elizaday

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CT2016

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Chapter 6

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Spiderling Chapter 5

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Spiderling Chapter 4

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Scrying and Simulacra

Perdy’s in the well, in the well, well, well what do we have to do but Disappear Here?

‘Nothing,’’ Her reflection told her. Perdy was scared and desperate. Her world was like whatever is left over after a volcanic eruption. After seeing Jake and Uno – well, well, well there was nothing left to live for. Not that living in Nowhere was a real existence.

“What do I have to live for,” she said into the black mirror. In a place called Nowhere where I don’t even know if I’m your simulacra or you’re mine. And even then, is it from the past, the present or the future? If I’m so unsure and lost, what happens now, then or when?” She pressed her forehead against the cool black expanse of mirror and felt it ripple like mercury. She pulled her head back and saw an eye had appeared on her forehead and blinked green and slowly; flirting with her reality. Tears slid down from her two always-and-forever-there eyes as the third one remained dry and wide open, staring her down. “Oh dear god, devil, what the fuck,” she told herself, miserable and shut her eyes, the always-and-forever-there ones, and pulled her hair over her face to hide the strange and new optical illusion. She bent over double, feeling ill and mortified an her disfigured face then flicked her long hair back and looked again into the black swirling mirror. The eye was gone.

“You’re scrying, silly girl,” said a smooth, aggravated voice behind her back. The voice that whispered and cracked between love and scorn – It was Jake. Perdy almost screamed at the interruption in her hallucination and turned to see him standing in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in skin tight black leather and a draped, studded black shawl over his head. “What’s wrong my little one, my little lost girl?” he pulled her into his arms and asked her, “You think you don’t know what’s real anymore, don’t you? Seeing things that aren't there or what is it you think? Don’t know, Little Girl Lost, is that way you’re scrying and crying up in here, all alone? Poor old Perdy.”

Perdy pulled away and looked through her tears into  his drawn and ashy face, pointed with bones and sharp eyes and said to him, “I saw you with her, dancing. You and Uno. Last night – what’s going on, Jake? You know what she’s doing. Are you and her together, what’s going on Jake? She’s evil - she kills the little girls! The babies...the blood. I can’t trust anyone. Who are you?”

Jake evaporated in her arms and she ran out the bedroom and back into the hot flower house where the vespertine Venus Fly Traps couldn't tell her anymore lies.

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Perdy

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To Be On Fire

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Listen/purchase: GENTLY, IN THE HEAT [+ ELIZA CRO DAY] by #itssocontemporayray

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Mused

I am the muse you keep on evoking In every whore you settle for Finding ways and means of choking Out my memory into her open jaw You are something I am hoping To continue to just abhor While new love's back I am stroking Forgiving myself for before

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Spiderling

Chapter1

Spiderling was a little child, just like you are now or maybe even how I was once.

She was a little girl child and her rather eccentric but very sweet parents had named her Spiderling when she was born because that is precisely what she looked like: a tiny, black haired thing with enormous eyes and long thin limbs.

Spiderling was quite shy, wasn’t very fond of speaking and she hid behind her very long, very black hair, peeping out at the world with her very big, very black eyes.

When it rained, which it often did where she lived in the little, wet village on the long, wet coast of Wales, Spiderling liked to wear very shiny, very black PVC Wellington boots and rarely brushed her hair. There were no other children in the tiny village and her only but constant companion was a small, stuffed black toy that resembled nothing anyone could think of but which Spiderling loved very much. It may have been a bat, it may have been cat or even a little monkey. It didn’t matter, its name was Blackie and Spiderling’s Grandma had made it for her when she was born.

Spiderling’s parents were artists. They were very interesting and very busy and would often go off into the city to show off the things they had made. They were called Mr and Mrs Ink and were very, very fond of Spiderling but worried that the shy little girl was lonely in the village without any little friends to play with.

To try and fill the child’s days and give her a bit of company, Mr and Mrs Ink would send her off to the cinema every afternoon with her minder. They’d fill her little purse with enough money to watch as many films as she liked and plenty of extra to buy something sweet to eat. “A safe and even educational way to spend her time,” they consoled each other before stepping onto the train, laden with armfuls of prints, paints and fur coats.

One afternoon, Spiderling sat at the window and watched her parents drive away from their home, her huge eyes reflecting silver as she stared after them through the rain, wondering why they never took her along.

 Chapter 2

Spiderling looked around her bedroom. It had white walls, a white brass bed and pretty white linen. Her cupboard was French and very large and had two oblong mirrors on the front. She had a big white dressing table that matched the cupboard and on it were lots of little white, ivory figurines that family members had bought her for treats and birthday presents over the years. She didn’t understand the little figurines and tried to not touch them at all. It seemed to be a little bit scary that they kept multiplying in her possession without her wishing for them; almost as though she were attracting tiny ghosts to haunt her.

The floors were wooden and white washed and sometimes little splinters would get stuck in the soles her black PVC Wellington boots. Once or twice they even pricked her small, white stockinged feet and tiny little red dots would spring up.

 Spiderling slid off of her bed where she had been cutting out pictures of black and white movie stars to put in her big, black book of lovely things that she like to look at more than once. She was wearing a very loose, oversized black jumper, made of soft, fine wool that seemed to be coming undone, leaving wispy entrails of webby black wool after her. One of these loose threads snagged on one of the white bedknobs and then again on a large nail sticking out of the floor when she jumped off the bed. She walked over the dressing table, leaving a fine, black trail behind her and peeped at the little white ghost statues on the surface. They were very quiet.

Chapter 3

Little Spiderling looked past the peculiar little statues and at the mirror behind them. The mirror was very black most of the time because, as her nanny had explained, it reflected whatever was shown in front of it – which is often how many mirrors work. As it was nearly night time and the room was full of shadowy things, the mirror was very black indeed. Her nanny had once said that this was the scrying hour for such a mirror. Spiderling had asked what scrying meant and her nanny had looked a little worried, smoothing her long, red hair but eventually explained to the little girl, as best she could, “It’s a bit like dreaming about the answers to secret things. The mirror is very good at holding on to dreams like that, when it goes all black like that, and saving them up for when you need to know something about something else.” Spiderling became a little more curious and wanted to know if her very own mirror would mind telling her secrets and somethings. At this point, her nanny shook her head and said little Spiderlings and their cuddly Blackie toys should be in bed by the time scrying hour comes about and anyway, wouldn’t a lovely bedtime story be far better than any old silly thing the mirror might have to say?

Spiderling thought about all of this, all the while looking at the black, swirling glass. She picked up Blackie by one of his wings or legs and followed the black trail of wool her unravelling jersey had left behind her. Spiderling jumped into bed, carefully tucking Blackie beneath her pillow, a small wing or leg poking out for her to stroke until she fell asleep.

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Pussy’s in the well

Ding dong dell

Pussy’s in the well

Who put her there

 Perdy looked hard at the floor, trying to concentrate on ignoring the voices in her head. She couldn’t cry. They would see her and she’d have to try use words to explain. It was like Uno was inside her mind, telling her in her silky, sarcastic voice everything she was afraid of. Uno was taking over everything; not just Cyberia, she was eating Perdy up too.

Her skin was sore and itchy, covered in a goldy film of sweat. It was the hottest day yet, in Cyberia. Maybe the hottest she had ever felt full stop. Burning up, burning up, burning up, burning up, burning up, burning up... up.

She was so up that was the trouble. She couldn’t come down, not until she had spend a good deal of time lying on her back in the greenhouse drinking sugary tea. That’s exactly what she needed to do. Screw this. Screw them. Greeeeeeeeen house. She stood up and kicked off the Perspex platforms, left only in the pink slip which stuck to her back with sweat.

Jake dragged his dark eyes up to her from the floor where they were drinking and talking about the previous night. Last night, where Perdy had seen Jake dancing in the moonlight with Uno. ‘where?’ he asked, almost crossly. He could sense she’d been a nervous wreck all morning and it was irritating him. She shrugged and picked her way across the tiles, strewn with weird and disgusting debris, melting in the awful heat. There were almost mirages appearing like little sizzling holograms; it was that hot in the bath chambers. 

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Princess Auschwitz

My doppelganger is Princess Auschwitz

In the corner of a tiny cell she sits

Her imagination conjures up a little bed

To jump beneath, hiding a bald, shaved head

My doppelganger in Princess Auschwitz

She spends most days in trenches and pits

And she is scared out of her tiny mind

When it is not escaping to somewhere kind

My doppelganger is Princess Auschwitz

And she begrudgingly admits

Her captives look good in black Hugo Boss

Striding and thriving on her pain and loss

My doppelganger is Princess Auschwitz

Royalty in the rubble, beneath The Blitz

Black eyes, thin skinned and see-through diet

She rocks, then rolls, then all goes quiet

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Red Pool

burn my blood as fuel

take it and break it

flick ashes into the swimming pool

turn our world to Tinder and toast

a nothing, a never, a fake it

traceless, faceless, cinders and ghosts

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regret nothing

Regret nothing my love because you are here

And i couldn’t want for anything more exciting

Do not regret being the last good one

Who held back or made mistakes and don’t think

You paid a price of boredom or sacrifice

You spent and spent and spent on creating

The most wonderful person i have ever met

And i have known plenty of wild angels

And shy demons who are only frayed memories

Overshadowed by the sun shine and moon glow

You bring into the world; you are so very attractive

You make everything worthwhile, in fact you

Make it all so much better and the science and

Magic of it all, has a new and incredible meaning

Do not regret anything because you have only

Done what most people  wish that they could

And muddled the silver lines between dreams

And a life that was hopeless before there was you