Semi-Daily Scribbles

Potion Control

Gwendolyne & Delphine Thickepenny are sisters with whom one ought not to trifle. The ability to wake up on the right side of dirt depends on the respect one gives to a Thickepenny's patience. Before this voyage may be undertaken, a lesson best learned is that well-crafted spells are worth more than a king's ransom on any near and faraway shore.

Three drops of blood are required to chase away The Sleep that plagues the ever vigilant seeker.
Collect the letters, then say the word (a concept most foul to a warrior).

G & D T. know dedication to the secret ways will bring rewards in the unexpected moment you've been waiting for.

This Ridiculous Riff

So many seeds have been cast near and far. The time has come for verdant dreams to bring a deep sense of the tangible. Spirit guides have been along for the ride, but now they must rest their weary dogs and let Tansy transcribe this mystical roadmap. Monuments to mindlessness populate the barren terrain; dust has a place on her palette. Tansy plays a plaintive chord of would-be's / ought-nots / evermore to navigate by an unreachable shore. Cutting corners only leaves holes in Tansy's story that cannot be filled with truth or lies. A gaping wound at the center of the Universe, oblivion is comfortable if one sets down ground rules and checks all measurements. As with blood, Tansy tends to stick to her own type.

I can't vouch for anyone but myself. Survival is Reinvention. Reinvention is Survival. I no longer need to pretend this experience means more than simply showing me the door.

Introduction

In the Company of Soft White Light

Double Function

Said a grey-haired man: "grab all you can" and now I've successfully completed the task. What now, you ask? I must save my ass. From what? Doom! Ruin! Gloom! All a matter of perspective, really. I've taken stock of my sorrow and I've a neat Badge of Participation to show for all that past hand-wringing. See? I can be a creature of nature and still build computers out of spare hearts and resuscitated parts.

You can count on me to understand the unknowable.

I'm Not Listening to a Word You're Saying but Let's Have a Conversation Just the Same

Previously...

ORT: I am surrounded by carelessness and uncertainty. I can only continue to be on top of my shit and lend a hand as I see fit. I am guilty of prancing about like a peacock, but when I show up each and every time, I will sing a bar or two of my rhymes. False modesty has never looked good on me. Troubles with learning My Lesson? Just how much of a curve are we talkin' here?

DARLA: I always got somethin' to say, that's for sure. My words hit home with lots of folks. I may not have any answers, but ask me a question and I'll give you an Oh, Pinion! If you've got my back, you get a steady stream of bon mots in return.

ORT: This entire journey is built upon temporary steps. Keep taking them regardless where they lead. You've got a fool alongside you; growth is found in the doing and failing rather than the thinking and retreating. Hitting the ground is a sign of momentum. Progression! Standing still is necessary for a time, and then it just becomes hard on the arches.

DARLA: Your words speak of frittering one's gifts and talents. Many of us run from our birthright. It's scary to be a leader among the Weird & Wounded. I shan't be wasteful with my words. My words are my wealth, and people listen to my creativity as though it were the law. It is the law for me. I can only hope my guidance is met with kindness and a healthy dose of beware.

ORT: Ever the diplomat, am I. Strength is what enables one to create in the moment and to drive all other thoughts out to pasture. They'll roam home soon enough. Nurture what makes you happy. Otherwise, why waste the effort? My reward in staying alert is that I always see treasure by the roadside.

warlords & romance

A Specific Time of Year

Kind of a Personal Matter

Floating Through Life

Previously...

Let's discuss this recurring theme of trying on life for size and not clinging to any particular outcome:

"The only approach that's working right now is to show up. Routines are my besties for the time being. It feels like I'm barely lifting a pinky, but I see the tall waves crashing toward me. That ripple in a pond; the butterfly-wings-thing reaching the farthest shore.

I must be the light, all right? So I can navigate in the tight, murky places? I have to release that with which I have no creative relationship. Each moment is a work of art. I can't force outcomes any more than I can tell you to jump on my cloud. Your red wagon ought to be paradise enough."