THE FORGE.

We're the guardians of splendor, inviting you to dance.

[nocturnalshe]

Today I will not be thinking about anything other than Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.

[metamorphesque]

  ― Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

[text ID: To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.]

[nocturnalshe]

@necralligraphy Yet lately I've been crying like a tall child.

[nocturnalshe]

And the devil is well aware she is adored.

[nocturnalshe]

With the right pressure, anyone can be motivated to enact my will, however great or small the charge.

[nocturnalshe]

There should be no illusions, no tricks. Everything is utterly true and itself. We went to unfathomable lengths to procure the specular material for the Rose... all along, some one or other would offer that this or that medium would give the impression of the intended effect. Inset prisms or eighteen-gauge steel. There are still shadows of pragmatism in our circles. But Mother hated compromises, and I cannot lie.

[everythingstarstuff]

[nocturnalshe]

I was doing some work in the Cathedral and accidentally slipped through time instead of space. I don't enjoy the month of May anyways.

[brutalistique]

Maria :)

[requiem-on-water]

by Ellis Faas Visuals

[nocturnalshe]

How was your full moon?

It's been lovely. I would say the full moon is my favorite, but I love every shade of the moon.

[rosecrystal]

H.D., from Collected Poems: 1912-1944; “A Dead Priestess Speaks,” / art source / Angela Carter / Jana Brike / Medea; Euripides / Gleipnir (2012) / José Olivarez / Carol Ann Duffy / Miki Kim / vulnerability - a.j.

[draculasswife-deactivated202212]

Photography by Nona Limmen.

[nocturnalshe]

A basketful of snakes, black blue cobras, a writhing mass; but from one, clarity. A drop of venom like liquid gold and equally neurotoxic. The point is euphoria-as-transcendence, death-as-brilliance. One scale, a tender iridescent flake, shines better than steel, is replaced with blood.

[nocturnalshe]

Those precious few who have been inducted into the secret society pounding Utopia from clay are inimitable in their budding luminance, and even they will not see the full picture until she has taken shape. I do not owe any stranger an explanation of my intergenerational life's work. Regularly you people, you utterly mundane, reach out to me for assurance or clarification of my vision. An oracle is not a diplomat, the high priestess is not an open resource.

[nocturnalshe]

Utopia is not a schematic nor a thesis to be presented and peer-reviewed. It is a Mystery, as in Eleusinian, it is one of the great secrets of magic that twist through the human vector of transcendence, and if I do not explain it to you it is because you are not ready to hear it. If you do not understand it it is because you cannot, as of yet; and while the glory of its march towards realization will raise you, too, with it, my vision is of a higher brilliance than any mortal mind.

[nocturnalshe]

Love is so beautiful. To love and be loved in return is the essence of immortality. So we fall apart, so sundered, in clamoring pieces to take shape again in totality... holistic union. I am in love tonight and I reflash at every instance of inspiration. Inspire, aspire, expire. I am in love every night. Nothing crawls that does not crumble, but the stars grow in fervor and I so magnify.