Moon Blinked and Wild

Lost lines of shadows fall across the gleaming night, burning back the last whispers of light.

We wait in the darkness, bleeding hearts in hand, moon blinked & wild.


My new Moleskine arrived. I stared into its blankness and worried about ruining it. Worrying about not being able to fill it with the magick I wanted to. Worried that I can't use it as a regular journal.

I let that worry go and let the words flow. This journal is more for words than art.

The special words that need a special place to be saved and remembered.

This isn't a journal for tracking the mundane passing of days.

It freaks me a little, peeling back my flesh and sharing what lies beneath. But it also feels important and sacred.

Ever since the energy working I had, things have been spinning wildly around me and not moving at all. It is a strange space to be in, hurdling toward some unknown future while seemingly standing still.

There's some shifts and changes. I have no idea what they are. I don't know where I'll be or what things will look like when it is all done.

I've been told it is for the best and it will be all good. I think that is true. I certainly don't feel like everything is going to shit. But I'm almost holding my breath waiting for it.

So things might get a little quiet here, they might get a little weird or I might tear down this whole site and start again. Even though I've just done that and the thought of doing it again scares me. I don't know what I would replace it with. More art? Morbid scraps of poem-ish writings? Random brain matter? Ghost Stories?

I have no fucking idea.

All things point toward an all-consuming fire burning me up. I have no clue what will crawl up from the ashes.