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I am here for Friends

About Me

About me? I'll tell you all about me.
I'm blinded by your light. I'm cowed by your darkness. I'm impressed by your volume and intimidated by your gaze.
I fit into a crowd. I worry about social situations. I never snigger inappropriately and I always defer to my betters.
I am left breathless by beauty. I am automatically swept away by uniqueness. I can have tremendous faith in people based simply upon who they are, regardless of their actions.
I know my limitations. I respect your boundaries. I know what to expect from people and I'm never disappointed when someone makes the safe, reasonable choice.
I'm kind. I'm patient. I never overreact and I always consider that the viewpoints of others are as valid as my own.
Oh. And everything you just read?
Lies.
There are some people you know -- except you don't know you know them. Or maybe "people" isn't the right word. Regardless, they're there. We're there. Here. We're here because... Well, because we're not allowed to be anywhere else. We look like you and we sound like you, after a fashion, but there the similarities stop. It's a poor disguise, but it doesn't matter. If it looks like an ape and it sounds like an ape, there isn't a member of your species alive who will ever ultimately and rationally accept it to be anything other than an ape.
We look like you and we sound like you, to a certain extent, but it only takes a moment alone with us for the cold wind to blow through your belly. The tiny breath of unrealized awareness that you are lost in a strange place. The knotted anxiety of suspecting that you are in the presence of something -- a lunatic, an excommunicate, a feral tiger -- with which a person is under no circumstances to be left alone.
And the cold wind blows and the walls snap up and some voice that imagines itself to be at the center of your mind's labyrinth says aloud, "It's nothing. Look. This person is reserved and gentle and charming. You're not conspiring with a criminal. You're not breaking a quarantine. You're not sitting across from a cannibal, a Caliban, a calignity, a calamity. Everything is fine. Everything is reasonable. Everything is normal. Everything is always normal."
You believe. You scribble away the moment as an instant of fantasy. They come and they go, all day, every day, every lifetime. You long ago learned to disregard them, to let lay forgotten and unimportant the odd moments, the impossible angles, the baffling glimpses of alien landscapes caught between briefly-stirred curtains, the dreams of faraway places and strange faces which seem more solid and urgent than any place you've been, the brief and terrifying flights of absolute certainty that a door you've opened a thousand times before will this time open into a room you've never seen, the peculiar smell that always seems to remind you of something that hasn't happened yet.
Yeah. You know some of us. One or two. Someone you met years and years ago, who left much more of an impression than was reasonable for the nature and duration of contact. Someone who seemed simultaneously too-solid and not-quite-real. Someone with fire behind the eyes. Someone exiled.
But it's nothing.
Everything is fine.
Everything is reasonable.
Everything is normal.
Everything is always normal.
Right?Per ardua ad orbisque rapinas.
[family motto] I am also:
    Subhuman@Facebook Radioactive@deviantART Radioactiveidiot@AIM CrushThatDwarf@YahooIM Radioactive@Livejournal

My Interests

I'd like to meet:

A world-destroyer. A paradigm-smasher. A wind-demon. An archfiend. An unpredictable incomprehensible force of antinature capable of dancing in my deadlights without boiling away into vapor. A thought-shattering autofire thunderclap folded into human form. An epic-romantic. A descendant of the storms and a cousin to the gods. A singularity. A warrior. A paradox. A poet. The last living human being. Someone who hasn't given up. Someone who can laugh into the abyss. Someone who can remember jungles on the Sahara and prairies in Katmandu. Someone who won't shrink away from the lips of a monster. Someone more than human. Someone not perfect, but perfectly flawed. Someone who speaks enochian by instinct and doglatin by predilection. Someone who knows she's watching a shadow-play. Someone who can recite dirty cockney limericks while kickboxing. Someone who can look with different eyes at hidden histories and on a clear day see the edge of forever. Someone who breathes fire. Someone who's carved in ice. Someone whose name takes a thousand years to pronounce.

Someone with more trust than fear.

If you don't fit into every single detail on this list, I don't want to meet you, I don't want to know you, I don't want to fucking remember you. It's quite probable that I don't give a damn if you live or die. Humans have no inherent value, and I will assign no worth in my estimation of a person based solely upon the reality of his or her "person-ness." To assume you (or anyone) has a right to exist is the conceit of an overinflated humanist ego, and a conceit I am no longer willing to indulge.

Be fearless.

Or be nothing at all.

My Blog

vertigo

"And at times the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on." -- DreamThere exists no guarantee that it must...
Posted by on Mon, 04 Jan 2010 16:55:00 GMT

Dryad

There is a wild and delicate treeNear the center of my garden.It does not grow.All the long nights of this age(this age knows more nights than days)I wander the counties of the places of dream.I gathe...
Posted by on Sun, 07 Jun 2009 19:53:00 GMT

legendary

you have the look of one fast asleepbut about the anchor of youleft in the dolor of this waking placethe ears of my dreaming pick out the staccato pitterpatof bare feet on the wetof the courtyard ston...
Posted by on Fri, 22 May 2009 15:23:00 GMT

imagination

you in a low voicea funeral whisper unguardedone confession of many"i imagine crawling over you in the darkness your hands on me"and what do i imagine?how can i answer?the sole syllable that comes is ...
Posted by on Thu, 21 May 2009 17:18:00 GMT

13 May 2007

(I wrote this to G after she took me on the river last year.)Stumbling across a tiny revelation can be unfooting and awkward -- it's the existential equivalent of noticing your fly is unzipped. The co...
Posted by on Tue, 07 Oct 2008 00:39:00 GMT

serpentine

Inaccessibility. Forbiddance. Challenge. Therein lies the draw of the labyrinth. No matter how imposing the visage, no matter how flawless or diabolic the design, there is always the promise, the teas...
Posted by on Tue, 30 Sep 2008 23:50:00 GMT

daedal

The spiral is the insignia of the labyrinth. Its shape conveys the truth belied by the vision of the thing itself: one can look upon the labyrinth and imagine to, hope to, aspire to see a way in, thro...
Posted by on Wed, 03 Sep 2008 00:49:00 GMT