Into-the-Dark

My demons have gathered around me, I can feel them, I can see their shadows, I can smell their stench, it is the smell of death.
My head falls further towards my chest, eyes half-closed and red. I am slipping as the hours pass on this longest of nights.
My body is limp, I have no use for it now, the skeleton inside will soon be exposed as my flesh and muscle decays.
My brain works of a sort, but reason and logic are things of the past, replaced by the cold resignation of nothingness to come.

This is my darkest hour, and this is my darkest night.
If sleep ever comes, will I ever wake up.
My brain says no, my body says no, and my demons hiss loudly in assent.
I am just sat here waiting, waiting, waiting.

My demons claw at my body, enter my body, invade me, as my defence submits to their will. They're coming to take me.
I can feel them inside me, filled with hate despite their victory, demons cannot be euphoric only satisfied, briefly.
I am no longer here, my mind and body have passed into another realm, defeated, torn, ripped from my being.
But my spirit remains. It is a tiny flicker of light in the darkest corner of the darkest recess of my soul.

And I'm waiting, waiting, waiting.
Waiting for this last chink of light to dim.
My demons are gathered around trying to extinguish my light.
My being is empty there is a cold wind blowing through it, but still the light persists.
And I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, must I be here for eternity?
Take me now, you know I am yours, I have lost, take your ill gotten gains, but still I wait.

Then you came.
Magnificent.
A glorious being bathed in a soft warm glow.
And you were smiling as you wrapped your arms around me.
And you were crying as you caressed me, and your tears fell upon me like drops of pure love.
And hope entered this desolate place, and my tiny spark of flame flickered and brightened.
My demons cowered from you and retreated into the dark.
At the very last my angel came, and love was everywhere.

Oh my sweet, I came close tonight, so so close.
And when I was rescued it could only have been you, and you'll never know just what you did here tonight, and I may never quite know either.
Life, you still have me.

Sometimes I like to shine, just like one of the stars high up above in outer space. My glow can be seen from far away across time, twinkling away, the bringer of dreams. If you close your eyes real tight you can see me shine. Go on try it, cover your closed eyes with your hands so that everything is dark and black, and then you'll see me. There I am, that faintest of glow that sparkles dimly, but then you realise that there is light in even the darkest of corners. That from the deepest black of the furthest void, a little light will always emerge. That light is me, for I go into all these dark spaces that have never seen any light, and my mind takes a glimmer of understanding with it, and that glimmer illuminates even the pitchest of blacks. These dark voids have nothing to diffuse or disperse my glow, and so, on and on and on and on my beam can be seen by those who know where to look. Many people can see the dark whilst they are bathed in light, but only a few can feel, smell, touch, and glory in the light whilst they are surrounded by the cold dark void. I am there, and I can see you are too.

At the end of the day when all my energy has gone and it's a struggle to keep one eye open.
That's when the world changes around and I stand out from the crowd and choose reality above hoping.
Then my eye flickers closed and I think briefly of all those, the people who have shaped my world.
Now when the R.E.M. begins and my brain begins to sing I softly leave this shell behind.
To nowhere I will go and from nowhere did I come, but everywhere is where I am.
And the ghosts of my future are behind me in my past and it is now that I have my answer.
But one query still, shall keep nagging at my mind as I slowly drift further from me.
If this is my freedom and the other is my cage, then why must I always awaken?

...and then sometimes, you just wake up in the morning and the day does not feel special at all. There's no particular reason, the sun may be shining, the postwoman has already called, and you didn't receive any unexpected bills, and the fridge is well stocked with potential breakfast items. But somehow, you just know, things are not right. So my particular way of dealing with such feelings is to rub my eyes, stretch my arms out, have a yawn, and then lay back down, pull the duvet over my head, and ride out the storm by doing nothing. Whatever is going to happen on this day, can happen without my involvement, I feel no particular need to be an eye witness to the disaster of my life. I have no macabre yearning to prove my intuition is working just fine as my car plunges off the cliff face. I would receive very little self-satisfaction from being struck by lightening at the greengrocers. Indeed, short of the ceiling to my bedroom caving in and crushing me, I feel the act of snuggling up warm back under the covers to be my safest option.
So with the speed and agility of a gazelle, my fingers dance across the keyboard of my phone. But this is not to call, no! For in this brave new world, I have no need to risk harm to my ears on this fateful day by putting an electronic device near to them, for this is the age of the text. 'Hello, I won't be in 2 work 2day as it's not a good day, I have done a risk assessment, and the danger is very high, my intuition suggests 2morrow will be ok, ta :0)'. That should do it, now just to be safe I'll switch this mobile phone off, unplug the 20th Century version from the wall, and settle back into slumber, maybe I'll even get back into that dream about the princess and the dragon who went to........zzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!
Hmmmm! Now I'm in the bathroom. Funny, I'm sure I just walked through the door to get here? One way to find out, try it again....wow! I can walk though doors, let's try the walls. Yep, walls too, this is cool, into the bathroom, into the bedroom, through into the next bedroom, and into the hallway, and back to the bathroom. Hmmm, it does get a bit boring quickly, maybe if I try an outer wall. Ah! No go on the outer wall, and it seems that I can't go downstairs either, so just the two bedrooms, the hallway and the bathroom then. To be honest, it really was no inconvenience opening the doors and walking between these rooms, it seems a little bit of an anti-climax to have the ability to walk through doors and walls but then be restricted to four rooms, I may as well go back to bed.
It was a stroke of genius dressing in this green dress with the green boots. I mean, whenever I'm being chased through the woods by the wicked worlocks of Winchester, the ability to blend in with the background is always useful. These worlocks, always try and keep the best spells for themselves, but they have no right to come to my woods and use my trees for their magical experiments. I know all these trees personally, and frankly, if they wanted to up roots and walk they would've mentioned it by now. Furthermore, if anyone is going to give the trees the ability to move it will bloody well be me. Shh, they are close.....don't breathe....don't even think about breathing....don't even think.
That Samantha is such a bitch, I can't believe that she has been going around telling everyone that I have a mental disorder, and have to be put in a hospital. It was just a small nevous breakdown, that's all it was, no really. I was a bit stressed at the time, my job, my family, my relationships, the whole works really, but I was OK, I was dealing with it, really I was, but just in my own way. Fair enough, the increasing frequency of the panic attacks was becoming a bit worrying, and the forgetfulness was, well, inconvenient more than anything. But I still say that if those scissors had not been conveniently placed on the table nearby, then it would never have happened. Besides which, her hair will grow back eventually, I can't see why I have to be sedated again.
The four o'clock train was my favourite because all the most interesting people got on at the various stops along the way to oblivion. There was the tall man who wore extremely long black pointed shoes, and a bowler hat. He made me laugh because he would always sit down then go through the hand movements neccessary for reading a broadsheet newspaper, but there was never any newspaper there. He would furrow his brow as he read increasingly interesting articles, and occassionally turn the imaginary pages, and he was oblivious to the world around him pointing and giggling. Then there was the two schoolgirls who looked very different but acted as if they were identical twins. They both had two platts in their hair, they both had the same turquoise and blue school bags, and they would both sit with their right leg crossed over the left, and lean forwards onto their hands, watching the world through furtive eyes looking out from heads that stayed still. I called them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, but I don't think it was their real names. But my favourite carachter on the four o'clock train was the 'Diva'. She would always wait until everyone had got on, and then sweep on in a rustle of skirts as if she was entering the stage at the opera house. She would then stand in the centre of the carriage until she had everyones attention, then she would look away dismissive of one and all, but turn back just in time to keep our gazes before we looked away, then she would allow herself the briefest of smiles before she burst into song. Oh! how her song would take fill the carriage, lulling all of us into her web of words, her magic of melody, and her rituals of rhythm. I would sit there unable to move, transfixed by her spell.
But the worlocks can't find me here? I'm not in the enchanted wood, I'm on the four o'clock to oblivion, they can't have just got on. And where has the Diva gone? Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb? Oh no, even the newspaper man has gone, this isn't a real train, it's all just some worlock magic to make me reveal myself. Maybe I can still run. No, I can't move, I'm trapped, and they know I've stolen their spell, and they look really angry, and they're coming towards me, and if I close my eyes, and...and...
...and then sometimes, you just wake up in the morning and the day does not feel special at all.

I've been 'tagged' by 'Sallyontour'
So I have to give seven facts, here's the copied blurb!!!

"Each person tagged gives 7 random facts about themselves. Those tagged need to write in their blogs the 7 facts, as well as the rules of the game. You need to tag seven others and list their names on your blog. You have to leave those you plan on tagging a note in their comments so they know that they have been tagged and to read your blog."

So.
1. I'm a DJ, although I'm not a professional anymore, I used to have residencies in the North West before moving away for a quieter life.
2. I'm deeply personal, I don't let many people in. (So don't expect any great revelations in this list).
3. I am a self-confessed tree-hugger.
4. I love watching films, but hate the cinema.
5. I am my own worst critic, which I think has been detrimental to my life.
6. I have moments of enlightenment that are breath-taking, but find the humdrum of normal life disipates them too quickly.
7. I'd rather have 5 great friends than be popular in a crowd.

Just as life is stuttering to an unwelcome halt, a bolt from the blue hits me right between the eyes and the surge of adrenaline sends me 50 feet into the air, riding the crest of my own exhaled breath. I surf along this tide of optimism and confidence. From up here I can see everything, from up here I can imagine anything, and up here I am safe from myself.

So what was I thinking? Why do I seek out all these imaginary barriers to place in front of my feet, forcing my life to be a costant stream of side-steps, hops, skips, jumps, and falls. I should be running headlong through this self-made incapacity, and coming out the other side in the fresh air of accomplishment.

I fool myself into thinking that it's good to be an also ran, to live with the herd, be indistinguishable from those around me. Ha ha ha, I stand out like the sorest of thumbs even when I'm doing the least of all. I'm kidding noone except occassionally myself. I'm loved and loathed, I'm admired and pitied, I'm sought after, and hid from, but I am never ever unnoticed.

So I'm managing to grasp mediocrity from the jaws of brilliance, and those barriers, those endless barriers of my own creation serve only to mask the truth for a little while, my own anti-depressant that I need more and more of each day just to stay alive. But from up here I see everything, from up here I see my life of deception, and from up here, I most importantly, don't care.

Ground zero, fallen angel, earthbound and broken, here is where I need to be. My battles will be won with my feet on the ground. I have to earn the right to fly, and the mind, body, and soul must be as one before they can depart this gravitational pull once and for always. And so, camped on the shores of the sea of uncertainty, my armies amass for the battle at sunrise, for sure it is a good day to live.

I'm swinging upside down on a trapeze, very very high up, the spotlights are on me, I can feel the anxiousness of the crowd as they collectively strain their necks upwards to see me. So I let go, I'm expected to fall, and I do, there is no saftey net, no second chance, but I chose to let go. The ground comes up fast and swallows me with a gulp and I am sent spinning and tumbling down the throat of the earth itself. I pass others falling, and like me, none of them look too concerned, rather, we fallers are enjoying the sensation of taking in the sites of the underground. It becomes apparant that I can control my fall, and use this new found knowledge to sometimes speed up, and sometimes slow down, smiling and waving at people as I pass them or they pass me. Then I notice a tunnel to one side, a sort of branch line, and I drawn towards it, and even though it seems that I am the only one making for this tunnel, I feel it is where I want to go, and with a great slurping sound I am suddenly sucked into the branch line tunnel, it's sides are narrow, and everything is black, and I feel myself decelerating rapidly. I am at a virtual stop now, and the walls of what was once a tunnel have enveloped me completely, I find it hard to breathe, I can't move, I can't see, or hear or taste anything, but I can feel the walls closing, closing. I am not scared, I know this is the end of something or everything, but it does not frighten me. The walls penetrate through me, they become me, or I become part of the walls, and I feel my body stretching in every way imaginable, what was closing in on me has done it's job, and now is stretching out again, only I am now part of this bigger, higher, greater mass. Strange, but I just had a thought that wasn't my own, but was my own, then another and another and another and more and more all the time, my thoughts are endless, and my ability to think is endless, and I am endless, and it seems that I know everything, no indeed, I don't know everything, I am everything and it is all beauty.

The winds of change blew through my mind and turned me into what I was not before. Out with the old and in with the new, out with the guilt and in with the in-crowd of enlightened souls. Not a second too soon, and long overdue, but good things come to those who are good. I will only re-visit the future in the future, whilst my past will only be all that has taught me to be me.

The winds of change blew through my heart and turned it into what it had not been before. Out with the cold, hard stone, and in with the warmth of a beautiful spring day. No longer to bleed slowly in the dark recesses of frustration, but to beat with passion and joy in the bright light of hope. I will love all and everything, and gratefully accept all the love I receive in return.

...and the rain continued to pound down. Here on the forest floor, pools of water were rapidly growing into small ponds. Those animals that can wade or swim were enjoying their brief time higher up the food chain than the scavangers hid away from these conditions. The wet undergrowth and mud seemed to quieten all sound, as if someone had switched the woodland mute button, yet somehow it suddenly got quieter still. Life paused, then it dawned slowly on everything, the rain, it had stopped. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing broke the spell. Then there it was, the wonderous sounds of the first birdsong, then another and another, and suddenly the trees were awash with a beautiful melody of angelic singing. And then, in answer to this call, through the tapestry of naked winter branches, came the first glints of fabulous sunlight, and the only thing left for me to do was cry.

These city streets seem endless sometimes, though I'm far from on my own. But get back to my own patch and I know I've made it home. The bars and clubs and faces now seem more familiar, but the company following me only wants to kill her. She says what she says and she writes what she writes, but it don't make her no friends, be they left or they right. Freedom of speech means nothing if you say the wrong thing, and I'm leading them straight to her, forgive me this thing.
I relax a little now I'm on streets I know well, stop and light a cigarette, a welcoming smell. I pause outside the B.A. bar and have a look around, the rhythm of the violin washes through me, there's no other sound. Inside the place is jumping, I could call friends for aid. But I need to do this alone, and I feel so afraid. I have thugs at my back and they're ready to crack down, I have to linger only a little longer in this old part of town.
She stands for truth and justice, and will always choose to. She speaks for the many who oppose the select few. But safety in numbers is never what it seems, the power is with them and their political machine. And the migrants are migrating, they're all headed south, and the worst thing is to stay around and open your mouth. She can stay in the shadows, but only for so long, before she has to burst forth to shout out what's right and what's wrong.
And my part in this, is that I know of their plan. They'll kidnap and kill her the next chance they can. I've got to try and warn her before it's too late, but I'm being followed around and they know I can't wait. A rock and a hard place, between them I lie, and I have to keep going or someone's going to die.
It's time to go back to my apartment block, the doors off it's hinges, so much for the lock. And inside it's chaos and everythings a mess, and whatever they found here is anybody's guess. But the simplest things are the easiest to miss, and right where I hid it, I find her last list. The times and the places where she will go to meet, and the next one is an hour away, I'll have to be quick on my feet.
So with my tail still behind me, I leave my own place, and begin the last scene of this life or death race. And with my heart pounding and my lungs screaming no, I run to that place where I have to go. I arrive seconds before them and my warning I scream, then chaos and death arrive on the scene. Gunshots ring out and I feel myself go down, covered in dirt and blood on the wrong side of town. But I lift my head up and see her get away, she looks back for a second and smiles softly my way. My mission is over, I've nothing left to do, but lay down and die like I've chosen to.