The Writer's Tome

Featured Writer: Pixie

Random babble in Pixie May 10, 2003

Somewhere deep inside of me I feel a call. It curls around the place that could be called a soul but it feels so much deeper than.
I feel it in a rhythmic beat of the earth beneath my feet throbbing there and moving upward through my whole body. Helpless I heed the call to sway my limbs and rotate my hips. The music to this primal dance echoes in the mind and is sung on the rush of the blood. I feel the call to the pouring rain. To stand as it falls all around in glorious sheets, as it streaks slowing over my flesh leaving it s tracks. I want to experience the force and the fury as lighting chases clouds across the sky, painting the world in all of its light. To hear the thunder explode and in that moment to grasp just how insignificant I am. I want to feel the caress of a breeze as it whispers in my ear the secrets of life. To see its journey as it kisses the flower then carries it unto new life. To know its embrace as it surrounds me on the days life becomes heavy thus telling me just how significant I am. I want to feel the kiss of flame, to know its cleansing possession. To feel death and walk into it?s embrace. To be greater than I am to be the phoenix that rises from the ashes.

Random Babble in Pixie May 13, 2003
Under the layers of flesh beats something more! What is I can?t describe yet somehow it takes on a life of its own. I feel it tug and pull, longing for a thing it will not put a name to. The being in me that remembers the time before this. The time of lords and ladies, where pixies floated freely and magic was abundant. Blue and green hues blend in patterns whose meaning is lost to our modern minds. These gossamer wings that haunt the walks of my sleeping mind are destined to spring free. They will ascend through muscle, shredding the skin that traps them to burst forth in all their glory. At moments it seems a whole other person is lying beneath there. Is this who I am or a remnant of a separate life? Who do I really betray by not giving these wings the chance to soar to the sky, myself or the memory of something dead long ago? Truth takes time so in the mean while I will walk the thin line of all I was, all I am, and all I will be.