both pleases and unsettles me.
Part of me wants to have some semblance of connectedness to You.
We walk the same planet, and breath the same air-
living lives that are somehow different, yet the same.
It means that I am never truly alone in much the same way that fairy stories are true.
Maybe the Collective is like Faerie- time moves differently there.
Maybe, somewhere, I am still cavorting with woodland sprites,
dancing for the joy of it because it will never end.
On the flipside, if I am, and never have been connected to You,
then perhaps there is hope for us after all.
Perhaps, where Mab whispers in my ear, God, or Jesus, or some deity and denizen of Light whispers in yours.
I read a lot of books that contain incest and rape.
Maybe, it’s because I crave power and some kind of unbreakable bond.
Maybe I want blood to run thicker than water
because my sister used to climb into my bed at night seeking solace from her monsters, and now that she no longer needs me, I climb from my bed seeking monsters.
She is never in the kitchen like Charles Wallace preparing coco,
because, I am, in fact, alone.
Perhaps, if I am alone, like a celestial body in the void, then men’s Oedipal fears need
not play out,
and we need not fuck our mothers and kill our fathers only to become them at some
point in time.
Perhaps, if there is no Collective,
then not all of us are still lost somewhere,
raiding each other’s caves, and taking their women.
The caveman equivalent of dunking on their fellow man.
Perhaps, if there is no Collective, then I am truly unique and through You love me- You do not love Me, because You don’t know Me.
You are a neighbor of the Self, changing My Self like the moon affects the tides,
just as I affect Your Self.
I hope You are happy in our neighborhood because You could always just be passing through, but I’ve got the table laid out for two,
and You can dine with Me,
and I’ll dine with You and
You can dive into My well.
Stay long enough and you might experience a haunting or two.