#ihavenoanswers

[flamekilled]

❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   meet me in the basement in ten :)

the music in the bar was too loud. it seemed to attract the wrong kind of crowd. the sort that would make it difficult for césar to shut down for the night. probably why the owner had been so willing to give him the job; left him to do all the dirty work on his own while he sneaked off to have himself a nice spa day. césar didn't mind. as long as he was getting paid. as long as it was enough to keep him going. he opened the storage room's door. as long as, as long as, as long as...

the song echoed through the darkness. though he ought to be facing a rather small room, césar thought he heard the sound from the bar travel great lengths...as if instead of kegs and mops there should be a long corridor waiting for him there. wet stone. arched ceilings. a cold breeze blowing through, brushing past him. he hesitated flipping the switch. santana's words extended into infinity ... she's not there.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤshe's not there

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤshe's not there

césar flipped the switch. the pantry looked remarkably ordinary. but he carried a cold shiver with him back to the bar. he knew a premonition when he saw one. césar tried to focus on setting up the keg but felt his shoulders tense up --- suddenly all of the lowlives leaning over the counter looked unkind. creatures from the pit, looking to drag him down to hell once more. he scanned the mostly drunken truckers with unblinking dark eyes, certain that they were all conspiring against him. but then, as if she had always been there, a small blond woman. they locked eyes. she did not fit there. césar thought this but found himself having an awful lot of trouble trying to describe her features. all he knew was that SHE LOOKED AWFULLY STILL. césar blinked. the stranger had a piece of paper in her hand. she held her arm out to him. though everyone else at the bar was squished together, she appeared to have plenty of room to move.

a veil that separated her from the rest of humanity --- césar reached over to grab the note and, just like that, the woman backed away and disappeared amongst the truckers' elbows. the note had explicit instructions. césar wouldn't bother kicking everyone out before this important meeting, but his hands did close and open as he waited for the right time. tight fists flickering in and out of existence, aching with the possibility of violence. and when he walked down the steps which led to the bar's basement, he felt as if he were speaking some forgotten lyric from the cover which had bothered him so much minutes ago back into the darkness. " are you here ? "

[fernfootofthemountains-blog]

Womb

My womb is preparing to shed. 

Womb is a better word than U-T-E-R-U-S. 

This is divine, to me, 

Being a person with a womb. 

Having a womb feels very defining,

Yet I do not feel defined, and I do not feel the need to assign definitions. 

Gender is a spectrum

and I don’t know if I care where I fall...

do I?

Also,

can’t anyone partake in the Divine Feminine? Womb or not?

Also,

can’t anyone partake in the Divine Masculine?

Also, 

Infinity lies in between and all around. 

One is not more powerful than the other. 

We are all, Infinite. 

All I know, is my womb wants to bleed,

So I came home to worship it. 

I am divine. 

She is divine. 

He is divine. 

They are divine. 

We are divine.