We’re definitely at the bottom of winter. Old Winterbottom came and sat on our heads with his frozen arse cheeks. I used to go to school with a girl named Midwinter. She was sexually active before the rest. Her dad didn’t pay her much attention, so she smoked and fucked and drew near the energy she lacked. She was very mature… looking after little boys in their early twenties when she was but fourteen. She was a nice girl… down to earth… big tits. She always treated me with respect – me with my spotty face and self-conscious haircut, parted at the middle like the head of a penis. I never got even the slightest whiff of the slit back then. I never dug for her attention; her being so powerful and unattainable to me, though in art class she’d sometimes engage me, revealing some trifling insecurity in her own, strong way. She showed me an almost vulnerable side. I never really understood why she wasn’t cruel like the other girls. I guess she saw in me a safe place to put a little fragment of her pain.

It’s these moments, as I look back, which I behold with great fondness. I’d hate to ruin things by ever knowing her again. The memories are perfect and fragile as fine crystal. This is why I’ve sought to gain distance from my past. Whenever some piece of my history catches up with me it’s time to move. I know where I’m going in the end… all the way to the LA skyline where the Hellraiser puzzle box orbits like a dark satellite. That’s the night mission hiding inside me. There’s no telling what unlocks that channel, but I know it’s on the downstroke of this polarity. We’re here at the apex, awaiting the sunshine to cut through this high-noon haze enshrouding the absolute low point. Winter sun. The middle of winter. Equinox – and not by the Gregorian calendar as divided into quarters, but the true equinox as spoken in the seasons beneath our feeble numerology.

I never jerked off over that girl. She was fabulously de-sexed; safe beyond this realm. Nobody fucks the moon. There’s no place for erotic slander. She wears only true pearls and expresses herself in secret to her Chiefs. This is the mystery of the mistress. In my memory all are immortal. I’m surrounded by angels… always have been. I placed my soul in their care to relieve myself of its burden. Eventually I missed it and cried out for its return, and now here beneath the dense cloud and winter rain I see with new eyes the life I left behind, and all those glimmering beacons that guided me through the loving dark.

For a day-job I work in film set fabrication, but that's not nearly close to the feeling I get when I'm writing or creating music. I'm currently working on several screenplays, but this site is where I come to dump my quick-fire ramblings and expunge difficult emotions or experiences. I hope you take something from these writings. Each and every one of them comes from the heart.

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