skonen_blades: (dark)
Write through the owls of your mind that make the black curtains of nocturnal living seem attractive. Crochet paper airplane lace-doily lightness from your craning-neck tension trying to see shuttle launches from 1985 Cape Canaverals. When all your heart knows is that there have been no moon walks recently and that the backstage passes are dated 1972 and gathering dust.

Stereophonic beach condos, rectangular in their architectural beauty, relax in the fog. Cookouts and a sense of being behind-the-scenes of something are helping beach-party men who retired early relax. It’s the dream, kid. It’s the dream seen through the wrong end of binoculars. Keep rowing.

When does a freight train become a falling elevator? Ask women with husbands at war smoking a pack a day manufacturing AK47s for the war effort. Ask deep sea divers who have been down too long falling in love with mermaid sirens. Ask getting to the sunset in your boat only to find it’s a Wile E Coyote painting and you’re in a giant room.

When everything thrilling is peeled away and your life becomes as exciting as an iPhone searching for wireless connections in a basement, it’s time to hit the eraser hard and dial up some lost weekends into being. Bring some forgotten walks back from the dead. Gateway your sadness into dimensions that don’t matter. Enjoy the pleasure of simply not being until the deadness becomes alive without the aid of witchdoctors, frankensteins, or potions.

When you are ready, you’ll be able to sip volcanos and ride polar bears. Until then, grease yourself. Don’t make it easy for the bullets.



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skonen_blades: (gimmesommo)
Waking up underwater is a curious sensation.

I wasn’t struggling and the water was warm. I had a mask on around my head that let me breathe. The sound of me inhaling and exhaling was loud in my ears.

I had no idea how I got there. I’d never taken a scuba diving lesson in my life. The water was dark. I didn’t know what direction I was facing. I couldn’t see any lights outside but there were lights attached to my helmet.

They stabbed out into the water around me. I couldn’t tell how deep they were penetrating. I had no sense of scale. I could see little particles in the beam of light like flecks of dust in a sunbeam.

Slowly, the fear crept in. I had no idea how much air I had left or which way was up.

I must have been drugged. There was no other explanation for how I could have gotten here. It would also explain why I was being so slow to panic.

The voice in my ears almost made me scream.

“Everything okay down there Danica? We lost you for a second. Over.” Said a male voice inside my helmet.

I said nothing. Were these my attackers? I was becoming terrified. I could hardly move. Was I miles underwater? I starting thinking of sharks. I could feel a scream building inside me.

Whoever this voice was, it didn’t sound like it intended me harm. It was all I had. It might be my only way out.

“Danica? Over.” Said the voice, a little bit of concern starting to rise in the undercurrents of the voice.

I wanted to shriek but my voice came out as a whisper.

“H-help. Help.” I breathed. “Who are you?” I asked the voice.

“Danica? What’s going on down there?” said the voice. I could hear the feet hitting the floor. Whoever he was, I had his full attention.

“Get me out of here.” I said. I had the sudden need to claw at the bodysuit I had on, to smash the glass in my faceplate, anything. Any way to end this.

“Danica! Stay with me! Guys!” his voice moved away from the mike. I heard others in the background. In my speakers, I could hear an alarm start up.

“We’re losing her. It’s happened again.” He came closer to the mike again. “Danica! Listen to the sound of my voice. Don’t move! Stay with me!” He said. I heard the slapping of feet on decks in my headphones.

I felt a pulling at my back. I was being reeled in by something.

That’s when I started to panic.

I thrashed around on the end of whatever safety line I was attached to. I was even imagining that it was the tongue of a monster pulling me into its mouth. I screamed. I wet myself. All rational thought left me. I lost control.

“Danica, listen to me! This has happened before! It’s your secondary personality rising! You can fight it! You must not panic!” said the voice into my ear.

Somewhere, I found the ability to stop screaming. I took deep, whooping breaths. I went totally still.

“Thatta girl, good girl, thatta girl. That’s right. Deep breaths, no movement. You’ll be home soon.” Said the voice.

I let the line tug me through the water.

Somewhere in the back of head, I understood that I must now be in shock.

I waited to be back at this ‘home’ the voice spoke of.




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skonen_blades: (no)
The stars and the moon keep the top of the cloud cover lit dimly in a dark shade of blue cotton. The city lights beneath turn the bottom of the blanket orange.

One thing that pilots never notice because of all the machinery and engine noise around them is that the clouds also muffle the noise.

Diving through this cloud layer is like picking up a public payphone and just listening to the ambient sounds. The silent flyer goes from hearing nothing but the wind to hearing car horns in one small moment. Layers of music and screaming follow with a little more proximity.

Of course, ‘flyer’ is a term used loosely at this point. I’m more of a ‘faller’.

With my body’s impact on the top of a building or possibly a street, my earthly existence will have paid its financial debts to unscrupulous people by serving as a warning to others who fail to make the payments at my level of borrowing.

I guess, in a way, I’m lucky. I might have been drowned or maybe fed to crocodiles if my debt was lower. I might have been tortured to death if I owed more. I might even have been shot in the head and left somewhere public if I didn’t live near the airfield where they stored their plane.

Even though I’ll never be able to share the impressions that I’m gathering as I get nearer to the city, I feel like I’m dying in a slightly unique way.

My vision’s blurry but I can make out the grid of the city below me now. It’s coming up a lot slower than I guessed it would. Maybe it’s my state of mind.

The last button on my shirt finally gives way. It rips off and flutters up behind me.

The people I borrowed money from don’t know that I was a diver in high school before my troubles.

I’m halfway through a perfect pike position forward somersault when I hear someone scream because they’ve seen me getting close.

It makes me laugh.

I land in an intersection without killing anyone besides myself.

I make the news.



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