Tangential

Never start a blog without giving it a title first. Shite.
You are supposed to formulate your message before you write.
I’ve gotten into rhyme lately. Not! It was just an accident.
Now I need another, just because I did one before, make it opulent.

Fuck it. I’m off on a tangent to my tangent. OK, there’s my title. Now I can continue writing this nonsense, and make sure it loses its focus. I wouldn’t want to go straight to my point without turning my readers inside out first, or maybe I don’t want to get to a point. Maybe I’m just messing with you today. I was about to say fucking with you, but I’ve already used that swear word, and I try to keep my blogs clean of such detritus. Except that I’ve done it again. Sex, seduction, sensuality, sedition. Err, where did that last one come from? I’m immoral. Some would say that – those who wish to impose their morality on others, those who destroy to rebuild in their own image. That’s my haiku for today: Morality.

And my stand-in muse has prodded me with another thought. Possession. (The rentboy is on holiday.) I’m possessed. Possessed by impure thoughts, obsessed by them, and obsessed with oppression – but that’s a digression. Can one digress from a completely pointless missive? Well, I’m permissive, so I guess I can. Don’t be dismissive! Oh, I’m back to impure thoughts. Actually, they never leave me, but I can be cynical about them, so don’t be critical, or optical, or hydrical. OK, I made that last one up. What shall it mean? I guess it would mean: of water. I can’t seem to type this morning, I cept tyring to type hater instead of water. Today I’m a water person, wiley old fire-water. Queen of Wands strangling her internal Princess of Cups. That’s my angle, or triangle?

Blah!

Here’s the card of the day, freshly picked just for you:

V.  The Heirophant. 

Stubborn strength, toil, endurance, placidity, manifestation, explanation, teaching, goodness of heart, help from superiors, patience, organization, peace.

OK. After all that, maybe I have a goodness of heart (which I do my best to hide). In my lurid, lucid placidity, let me explain, or not. I’m externally a mess, but internally hyper-organized, externally a wreck, internally patient and at peace.

I am the duality of being human.

Or inhuman, or a deity, or whatever you think I am, because you have thoughts and opinions (which only few of you voice in your comments, or lack thereof). But who am I to complain? Come on, speak to me. I don’t bite, one bit. (At least not today. I just wander off on tangents.)

 

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6 responses to “Tangential

  1. Tell me your birth year! The Hierophant is one of my tarot birth cards. Life path number, natal chart ascendant and moon. I’m all about tangents, I never can decide if I should sign or cosine in terms with people. Easiest to be the other, any other really. People are so interchangeable (generally).

    • … or another reality ….

      *poof*

      Um … xx61. I’m so old! An aside, The Heirophant is the card I misread in my first ever Tarot reading (a misreading that came true the very next morning). Looking at this description, I think I misread it less than I thought. In fact, I may not have misread it at all.

      • You’re only as old as you think you feel. That’s why I’m the ancient of days, an infinite mirage of galactic proportions. You’ve the verve of a vixen, so this kitsune is excited and happy to play. Your birth cards are apparently the devil and the lovers. Oh what fun! I’m fuddy duddy temperance and tradition.

  2. It’s that Liebestod rearing its ugly head again. Interestingly, much of my writing is about love and death. I have several stories in which the narrator dies (and the story ends with her death). If I ever publish my anthology (or Annethology), no fewer than three stories will have dying narrators. I’ve also written a novel in which a character is alive and not alive at the same time (but not dead or undead, it’s complicated). She occasionally moonlights as an Angel of Death, and one of her restrictions is that she isn’t allowed to fall in love. (She must love, but not fall in love.)

  3. Here is a long-winded description without going into the plot. I have to be careful. If it is published, I have worked on it with my alter ego. It was originally an AM story, but it would be published under a different name. The main character (I’ll call her Rebekah for now), wakes up one morning with wings – wings that only she can see or feel. Eventually, she learns that she is an anomaly. The great database of history and the future has her becoming an angel on a specific date, but the death date was left blank. Hence, she becomes an angel and remains human on that day. She has all the powers of an angel, and can even become invisible, unless she is touching the ground or something man-made. She can fly, too, although is visible if she is dressed.

    She is resented by some of the angels (it is widely believed that she is someone’s mistake, hence an embarrassment, but nobody knows who), and is a favorite of God, although he/she/it won’t openly admit it. She has a somewhat corrosive guardian angel, who she can now see, and thinks she is in love with the Archangel Michael, who refuses to admit that he likes her.

    Because of her unique status, she is given a variety of jobs as needed. Her first assignment is as a guardian angel to an infant who is destined to survive only briefly after her birth on a subway train. Rebekah is there to deliver her. She never gets any training, so she has to do it all by instinct, with a little help from the Pan-Angelica, a blank book that writes itself to give her clues and answer any questions that are allowed. A more common assignment is as an angel of death, the only time she really becomes full angel, although in this case she is dressed in a skimpy, skin-tight battle suit – she has to fit the misogynistic stereotype – and anyone who can see her is about to die. Her sword is sheathed in a stone in her back garden. It also fits neatly with her image that she is the only angel with black wings, and that has attracted the attention of Lucifer, who almost always appears as a beautiful woman (Lucy), but occasionally as a monster. In this story, angels can appear however they choose.

    Speaking of stereotypes, she has to be perfect, which means she develops total recall, immediately starts looking younger, and is always fertile, among other things. (That explains why she isn’t allowed to fall in love or have sex. No offspring are allowed.)

    She is a concert pianist, and struggles with some depression, as she realizes that she will never die. She will be the last living human. Even if her body is obliterated, she will reincarnate somehow, and she will remember. We learn during the story that when an angel takes human form, they have amnesia. They can’t remember their angel form and don’t have any power.

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