HAUNTED LIGHT

Skin Of the Night

2012-01-24T07:28:00.000-08:00

Like a moth she moves to the red light
Her blood warms and boils there
She skims the sweat like a new milk
And pops the buttons off her wet blouse

Oh Queen of the Night
Well she is deep inside
She is haunting me
All of her soft parts call to me
She could be mine

She digs her nails into her naked chest
Miles of veins fan out like a road map
She pulls back the skin to show her ribs
That twinkle like shooting stars

Lyrics by M83

These Swan Songs To Thee

2012-01-17T09:29:00.000-08:00

(Collage by Krystyna for Lee's Xmas present)

Little Ghost II

2011-12-22T20:47:00.000-08:00

By The Darkness of Things

2011-12-22T15:54:00.000-08:00

Winter Solstice numnums from spook-folk twins, Ghost Bees/Tasseomancy

Static Heart Pt. II

2011-12-09T06:13:00.001-08:00

The Erl King

2011-11-30T07:31:00.000-08:00

Guten Nacht
I'll be dead before dawn

Kind, mein Sohn
I'll be dead before dawn

And though your eyes appear
Wry and withdrawn
I'll be dead before dawn
I'll be dead before dawn

Father! Father! I fear for the night
When the Erl King comes to collect us
Father! Father! I fear for my soul
As you should

Father! Father! Make sense of the night
Let's turn back our horse
And flee from this unsightly terror
That is trembling through these woods..

My Son, you must be pacified
These scenes of dreams are only imagination
My son, you must be satisfied
I'll keep you safe from fancy apparitions

My dear young Son, with eyes so wild
Be still my son, you waggish child
I'll hold your head and keep you warm
There's nothing here to harm you.

Child you're beautiful
Come lie with the Erl King
Child you're beautiful
Come quiet, come willing

The gifts I could give to you
The wind and the wild river spring
Child you're beautiful
Come quiet, come willing

Father! Father! Can you hear his cries?
The Erl King comes to collect us!
Father! Father! I fear for my soul
As you should

Father! Father! Make sense of the right
Let's turn back our horse
And flee from this unsightly terror
That is trembling through these woods..

My dear young one I hear it clear
The hooing owl burrows near
No Tophet trolls or urchin fear
There's nothing here to harm you.

Child you're beautiful
Come lie with the Erl King
Child, you're beautiful
Come quiet, come willing

The gifts I could give to you
The wind and the wild river spring
Child you're beautiful
Come quiet, come willing

Father gallops frantically,
Trembling with dread
For when he reached the weeping hearth
The child was dead.

Written by Ghost Bees/Tasseomancy, inspired by the poem/legend of Der Erlkönig

(Danish Folktale about an anxious young boy being carried home at night by his father on horseback. He begins to see and hear beings his father does not; the father asserts reassuringly naturalistic explanations for what the child sees – a wisp of fog, rustling leaves, shimmering willows. Finally the child shrieks that The Erl King is about to take him away. The father makes faster for home. There he recognizes that the boy is dead.
In the original Scandinavian version of the tale, the antagonist was the Erlkönig's daughter rather than the Erlkönig himself; the female elves, or elvermø, sought to ensnare human beings to satisfy her desire, jealousy and lust for revenge.)

Bluebird

2011-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

Broken,
Blue eggshells
Scatter across
My dreams

Thin and cold
As smoothed, bright
Winter skies

All have flown

Image & Poem by Krystyna

Little Ghost

2011-10-28T17:20:00.000-07:00

Photography By Krystyna, Modeled by Cara

~†~

2011-10-08T13:26:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna

Static Heart

2011-09-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by Bethan & Sian

Dream

2011-09-05T18:11:00.000-07:00

2011-09-05T17:34:00.000-07:00

Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
'Til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me, sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks
For you sing
'Touch me not, touch me not
Come back tomorrow
Oh my heart, oh my heart
Shies from the sorrow'

I am puzzled as the oyster
I am troubled as the tide
Should I stand amid your breakers?
Or should I lie with death my bride?
Hear me sing
'Swim to me, swim to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you'

('Song To The Siren', This Mortal Coil 1983/Tim Buckley 1967)

Wolftown Summerwater

2011-08-31T06:01:00.000-07:00

Tina Aumont // Home Movie: On the Set of Philippe Garrel's 'Lit de la Vierge' (1968)

2011-08-26T05:01:00.000-07:00

Conjuring

2011-08-24T10:07:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by my lovely cousin, Catherine

Silver Branches

2011-08-06T07:59:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, Fell Foot Wood Woodland Gathering 07/11

And I Will Wade Out//

2011-07-20T05:16:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, modeled by Cara and Mush (and their tiny babies!)

\\Till My Thighs Are Steeped In Burning Flowers

2011-07-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, modeled by Cara and Mush (and their tiny babies!)

i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

~E.E. Cummings / Bjork, 'Sun In My Mouth'

D R E A M H O U S E

2011-06-18T06:26:00.000-07:00

Angela

2011-06-07T15:53:00.000-07:00

Maladolescenza

2011-05-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

Poison For The Fairies

2011-05-13T18:17:00.000-07:00

Caroline Weeks

2011-05-10T18:54:00.001-07:00

Videos;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lyOFN27j2E&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yU8I1PeFqTk&feature=related

.

Sunny//Cross

2011-05-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna

Misty Song/Land of the Dead

2011-05-09T18:30:00.000-07:00

The stairway in my
Parent's house
Holds a procession of those
I know and don't

Walking fast nor
Slow in pace
But with accepted purpose
Smiling, ignoring me

Standing still
I'm made from mist
I watch them climb
Follow in bursts

Choosing from
Bedroom doors
They're gone forever
But still more come

In promised tone
I hear my voice
I know I am in
Limbo

She was there like a ghost
Pouting, angry
That I had not given
Her something I should have

I stayed on the
Landing
Watching them leave
Smoke in still air

Everything told me
That a Storm was coming
Static fingertips
Even at clear midnight

Like I'm far out to
Sea
All silvered moon spray and
Thick, prussian deep

Photography by Krystyna

Malá Morská Víla

2011-05-03T15:04:00.001-07:00

2011-03-22T05:13:00.000-07:00

Masquerade

2011-03-22T05:11:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna

Morgiana

2011-03-22T05:08:00.001-07:00

Billows The Night

2011-01-24T07:58:00.000-08:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by Cara

Violet Hour

2011-01-05T06:21:00.001-08:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by Cara

November Coming Fire

2010-11-18T09:49:00.000-08:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by Bethan

Fox Fire

2010-09-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

Photography & Masks by Krystyna, Modeled by Bethan & Alison

Dream #23/Aurora

2010-09-03T18:59:00.000-07:00

Lying in the
Gap between
You can see
The glow

Frozen phosphor
Frozen eyes
Returning me
To stone

Earth and skies
Bind me down
But happily
I'll go

Lie motionless
In opal tomb
Ice burns
In hearts this cold

Ruby Skies

2010-08-30T09:18:00.000-07:00

Photography/Headdresses by Krystyna, Modeled by Lisa & Sian

Shishigami

2010-06-27T06:58:00.000-07:00

I dreamed you were real
When they took your life
It was real

And I could not stop the black tears
From falling

From covering the World
And Moon
And Stars

Dream #22/River

2010-06-27T06:05:00.000-07:00

Photo by Eva

Summer Street Fete
Browsing stalls

Sellers won't sell me
Anything

But would rather
Give me things

I ask why
But get no reason

I'm only told
I will need these things

Small coloured beads now
Cover my arms

The last stall
Has a wooden knife

The seller is kind
But pushy

Forces me to take
The knife for free

'You will need it
More than I'

The price tag says
'Nine'

My skirt has a
Pocket shaped

Just like the knife
It fits like a dream

The River was
Beautiful

Full of clumps
Of yellow and white flowers

But they're
Dredging it

Noise and diggers
Smoke fills the sun

Someone is responsible
For turning it all to slush and matter

And I realise
All of this was so that

I could stop this;
Return all to water & petal

And I knew

I would kill for it

Haunted Light

2010-06-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

Photography by Krystyna, Modeled by Lisa

Wolftown White Heat

2010-06-23T18:55:00.000-07:00

Photography/Headdress by Krystyna, Modeled by Lisa

Tunnels to Other Worlds

2010-04-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

We picked my friend up one late summer evening, to go down to the canal bridge.

I'd known for years that bats lived underneath, in the concrete rafters, amongst the trees. When he was younger, my brother and father had built a bat detector from scratch, as a home electronics project. Essentially just a little black, plastic box with a red L.E.D and a couple of knobs on the side of it, you'd turn these controls to different frequencies, pointing the device towards bats when they hunt at dusk. It made such odd noises that some friends had often used it at band practice.

We decided that this kind of light meant that there would be dozens of them about, so we drove down to part of the canal where we used to go as children.
By the time we arrived however, the sun had already set and there was only a breath of violet in the sky over the grey-black mass of the bridge to show it had ever been there.

..Vibrating blips and squeals..

I spent a lot of my younger years doing stuff like that, running around in the trees by the canal, pretending I was some kind of feral forest girl with my best friend Chessy. Once we found a little dappled glade by a stream, with part of an old sofa in it. It was to be our den, but the longer we played there, messing around with sticks, something felt increasingly wrong. The stream was dirtier than we'd thought, full of discarded things we didn't recognise, with syringes, broken bottles and empty glue cans on the floor. We were too young to understand, but savvy enough to leave. It's often in my dreams; beautiful and forboding each time the fuzzy realisation hits home.

..Ccc-c-c-b-brr-rrrrrrrrrch, pi-pi-piiiiiiiiiiippp..

As we neared the bridge, I turned on my torch to avoid any dog mess. The place was still beautiful, even at night, though it seemed different somehow; unfamiliar though I knew it well.
The bat detector was making little metallic crunching sounds, feeding back softly. A pale blue light was coming from one side of the bridge, where the concrete embankment sloped upward. The space used to be our rocky little playhouse.

No word from any bats so far. Only the magnified sounds of keys in pockets and the crunch of gravel underfoot.

Trying to keep our spirits up, chatting about inane things, the three of us drew closer to the bridge along the black path. Waiting under a smaller, much older stone bridge nearby, I decided to talk reasonably loudly, so that whoever was making the glow under the bridge would know someone else was there. I'm not sure why I wanted them hear me, maybe I was trying to let them know I wasn't afraid or something. After all, they couldn't see us either. Voices in the dark. The others didn't like this method, and either whispered or didn't speak at all. Hardly drawing breath at times it seemed. The water made cold, ghostly green phosphorescent flashes on our bridge's mossy roof, like a smaller, more personal version of the Aurora Borealis.

Knots tightening in stomachs.

...Prrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiippppppppp...

Tinny music drifted over in little pockets of night breeze from the small group of teenagers drinking under the bridge, and mingled with the detector. Their mobile phones lit the cave-like space around them.

We never actually saw anyone, just heard their muffled voices and saw the glow. The dull, thin clank of empty cans being discarded on rocks. I wondered if the bats were there with them, hanging silently above them in the feint blue light, watching or sleeping.
In a way it was like I was back in school again, where no-one really understood why I preferred nature to shopping or whatever, and where I felt worlds apart from virtually everyone. Our worlds would cross but never really meet, just as the blue light's inhabitants and the old bridge's onlookers would not.
I could tell my brother and friend had given up on the bat idea pretty much as soon as they'd seen the bridge, and were suggesting leaving now, with whispered agitation. We walked back to the car, with the torch off.

Maybe the bats had moved on; quietly left one evening, en-masse, while no-one noticed or perhaps, even cared. Tiny spectres, effervescing like puffs of fog on the last trails of dusk. Marking the changes with their pips and squeals.

The drive home was where the city melts into the countryside. Tunnels of trees, sparks of yellow streetlamp light falling on everything through leaves. I wound down my window and rode the wind with my palm for a while. I held up the bat detector, and as we drove down the empty roads to drop my friend off, I occasionally heard their tiny mouthes speaking to insects in the dark.

We Are Water/For Thomas

2010-04-23T12:29:00.000-07:00

Photo by Sian Macfarlane

I found the dead magpie a week ago.

The sun set in time lapse.

Cinders dispersed themeselves in sweeping, honey-grey plumes, thickly spread over the sky.

Jet trails sprayed out from a nearby airport, unceremoniously slicing the brilliant blue iris, over and over.

I could pinpoint this limbo, a place between worlds.

::End/Begin::

The day itself did not exist, but it was still managing to stare me right between the eyes, full on and gleaming.

The earth turned itself inside out, and I could see everything and everyone more clearly; condensed in watery gold, curled up in smoking embers.

Heartbeats in a womb.

Lillies still in the air.

Ashes are even more beautiful through tears.

Dream #21/Cuts

2010-01-11T06:53:00.000-08:00

Childhood neighbourhood,
Cloudy day
My cat goes wandering
As cats do

Inquisitively wide-eyed,
Gentle instinct
Leads her to a hidden shop
In the local arcade

Damp, mossy green fence
Walls the alleyway that leads to it
She trots on
Making little chirps at birds

CUT

I am sitting on my bed
When someone hands me
Her little
Head

In my mind's eye
I witness the event;
She's wandered into a Butcher's shop
Masquerading as a Vet's surgery

As it becomes harder to see
For the tears
I imagine what's happened
Visualised in distorted salt water;

Her innocent, trusting nature,
Her tiny body shaking
In the same way I've seen it tremble
On trips to the Vet's before

As he holds up her chin

And makes a slit

Accross the left side

Of her fragile neck

"It's not working, there's too much blood"

Lengthens

The cut

From

Ear to ear

CUT

I hold her head in my hands
Cover her nose and mouth
With my lips
And b-r-e-a-t-h-e.......

Slowly life begins to return
And I retrace her steps
Feeling her thoughts
Until I unite head & body again

CUT

I wake within the dream,
Sit up in bed, frantically looking for her
In the places she likes to sit,
Crying so hard that I can't see her at all

CUT

The whole thing repeats, speeded up
Except this time
When I breathe,
Blood seeps

And I know this time
There is no remedy

Dream #20/Limbo

2009-12-12T05:45:00.000-08:00

Collecting tiny Greenfinch
Feathers, with gentle care
For the ceremony

Smoothing them
In my fingers, binding
Ends in silver thread

Choosing little glowing stones;
Icy, speckled light
Paints tiny hand-held caves

Fastening a dim,
Blushing piece of rock
To my feathers

Smells like glow-in-the-dark toys
When I was nine
Looks like it could be a dolls torch

For footsteps in the dark

I am between mountains
Floating at dusk
But only just above the ground

Something hangs in the air
Telling me something I can't pin
An echo of an echo

Suggestion of a
Distortion pedal note
Vibrating the night a little on his way out

A wisp of the heat of the day
Indigo breath
And

Gone

The time is now it seems
Flames flicker in the trees
It's only then I realise

I've left them all behind

Tatarigami

2009-07-28T03:20:00.000-07:00

He's in the
Darkest gash

A yawning tear in everything
Where the air is vibrating pitch

Deep yet nowhere
Vast and crushing

Where destruction echos
And buildings fall

Shafts of love
Extend down

As arms of light
To play a while

But can do no more
Than hold hands

Deafening silent cries
Implode what's left

Of scrunched up paper hearts
Numb in dry ice

Asleep with open eyes
Oscillate and shimmer

All is tharn

I Wake Up Crying

2009-05-08T05:33:00.000-07:00

Something is squirming in a large, square glass tank.

It's my bedroom, but not as I recognise it. A family's young boy has lived here in previous years, and the tank must be left from some pet he used to have. It's filled with soil and old leaves, piled in the corners. As I wonder what bugs must be living in it now, something white and tapeworm-like squirms under the dirt in the glow from my bedside lamps. I can see it only because it is up against the glass, but under the soil, like a cross section in a worm farm. My face is up against the glass.

I switch on the main light to get a better look, and with the shock of the sudden brightness, the creature wriggles violently. I realise it is much bigger than I originally thought; fleshy, pink and white.

I stagger backwards in fear and disgust, and a small snakes head appears coming out of the tank.

Someone has caught it by the head, and before I can say anything, decides to kill it.

Slit

The

Throat

S
L
O
W
L
Y
...

The snake's eyes glisten and look sad as its' life seeps out tiny drop by drop. There isn't much blood, it seems to take forever to die.

It is then we realise the story; the boy who lived here before was a horrible child, and burned his pet snake so that all but it's head remained with scales. It continued to live in hibernation here, slowly starving.

I wake up crying.

Fragments of another dream trickle back with the snake's demise.

I am watching a show on TV where two contestants must slit the throats of cattle to progress.

They can't do it properly, or quickly enough.

The camera pans from one contestant to the other, standing behind the animals in the gloomy farm stalls, holding their heads up so their necks are exposed.

Dark grey-brown animals, their faces look downy and softer than velvet.

Keeps panning.

Still not done.

Contestants laugh at their inability to perform.

Such slight, long cuts, one by one.

More panning.

I catch the look in the animals' eyes; increasing absence of something indescribably integral, drooping lids, wet.

And my heart wants to implode.

Dream #19/Dust

2009-05-06T05:23:00.000-07:00

This house is vast
You could get lost
In its' dimly lit rooms

White metal bedposts
Children sleep here
But not soundly

A boy of four or five
Is crying
But used to the unease

A girl of six
With soft blonde hair
Knows the place all too well

Urgency and innocent faces
Blur into the ether
Dusty, shabby, thick with foreboding

Something awful, someone, entities
Some rooms worse than others
But when its bad, its indescribable

The children run weeping
To the women here at dusk
We know what's happening

But we cannot
Stop it
We try to calm their fears

Sit with them in their rooms
'See, it's not so bad,'
Though the air feels black

No, darker than black
Clouds of impenetrable
Stifling shadow filled with blood

They sit on our laps
Rubbing tear stained cheeks
Sobbing

At the thought of
Yet another night
Spent within these walls

The last of the pitiful shafts of sunlight
Are snatched away in seconds
Disintegrating in sparkling, dusty whirls

The terror builds again
It's survival
There's love here, but I'm not sure it will ever be enough

Albino Deer

2009-04-05T04:42:00.000-07:00

Dual Bond (bullet-within-a-bullet) "creates an indescribable mess of any deer's insides"

Looking at animal images on the internet, I recently came across some pictures of Albino deer. Various hunting websites show these rare creatures on the hoods of cars, killed for trophies even though they are protected by law. Albino deer are said to be so rare that biologists estimate they occur once in every 30,000 births. Most albino fawns don't survive to adulthood.

"The hunter esitmates the deer was between four and five years old. He plans to mount the entire body somewhere in town for everyone to see. He's open to suggestions."

Don't get me wrong, I hate trophy hunting whether or not the animal is a rare breed. It just struck me as an odd idea that hunters would want to kill the creature just so that everyone can get a good look at it's dead body.

There are also some hunting videos on YouTube, I didn't last long looking at those as you can imagine, but the comments people had left were 'interesting'. This video had a white stag, but no shots were fired.

"why would you shoot something that pure ? i'm glad noone took the shot you don't see many of them why shoot it becasue it's different, boy i would hate for that different deer to be able to pull off a good shot because all humans are different maybe it would mount you in the forest ................think about it ."

"dont call it deer hunting if you are not going to shoot the god dam deer"

"You should never shoot albinos. Good chice not taking him"

"omfg shoot that"

"imagin having something like that on your wall"

"I bet you don't even have the guts to touch a gun let alone shoot one."

"this deer should be hunted just like any other deer. Why would you make a law to protect a gentically deficient deer. If anything it should be shot to remove bad genes. I agree this isn't a hunting video I was hoping to see a splash of crimson on that canvas"

"its sad to shoot a deer but a mans go to eat"

"Hunters are disgusting-I would love to get the chance to shoot them"

"go ahead and try it mother fucker ill blow your fucking head off before you get the chance"

"does he ever kill the friken thing god"

I thought it was weird that the animal was seen as 'pure'.

Dream #18

2009-04-05T03:14:00.000-07:00

Fawn shivers sprawled on slate
Could have saved him I know
Like pets I neglected
Who still haunt my dreams making me sick

In shock
He needed a warm blanket

Other animals are no longer
For this world
A whale lies decomposing
On the beach

An operation is underway
To birth her dying children

A thousand
Panda cubs
Burst out
Into the rain

White horses
Run wild through the streets

My Work 09

2009-03-01T09:38:00.000-08:00

Dream #17

2009-03-01T07:37:00.000-08:00

Adopted a small child
Male
Blonde, blue eyes

On a day trip
To the city
To the sea

Cold, bright breeze
Sun on water
Leaves speak in tongues

Combed the soft hair
On his head
In the museum cafe

Led him by a pale hand
Covered in sandwich crumbs and jam
To a glass booth

Novelty
Kidz
Holiday

Where two men
Have mini ink pads
On each finger

And stamp patterns
On his crown
Transition undefinable

Sounds like
Typewriter keys
Clack-clack-clickclack

Their faces are
Warm, smiling
Despite sense of duty

Dream #16/To Have and Hold

2009-02-01T07:47:00.000-08:00

Gabríela Friðriksdóttir

Friends lie sleeping
In white paper bags
Cocooned and warm
On a cold, stony beach
Biting wind and
Freezing misty drizzle

They have collected
Discarded treasures
From the sea,
Ceramic ornaments
And the kind of tat
I love

Some friends are
In white porcelain
Bathtubs with tarnished gold feet
One of them is screaming
Her rage shakes the air
So it begins to fragment

Oscillate and shimmer

I grab her firmly
By the throat
And calmly recite
"It was bound to happen,
Sooner or later..."
Howling wind subsides

Dream #15

2009-01-21T06:07:00.000-08:00

Two kittens
Black and white
Sit side by side
Something ceremonial
One male one female
All their
Tiny front paws raised
Thread sewn
Through their feet
So they are
Marrionettes
I am the only one
With scissors
I can do it
Without causing
Too much pain
They wriggle
I snip the stitches
Where they knot
Deep in fur
Bloodied string
Meets innocent flesh

There is no doubt
I've caused pain
But it's over now.

Dream #14/Scratch My Palms, There's Blood on My Hands

2009-01-19T06:32:00.000-08:00

My brother is in hospital. My mother and I go to visit him, there are two dogs on his bed for some kind of pet therapy, but he isn't there. A male nurse informs us he is probably getting some food outside, and we are sad that he is making us wait.
When he returns, we take him home on a bus. I sit on his right, my mother on his left. I am trying to tell him something that my mum isn't supposed to hear, but he can't understand one particular word; the word 'in' . I take his hand and trace the outline of the letters with my finger on his palm as it is impossible to speak the secret.

'I'

'N'

He still cant understand, so I keep tracing.
The skin on his hand starts to bleed, and now the word is visible.
I feel terrible.
This bleeding is because of his illness, a weakening of the surface, a weakening somewhere inside.

He understands.

He sits next to a child on the bus, and is instantly transformed into a child himself. He talks to her about how unfairly we are treating him and that he has done nothing wrong.

Our hearts burst open.

Dream #13

2009-01-10T05:57:00.001-08:00

I have a son of about twenty
He resents me strongly
And is hurting

Puzzled, I wonder how or when
This all happened
It seems overnight
I am someone's mother
And have been for some time
I still feel the same as I did yesterday
Back in reality

In the dream
Whilst staring at patterned walls
I remember there was
Another dream
I'd had
When I gave birth
In a strange
Half hospital
Half department store
In the beauty section
Abandoned and ashamed
By default
Crying under a pink blanket
That gave no warmth

'This must be when..'

Back to the present
I am older somehow
Though I feel no time
Has passed
Almost as if realisation
Of his birth
Has aged me instantly
I'm living like a has been
Twenties filmstar
In this vast mansion
Full of ornate, dusty
Pretty things
Respected but alone

It's the 1970's
My son is androgynous
And so beautiful it hurts
Dressed in last night's
Fur and beige velvet
Smatterings of silver glitter
On blushed rose cheeks
Effortlessly perfect
Even as a mess
Translucent skin and
Peach beestung pout
As he stands
Talking to his friends about me
I can feel that
He is bitter
As the frozen morning

Sadness in my heart
I know I can never
Change his mind
Or the reason
He feels this way
Though I still have no idea
Why
All I am sure of
Is the boundless, ceaseless
Love I have for him

Leafing through a book of
Opulent photographs
I've taken years ago
Of now antique coloured glass
And decorative objects I've owned
I recall a tiny flame
I once had
In the deepest pit
In the dark caverns
Of my body

My lover doesn't understand
What these photos mean
I feel I did, once,
But not now

Pictures of
Dolls houses turn into
Intricate models
Of candlelit Bethlehem

Dream #12/Pink Steam

2009-01-06T06:25:00.000-08:00

We all knew what we were
Going to do
We'd all silently agreed
But your best friend
Was there by accident
So many eyes watching
No-one speaking

One drunk stranger
Thinks it's a show
Just for him
Cantankerous bloated red face
Sleazy mutterings
I grab her hand
And run to another room

But he is there waiting
We hide behind a curtain
I pretend the reason
We're in here
Is because we can see
An old fairground
Through the glass

In the main room
We kiss lightly
Wanting more
Trying more
Eyes glazed in pink steam
It came easily to us
You watched us nearby

Your friend was uneasy, unprepared
Yet all too willing
My eyes would frantically
Search for you
When I'd been to the bar
To see exactly what
You were doing with her, to her

I could never find you
In time to see
Not knowing was
Like a knife to my throat
I knew I could never ask you
Before anything had time to start
The place closed their doors

We staggered home
Feeling strange
Half in a crimson stupa
Friends but not friends
We never had the chance
And now we know
We'll be in limbo forever

Some things I made for Christmas presents...

2008-12-26T05:26:00.000-08:00

A Sho Dust Bunny from Totoro for Alison

A Kodama from Princess Mononoke for Sian

A Mexican Mushroom for Roni

Dream#11

2008-12-26T04:00:00.000-08:00

Images from Tamala 2010

I am a gentle white cat
From the stars
I can fly when needed
I am part of something
Integral to salvation
The sadness is overwhelming

Something terrible has
Flown over the village
Leaving a trail of destruction
In its' wake
Fire and blood abound
Bodies strew the path they ran

Quiet singing fills the air
The lament permeates all
The dead lie draped over things
A grisly procession
A massacre on a vast scale
I swoop over the carnage

Following this macabre route
Through the streets
And into the village graveyard
Where naive innocents
Had fled that fateful day
In search of safety or protection

They lead me gliding over
The Church itself
Where the roof has been torn off and burned
And the breathless are bountiful
My immortal tears are falling
Glittering to the ground

Falling on everyone and everything
In the knowledge I could not have helped

I wasn't there
I was in heaven

Dream#10

2008-12-26T03:33:00.000-08:00

Ornate golden turrets
Rise above houses
Towering higher than
The whole skyline

Castles floating away
As I try
To find batteries
For my camera

Lights pierce clouds
They are evidently
Going to speak
To the stars

This is of
Such great importance
The spires gather
Celestial colours beam

I follow them
Around the house
I grew up in
But it's over

Lights go out
Towers are dull
Summer is gone
I am alone

My Artwork: Obake Series #1 樹木子

2008-12-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

Click Image for full size version

Jubokko/Vampire Tree

Anyone who knows me knows I love Japan. And J-Horror. I'm talking the good stuff; Junji Ito & Suehiro Maruo comics, and some Tartan Asia Extreme films such as Tale Of Two Sisters. I have always had a passion for ghosty goodness; it fascinates me.

At the moment, I have a growing obsession with trees and the folklore surrounding them. This piece begins a series based on Japanese Folklore and Obake (ghosts) & Kami (spirits). It is said a lot of these spirits live in trees or haunt them, and I am increasingly interested in why trees seem to hold a certain powerful energy of sorts, seeming to be used throughout the world's folklore in a variety of different supernatural ways.

'Jubokko are said to thirst for and suck blood. According to some tales, they were born by growing near carnage places or battlefields where so much blood was shed on the ground that it was sucked up in great quantities by their roots.

Folklore stipulates Jubokko are not like other trees; if a jubokko is cut, it will bleed red blood. However, they are also fast healers and any branch taken from a Jubokko, with permission, can be used to heal and purify. Jubokko may also hide themselves amongst other trees and bushes, and they may even appear to alter the flora around them. They may make it easy for someone to become lost in the nearby forest, through communication with other plants.'

Dream#9

2008-12-13T05:26:00.000-08:00

Artwork by Jennifer Khoshbin

Fuzzy pictures

Fragmented pages

Perfect clothes

White tights

Brown shoes

A date

In the harbour

Secret things

Between us

Dangerous information

Shack nearby

Garbage landscape

Old Camera

Holds dark things

Murderous evidence

Pier games

Watery noises

Winter sea

Pretend love

Covering tracks

Picking through rubbish

Tiny kitten

Blackest fur

Runs toward

Down corridor

Ending dream

Speaks joyfully

'I am here!'

Japanese Artist Akino Kondoh

2008-12-11T05:54:00.000-08:00

Akino Kondoh's work is both visually stunning and disturbingly odd.
She is one of my biggest influences, combining Japanese precision with unsettling subject matter.
Her obsession with the feminine and how it affects female lives is vividly depicted in her artwork, using imagery such as young girls, insects, splashes of colour (red is often used) on black and white drawings and fur/flowers.
Reminds me of a Bjork lyric from 'Sun In My Mouth';

"...I will wade out until my thighs are steeped in burning flowers..."

She has also created a series of animation pieces, this one is my favourite.
I found it about five years ago and haven't stopped watching it yet...


Densha Kamo Shirenai

Densha Kamo Shirenai/Maybe A Train by Tama

No one knows that I'm not here now
I'm waiting for you to tell you secretly

Hey, it's almost time now
The time for us children who are bad at physics
To go walking about in the air

In the evening, click-clack, train jerks into motion
In the dusk sky
We are children born bodiless

No one knows that I'm not here now
I'm waiting for you to tell you secretly

Hey, in the lonely plaza
We children who don't know arithmetic
Are spilling sand from our ears

In the kitchen, clink-clank, the train goes by
Into someone else's house
We are children born bodiless

In the evening, click-clack, the train is running
In the dusk sky
We are children born bodiless
We are children born bodiless

Dream#8/Taxidermy

2008-12-05T04:21:00.000-08:00

Last night
I found a tiny deer
In my dreams
Quiet and tender
As a weak kitten
Small and tan coloured

We went to live
In a house full of
Old furniture
And peeling, patterned velour walls
Bureaus and tarnished mirrors
Nailed to the ceiling

Settling in a small room
With high walls
Covered from the floor up
In bookcases and old paper
Thousands upon thousands
Of dusty books remain

And will remain
As we do;
Moth cocoons
Quiet and content,
And even after we are
Gone

Dream #7

2008-11-26T04:13:00.000-08:00

Eva Hertz for Lady Haidee

Always cats

This time
Real cats made from
Old patterned fabric
And sawdust

Badly sewn together
Coming adrift at the
Seams
Cloth covered tiny fangs

And trapped kittens

Every dream sees me
Trying to keep track
Of where the defenceless
Have crawled

All this as I make a mess of a beautiful garden
Attempting to plant
Fallen boughs
Covered in white blossom

Dream #6

2008-11-23T06:26:00.000-08:00

I'm a teaching assistant

It's a new job and I'm nervous

Trying my best not to

Lose face in front of the kids

A close friend visits me in class

She's terminally ill

And pregnant

She knows her baby won't make it either

All because of one night of

Weakness

When she let her years long

Guard down

I was sleeping next to her then

Doesn't look like herself anymore

Sickly yellowed and clammy

Weak

But still quipping in that usual way

This time I can actually feel the tears

Pouring down my face

Dream #5

2008-11-16T06:15:00.001-08:00

Illustration by Lisa Linea

Friends I have never met are with me, camping at an old farm.

The longer we stay, the more it seems that something sinister is going on up at the old farmhouse; a grey stone, crumbling building lived in by an elderly woman in rags.
I investigate while she is sleeping upstairs, using a small brown dog to sniff out suspicious areas in the house. His senses lead him into small spaces where only he can fit. We fear the Woman is a witch of sorts, and is dismembering campers for some dark purpose.

When the dog smells blood, I do.

I head back to camp to tell the others about things, but they are nowhere to be found.
I hear clattering up at the farmhouse, as if I have unwittingly woken the Woman.
The dog has become my cat.

Urgency.

Cat & I must leave a.s.a.p.

After running for a long time,
Constantly checking she is ok,
Pulling her out of scrapes as she runs beside me,
I come to a different place.

It's very quiet.

Pine trees, blue-grey light.

Hazy, white winter forest at dusk.

Too still.

Unease.

Thick snow is falling.

Figures between the trees draw closer around me.

They are gentle and kindly; human shapes with animal heads.

Some are like deer, some woodland animals.

Tentatively walking around as deer might, serene but wary.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that these are the missing people from the farm, transformed by dark magic. Given the mentality and qualities of docile, skittish innocents, they are perfect victims for the Old Woman, as they don't put up much of a fight.
The place is a beautiful tomb.

Although the creatures don't seem to recollect their metamorphosis, enough fragments of memory seem to exist in them to make them furtive. I explain everything and set out to put things right, all the time feeling tracked and hunted.
Finding a chart on a wall somewhere, I realise I need to find a particular shaped hole in some ice in order to break us free of this place. Another clue to our escape is a list of names next to the diagram of the hole.

The animals gather around me, afraid.

A frantic chase ensues with the unseen enemy, across the landscape.

Eventually finding the correct ice-hole, I shatter the surface, and we dive in en force.

Change of scene, change of worlds.

In a stormy night sea alone.

A yellow fish trying to steal my crown.
I plunge in and out of the heavy waves to dodge it.

On the creaking wreckage of a ship now.
Shark circling fathomless water below.
She has a shark body and a human head, with blonde hair.

In a immense crash of waves and spray, she leaps through the bough onto the ship, with an unearthly, deafening scream.

Utter pain, anger and loss.

Thrashing and shrieking through a storm of her creation,
She is weeping the ocean from her eyes.

Dream #4

2008-11-11T05:27:00.000-08:00

Image taken from Valerie & Her Week Of Wonders

Large, beautiful cottage painted white

Early autumnal sunny day

Light streams through the house

Amazing kitsch things

I love this place

Everyone I know past and present is here

I find two old keys

Each with something different inscribed on them

Can't remember what they say

All I know is I'm crying endlessly

Hiding away in secret rooms alone

Behind the fireplace

A kind woman is looking after me

Tears keep coming

Dream #3

2008-11-08T05:39:00.000-08:00

My fiance and I are housesitting for a friend of mine. Her house is epic in size, huge apartments the size of mansions. The paint has been bright in previous years, but is now dull and peeling.

She has a grey rabbit.

She tells us the house is 'very' haunted, and recounts a couple of sightings. The first is of someone trudging to the corner of her living room, and standing there, head hung low. The second takes place in the large surrounding gardens, viewed from her top floor. A woman with long straight sixties style hair sits naked in ferns in a flower bed, laughing. She appears to be reacting nervously to a lover not yet visible. Suddenly, her expression changes to one of fear, and holding a pale arm above her face, she screams silently as the grey hunched figure of a man takes her head clean off with a shovel. He digs underneath the body, and covers it.

She is convinced by seeing this scene re-enacted over time that there is a something buried in that area. All this seems disturbing to her, yet there is an air of putting up and getting on with things.

I get a sense that there are so many ghosts here it's unimaginable.

She leaves to go to a roof garden party nearby. Later I see her, drunk and giggling, exposing her white tights and crotch to the world.

I have to care for her rabbit while she is gone, so my partner and I take it outside. We know we must, without fail, get it out of the area completely hidden from view, as if we were to expose it near the 'grave', the ghost would rise and something unbelievably horrible would happen.

The rabbit comes adrift from the bag/paper I have secured it in, so I stop to wrap it up. I try to disguise it as a kind of wrapped bread. Somehow this is a like changing a baby, I'm coaxing and cooing to it as I do so, assuring it everything will be fine. Partner keeps a furtive lookout.
The rabbit speaks back in a soft voice, neither male nor female. Can't understand what it is saying.

Sense of encouragement and sadness in its' words.

But we know it's too late. Exposing the rabbit has already set a rising dread into motion.

The air is thick.

Dream #2

2008-11-08T05:32:00.000-08:00

I am bleeding. It is part of the greater scheme of things though, and must be tolerated. Swimming in murky water. Feathers from a beautiful girl fall from a box on the side of a partly submerged building.

I catch them one by one, knowing she is gone.

Still bleeding.

Dream #1

2008-11-08T05:19:00.000-08:00

Dreamed of injured cats again
Bred in cages with matted
Fur

Mewing

My Work 2008

2008-11-06T06:39:00.000-08:00

Makurokurosuke

2008-11-06T06:27:00.000-08:00

Hello, I've joined Blogspot to share some fragments of my brain; my interest in all things dark, dreams I've had and some of my artwork.

'Makurokurosuke' is a term used in Miyazaki's Totoro to describe something unseen/spooky, and literally translated means 'very black black thing'.