She didn’t know it then
she knew now.
Woken up with on a loop blasting around her mind in surreal sound-
the Russian bass choir chanting in all surround.
An apt app unconsciousness knew her well.
A year ago, life had been different.
Mirthful, optimistic playful
Now, rooted to the spot with foliage, branches, lush leaves taking in the vagabonds seeking shelter.
Lost souls in need hidden by darkness
these nomadic souls plotting their next move.
Time for souls to gather there their thoughts
the continued search of their dreams and pursuits.
Forlorn found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.
She was alone. Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all Huey reds and purples.
Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern matched her current mental state.
She could feel the bubbling creeping up to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards.
It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.
She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth, eyes & nose covered in bondage to the soil solidly planted her roots.
One day she had an epiphany.
Moments of clarity were few.
A possibility to be something purposeful meaningful for her.
She had given life sustained it for those souls.
Yet she was weary, ageing.
Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign serpentine tongues;
Forlorn had forgotten she used to be a road runner girl.
A girl was taken by flights of fancy on a whim.
Ready to outrun her nemesis wanting to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didn’t belong.
An elder had kept her close to her.
Fearful to let her be free
To be whatever She wanted to be.
She begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.
she could get a clean break – start over.
Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.
Nostalgic fragments of past it feelings -fragments
a pair of wings
A pair of arms
Even a pair of legs again.
Seasons passed still, she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever.
Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for without telling her a reason.
She fidgeted, yawned, stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.
Her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.
One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods.
Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope
Mental Rummaging a sense of Deja Vu.
I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing.
A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.
A means of magic.
A way to communicate her distress.
Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved, wooden wand.
Slim, compact light.
Her true form to be again.
Stretching open her eyeballs could be made simpler if she had the eyelashes to wipe away the moss interfering with her vision to flee..
Diminished another sense
She would forget who she was
what she wanted to be
She drifted into a frightful sleep.
A woodpecker hammered a hole of her bleak existence.
The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!
How did I sleep for so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight
Suddenly a swarm, around her were a fleet of fireflies.
One eyeball strained
and out into focus confirmed her impending anxiousness starting to emit it’s familiar disparate gas into her trunk form.
The final place she held on to her liberty – her mind.
Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poorly harvested crop.
Not fit for tendering
Nor the soft touch of her keeper.
She fought with all might
Absorbed more -light, water, words…
The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.
Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.
Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.
Blasting those voices back into the void from whence it had snatched out
Reaching over – without much of a search
Rustled her leaves -A call out for new bosom firefly friends.
A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.
Hunger to be free in the form she still chose to be.
Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.
It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.
This stagnant obsession never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again.
She looked down at her well-worn form.
How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?
a moments thought yanked her back like leashed like a dog to this home she felt no affinity .
Forlorn inhaled the scented berries, unravelling the mask of sight at the ivy,
A glimpse an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.
One more push, one more fight.
Forlorn no more she’d set herself free.
If I could make an incision in my heart let my true feelings secrete
Reveal the true blood count I’d weep if we were to part.
If I stole your vision your very own sight – just one eyeball
to entice me to reveal how I love your ambition
your sexual prowess
I’d leave you sightless
Selfish -a crime with a sentence of life
no bail – a sin too priceless
I could impart with an auger in flight
Wing of the mystic
Would you send me letters written in pen ink well spilling out-
all of your feelings like tweed drapery drawn with bejewelled tie backs?
Is it wrong for me to want a piece of you or to borrow one fo your senses
prove I am sentient being ?
love you with my outer demeanour frozen in a stony glare
turned askance over my cold shoulder – drive you to break your sobriety – pour yourself a whisky – hold the ice.
To prove I dress in reptile attire –
Too afraid to entice you
Afraid you’d flee from a shy girl vulnerable to rejection
from the love of my life?
“Ubiquitous deep feels… Dedicating this album to my husband Daniel “Dcomplex” Chavez. “No Me Without you” – Alhamdulillah
Mondaine -Fusion Digital Infiniti.
After my recent suicide attempt, 09 May 2020. After coming out of alien abduction – or what I now know was a very long 5-day coma. Haha! it isn’t funny. I was serious about this attempt.
I remember Mondaine being in touch with me on most days. I could barely speak because I had inhaled my own vomit and those particles caused me to develop Aspirational pneumonia!
She was guiding me and helping me find a tiny ray of light to accept that I hadn’t been abducted or tortured by aliens. Thank fully. I was just another person who happened to fail again.
Strangely, when I came out of hospital 10 days later I felt as high as no higher than any kite or drug or experience I have in my life. It lasted for just over a month. I didn’t feel like a suicide attempt failed. I felt a shift in soem inner part of me. I didn’t crave drugs -I know I felt amazing. I kept telling my friends and family including Mondaine that they didn’t need to bother calling. I am alive -Staying alive – happy.I didn’t preempt the struggle I would have to deal with months later fully aware how close to death I was -I was in limbo for purgatory -I had got that far to pass on to the other side t I had failed to take my life again.
I am merely a work in progress and very much flawed.
I want to thank Mondaine and her husband, Daniel for all their prayers and support when I didn’t even believe I needed it.
Mondaine kept calling and messaging me and encouraging me to write. I didn’t write for 2 months. The poetry -those words would and still do go around my head sporadically.
I know that the best way to feel different is to find a way to vent the almugamated, pressurised thoughts strewn from each corner of my mind until I chucked and dumped all my thoughts and feelings into a Massive heap in the middle of that space between the mind and the heart.
I can’t see these thoughts in word form or decide that from a label or tag that I will buy into an emotion or commit to it because everything merges into one black void – a dark dense mass of matter
It just hangs above I the part of my brain where the sky and stars and the moon and sun usually reside. Possibly even a rainbow on an unremarkable day.
a cloud would think to move on with an I have better places to be than here. A cloud the lowest cumulous cloud would even disperse and find new scenery to decorate.
But not this black mass of inky sludge I can only describe as a blind sloth. a blind and disabled sloth.
The nature of this mass and the weight of this matter produced heavy congestion pollutinfg my mind. I couldn’t even fathom or think how to get a pen and write a word without – Mrs doubt fire strikingly lit up every crevice -she blazed my mind until heat changed thermostat until that heat took on another for, set the alarms off and pronounced the arrival of a panic attack blizzard.
I had left it too late. I had to face the backdraft or curl up into an incense ball moments away from being charred into ash – minus the pleasant lingering smell & this would never occur on a Wednesday.
When I was a child I used to release all the adrenalin in my head I exorcised every thought
every emotion that needed another space to fill. I So I created a fantasy world where I would invent many different characters and plot lines. They all overlapped. I used to grab a piece of my hair and twist it round both of my index fingers with my thumbs.
My cheeks would get flushed, the more pressurised my thoughts the faster my speech came out of my mouth These poor characters were entering existing whilst doing an aside to the audience or a wardrobe change mid-scene written into the directions of a script by a crap writer who failed to tell the rest of the production or cast. The crap writer decided to procrastinate for an indefinite period
Those characters were highly strung and stressed to the max. Poorly managed or directed. My mind half dreaded there sudden arrival and half enjoyed the unfolding events that these characters were tortured into. Terrible choices and situations. I had to get to the climax of the story. I didn’t care about an anti-climax or a story being resolved.
My only need was that my characters could express themselves without feeling threatened. .
I stopped doing this fantasy form of self-expression when I started starving myself and using alcohol and drugs to numb whatever I felt or to perhaps help me express myself.
My daughter does the exact same thing. I stopped the fantasy characters and animated speech when I was 16 years of tools. I kept a diary all my life and I had a bookcase. full of diaries.
My daughter is 8. There is no possible way I taught her or even spoke about this world. She knows the rules of this world to the extent that s does the same twirling with her hair. It is surreal to watch.
Over the past 2 -3 years. I’ve had a different struggle with my health. one’s that I thought had gone away on retirement. About 2 years ago I had this immense pressure to start talking. I didn’t use my hands. instead of typing or picking up a pen. I started coming out with a stream of consciousness of words structured in no identifiable algorithm pattern.
it helped to condense those random words into something tangible. Into something, I could find menaingful. I could stop overthinking and just wrote, type, or talk.
I didn’t expect to write about my deep dark childhood quirks in this post.
to get back to Mondaine. She was one of many people who helped me find a way to uncoil myself. So I didn’t break down and end up in the hospital again.
Two days after I had been out of the hospital, Mondaine dropped the ep EP into my inbox.
I’m so bad at introducing people.
Who is Mondaine?
Mondaine or Fusion Digital Infiniti hails from Salt Lake City, Utah and is a dedicated mother, wife, artist and music mixer producer with an overwhelming amount of empathy in heer highly perceptive. He talent and her heart are as big as the largest body of water you can think of.
If you love music with Funk and soul and bass then Mondaine’s latest EP is for you. I have not profited monetarily from this other than increasing the wealth of my Health and soul.
I’m thrilled to bits because finally, thecmysterius Modaine rang me the other day to say she would talk to me openly and allow me to recored or write our chat and our opinions of many themes such as Mental health,. Mental wellbeing and creative self-expression, music, clothes & maybe our bra size
TO around up this post then. Future Feature interview with Mondaine is coming sooner than the sooner that I originally thought. to come soon.
I believe in her and supporting her creative endeavours and she believes in me and my endeavours.
Please support independent artists – check out Fusion Digital Infiniti on Bandcamp and support the music that you love and can grow to love. Cut out the middle man who profits from an artist’s works. Links below.
- present, appearing, or found everywhere.