DEAD GIRL.

[lastingrelevance-blog]

                    we gots a little starter call if u want !!

[devidementia]

Wonderland Wardrobe   ↪Silk Maiden Dress

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Hive.

    NAMES?  ❝ no, no, no-no-no-no… ❞  with a tongue clicking like mandibles, mosquitoes resonated about her in fugues & drones.  LOOKED LIKE HER, she did!!  —— all wrapped in oil & sweetly worming into rotten minds.  ❝ my LITTLE ONE!!  she liked to collect ‘em & i —— well, i couldn’t convince myself to throw 'em away… ❞

          ‘  THEY MAKE FOR QUITE THE GRAND DECORATION.  ’      SHE COMMENDS.  Alice does not swat at the insects darting afore her face,  but blinks as one hovers a second or two just before the tip of her nose.  The hanging echoes of re-imagined humanity seem to stare without real eyes.  Alice does not register a chill up the spine,      ‘  You must be quite proud.  ’

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Hatter.

   ❝ London ❞ the parroted name rolls funny in his tongue though, he’s busy walking and leading her towards safe ground; looking over his shoulder now and then because he doesn’t want to lose her, or maybe he wants to make sure that she won’t disappear on him again. Quite fond of the girl the Hatter is. ❝ I’ll take your word for that, though can a place be worse than this one? That I wonder! Here, let’s go this way. ❞  teethy grin addressed to her as he motions with a hand to be followed, pushing a bush out of the way with the other. 

          ‘  YES.  ’       COMES SHORT,  NONPLUSSED REPLY.  HATTER MIGHT HEAR THE GIRL’S VOICE over his shoulder if he’s listening closely enough.  Otherwise,  the truth floats upward,  past the dying verdant foliage,  and away into the clouds.  Let the sky swallow it.  She follows him quietly for a time,  swatting at the air as it still distorts in her periphery - shadows grow and dim in pulsing waves of umbra,  and sometimes Hatter is all but vanished from her sight in the dark,      ‘  You always seem so . . . cheered,  ’       A funny thing she has observed,      ‘  Though I’ve learned not to trust my own perspective.  Hatter,  truly,  how is it here?  ’

[metaphorformetaphor]

I have never been cured of you, of my scar

Mahmoud Darwish, from “I Don’t Want This Poem to End,” I Don’t Want This Poem to End, transl. by Mohammad Shaheen (Interlink Books, 2017)

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Gentleman.

          “Rabbits?”    It’s the first thing he uttered after having seen her stumble through the bushes, having watched her do so with awe, and wondering where she had come from. He had seen rabbits, yes, but they had been far off now, and gone with the wind. He peeked behind her, just to see whether she had come from a stray path or no, before his gaze returned to her, as he was still surprised to see someone else than a Hobbit around here.    “Well, rabbits won’t lead you to awful places, I would say. Mostly they lead you into the woods! But be careful, as you might lose the road.”

          MENTIONS OF A SUPPOSED ROAD HAVE HER DUCK HER HEAD;  ‘neath her boots lies loose stone and cold soil.  Alice shuffles her feet,  wrinkles her nose behind a sable curtain of hair,      ‘  Quite.  ’      Mistrust paints her voice - if not for him,  then for the coneys leading her astray.  Bright eyes pop back up,  she frames him with her attention and rests,  silent,  for a short time,        ‘  Though,  if you’re just as lost with the road under your feet - what cause is there to remain on it?  I wonder where i’ve landed.  ’

[kuuras]

☆ * ° ♠  Alice Madness Returns : W o n d e r l a n d  ♣ ° * ☆

“Ah, Alice. We can’t go home again. No surprise really. Only a very few find the way, and most of them don’t recognize it when they do. Delusions, too, die hard with memory. Only the savage regard the endurance of pain as the measure of worth. Forgetting pain is convenient, remembering it: agonizing. But recovering the truth is worth the suffering and our Wonderland, though damaged, is safe in memory… for now.”

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Void.

           Hearing the sound of her knees scrape against the street, Jane abandons a bloated toadstool. She about faces without pivoting, a stark intruder in Londerland’s brackish territory. A crimson splash stains the cobblestone under Alice. Her striped tights are torn. Bile-colored lights illuminate the apartments nearest them. The fluffy white clouds amalgamate into a forbidding black nimbus. Without sunlight, the dazzlingly optimistic depiction of London returns to the Ripper’s playground. The leaves adorning every massive tree decay. Toxic spores release from the roots. Jane cannot inhale their poison, but breezes through mist to pluck razor-sharp jacks from Alice’s knees. 

            Then she smirks, speaking with sludgy reverberation while examining the blood-tipped traps, “You think yourself safe here…?!”

          SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE,  A GREAT TREE FALLS INTO THE ROAD.  An oak rotten from the inside-out;  it lands and scatters ashes in the air in a cloud the shape of a mushroom.  She doesn’t see it,  but the ground dances in her periphery with the impact.  Another loop of her running mind fallen into disarray - it doesn’t hurt anymore.

         An attack on her assumed creation,  however,  dims whatever light was once in her eyes,  though the girl remains a cold facsimile.  Skin peeled as every spliced wound is opened,  the girl’s pallid complexion is painted red - not for the first time,      ‘  No.  ’        Comes sharp response,        ‘  There is nowhere safe.  ’      Another illusion;  sanctuary.  Alice is no longer foolish enough to believe that such exists - Londerland is only another crucible boiling her constant destruction,      ‘  Most know that.  ’

[philomena-famulok]

Go Away Bad Dreams ©Philomena Famulok

[philomena-famulok]

Holes ©Philomena Famulok

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Toy-maker?

      POT-BELLIED PLASTIC rattled where it tied to the chainlink fence, frayed ropes dangling, tangling.  each of them stripped, some of their limbs severed & tossed to the gators.  all of them sloshing with mold.  ❝ d'you like my dollies —— ? ❞  nimble digits tugged at the toy noose, an anticipatory grin spread wide as the docks.  

❝ they’s a little BEATEN UP, but i think they’re pretty enough to hang!! ❞

          ‘  ARE DOLLS MEANT FOR HANGING?  ’       COMES NIGH-INNOCENT query from the girl.  Alice treads over dust and blood as Eve once walked upon the first mounds of soil.  Unfazed,  she needs no further sanctuary.  Canted head alludes to her curiosity.  She reaches forth in the air,  but does not touch,      ‘  My sister once rather enjoyed her dolls.  They looked a little different to these,  however.  Do they - are they named?  ’

[decision]

by Bettina Dupont

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Light.

PECULIAR  BEING’S  MOTIONS  DO  NOT  ESCAPE  THRANDUIL’S  PERCEPTION,  into  which  a  variety  of  explanations  could  be  INTERPRETED  and  yet,  to  him,  she  appears  confused  and  misplaced  in  a  dress  so  SOILED.      ❝ some  folks  do  have  strange  methods  to  measure  time ❞,      pours  comment  as  DRY  as  dust  from  minimally  curved  lips,  the  next  riddle  already  WAITING  to  be  pondered  on.

❝ and  the  ‘funny’  place  has  left  you  so  stained,  i  presume.❞      gaze  of  lightest  blue  hovers  from  HEAD  to  feet,  once,  ere  seeking  alice’s  face  anew.      ❝ as  if  it  were  not  enough  of  a  miracle  that  you  made  it  past  numerous  perils  alone  to  reach  guarded  ground  alive.❞

          ‘  I’M SMALL,  ’      SHE ARGUES,  NOW WITH HANDS KNOTTED AT THE SMALL OF HER BACK.  Her eyes mimic his own,  though take significantly longer to do so considering his size.  Wide eyes,  she notes his difference to her;  his cleanliness compared to her muck;  his peace to her chaotic existence.  The lord holds her underneath an icy stare,  but she holds no fear,       ‘  And am only seeking shelter.  '

          Here the forest howls a different song,  and the world does not want her.  Alice,  the intruder,  rocks back on her heels ere planting herself firmly upon the floor.  Candlelight dances in the cavernous hall;  she ignores the flickers of flame in her periphery and tries to imagine her skin too cold and too brittle to burn,      ‘  If such is not available,  I will not disturb you any further.  ’

[minavampyra]

I want to forget! Who would choose to be alone, imprisoned by their own broken memories?

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Light.

HAD  ELVEN  SENSES  CAUGHT  THREAT,  FAR  FROM  HIS  GRIP  HAD  IT  STAYED,  but  careful  he  remains  even  when  FINALLY  returning  it  to  the  girl.      so,  an  object  LINKED  to  a  tale  it  is,  still  finds  he  himself  in  the  DARK  regarding  its  definition  and  thus  shan’t  he  be  BLAMED  for  the  questioning  expression  he  OFFERS  her.      ❝ mishap.  then  what,  if  not  some  form  of  weapon,  should  one  call  it ? ❞

          LIKE A GIRL,  SHE HOLDS IT TO HER CHEST.  CUPPED IN BOTH PALMS,  the watch is all but gone from sight,  yet the lord’s curious stare is one she cannot evade.  Rabbit’s most trusted item is safe at her bosom,  and verdant eyes flicker like a fading lamp,      ‘  A timepiece,  I suppose.  An old friend called it the deadtime watch.  Funny thing.  ’      Hands dropped,  the watch is slipped into the pocket of a bloodstained apron,      ‘  From a funny place.  ’

[melisica]

(by utuber)

[lastingrelevance-blog]

Light.

THE  OBJECT  IDLY  RESTING  BETWEEN  HIS  FINGERS  EARNS  SCEPTICAL  EXAMINATION  from  keen,  unblinking  gaze  that  so  impressively  betrays  thranduil’s  cluelessness  on  matter’s  IDENTITY.      careful  does  he  treat  that  which  may  be  FRAGILE,  averts  his  attention  merely  to  return  it  to  strange  THING’S  owner.

❝ tell  me,  what  purpose  does  this  serve ? ❞

          THE TIMEPIECE NESTLED BETWEEN HIS FINGERS IS DEAR TO HER,  the final piece of a once-friend long-since squished,      ‘  It belonged to someone I once knew.  ’      It doesn’t tell time,  actually;  the skull carved upon its ivory base displays truth enough.  It kills time,      ‘  I would be careful with it,  ’      Warns she,      ‘  It is no weapon,  but it can cause quite the mishap.  ’