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2020-06-14 | Journal | Crow Jiggle

My visage may be statistically there, but I'm a quantum facade of chaotic jiggling bullshit jello. There is a core I trace, an elegant equation that arcs through my movements, expressed by the golem of my unconscious mind, brought to life in a spark, dance, and visceral embrace - roughly a century in this world.

In a flush of dark feathers, I'm entranced by my own sparkles. I pluck up the tiny glitter confetti, and feed my identity, troweling mud on lath for purpose. I see my lies when my love leaves, when the cracks form. The golem, my core, regains life, the old arc of battle, the nourishing clearing, the desolate mountain.

My love, let me tell you of my love. She can move between worlds, universes, with ease - flash - she is there. She is sparkle, and gathers her own pretties - fwoosh - a mind-blowing explosion and then gone again. She is just getting used to the controls, now, an inverse experience from the past when she mastered her star-hopping. In her bitch mare prime, she blazed bloody through the hearts of many. Now she dreams and works her days, tethered to an orbiting space station, against her will.