Random evidence of a cluttered mind

“In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”

Rumi

In the mountains so high, where the sun loves to peek,
Lives a vicuña, all soft and sleek.
With fur that's like clouds, so fluffy and light,
She dances with breezes from morning to night.

But there’s a woman, I must confess,
Who’s got that same magic, that same sweet finesse.
She’s nimble and quick, with a sparkle so bright,
Her laughter’s a melody that feels just right.

Like the vicuña, she’s tricky to find,
But once you do, oh, she’s one of a kind!
She prances through life with joy in her eyes,
Her spirit as wild as the wide-open skies.

She’s soft like the wool of that mountain delight,
But don’t be fooled—she’s got fire and fight.
A woman, a vicuña, both playful and free,
She add a bit of sunshine wherever she be!

Please be advised the following fiction contains dark themes, including coercive sex, death, murder, and reference to the Occult.

Alun Adair sat in his dressing room, painting arcane symbols on his face in gold pigment, when there was a knock at his door. He didn’t pause his work. He knew they were waiting for him.

“Enter,” he commanded.

“Magus.” His assistant, Sol, spoke with his usual blend of deference and discretion that danced just on the edge of familiarity. He was a tall man, with a shaved head and spidery limbs. But the only quality of interest he held for Alun lay on a singular point: Sol was as loyal as they come. “We are ready for you,” he said in a hushed tone that showed he felt the weight of the moment nearly as greatly as Alun himself did.

“Excellent,” Alun replied, not looking up from his careful delineation. “Prepare the tools. I will join you shortly.”

Excused, Sol left silently.

Alun finished the final touches of gold upon his cheeks, and regarded himself in the mirror. He was a vain man, but he thought he had perfectly just reasons to be. The Elatuan designs accentuated the chiselled lines of his jaw, and the brightness of the gold set off the darkness of his eyes. He looked fit to be a conqueror.

Indeed, he had set his sights higher than that. He would not be satisfied until he had become a living god.

~

When Alun Adair married into money, his first order of business was to have a mansion built in the old Gothic style. He wanted the appearance of history and tradition, with the ease of modern comforts – for this house was to be the hub of all political, financial and spiritual commerce. It was vital that it exude extravagance, awe and mystery in equal parts.

The most important part of the house was the room set within its bowels, designed in the shape of a pentagram: The Inner Sanctum. This was where true power changed hands – in the bonds forged within the most depraved and deviant orgies. To participate was the surest way to bind its members to secrecy – for what is secrecy itself but an exclusive club?

Forty-six and a handsome man yet, he retained a youthful vigour and easy charm that won him much favour with ladies – and indeed, with many gentlemen. It helped, too, that he was now rich, and connected with importance. But it had never been enough for Alun. He wanted more – more money, more sex, more influence, more recognition. More love. He had never fallen prey to the stuff himself, but he found he couldn’t get enough of the love and admiration of others.

A student of the Occult and an ardent follower of the old masters, Alun had long busied himself with both the dark arts and the art of the pick-up. There were commoner threads that ran between the two than one might think. Confidence. A flair for the dramatic. An incorrigible inattention to risk.

He had always understood there were greater depths of power to be had than the simple powers of blackmail. That there is a layer which sits just behind ours, which governs and steers all creatures upon their course. A layer in which the gods still live, and who lay a hand upon all of us – not merely in a proverbial sense, but in a literal one.

Of all the oldest and most obscure gods, there was one in particular with whom his sympathies lay. That, of course, was Elatua: the Goddess of Lust. His Order had been built upon Her principle, and every day he honoured Her with his most sordid deeds and deviant desires.

And now, Alun’s efforts were about to come to fruition. This was his highest point: he would finally summon the Goddess Elatua Herself – and reap the rewards so justly owed for his many years of service.

The magus strode down the corridor with purpose, his cloak billowing about him as he moved. He wore it for dramatic effect, and the effect was considerable. A commanding presence was essential to a magus, and he had curated his with care.

Just as he approached the Chamber, fanfare sounding in his mind, he was accosted by his wife, Leah. She set herself between him and the door in a manner more adversarial than he would have considered from his quiet wife of ten years.

“Alun, please,” she said in a low voice, marked with gravity, “please, rethink this plan. I’ve turned a blind eye to everything else, but this… You don’t know what powers you’re trifling with. You can’t mean to open the doors to the otherworld within our own home.”

Her fingers clutched his cloak with urgency, and he felt a flare of annoyance. He plucked her fingers from his lapels with disdain.

“Our home?” he echoed scornfully. Leah blinked and retreated. Satisfied, he moved past her and flung open the doors.

~

Leah retreated, moving away from the Sanctum. Her face, on which she had momentarily permitted fear to show, was now once more a closed book. As she walked away from her husband with practised composure, her chest felt like a cage of panicked birds. This was her lowest point: to stoop to begging, and still fail to hold sway over the man she married.

When she had been promised to him as a newly fledged woman, Leah had been thrilled with her lot. Her family had not been, but they begrudgingly entrusted her and her entire fortune to this unlikely union that seemed to make her happy. At first, it did. She had always known his ambition looked far and high, that his vices ran rather deeper than that of your typical man, and that he enjoyed her money rather a lot more than might be seemly. But he was also attractive, charismatic, and had that rare and exceptional talent of making the focus of his attentions feel like the centre of the universe.

That was before, when she still held the exciting sparkle of novelty for him. After their honeymoon, he eschewed any and all interest in her personhood. Her job now was to stay out of his way, and especially out of the way of his lovers. He told her from the start that he “couldn’t abide a nag”, and so she remained silent. She held her head high and her bearing regally, lest anyone should ever dare think she regretted her decision – and she regretted it abundantly.

Alun was a reckless man. His self-assurance bordered on delusion, such was his certainty that the universe owed him triumph beyond mortal success. Nothing was ever enough for him. And recently, Leah housed a growing anxiety for the direction toward which Alun’s interest had been tending.

The Occult was terribly real – realer than she had ever expected. She had watched his enemies and critics wither from mysterious diseases. She had felt foreign presences in that mansion, especially near the Inner Sanctum. She lived and slept on the second level, which seemed relatively less occupied by unseen forces. Even so, her nightmares now occurred nightly, in which she watched as her home and all that she knew were swallowed into a bottomless pit.

Leah dreaded what bedlam her husband might now unleash.

In times of trial, when spirits wane,

We often find ourselves in pain.

Unsure of what we truly need,

To lift our hearts, our souls to feed.

For us, a sense of worth is key,

To feel useful, strong and free.

All souls know the feeling lost,

Must find purpose at any cost.

So don't just sit and idle away,

Engage, assist, make someone's day.

A neighbor's help, a simple deed,

Can sow the seed your heart does need.

Volunteer, lend a helping hand,

Carry burdens, take a stand.

In service, find your balm, your cure,

These acts of kindness, pure and sure.

Each moment of service, each kind act,

Builds momentum, a positive pact.

So when we're feeling low, lost in the dark,

Remember, it's in giving that we embark,

On a journey of self-discovery and light,

Finding solace in service, shining bright.

Forgive my calling you, I couldn't fight it
But I needed to hear, I couldn't hide it
Even just for an instant, your breath again

Sorry, I know I'm breaking our vow
But there's something urgent that you need to know
I'm dying, dying to see you
It's painful and agonizingly slow 

The afternoons are a labyrinth
And the nights taste
Of pure pain

Give me back my fantasies
My lust for life
Give me back the air to breathe

It's the soul's ache

But you can't cover the sun with a finger

My darling, the nights taste
Of pure, pure pain

You stole a piece of my heart,
Took it gently, left your mark,
And I don't know why,
No, I don't know why.

In the twilight, your eyes were clear,
Our love was lightning in a storm,
The rhythm of our bodies near,
Electric pulses, fire born.

You led me from the very first,
In your gaze, a quenching thirst,
And I don't know why,
No, I don't know why.

In this dance, we played our parts,
I knew I'd put the skin before the heart,
Before the heart, before the art.

You took the rest, the whole damn day,
Wrapped me in your warm embrace,
And I don't know why,
No, I don't know why.

Now the fire's embers die,
Coldness fills the midnight sky,
It's in my way, it's in my way,
The echoes of what we used to say.

You claimed the hearts, the spades, the thrill,
In this game of shadows, still,
And I don't know why,
No, I don't know why.

It's a shame, it's not a game,
A tangled web of pleasure and flame,
But in your touch, I lost my name,
In your touch, I lost the pain.

Don’t forget, 
my love, 
to live. 
Don’t forget 
to bury 
your toes in sand 
and leave the car keys 
and laugh at oddities. 
Don’t forget to marvel 
and feel despair, 
to sense danger 
and run from it. 
Don’t forget 
to take chances, 
to climb mountains 
that no one believed 
you could climb. 
Don’t forget 
to love yourself, 
all of you, 
from every season 
and every place, 
because you never know 
when they will 
come knocking for 
a cup of coffee 
and an overdue hug. 
Don’t forget 
that you are alive 
right now 
until you won’t be, 
and even then, 
don’t forget 
how beautiful 
it was to 
call yourself Home. 

I love airplanes, I adore You

I love to journey, I adore You

I love the dawn, I adore You

I love the wind, I adore You

I love to dream, I adore You

I love the ocean, I adore You

I love cats, I adore You

I love to walk, I adore You

I love the rain, I adore You

I love to come home, I adore You

I love marijuana, I adore You

I love this world, I adore You

I love the mountain, I adore You

I love the night, I adore You

In a realm of reverie, where shadows dance,
She weaves her tapestry, a fateful trance.
Obsessed, entangled, in her silken snare,
My goddess beckons, none compare.

A glimpse of her, in moon's soft glow,
A voluptuous glare that pulls me low
In silent whispers, her secrets untold
A symphony of longing, begins to unfold.

Eyes of night, so deep and divine,
Holding me captive, her willing shrine.
To worship, to taste, such silken grace,
Now lost in her scent, a divine embrace.

Her moans, a melody, so hauntingly sweet,
Echoes through corridors, as heated hearts beat.
For goddess and mortal, entwined we be,
A dance of passion, such complex decree.

In a temple of obsession, haunted by dreams
A supplicant to a goddess, trapped by her schemes.
In the realm of verses, where emotions coalesce,
I etch my devotion, and to you I confess.