Sometimes the words will only come when the pen is put to paper the feel of the skin across the smooth pages as the ink brings imagination to life … yes sometimes the words cant come until the medium is right …


I went back there, even though I’d killed her and stolen her shoes. I went to the cradle of her creation and found chaos and ruin. The river bed run dry, the paths over run and destroyed. The beauty seemed gone … dead as Aleria had become. Yet, the deeper I looked the more I saw, a flicker of the beauty that captured and created Aleria. Now, with my return, the river bed flows. Mayhap the beauty will reclaim the paths …

Could it be Aleria is coming back for her shoes ….


The rabbit was never going to just disappear. He was never going to just go away. He always comes back, even after years have passed and you convince yourself he doesn’t exist … tick tock hop hop the rabbit comes back again and again.


The darkness had been gone so long she’d been sure the light had blinded her. Nightmares ruled the dreamscapes, adventures long gone, the darkness lost beyond the shadow.

Shadow turned to light.

Hot sultry summer night bring forth the shadow of light and without even knowing it, turned full circle back in the darkest of dark.


Nothing ever stays the same, yet it stays exactly the same, the paths are well trodden, the Servant of the Serpent lives round here somewhere, always busy walking back and forth, though no one knows what he is doing or where he is going, he never has time to stop, but a kind greeting he will give you in passing, and on occasion he might even give you a rhyme or a riddle, so incredibly cryptic to you that you might wish you’d never seen him!

Long ago, in the hills of the Serpent, the Servant had given her a riddle in passing, and after all these years, none of them have worked it out.


You can never go back, no matter how badly you might want to. Once you’re here that’s it for you. You’re in for life, your mind is awake, it is alive, and it will accept nothing less than living in wakefulness. It’s the hardest of all the paths, cause you carve that fucker out of stone yourself. Every step you make is your own, you don’t follow the crowd, don’t take the well worn paths of those whom would lead you blindly to the ledge. Sure, you might wear out a path or two of your own retracing your own steps, but that’s ok, cause you’re walking in your own footsteps, and eventually you’ll change direction and the only ledges you reach are the ones that level you the fuck up.


It’s dark in here bunny, she whispers to the rabbit in the dark. Just the way we like it the rabbit says back to her, and she squeezes the twisted little bunny and kisses his worn head, skipping off in the darkness, free of the shadow, free of sorrow, free of the chains. Wide awake and dreaming in wonderland …

~ MJ


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