Post three- the top hat

And in the spot light you notice, a talk silken figure, slim, black, wrapped with a single band of colored silk, and two flowers tucked neatly into the cleavage of the silk. A card, the queen of clubs, and a small card with a fox drawn on it, labeled the joker, a trickster, and the talker of circles themselves. Inside this beautiful figure, there appears not a thing at all, but a whole world hides in the darkness, magic with its every move and yet it moves not of its own voilitions, but at the whim and will of a master. A puppeteer, who's cruel tuggings and chantings make it bend, and twist, and turn, warp and vanish, move. Give up its secrets, give up its will, mind and body and soul of the object belong to itself no longer... but to another for their own manipulations. Their own needs and wants...

And at the end of the day they are neatly tucked back into their box, into the dark, where all secrets are kept. Where none other shall find it under lock and key.. save the thief who knows not how to work such things.

Post two- the curtain

Let me stand here for a minute, under the illusion of the lights. Backstage the smell of greasepaint and dust settles my mind, my heart flutters at that familiar sound, the music starting up as the people quiet down, and I sit there, at 3 am.. in my own world in the quiet of the night, behind a curtain of fog in my own mind and letting that illusion shroud me in comfort. Hug me in it's own arms of the dark, the only lights are no longer a spotlight, but the stars themself...


And then you walk in, drawing back the curtain in my introduction.. and expose my illusions to the world.

Post one- the illusion

Excuse me while I rant and move myself just a bit in some rambling of sorts. When I write, there is rarely any organization to it... mostly venting across the paper..sometimes words form of it. Occasionally I might add artwork to here. Or vents. Now step into the hallway of my mind...


Let my mind empty out across the paper with ink, letting it flow, releasing all the things I dare to think. Just when you think the world understands, you turn me back and open my hand, you show them my hat trick. Showed them how to see past the illusions. You screwed me.... you screwed yourself the mirror yells back. In a rage I want to break the image of myself in the mirror, knowing it will solve nothing but rewards of scars. More pain to add to the scrawlings I will put down later. Release is a long walk, or the feeling in the arms of someone besides myself. I'm not alone..I'm just lonely. The circus in my mind has left town and took their fun with them, the hat trick is over, and I dance alone, but at least I can dance and sing.. even lonely people dance across the halls of their asylums. Their words drawn down the walls while the staff watch in open mouthed horror... where do they stop.. where does it stop .. or does it not.. no not today. Let the inmates run the asylum... that will cure the pain for now. Pain is such a strong word though for something so minor, it's more of a dull ache... nothing major just uncomfortable. And it settles in the chest, where it can't be moved, except by the crush of your chest to mine, arms wrapped in a hug, while you steal the knife from my back and use it to cut open the walls.. draw back my curtains and release the hat trick, destroy my illusions, and watch me create a new one. This is me, the ringmaster of the asylum, the one with all the secrets up her sleeves even when wearing a tank top, I can hide from anyone but you, all the things I know and all that I do.

And then I wake up in a cold sweat, silent scream.. and there you are beside me, turning in your sleep , a reaction to me moving, and draw me back down to sleep, before I close my eyes I see who the enemy is as I look at the mirror.