Summer nights have always made me sad.
They always make me wonder about what has come to an end already and what may come next.
The long and blue evenings, sometimes with a touch of red, always make me want to run right into it, and listen to music while having the taste of wine on my tongue, because very soon, darkness would fall anyway.
„Why is my body the only thing holding me in this world?“, I ask my witch in one of those nights. „This is not fair. I can feel that it‘s wrong. It‘s poisoning itself from the inside. I feel my skin crumble. My blood has gone bad. I don‘t want to feel it anymore. I want to run, escape my skin. But …no. No! I want to feel it even more! I want to really feel it. Really really! I want to taste the flowers in the garden, and inhale the sunlight, and breathe in deeper than ever before, and make love to the first person I see tonight, and I want to forever be a witch in a corset having fun with poetry and her violin and escalate. I want someone to pull these strings and push my boobs up higher than ever before, and I want to sing, and I want to stomp onto a stage wearing my boots and just completely lose it!“
Tonight, we are having raspberry-chocolate-buttercream-cupcakes.
„I have not yet felt my body enough“, I added, after taking another bite. „And I feel as if it is now taken away from me.“
Layla sighed deeply. „It‘s not. Seriously, how can someone be this terrified by doctors? Back in my days, they thought within me I had an ocean which the stars could use to make me want to fuck the whole universe until Daddy was back to punish all of us.“
But her eyes were soft and understanding and my witch and I were sharing a moment of fearing judgment by whatever was supposed to hold us in this world.
I think it is unfair for other people to put needles into my skin, to listen to my heartbeat and declare me as functional or non-functional, or even as stopping to be functional very soon. I think that being bound to this body is something I will never accept.
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 