zeta reticuli

Aren't there more people in my mirror? In the cauldron, I swim around too many times and I need to pull myself from it. I need to pull myself, heavy, from the dense depths of liquid. The creative bog I find myself in does contain corpses of many a trapped woman. I'd like to save myself with that tree branch. The building rust on the trees grows up to the tips of the leaves. In October, we see them fall to their own grave of soil. But they feed roots and have a purpose here. What is mine?

There are pauses and breaks but my mind is still working through the scenes and places. It is turning the doldrum of life on it's head. The annoying sounds of the keys and the movement of the shaking desk make my mind revert further inward. I want to get out these ideas that plague me but it is as simple and easy and pleasant as pulling out a  tooth.   The canundrum: getting out the story that is inside myself. There is one here. I'm sick and tired of it swirling through me like a ghost and moving beyond my fleshy fingers that can not grasp it. The norns are running roughshod over my fate. They are making me regret my ciriculum in life. The want of living a life of creativity around the toil of productivity. The toil that inevitably pushes me down while I want to push forward. The grave dirt is an inch from my nostrils. But I don't want to leave this life without knowing what it is to live and in that, I find that creating is my living, driving machine. Creating is my way of bringing out life in me. I want to live! I can scream it out in my head all I want but I have to act and do to live and I'm too used to curling up on cushions, daydreaming or watching daytime t.v. I can hear the ideas. But I need to release myself from the cocoon of curling up and watching it all happen. Things need to bust out of these words and move around. I have a friend in here and she wants to be known. She is someone who is powerful and says what she thinks, even though she knows that what she says can be taken many different ways to those who do not truly know her. Yes, she feels she is best represented by a crystal that is not a clear quartz crystal, but by one that is smoky quartz, a little dark and dirty, she thought. But she didn't mean "dirty" as the way one would think. She meant dark and blemished. She meant dark (macabre) and flawed. Someone who has faults and wants them fixed even though she loves the smokiness of the crystal. She'd love to be clear.