Chew

After I've cleaned up Witch's Blood and started to get the hang of grad school, when I'm midway through working on a good novel and trying to forward my publishing career... I'm going to do something foolish. I am going to enter Blogger's story month thing. I have no idea what I'll be writing. I haven ocharacters, no plot, no nothing. I just have a sort of faith that on All Saint's Day, when the damn thing starts, the beginning of British New Year, when the spirits are out and the line between the worlds is thin, then the proper spirits will come to me and give me thier story.

I really think I'm getting in over my head.

On Writing

A lot of thoughts go through my head in a single day. Especially on writing. And then, on days like this they distill into a few lines. All week we've been looking at other author's, older authors, far more established authors in class, and the question is always, "What character are you?" or, "What do you have in common with this character...?"

Well, all of my characters are very different from me, and from each other. I was remembering an old story, written long ago about a character I would never trouble to write now. He had been born rich and and destiend for a lot and was trapped in that role, a slave to social duty. I guess I knew what mattered to me even then, when I first began writing.

My characters, my people, have this one thing in common with me and each other. I do what I want to, I follow my desire and this makes me free. And so I write now about free people.

I am the lust of the world
i am the whore who burns and turns
a girl into a woman
the stiffening cock
that turns the clock and separates
boys from men
i am the cry from heaven
that links like lovers in orgasm
the two to one
the heaven to hell
i end all divisions
i am reaching out right now
i am longing
i am...
yes, i am lusting
i will not let you fuck me
with all these sad ass expectations
and i follow one law
thou shalt not be bored
i have whored out my heart
to every flaming interest
i am reaching, i am straining
i am riding on a beast with seven snapping
heads
and i will not stop
until i have taken it all in

October leaves are falling to the ground
red and gold currency all around
God's wealth falls softly from the trees
and teaches we who live to cling
by quickly curling up
and turning brown

Labyrinth

I cannot properly go into the new day without gratitude for the one that has passed. My gratitude comes in snapshots of what I have seen. Climbing up and down the steep hills behind the woods, I met a man who was fishing and mushroom hunting. He was mad as a hatter, but most people are madder than hatters. I had the sense to wear boots and gloves though it was warm. I ended up in a ravine and had to climb out of it with hands and feet, hooking my legs around tree branches.

Walking the labyrinth, perform the spiral dance, all around me the trees were a mellow fire of mustards and deep reds. There was a little wind so the chimes were in constant song. The sky was a rare blue. It warm like God had painted it with pigments left in the heat. And as I walk this labyrinth, at the beginning of the esbat of the full moon, remembering the Mother of the Earth, who is the Earth, the bells from the Catholic church are chiming a Black Protestant hymn written by an Anglican. As I turn and turn and make the spiral, every tradition that intersects in me, comes together over me, right now, at this moment.

To quote the Hiltons sisters:

That’s