becoming mysteries

Where does your Pendulum currently swing?

Through what strange currents does it cut?

Can you feel it slicing and whipping the air about your crown,

whilst I watch?

Nearly knighting you, incising each shoulder, ever so slightly,

In ruddy, slightly bloody, rushing reds.

Let me decypher the etches inscribed into your collarbones.

I become the Mystery when I hold the Mysteries in outstretched hands for others to see,

speaking invocations and evocations in wolf howls, silently.

Notice the bizzarchitecture built into streets, hidden hexes of energetic vortexes corralling prancing ponies in immediacy.

Magick of the municipality.

Three goes into ninety three, thirty one times, evenly.

Thirty one is to thirteen as both these numbers are unto three,

in terms of divisibility.

Thirty one is thirteen looking into its own reflection.

As we are both prostrated on knees before the pendulous swing,

suck upon the fingers three which I present unto thee.

Æ shows Parçigal some leeway.

~There it is! That trigger you press to release my pressure valve.

⊙You were quite tight.

~Then do it again. I could be looser.

⊙But, would you be worthwhile were you any looser.

~You mean I was worthwhile when strung up and fretted?

⊙(Silence).

~Oh dear god, are you ever the dirty dog!

⊙Rrrrufff.

~Shut up. You know ruffing is one of the few things I’m better than you at doing.

⊙And , I’d take even that away from you if I could.

~(My eyes go hard) I know.

Parsiçal giggles to Æ

“You have told me nothing that Æ do not already know,” Æ tells me, sternly.

I grin, with closed lips, then

I say, “Oh howl. Is that what we were doing? Let me have another go at it.”

I do panto like I am a junkyard bitch barking and straining her neck against an invisible chain tethered to an imaginary spike.

I smile broadly, with both decks of teeth bared.

I suddenly spit out, “I once lit a candle that burned for two days straight despite there being not enough wax left.”

“Ostensibly,” he shrugs.

I cock my head sideways like a curious animal.

“Be quiet. When you try so hard, you always get in your own way,” Æ mutters.

“Oh howl. I thought that was the point of what we were doing. To let me stumble against the obstacle of myself,” I giggle snort, a bit bratty.

“Are you as confident as you seem,” Æ asks, seriously.

I howl in laughter.

“I did not know I appeared confident, Æ. I’m confident that life will render me unconfident often. If I am properly challenging myself.”

“How do you think you appear?” Æ asks me.

I reply, “Great question. I’m confident that I have no idea how I seem. Because, I am inside me, and cannot ever perceive myself. But, I’m the one that gets to experience myself as I am, regardless of how I appear. It used to be ‘I think therefore I am.”

“But, now?” Æ obliges me.

“Now, it’s, I’m seen therefore I am. It’s a real narcissistic shift.”

“So, then, what do you know?” Æ asks.

“All I know is that everytime I ‘think,’ I do not know.”

“And, when you don’t think?”

“I know I am.”

“How are you then?”

“I’m super, thanks for asking,” I giggle snort.

Æ rolls both eyes.

I smirk.

“Hey! I just made up this joke for you, Æ! Do you know it?”

“Tell me.”

“What’s the difference between feral, spitting of saliva and enunciated speaking?”

“…..”

“An audience!”

Æ smiles coyly. “Æ do like it when you spit your seemingly inane nonsense into the hole between my lips.”

My eyes go hard.

A tantra of shared breath

Open secret x for meditation: we cannot depend on our lovers to prove to us that we are not broken because actually, in some way, we all are. Wounded, anyway.

Perhaps such a small and silly thing could be one of the biggest tasks we face on this marble: to see and touch the world around us and to try to not harm what we see and touch.

(This vision came to me after sleeping. I am a bit uncomfortable sharing it; thus, I choose share it freely).

Penetration through breath work. We penetrate the whole universe with our being when we simply inhale and then exhale. We penetrate each and everybody else that was, is, and will ever be, as we breathe.

What does it mean to breathe for one another?


Suite in Curiosity

A tantra of connection for our breath. Sitting on the ground. Our legs crossed Indian-style but around each other. A pillow beneath me to hold me a bit over your legs. So, we can wrap better. My cunt pressed to your hound. We feel the heat of each other radiate back into ourselves. We just try to breath with each other. Match our breath so we can inhale together.

And then exhale. In simultaneous time.

Rhythm building.

And, we try to hold our gaze into the other’s eyes. It will feel awkward at first. Forced effort to sit and just stare. Too much eye contact. Giggles involuntarily escaping.

How long do we sit here?

Long enough to fully feel the discomfort of our active choice to inaction.

Intimacy doubled initially until time passes and our discomfort becomes a pulse. An entrancing rhythm.

~

I say: I imagine in this moment, that I can see so deeply into you, as I gaze, that I am able see you, beloved beast, way back.

Before you were ever wounded.

Innocent, clean, unafraid, sacred.

As I do, I imagine you looking in to me and seeing me the same way.

Entranced. We could easily make love or fuck with ferocity from this place.

Enter me with air. Undulate against me.

There are as many ways to touch

As there are many ways to love.

Put on Hildegard von Bingen ‘Canticles of Ecstasy’.

I will quicken in front of you. Fill up with energy. I will magnetize your charge.

~

I put a hand over your mouth to take control of your sweet breath. To try out something new. Letting you know when you are to breath and when you should not.

Your eyes glaze. You look a bit dizzy.

Let us share one breath.

Now, cover my mouth and uncover it again.

Feel how you adapt to my heart rate? You begin to know when I need air. You start feeling my shortness of breath within yourself. You sync to my breath as you control my breathing.

As you watch my body live before you.

You feel like you breath for me.

Or, perhaps, I am breathing for both of us.

I want our lungs to breath together.

Feel your breath as it is.

While I tell you this, I’d like you to take a slow, long inhalation.

Deep in and out.

Imagine the air you draw in as ocean blue. It moves like cold, clean water into you. Without holding it in, lean into me as you prepare to exhale.

Feel that nanosecond before you complete your inhalation, but have not quite begun to exhale.

The flux of air pressure shifting with your muscles.

Open your mouth.

Kiss my lips, open mouth.

Now, exhale slowly out of your mouth into my mouth.

Fully empty your lungs of air into my mouth. I will suck your exhalation into my lungs.

As you breathe life into me, feel the exhalation pull your discomfort and pain and antsy from you.

The air feels hot in your lungs now.

Humid and warm.

Imagine it flowing out of you like a hot orange lava flow.

Clear your lungs and send your uncorrected energy into me.

I let a bit of fresh oxygen enter as I breath you in. Inhaling deeply, but not at an unnaturally slow pace. My body will convert your exhaustion into usable parts. I will take in your breathy tangles as hot lava and in that moment between inhale becoming exhale, I drive the unwelcome energy into the void of my being where it is tempered into green smoke, cool like mint. You will wait the three and four seconds and then I will return your breath to you.

And, it clears your chest of tightness. Careful to pull a bit of new air in so we do not fully deplete this breath we share. I feel dizzy. Light. Tranced.

I feel dizzy. Light. Tranced.

I put my palm over your heart to support you. Holding you up and pushing you against your heart. Back and forth. Push. Hold.

You swing away and then back towards me to the rhythm of our breath.

In this way, seated, we somehow walk right along our ledge together. Foundation for future magical enchantment. Quiet. And completely loud.

Ritual of consecration of our feast of famine.

Tolle lege

I am a girl with far away eyes.

Take me outside myself, please.

It is as simple as picking up a book and allowing yourself to be read.

Red.

Tolle lege for me.

I see the anterior triangle of your neck.

Where that perfect, delicate but masculine midline meets the inferior border of your mandible and is set

against the border of sternocleidomastoid.

I learn the names of the parts of you, so that, once intimated, I may rebirth your pieces through gifting them new sobriquets.

I see your head cock one way then another.

Like a curious canine.

The radius of your eyes narrows then widens.

The diameter of your pupils expands and contracts.

The circumference of your perception swells in purple and ebbs limply.

I read your reactions and they become my bedtime færy tale.

I perceive you through closed captions.

You swallow. Hard.

The suprahyoid muscle raising your hyoid bone

The infrahyoid depressing and restraining it.

Smile. Your glands are reacting to whatever words you are perceiving and I doubt you even notice it.

My attention diffuses. My energy overflows.

My fingers fidget.

I play with the cordon looped, seven times, around my wrist.

Worn for this explicit reason. Something with which I may fret.

I practice tying knots while watching the best show not available on any screen.

{darkly hushed whispers}

I could remove some of your dreadful readiness; but, to do so would be to denigrate the events within your human condition: Æ says to no-one, in particular.

Speeding along another dissolution of ego through hard knocks followed by unseen but well-heard giggles in the darkness.

Æ said you wanted kindly unkindness: I whisper to no-one, in particular.

Spurning me forward, as I spurn you.

You drew the five of swords, sweet sap of sorrel.

Æ said to tell you that death is a mercy you do not deserve.

How dare you?!

I dared to accept this personally æons ago, dear. Thusly is how I dare.

Tears spring from his eyes.

I begin seeing bleeding horizons, bloody in the sinuous, poet trauma symptomatic of a new birth.

It feels like a backyard, handmade, waterslide, whereupon you sweetly play, dripping;

And given you remain unconcerned about getting grass burns on knees from all the slipping and sliding,

you may have a real devil of a divine time.

You may be rewound, house proud, town mouse.

Let your prise punish you;

you mashed my berserker button.

Teutonic fury arising between my lower limbs.

Never try to take a medal from Muttley the Magnificent.

S/he has many sharp teeth.

A peckish rhythm

I could tear you apart with teeth shredded like snapped, over-fretted guitar strings.

But, I’d rather simply look upon you quietly and plot the upcoming delicious demise you already seem intent on ensuring.

But, first, just a little something to chew on…

Are you peckish, skittish one?

What do you call this rhythm?: the independent music journalist asked me.

I call it punctuated equilibrium in syncopated time; and, yes, it will induce sleep paralysis.: I respond with a coy grin.

I snake his fingers between mine, before your eyes.

I saw your invisible snarl at his aura bursting forth in surprised, physical response.

Did you know that I abhor playing zero sum games?: I ask, aloofly, to No-Body.

Our thoughts are linear, strung out on a line

to hang, mid-air, and dry.

But, Nature is a volume encompassing.

A space within which you find.

Our eyes see at the

speed of light coming.

My ears hear at the speed of sound resonating.

Waves lapping at the sea shore.

The mind perceives its thoughts more slowly.

Your skin already feels heat well before your mind realises

you have already been burned.

This I knew before you showed me.

Here are petals to serve as your flesh’s exfoliant.