the unraveler

Claire Sandoval R. Melbourne, Australia Perpetually traveling, inward and outward. Me: I thrive on change. Stranger: Living as a catalyst, or seeking one? Me: Both. I’m a chameleon. I throw myself into everything, always, to see what happens. Every day is like an experiment. Stranger: You are the most dangerous kind of person, then. To those you would keep close, most of all. Stranger: Study the moon, meditate on the tides. Me: Correction: I am the most exciting kind of person. Stranger: That’s the seductive nature of poison, but as a conduit of change, you will unravel all you touch. Stranger: Beware { Behold, what i've unraveled. }

[soulcollectress]

If I can make you happy, then I will be too.

[soulcollectress]

the human brain is powerful; beefsteak with onions over rice and a fried egg on top

[soulcollectress]

"The Gold Key" -- "The speaker in this case / is a middle-aged witch, me -- tangled on my two great arms, my face in a book and my mouth wide, ready to tell you a story or two."

At RISE:

(Scene: A very small bedroom. Two large windows illuminated

by darkness. A black & gold lamp glows at the corner of

a wooden desk. Tea steam rises from a red & white striped

mug. Anne Sexton's book of poetry, Transformations [1971]

lay exposed beside her type-writer. Her desk is cluttered

with miscellaneous memorabilia. She quickly notices her

reflection in the dark window. CLAIRE sighs, wistfully.

It is very cold. Her fingers lay numb upon the keyboard.)

CLAIRE [Reciting Sexton's work out loud in iambic pentameter] Lost! She said, my moon, my butter calf, my blissful yellow moth, my Hindu hare. I took the moon, she said, between my teeth and now it's gone and I am lost at sea. CLAIRE [Eyes glance towards the camera. She speaks, still in iambic pentameter.] Oh! My young Adonis, Prince of Beauty, Hear me well and listen, Golden Prince: Our Seedling of Desire hath bloomed in Autumn, Within the soul you've blossomed ever since. My muse, your shoulders surely are the mountains! The tempests wield to them; The wind obeys. And from them dash the branches of the rivers, The tender mapping of your lover's gaze. HER OTHERWORLDLY CONSCIOUSNESS You're shivering. CLAIRE I know. It's been cold these days. It is winter, after all. Besides, I've got this tea. It's warming up my fingers. HER OTHERWORLDLY CONSCIOUSNESS What are you even doing here? How lost must you feel before you accept your place in this world? CLAIRE I don't have a place in this world. Not yet, at least. I am a force driven by the simple act of turning a page. My journey remains unknown until it unravels. Plain and simple. HER OTHERWORLDLY CONSCIOUSNESS Tell me then, human girl, what is it that winds your spring? CLAIRE Easy. Exploring perceptions. Revealing unspoken meanings. Seeking out every little thing that transcends this.

[She looks around & upwards] Recognizing happiness hidden in plain view, Living out stories and not to mention, finding the magical situation! Listen. I have a restless hunger for discovery.

[She clasps her hands against her chest] All of this perpetuates my soul.

[myersandbriggs]

SEES SELF: as a person on a never-ending journey to develop their true self.

OVERRIDING NEED: to be true to themselves, to help others, to be liked and admired.

IRRITATED BY: being stifled, having to remain static, people who seem to be unfeeling towards others, bureaucracy.

STRENGTHS: can...

[soulcollectress]

Stepping Into Fire (A Sestina)

“My nerves are turned on. I hear them like musical instruments. Where there was silence, the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this. Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.” – Anne Sexton

The streets I walk are laced alone with autumn. Sanguine fruit, the glorious decay of day turned bittersweet; I willingly bask in your absence, and there, I am insatiable. I count the lovers after you. With seething eyes I watch them writhe. Embraced by a naked darkness, I ask myself: Why can’t you flourish? Already, I know the answer: they are not quite as succulent.

Embraced by a naked darkness, I ask myself: Why can’t you flourish, Sanguine fruit, the glorious decay of day turned bittersweet; Already, I know the answer: they are not quite as succulent. I count the lovers after you. With seething eyes I watch them writhe. I willingly bask in your absence, and there, I am insatiable. The streets I walk are laced alone with autumn.

[soulcollectress]

The Cavity of Absence or, Redefining Gravity

He left for the mountains in the Victorian countryside. A train and two hours brought him back to me. When you pine for someone or something, time willingly stretches itself to fill the cavity of absence.

He was gone for four days.

In that time, I became a kind of fading daylight. A waning moon. I walked around to the back of the house and slipped the key into the lock. My hand on the doorknob to my room; the creak of its aging and there he was again, in my presence. We held each other for a little while, there in the center of my room. He rolled a joint for us and like rag dolls we lay half-entwined on my bed. Dreamy, white haze filled the space. We questioned our hunger and decided to take a walk to the cheap Vietnamese restaurant I had discovered. We carried the bags of take-away down Sydney Road. Our wrinkled palms, the sound of his voice after mine in the cold air. I smiled. The menu he gave me to keep was folded in my back pocket. On the wooden floor of my room we sat cross-legged, the myriad flavors mingling on our tongues; of coriander and red chili, crisp orange julienned carrots and slivers of juicy mushrooms. The door was left ajar.

“Should we shut the door?” I glanced at him, feeling my lust rise like heat. “I don’t know. Should we?” He grinned with eyes of desire.

I stood up and pushed it shut. How eager he was. With my foot, I slid the containers of half-eaten food away from his mattress. I fell upon him with my lips and my tongue. His shoulders embraced me, the muscles contracting, harder it became. We had already undressed each other with our eyes and now, with our fingers. I had not even stripped bare and he was ready to consume me. He positioned my legs above his waist and pulled my body downward, now caught in his gravity.

I sigh and sigh, like blissful flames. Our bellies were full. Our hunger, satisfied.

[soulcollectress]

Compassion

Page 31 in The Unbearable Lightness of Being: "...For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

Com-passion: "With" [com-] + "Suffering" [Late Latin, Passio-] or "Feeling" [Passio-] Compassion: "With Suffering"

Sympathy for those who suffer

Pity

Compassion: "With Feeling"

Co-feeling

Willingly living with another's misfortune

The ability to feel with him/her any emotion

"Signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination"

The Art of Emotional Telepathy

[soulcollectress]

Observations of Human Beings on a Summer Night. Bourke Street Mall, Melbourne. February 6, 2014.

The obvious, well-dressed French backpacker. Stick-skinny Asian chicks in knee-high socks and straight across bangs. Lightning caused by faulty tram wires ignite the silence. An upside-down cross hangs around her neck. Mushroom cut? A bit of a beer belly and too-tight khakis. Wasted 30-something year old red head in a red dress. My desire for a cigarette. White men eating Maccas. Interracial couples kissing. Hipster chicks with pixie cuts and nerdy socks of different lengths. The tall, white dude and his tiny Asian female companion. Big chicks wearing all black. The impatient skateboarder with sexy calves. The iPhone Photographer. My empty six-pack of Melbourne Bitter. That person who tries to look cooler than they actually are. Homeless man with pants pulled up too high who gives back my change. Sweet afros. Overweight Australian men who go out drinking together. Waiter blows out candles birthday-cake-style. Getting drunk while people-watching.

[soulcollectress]

Thoughts on a Windy Evening,

Thoughts on a Windy Evening,

I acknowledge the fact that I talk a lot, rather, type a lot to you; I think that a lot of what I do send is mostly for myself, however. Just like taking mental notes but sent through a messenger that I can read again and reflect on later. I do the same to Kyle, or anyone close to me I talk to about personal stuff. So, I apologize for the unceasing amount of messages via Facebook or email, and I hope you can understand that some days I can be whimsical and frail (these days I am more prone to word-vomit), and other days, confident and focused (days where I am in the present moment, when the past leaves me be). I also want you to know that I am prepared to recede into solitude come autumn, and that my time being a socially-driven sponge in this city is slowing down considerably. I think the best thing for me now is to be in a quieter environment so I can truly commit to writing and creating... and hopefully complete something for myself, something small but significant. Thanks for listening, again, and per usual, I don't expect you to respond, as typing this is pretty much like meditating, to me. Enjoy your Friday.

Affectionately yours, Claireanne Sandoval

[soulcollectress]

"It sounds like from the limited amount I know about you that your problems stem from staying interested."

"It's important to recognize what things give you lasting satisfaction VS fleeting feelings."

"You can't change what you feel, only how you deal with it."

"Understanding the triggers behind your feelings makes it a lot easier."

[soulcollectress]

I need to do me.

[soulcollectress]

Me: I love him like a best friend, too-- Being around each other will just bring happiness, positivity and love into my life, every single day.

Me: He is free, as am I. And the most beautiful thing is, I am free to be in love with him. And he's okay with that.

Me: And this is why I think I can move to Washington.

[soulcollectress]

[in]consistently

Me: I'm sitting by a large window, over-looking the street, pining. A casual past time of mine.

Him: I know. You're one of the few people who actively makes time to daydream, wish, imagine... It's weird. But pretty damn cool.

Me: I like to indulge in my emotions even though it's bittersweet.

Him: You're such a fucking feeler, whereas half the time I'm like, "Yeah, whatever."

Him: I really like how different you are from me.

Me: I really like that about you, too.

Him: Sometimes it's obnoxious, but you make me adjust and expand my perspective.

Me: Sometimes I think how nice it could be to get lost in your universe.

Him: My world is about self-definition. Nine times out of ten I won't change for other people, because I am happy with myself as I am. I don't need to satisfy their expectations or make them happy. I'm more concerned about my expectations and happiness.

Me: I enjoy shape-shifting to make others happy. Because it makes me happy. And I tend not to lose myself in the process if I actively keep myself aware.

Me: When I love or care about someone deeply, I'd go to the ends of the earth for that person.

Him: I know. It's great.

Me: I wish I knew how to shake this feeling off-- I feel like only part of a person without your company, and I can't seem to fill that space with anything else. I just had to say it. I'll get over it eventually. But most likely by covering it up, or temporarily forgetting it all.

Him: I figure you'll never stop loving your true friends in one way or another, but your immediate feelings are always open to change.

Me: How did you do that? That actually brought me some closure.

Him: You're welcome, I'm really happy to help.

Me: You're the best.

Him: I know. But I love you loads, too.

Me: I willingly gave you a piece of my heart. Keep it tucked away somewhere. It doesn't matter to me, reciprocation or the likes; What matters to me is that I am honest about my feelings when I feel them. I enjoy caring about you from afar.

Him: I've got it. I'll keep fond memories of everything.

Him: "It's all happening."

Him: Actually that's one of the things I think is most important in any relationship: the ability to walk away with fond memories, and not hostility, or pain at parting.

Me: I completely agree. But it's hard to do.

Him: But it's not like I begrudge your other men, or feel bad that you're doing different things with your life. I fully support the separation even though I still love you to death. I mean hey, what can you expect?

Me: You know, what brought us together were our differences to begin with.

Him: I'm just really happy that we are able to have good lives apart, even though it would be great if we could hang out once in a while.

Him: It's not so much about needing each other as it is about appreciating each other.

Me: Yes, I agree. I have always appreciated you. I simply enjoy the emotional depth of missing someone. it is a powerful and passionate experience. And it makes it easy for me to write because it is so real.

Him: Yeah, there goes those feelers again!

Me: Well, they're under control. As of now.

Him: Feel all you want, it doesn't bother me.

Me: Really?! That's so relieving. The last time I did this, the person freaked out and felt terrible about it. Of course, it made me feel bad about being honest afterward, then I receded back into myself.

Him: The honesty is nice. Besides you have a right to be yourself, and I like you a lot more that way. Ultimately, you are the one who has to deal with your feelings much more than I do.

Me: People are so afraid of hurting others feelings and I get it, but it's not the end of the world if you don't feel the same about someone else. We must look past that and realize that someone genuinely cares about us-- and that, is a beautiful thing. I know how you feel about me because you told me, and that's perfectly fine. I don't mind. It's just nice to be able to vent this out.

Him: And that's why I literally used the line: "I need the freedom to be true to my emotions."

You liberate me.

[soulcollectress]

I want to humble myself until my generosity is as fluid as the water; blind to the space that it fills, transparent and reflective.

Alexia E. Raymond

[froactiv-deactivated20181005]

[soulcollectress]

Hosier Lane, Melbourne City

[afdigitalmedia-blog]

My cappuccino with honey. Borrowed afdigitalmedia's camera for this shot at the Black Cat Cafe, in Fitzroy, Melbourne. I think this is the lens I want for my birthday.

[soulcollectress]

"The Only Moment We Were Alone"

I am sitting in the living room on a couch tie-dyed purple. A giant sketch book sits on my lap. There is a lot of white space, and what is not white is covered in intricate, black lines. I am slowly covering the space with carefully drawn lines, a pen tucked beneath my fingers, taught. I draw swirls resembling rivulets and streams. A song with no words is playing in the background, filling the empty space of the room with layers of sound. My heart feels heavy in my chest. My mind is revisiting places I had once been; places where you had once been, where you physically existed in my reality. I am pulled backwards into what no longer exists, a dark room caught in the trap of time. This room is filled with your presence. I am surrounded by your succulent darkness, gripped by the feeling of words lost on the tip of the tongue. The knowledge of your physical form fills an absence in me and I become saturated in your scent. I try and recall the ridges in your palm and the softness of your hair. All of this is lost in time. There is a lot of white space, and what is not white, I fill with the memory of you.