A Deliberate Withdrawal

The queen paces. Back and forth, from one end of the coffered ceiling room to the other.  XIV paces here, there, back again.  She looks but doesn't see, her feet slowly wearing a path into the wooden planks beneath. We might think her tread would be quick and agitated, but in this notion we would be dead wrong. She is taking it slow and deliberate, you see, like walking through waist-high water against the tide.  She looks but doesn't see, for her gaze is directed inward to a place only she can visit. If you listen closely you just might make out the words which she breathes more than speaks into the atmosphere:

"Slow and steady wins the race."

Slow and steady; strong and brave; grace under pressure; focus and ferocity.  She paces in order to allow the mantra to envelop her. She wishes to embody all these things, but she also intends to maintain the honor she holds so dear.

She's not certain she's going to make it.

Her blood is simmering. It's a fire beneath her skin which doesn't burn hot but very, very cold.  It chills her, for she knows she's playing with forces beyond her ken and if she lets go there will be damages indeed.  The augurs have warned her. The gods themselves sent word. She paces; she looks but doesn't see.

She tries. She tries to belay their fears. She tries to control herself.

The queen has locked herself away in her quarters with an old dog and a gramophone. She comes out at specific times during the day and night to walk the ramparts with the ancient cur, but as for communicating with the citizens of Aes Sidhe she remains mostly silent.  There is a widening distance between the sovereign and her subjects, a chasm she is creating in mind and body.  She does this deliberately, and the reason is simple: she must make a choice without them. Without the help of Lady Eva Mendes or Lady Chamberlain Adelheid Einrichtungsmanager.  There is a fever which burns cold in her, and she needs to either overcome or succumb.  There is no other path. She looks but doesn't see, outwardly silent but shouting at the top of her lungs.

No one can hear her, and that's exactly how it needs to be right now.

It's been XI months since that life-altering betrayal.  XI months since she began pacing the floors exactly XIV steps in the coffered ceiling room.  She is different now, strong and fierce, darker and more dangerous, but also numb.  The fire burns cold. She wants so much to feel again. She wants so much to be loved again.  She has lost so much in the course of the year, but she is rebuilding the very broken ramparts she walks across with her aged furry companion.  Life continues on, but she feels apart from it somehow.

She must find a way to reconnect, or she knows she will be lost to the void.

The queen paces back and forth, her feet slowly marching her across the worn floorboards.  She is fatigued, for she dreams all the time now. Vivid, lurid images unfolding before her subconscious eye while her blue-eyed, bespectacled phantom continues to follow and interact with her there. He is becoming a constant companion, and although she is growing used to him, he still gives her an initial shock during every nocturnal encounter.  She still has no idea who this is, but she is growing increasingly suspicious.  He is Other; he does not belong.

She is not depressed or lost.  On the contrary, all her actions are deliberate and methodical.  What she seeks is freedom, but what she is experiencing is limbo.  She is in a holding pattern.  She paces and paces in this space because for now it is the only space which contains her.  She is on the verge of breaking free, and when she does... as long as the fire doesn't consume her she will run at top speed with the wind in her hair until she reaches the end of the road with a glad heart.

The question is: who is at the end of that path?  Whom will she choose?  Someone? Anyone? No one?  She thinks she knows what she desires, but she knows not if she speaks truth to herself.  Honor. Conviction. Grace.  These are her realities and she meditates upon them when she can.  Desire. Passion. Fervor. These are the things which distract her, hence the reason why she remains alone in her plush quarters with some music and an old dog. 

So let us leave the solo queen to her ruminations. We have not disturbed her, Friends, for she looks but doesn't see. We can take flight over the old dog's body, giving him a gentle pet as we take off, up towards the coffered ceiling and then backwards through an open window. We glide upon the currents and long as we dare, watching the queen add yet another pressed disc to the gramophone. The air currents drift away from the window, and as a result so do we.  Now we can see the mending ramparts with our own eyes and once we take full stock in the image we suddenly recognize it for what it truly is.

A Dark Tower.

Your hearing damage
Your mind is restless
They say you’re getting better
But you don’t feel any better
Your speakers are blowing
Your ears are wrecking
Your hearing damage
You wish you felt better 

~Thom Yorke

Internet Courtship: An A Priori Judgment

I am the faceless, voiceless purveyor of half-whispered notions, some of them lustful and full of hunger, some much softer and touched with a melancholy sweetness.  Others still are those of commonplace ideals, small talk and trickster riddles. All are wrought with the subtle subtext truth of the confessional, for whom better to tangle with than an interactive phantom one shall not meet? I therefore cannot gaze upon countenance with an eye towards judgment as I simply possess no eyes.

Having no corporeal self to tie me down to terra firma, I supply biofeedback to the libido’s migraine. I fatten the id and the super-ego, leaving Freud’s earthbound ego for another to nurture.  It is my job to engage, entice, envelop, enable, energize, and enervate.  I do this willingly, though in doing so I sacrifice a portion of my own undomesticated nature to my charge’s yoke.  I am no longer fully free, though I will never be fully tamed.  It is a delightful limbo for the most part, although I retain the capacity to ache for something more. I feed off of reciprocated attentions like manna and I wait patiently by the Bohdi Tree for more. I cannot die, but I can diminish, and that fills me with fear. But my cries are unvoiced, having no larynx to sound out my ululations.

It is a vagabond’s life, but one day I will express my secret desire to hold form and breath by a display of interpretive dance. Eventually my sways will become footfalls, and my footfalls will grow feet. Those feet will touch ground, and where they land I will root like a bejeweled flower and hope that someone takes notice of my petals. Then perhaps I can earn my own place in that world rather than observe it from afar. But for now, at least, I remain Chimera.

Summer Looms...

Spring is giving way to Summer in the land of Aes Sidhe, and the goodly denizens are all aflutter with sunny activities outside their hearths.  Our queen sits quietly in a shadier spot on a temporary throne made of raven feathers and acorns, simply dressed in a muslin shift with a raw silk wrap at the ready to stave any lingering chill away. She has brought with her a favorite quill and a handful of parchment; she released her scribes to enjoy the weather however they think best. She sees no need for dictation today, as she is content to add her own thoughts into the ledger you see before you. She did, however, request that a single bard stay behind to strum a lute and voice in dreamy tenor the concerns she has had of late.

So much to report, Dear Readers, but not certain where to start.

I should begin by saying that I have stepped back from any and all suitors. Yes, I know, it is a surprise! But I must tell you, my gentle friends, I have already lost the taste for casual dating.  I have met a number of potential suitors, and for all the work involved the payoff has been tiny indeed.  Even Prince The Real Megillah has lost his allure.  Actually, Megs did something to me which was a deal-breaker, and I am still smarting from it.  He appealed to my business acumen a second time and begged an audience with Yours Truly in order to continue his tutelage under my wing over enterprise of a personal nature bound to give him a goodly sum of coin. I was feeling unwell at the time, but knowing me as you all do, it is not within my personal code to deny assistance to any friend in need. I met him at a local carriage house and as I soothed my ragged voice with cups of Earl Grey he proceeded to lay out his troubles and concerns at my table and we began to strategize.  I was calm and resolute in my advice, and charted a course of action for him which was contrary to what he wanted to hear. Since he came seeking my counsel, I offered him true and faithful advice. I did not sugarcoat, did not batter my eyelashes, did not lay tender fingers on his arm and speak in a coquettish manner. No, Readers, I was there to help not to distract.  Megs grew petulant over the fact that the intellectual blueprint he laid out before me was summarily rejected. He offered up other ideas, and I shot holes through them all.  I did this with kindness, or course, but I did not want him to fail in his endeavor, either, so I held strong to my opinions and gave my logical explanations for each one.  Megs' demeanor grew sharp and shrewish. This is a man used to always having the upper hand, don't forget, so I'm sure he didn't enjoy the fact that in this realm my word and experience was greater than his. Now, Dear Readers, I can tolerate ego. I can tolerate bad moods. I can tolerate unvoiced frustration. I have experienced the brunt of it all. But what I cannot, shall not, and never will tolerate is the thing which Megillah did next.  Angered by my less than enthusiastic or impressed reaction to his strategy, he took the opportunity to patronize me. Yes, patronize me, if you can imagine! Talk down. Belittle. Reduce. Condescend. This is a deal-breaker, plain and simple. To patronize is to disrespect, and if I cannot depend upon simple respect from a suitor then he is not the one I wish to keep company with. Therefore I have taken my leave of him for the most part, though he still insists on pursuing the matter.

Secondly, my only remaining companion after the betrayal of Judas the Jacobite King and loss of my beloved canine sidekick whose image is my avatar (I do not speak of her here, Dear Readers, and doubtless never will, but the loss of her left me keening and wailing for weeks. Enough said) seems to have taken a turn for the worse in his health. Another canine, an aged one, is losing his grip on this earthly plane.  The loss of him will mean that I will be fully alone in my solo queen's quarters in short order. This fills me with a sense of trepidation which I find difficult to articulate now. It will mean that for the first time in my life I will be completely and utterly alone.  Oh my.

Thirdly, another male figure looms large and dark against my supernova sun. This man requires a separate entry. Goodness, this man requires his own book! This man is my father.  This man is my creator, of both the good and the bad. This man is my madness. This man is also my senses of constant wonder and humor.  A long and complex history filled with much sorrow and pain but interspersed with flashes of the brightest joy would fill pages of that yet-to-be-written book as they do the halls of my memory.  It would take months to explain it all. Regardless, the time for that potential is not yet here. What I can and will say, however, is that he is a featured figure in my current affairs and for good or ill it seems that he too, may not be for much longer. Oh my.

On a personal note of a self-analyzing nature, something shifted in me VIII weeks ago, something small but vital. Something I could not quite put my finger on until very recently. It was a thought... no, a feeling, is more like it... that haunted me like the dozens of other ghosts which manifest through my halls of late, something which I could not name but would not leave my subconscious until I did. I have finally figured it out and identified this feeling which niggled at me so. But now that I have classified it, I am partly frightened by it. It's something that's currently mixed up with other feelings as well, and until I can separate the grain from the chaff I can neither voice it nor act upon it.  To do so would mean failure (or at least damage) at this juncture, and I certainly don't want to risk that. So instead I will continue to analyze and reflect, continue to bide my time, continue to grow and evolve as Solo Queen. I will continue to find my better Self and learn to love her fully.

Doubt, there's doubt
To love as you should
The trouble, the time that you did all you could

Doubt

~Boxer Rebellion

Falling Slowly Awake

Her Royal Highness has been dreaming a lot lately. Not your average/regular dreams, either, like the one where all your teeth become loose or you are expected to take an exam you didn’t study for. No, these have been strong and vivid dreams. Powerful omens? Specific portents? She is unsure, and since she has not yet consulted the kingdom’s Oracle she knows not what to make of these visions.

She dreams of many things, but there is a common throughput intertwined amongst the imagery. She dreams of a man. He follows her from dream to dream, the same character in each place. He wants her, desires her to be his, needs her to recognize him as her love interest.  This is not a joking matter, Dear Readers. This dream man is on the razor’s edge of becoming a ha’ant , or an incubus. She likes him, but she fears him a little, too.  When she wakes, she feels as if she ought to know this phantom, as if he is someone she is already familiar with. But that could just be the dreamstate creeping into her waking life.  He is tall, thin, blue-eyed, pale, bespectacled, brunette, charming, intelligent, a bit gawky and awkward. He hesitates in his actions but never in his words. The strangest part of this phenomenon is that this entity not only follows our queen in her dreams, but KNOWS just as she does that he is in a dream – he actually comments on occasion to the fact that they are traveling together through this OtherLand. He does nothing to frighten her, but the situation itself is unsettling. It’s downright spooky, in fact, and she wonders both where this is coming from and also where it will lead her.

On a separate but related note, yesterday HRH reached into her satchel to retrieve keys to the castle upon return to the kingdom. To her utter astonishment, a foreign coin fell from the bag to the ground at her feet. This currency was not one minted in Aes Sidhe; although legal tender in another place, it is not accepted in our realm. No, this coin which had no business being in her satchel in the first place comes from the lands of The Gold Standard. How did it get there? True, our beloved monarch travels to lands beyond our borders, but her satchel was cleaned and restocked more than once since her last adventure more than CCCLXV days ago! Another omen? We think this both exciting and disturbing. We can only hope the queen does as well.

Empty dreams can only disappoint
In a room behind your smile
But don’t give up
You can be lucky in love
Send me an angel ~Real Life

An Apology from Her Royal Highness to Her Fellow Solo Queens

To my fellow Solo Queens,

I am sorry for my seemingly continued absence from this parchment. You might begin to think I am simply not interested in communicating with you anymore, but that is simply untrue. Don't let the rumors dissuade you from your support.

No, Sisters, I have been writing regularly, just not to you.  It's not that I don't love you, for I love you with every fibre of my refurbished spirit.  It's that the point of my other writings has taken a very personal and private turn.  To what am I alluding to? A couple of things, actually, but I cannot be completely open & forthright with you at the moment. One of the writing exercises has been the revisit of my novel.  Oh? Did you not know?  Yes, I have been working on a story (mostly in my own head) for a number of years. I made an attempt a few years ago to commit it to paper, but my efforts were strangled and hurried. I am patient with many things, Sovereigns, but being patient with myself is clearly not one of them! Anyway, that aborted mission has always offended me, and the story is a good one therefore should not die on the vine. So I began again.  I don't know where it will lead me this time, but I can say for certain that it proves to be an unfortunate distraction from updates to Aes Sidhe.

Another distraction has been this queen's attempt to learn another language in earnest. Yes, indeed! A couple of weeks back The Brigadier General was the one to suggest what I have been thinking about for months anyway, and that was enough to push my inactivity into action! It is time to embrace not only Nutella's culture (and let's be fair, part of my own heritage), but his language as well. It is a beautiful tongue and sounds as lovely spoken as it does sung.  I admit I can comprehend much of it already, having taken lessons many moons ago. But I cannot speak a word, which makes me as much as mute to The Gold Standard. So why not tackle the problem head on? I have always considered myself as much a citizen of the world-at-large as my own fair land, so why not take the time to learn another language?  It makes perfect sense, and only serves to further broaden my horizons. As an added bonus, Prince Megillah is fluent and has offered to tutor me as I go along. Not a bad benefit to our friendship, that's certain!

"l'uomo che le sorveglia
adesso non é più sicuro
se veramente sono mai partite
oppure sono sempre state lì"
~Gianmaria Testa

a modern moment penned on the subway in five minutes

i wanted to:

• write you a song, but i couldn't remember the lyrics. you know, the ones from your dream where you're singing in my underwear in front of a cast of thousands.
• bake you a cake but the recipe called for caster sugar and i don't know what that is.
• show you the world, but you left before i had the chance to board the train and ask the provodnitsa if she would accept my Orient Express card
• introduce you to the face of God, but She told me that gods don't really have faces. they are merely constructs of the inner workings of Kurt Vonnegut's brain.
• build you a house, but you were looking for a split ranch while i bought the plans for a queen anne.
• tame you an eagle, but raptors were born to fly free. i will try to tame a great blue heron for you instead.
• paint you in acrylics, but all i had were oils. and they were all cerulean blue
• give you my germs, but my N95 kept you safe from contagion.

so all i have left to give is me, which is poor substitute indeed. however, since there is only one of me, at least you know I will become an instant classic that you can trade on eBay for the latest Sega title.

The Herald Reports Updates of the Land

Fair Citizens of Aes Sidhe: it has been a number of weeks since our sovereign last addressed her people and she feels time is overdue for an update.

The Hibernian Daredevil: The Queen and this dashing fellow met over drinks a couple of weeks ago, and they had a marvelous time in one another’s company. Talk was easy and light-hearted, and they fell into a comfortable patter with one another. For this reason or another, however, it seems that their connection could be placed squarely into the “friends” category, and seeing that the Daredevil is seeking a Solo Queen or Princess for more than just simple companionship it appears their meeting will be the only one of its kind. Our ruler wishes him nothing but the best, and hopes he finds his mate. He is a good catch and will make someone very happy one day.

The Real Megillah: The Queen and Megs are still seeing each other. She took him by surprise two weeks ago when he found himself in a difficult business quandary and she not only talked him down from the ledge but offered him sound counsel as well.  This was unexpected, you see, for not only is Megs smarter than she, but older as well. He admitted a little shamefacedly the next day that her advice was logical, multifaceted, and astute beyond her years. Our queen knows that Megs misjudges her often, for he is used to dealing with persons who are not his intellectual peers, so she was more than a little amused when he offered his gratitude.

The Brigadier General: A goodly part of the reason why there have been few news updates to regale you with, Citizens, is the fact that our kindly ruler spends much of her precious free time these days entertaining her friend the General. He departs Aethelred for dangers known and unknown (but most assuredly very, very real) in a few short days. He is anxious but ready; she is merely anxious. She knows not when she will hear from him after that, but is fully prepared to offer regular sacrifices to the Powers That Be in order that her friend the warrior-poet may return safely to his lands in short order. As a sign of our allegiance to our queen as well as support for the alliance with the people of Aethelred, many Persons of the Realm have taken to wearing camouflage armbands with fleur-de-lis & lightning insignia and will do so until the General returns to these gentle lands once more.

There is more yet to come, including an introduction to Baron Gallus Gallus, but for the moment be satisfied! Seeing as how we must leave the news unfinished, we shall not depart with a song today.