and then...dust

Dust settles. Words gather. Brilliance in tiny gems and phrases hide behind every age old desire. 

I am meant to harness what I have no control over. I wait heroic for a hero. And writing without a hidden agenda has never been more difficult.

Where I don't drown in love for a hero my lust moves to paper products. At the end of the day, I always return to the Moleskine because it is my spouse. But at the bookshop my hands move over and through dozens of other potential journals. 

Welcome to the Palace Nouvelle. I am King Fikshin, the Alpha Muse. Please have a seat with this paperwork. 

Where do we eat sleep discover interview cry love etc? Where is my home? What do I need to say? What do I need to say? I had a real partner most specific. An intellectual and creative challenge. His body, it seems, is made for me. What do I need to say?

We craved a real partner most specific. An intellectual and creative challenge, satisfaction in passion manifested. We craved him to these words YEARS ago: 

My mind was his skin clean/unmarked

My thoughts are his pain, bruises/marks

My words are his relief...

My ideas are his bones, teeth included. 

We crave things made real. What is this horrid world what steals from us? I crave the mechanism made man, the mechanism who kept my world alive and intact. I miss him. What do I need to say?

I need to say Anchor Apocalypse, my first serious memoir piece. The neo-mythology is a matter of rebuilding, not new building. I can not abandon my passion, I can't pray it away. And I can't control its behavior or its treatment of me. I can only push it to manifest, manifest by my ideas teeth included. 

I have overcome my psychosymatic fear of being underwater. I'm all on my own and without a home. What do we need to say?