Like going back to an ex-lover who is no longer good for me though their familiar embrace is still warm, I welcome the spell of the ripping and rabid Dark animal living inside of me. She provides a gnawing wellspring of anger. From my chest her claws pierce through, ripping a hole in my brooding depression. Either muted and grey or raging and on fire - Dark's seductive nature spreads quickly and before I am fully aware, I have become lost in my fascination.
Hyena Dark Priestess and Priest
Acrylic on Wood Longboard
written by C H Musser-Lamoureux
Cemetery love - the draw to one another creeps through their being like thick spreading vines. They crawl out the soil, hand-in-hand and find themselves in strange places.
Presence and Silence are the only things I can manage. My awareness is turned on like a buzzing fluorescent light - my doll eyes wide open to any trace of movement at the far reaches of the graveyard. I am aware of each cold tombstone behind and beside me. Aware of their presence underneath, and of the same place waiting inside me. A kind of calm entangled in exhilaration. I am aware of every exhale of heavy breath through my dark stained lips, parted to inhale the full moon.
I am -Time is - slowed down, I feel the death that surrounds as I feel the aliveness shivering within - standing in this graveyard at night, I feel like a little goth doll, hand in hand with my punk rocker love.
He drinks whiskey straight from the bottle and tells me stories, I can only manage silence. This cemetery feels more alive than the town streets, deadened with dulled day-to-day ignorance and the forgetting of life. I feel more alive here, I feel my heart, my skin - and as a stunning fog creeps in, wrapping its wispy wings around the two of us, we are cloaked in a surreal lovely nightmare, gothic fairytale. An echo of howling wild dogs in the distance and I can feel the intense presence of death and life, contrast of light and dark, how we may never understand each other through the mind, but sometimes only through our bodies. How what is invisible, is still undeniably present.
Burgeoning between the ether realms - Impresence - the omnipotence of death. There is no wall in between. There is no cold stone, damp fog, or warm skin. I can only manage silence, while my life burns wild and exhilarated inside.
Cemetery love. The attraction creeps along blue veins, slowly taking over my body - desire hand-in-hand with infection. I cannot push it away any longer, and so I find myself there.
Like the buzz of a fluorescent light, my awareness turns on. Presence and Silence are all I can manage. Captivated doll eyes wide open to any trace of movement at the far reaches of the graveyard. I am aware of each tombstone behind me, beside me.
Like blood seeping red out of skin, my Angel of Death emerges from the soil, dancing his cold fingertips up my thighs.
I am like the minutes - slowed down. Death folds its wispy wings around me and aliveness shivers within my bones. A little Goth doll in my big boots and little dress, hand in hand with my Angel of Death - Standing in the Graveyard past Midnight.
He tells me a tale, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle - and I can only manage silence, this cemetery feeling more alive than the town streets that are bleak with indifference and day-to-day oblivion. I feel more alive here - I feel my heart beating, my skin tingling.
He tempts me to a tombstone below. “Lay my delicate body down as my breath catches in lacy swirls - a drawn out exhale painting frost on a Winter window. Trace your skin along mine, wake up my sleeping soul. Breathe your fire down my neck. Watch it engulf me, forming spark and liquid ash. My lovely nightmare.”
Light and dark, Death and Life - we may only understand each other through our entangled bodies, never through our minds.
An echo of howling wild dogs in the distance heightens my senses. I look at my Angel and realize there is no barrier here, no difference between warm skin and cold stone. He is steady and swift - a quiet rush that snatches my breath away. His talons curl around me protectively as a damp fog creeps in from beyond the gates, thick with secrets and stolen whispers.
Dark vines crawling amidst my veins, my life burns wild inside. My calm presence has been twisted with exhilaration. I embrace the invisible, which is undeniably present to me. I embrace my Angel of Death - each breath a heavy exhale through necromancer lips, parted to inhale the full moon - and I can only manage silence...