-me. Hah.
      Thank you very much. I don’t know if I am those things you say, I’d like to be, but I don’t know if it is necessarily true… I cannot say I’ve had any mystical experiences except for however I decide to feel at the time, what lens I decide to view my own life.
      Words themselves are incredibly sensual, for they exit the body through the touch of skin, pen to page, muscles controlled movement as ink traces invisible lines that ley.
      Or the sound, the echo, the whisper of wind as I vocalise my voice, vibrate my larynx. The shape of the tongue and the press of the lips direct the silhouette of my soul to paint images in minds, psyche seduction.
      A tantalising twist of tales into tails. I can shapeshift my shadow as any world archetype, I have no idea what I’m doing half the time, but I know how to speak. Shit stir the senses to think or believe or whatever the fuck. All the expletives.
      Taa-daa! But thanks again, really. It’s nice being noticed 🦄

      Liked by 1 person

      • thecultofanne says:

        A poet certainly, but I”m just a dabbler. Who am I to say? I’ve written a few good ones, but others are just self-flagellating dung or romantic tripe … or should I say post-romantic … that is, after romance is over, not necessarily post-romantic in style, if such a thing exists. Sound means everything to me (as a musician), as do subtle changes or shifts in meaning, onomatopoeia, alliteration … things that you do naturally (you shapeshifter) … and I get to through self-deprecatory verbal masturbation. If I massage those words enough, I come to them eventually … err, something like that.

        FWIW, did you know that the spellchecker suggests “shoplifter” as a better spelling of shapeshifter? Stop lifting those shops. You might hurt yourself.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Kalliope says:

          I wish i was a musician, actually. A singer songwriter, or some/one/thing that actually creates and produces something! But instead I’m an annoying siren alert, spinning and squealing and flicking lights off and on. All because I can sort of write strings of pretty words, I have no music nor melody nor anything musical except for a syncopated heartbeat. Mother fukka. I barely even manage a consistent message, let alone construct a refrain or chorus. I’m easily influence by what I think I hear or see in the world around me. I don’t mean like a clone or follower, though. I just… I dunno how to say it. I dunno, it’s stupid. So I won’t. I also don’t know what it is to say it.
          What kind of musician are you? That is really cool. And I’m not a shoplifter, though I used to ve a mallrat. I could just crawl under the foundations and pretend I’m lifting it up. Camera tricks, movie magic, diagesis, cinematics. Intermission, commercial break. Shartist Disney, dreamer kid: pretending life is a musical.
          Rub one out (all/if you want), any mistake that you make, live each with purpose. Mistakes are fun to make, if you learn to ignore regret.

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    • Kalliope says:

      I’m trained as an English teacher although it is probably my least favourite subject to teach for the syllabus stifles and strangles the fun out of creativity. Kids are far too hesitant to begin or attempt anything lest they get it wrong. Spoon fed every damned thing, they have no idea how to think for themselves.
      I should say though that I’ve also been called the worst English teacher for different reasons. I also don’t care because I’m probably the least knowledgeable of technical or analytical garbage. I bullshit my way through everything. PhD in shit spinning. lol
      Do you have any clips of any of stuff you’ve composed or played?

      Liked by 1 person

      • thecultofanne says:

        I do, but it violates my personal privacy policy. I can’t post anything that connects to my real identity for professional reasons. My university frowns on certain social media exploits.

        I did my best to fail English in high school. Unfortunately, I was really good at it. (I got a C+ on a book report on Moby Dick without reading it or even the Cliff Notes. She should have failed me.) I kept getting those pesky As instead. I tend to gravitate towards heavy reading, like classics and magical realism. (I do also read some sci-fi and fantasy.)

        I’m actually pretty good at the technical and analytical garbage. (That might be my music training.) I’m a little OCD in that respect. I’m still amazed that I was always tracked in the top English classes which I hated, but only the middle math classes, in which I was the curve-breaker. Anyway, I’ve slipped and slid into TMI.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Kalliope says:

          I’m TME where E is for everything, and all about *I* since my ego is bloated with methane and helium. So I guess that’s another reason I am shite with linear time, I’m out & in sync with circular time. Round and round, do-si-do, I can’t separate myself from myself without another person to act as my anchor and keep me focused on the matter at hand, all my memories and ideas are like grains of sand. BLEH FRIGGEN HEVK.
          I’m pretty average, middle of the road, with any/all whatever I could call “achievements.” Always enough to scrape on by, never enough to be recognised. Except build a craptacular reputation upon the mountain of hearts I had broken, a pie-eyed piper that people loved and then learned to hate.
          You are a mystery, an interesting enigma. I like these conversations, and perhaps at some point we could merge our two cults, and make an offshoot branch of the cult of AnKi, haha.

          Liked by 1 person

        • thecultofanne says:

          Not average, nor middle of the road, at least online. You’re more of a whirlwind or whirling dervish than I am.

          In my experience, being “special” doesn’t always result in any kind of recognition. I know some pretty average composers who are famous, as well as some really special composers who are never played. Long ago, I went to a composer course at a music festival with several composers who have since made it big. At the time, they looked up to me as the “leading light”. Now, they have more performances in a week than I have in a year. I will have one performance this year, unless something else comes up. It’s an important performance, but it is only one. You might say I’m more successful as a writer than as a composer or performer. I have a number of publications both under my real name (fiction) as well as under Anne Martin (poetry), but no publications or recordings of my original music (although some arrangements, yes). I think it’s all out of print though. Most is on TCoA now: The Rite of Spring and You never forget how to ride, which isn’t posted. You might like it, so I’ll post it shortly. There is something else published, but I can’t seem to recall what it is.

          Liked by 1 person

        • Kalliope says:

          *squee* *applause in anticipation* your words honour me, and they are very much appreciated ❤😎🗝 there you go, take a key. It is one of my skeleton keys to fit any lock you decide to encode it to do. How you use it, when/where, including it’s energetic manifestation is entirely up to you.

          Liked by 1 person

  2. thecultofanne says:

    Thanks. I’ll save it for … well … an appropriate time. I would send you something back, but all my magic spells have unexpected consequences that are best avoided. I’ll gift you some words, when I have a chance to prepare something I like.

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