Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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You want to fill this stone with life, awaken it with the electricity of attraction and then animate it with the elixir of sweet nothings, but it’s less stone and more crystal, a refraction of what goes in without penetration, and then the spread of will transferred, irradiated and returned; a blissful mirror of desire that seems impossible to imbue with kindness. These walls reflect but rebuff, and union fails, like progress without a plan, sense absent and soul vacant, but still here, breathing and wandering. And trying. Always open to the light and heat of affection. Always maintaining the chance of holding the energy, trapping faith and hope in the white heat satisfying body and mind that it will someday embolden belief in together, a sham that runs its shattered glass teeth along this crooked spine and slams down from behind, destroying itself while swallowing the tangled viscera of potential and plunging all, like stone in water, to crushing depths. Oh this isn’t empty, this coveted quartz heart. It’s dense, thick with fear and hurt, loss and unrequitance, and now it’s cracking. You want it broken. You want to get to the center of this. But the truth is it’s a map with uncertain treasures, a convoluted path that’s lead to little but fool’s gold. But you’re not alone. I want to find out what’s at the core too, and it’s time to get dirty and discover if there’s any light of its own stored away at the end of that rainbow shedding all over or if it’s the thick darkness of yesterday oozing into the crisp promise of tomorrow. These sleeves are rolled up too; these hands ready for the grime. And these calloused ┬áchambers want to unload, regardless of what ammunition is left. It’s not all dire. The wolves of now can bathe in moon glory, their howls in tandem with rising lust and their hunger sated by the tender gift of excited flesh. It’s no substitute, but in a war, whatever peace found is a blessing; a rainbow in the eye of our raging maelstrom. (at Crystalline)

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