The inner child never sleeps, never goes away, never hides in the realms never gives a minutes peace, since that is what children do. Her constant natter rings from down in the deep, not even the darkness puts an end to the constant sing song voice that knows too much about too little too often in time too late. Never a tear never a tanty, always the silver lining in the dark hidden places where the light will never show her the clouds she dreams of …
You can’t go back. No matter how badly you want to, you just can’t. What’s done is done and what has come has come and will, will. All you can do, sugarpie, is hope to all your dark gods that you have the strength to keep on keeping on. Cause that’s all it is. A continuance and it is what you make it, and what you allow is what will be. If your hands are tied, you made the knot. When you figure that you, only than will you find the freedom you so desperately seek.
I am never alone, but I am truly the loneliest person in this godforsaken world. And I have no one to blame but myself.
They think they are so clever, fucking hacks is what they are. Not many old school left, but we still be here, we still be dancing in the shadows, we still be standing behind the veil watching, drinking rum, laughing out loud at you dumbasses stumbling around. Thought you could look behind the veil, thought it would be cool and fun and hip. But it’s not, it is fucking crazy. Real crazy and if you ain’t already the right kind of crazy than you ain’t gonna make it. You gonna whip your head back so fast from behind that curtain that you get yourself a whiplash. Yeah, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
Born of chaos in the tunnels of darkness on the hour of the Great Babalon the child that is bound to the magic that flows in her veins reaches into the darkest places of all and in her eyes her mother did see the shining lights of the tunnels of fear wonder through the great empty spaces of forever the web of red the river of a backward current the kiss of a devil the embrace of an angel the blessing of a Goddess the love of countless lost souls the child that was born in her mothers imagine finally begins to come into her own.
The rabbit picks up the matches. Burning season has arrived. The time for things to die, to fall into the ground and be reborn. Time to trim away the dead. Make big piles. The rabbit smiles. He likes the burning season. Likes the fire. Like watching her let it all burn, and this year this is oh so much to burn.