I Will Walk Into The Sea

I will walk into the sea.
Don't worry - everything is as it should be.
Please don't try to find me.
I am not careless, I am not brash
I just want to dissolve away the ash
I will become the sea break - the foaming crash
And on tumultuous waves
I will rise, and break, and crave
The seaman's briny grave; I churn to deprave
And as Tempest's growing belly swallows
I'll be lurking in the shallows
Grabbing at ankles in sea cliff shadows
You will not find me
I am meant to be lonely - I am my own only
Everything is as it should be.

It lies.

I'm stuck.                I'm freed.
I'm stuck.                I'm freed.
I'm stuck.                I'm freed.
I'm stuck.                I'm freed.
I wish things didn't have to be
so difficult to handle right now
I'm going.                I'm gone.
I'm going.                I'm gone.
I'm going.                I'm gone.
I'm going.                I'm gone.

                  Words.

         Think scary thoughts

    Will the world make sense?

Perfect circle      Hardened edge

I lost it all.             I found it out.

I lost it.                    Found you!

I lost.                           Find me.

I lost it.                       I found it.

I lost it all.             I found it out.

I might forget.     Take me home.

    Are there still secrets here?

       Let's find out together

                 Oh no!

Sometimes it's easier just to forget.

If at first you don't succeed... forget

Remember                  To forget it.

Bad dream                  Please stop

Need sleep                 How is this?

Something feels very wrong now...

Did anyone check the thermostat?

It's so cold

I can't feel

My big toe

It's all blue

Who did it

I know the secret of the world now

Everything is really a perfect circle!

Existence is absolutely symmetrical

Did you know

Everything lies

Because I did

I think it's interesting, to be honest

I want to show you my favorite lie

It lays in lines

Shadows too

Perfectly pure

It makes me giggle to think about

It's not white, but a toe-cold blue

And it's laying right in front of you

Satanica -Installment 1-

Prologue // Jarek

He caressed the child with such gentleness and sincerity, the scene looked like it belonged on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The angel’s wings were folded around them like a downy blanket, his blonde hair cascading in thick waves to his shoulders. Jarek could see his dark blue eyes searching hers - equally as blue - as she cooed in his right arm, her rounded pink cheeks casting soft shadows that touched the corners of her upturned lips. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have thought the moment beautiful - a bestowment of God - but it was the angel’s left hand, reaching behind his back for his sheathed sword that destroyed its brilliance. Hot rage pooled behind Jarek’s eyes and settled somewhere in his throat.

He pressed it down into his stomach, his voice low and cautious, “Michael, please. You don’t have to do this.”

The angel lifted his face to Jarek. His cheekbones were set high in his skull, a piecing feature enhanced by his natural golden illuminance. His lips were parted, soft and drowsy, complimenting his sharp nose and hard eyes. Even from the distance at which he stood, Jarek could make out every long eyelash that brushed the bottom of his prominent brow-bone. He had the face of a warrior - Jarek couldn’t help but imagine his angelic likeness cold and unphased, sprayed with a fine mist of blood.

“I’m only carrying out His orders, Jarek. You must understand,” he reasoned in a calming manner. Michael began to reach for his sword once again, his gaze returning to the child.

Jarek chanced at bravery. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her. By all that is good, Angel, I would suggest you turn away and leave her unharmed.”

“Archangel,” he said pointedly, brushing Wren’s cheek with his thumb in smug defiance. She wriggled in his arms, gurgling from his attentive touch, “and I have no intention of abandoning the word of God for a man. True, I possess a great respect for your kind, but I have no intention of honoring every request that becomes of me. I wouldn’t be in The Lord’s highest favor if I allowed such trivialities.”

Michael, with a final determination, unsheathed his sword from it’s leather holster. The air around it seemed to scatter, as if the atoms themselves were wary of being divided by its edge. Michael gently displaced the wool blanket wrapped around the infant’s pink body and situated the blade against her bare chest, allowing the tip to fall just below her chin. Wren, ignorant to the danger, toyed with a loose feather on Michael’s tucked wing, a throaty giggle escaping her lips.

“Please,” he brought himself to his knees and bowed his head as if in prayer, “I beg you, please, let her live- she’s only a child.” Then, meeting Michael’s galvanized gaze, he added, “She’s all I have, Michael. She is my only purpose here.”

“You know that isn’t true, Jarek.”

"She's done nothing to deserve this!"

"You are fully aware of what The Prophecy entails."

“To Hell with The Prophecy!”

“You dare not blaspheme His word, Jarek!”

“Then I’ll kill myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“You underestimate me.”

“Then you will burn for your sin.”

Michael’s forearm visibly tensed as he gripped the hilt of his blade, the pommel pressing into his wrist. His features wrinkled as he maintained a perfect gaze with his innocent casualty; this behavior stunned Jarek. The angel felt no consequence, only apathy. It was with this realization that the room went dark. A cold wind crept up the back of Jarek’s neck and stuck there, draining him. His tongue tasted of poison.

“What…?” Michael breathed.

The new presence at Jarek’s side undulated with a raw intensity. The atmosphere bubbled and cracked with pure static as the two supernatural energies battled an unseen and unspoken engagement on some higher plane of existence. Every hair on his arms stood pin-straight, and yet the gravity of the room seemed doubled; a magnetism that both attracted and repelled. The dark figure beside him was scholarly: a button-up shirt, blazer, wing-tipped shoes. He stood straight, but not too straight- his left knee pointed at a diagonal that suggested a nonchalant posture. It was with this demeanor that Jarek recognized him as Azazel, demon of Hell and embodiment of sin.

“I come alone. Alone, but not without purpose.” Azazel, tall and slender, stepped further into the room with a dominating presence. Adjusting the cuff of his jacket, he imposed himself. “Michael, I don’t expect you to understand - blindly following God is in your nature, as free will belongs to man - but I cannot allow you to kill that child.”

Michael, perturbed by the demon’s presence, lifted his chin in provocation.

“I will see His word through, demon. Your attendance, though unexpected, will be but a negligible hindrance. If the world and it’s non-corporeal counterparts should remain as we know it, the girl must die. It has been spoken by the Prophet of The Lord, and through him, God Himself.”

“What a know-it-all.”

“He’s omniscient.”

“Shut the hell up, Michael,” retorted Azazel, losing a touch of his original refinement.

“Now, now, Azazel. No need to get testy. I understand you’re incapable of seeing what I see. You, being spawned from the most evil of marriages, have not felt the Grace of God upon your afflicted soul. You wouldn’t have the slightest knowledge of what great darkness this child will release onto the world if she were allowed to live.”

“I am well aware, Michael; however, where you see consequence,” Azazel shrugged, “I see progress.”

It was with those words that Azazel sprung into action. The demon was at arms with Michael before Jarek could comprehend the shift in atmosphere. Azazel, in one swift movement, removed Wren from the angel’s grasp while simultaneously throwing his elbow into Michael’s chin and driving his heel into his left knee, causing it to buckle. Wren was in Jarek’s arms before he hit the floor, the angel’s wings crumpling around him as he struggled to regain his composure.
“Hurry,” Azazel urged, meeting Jarek’s gaze, his eyes alight in frenzy. He pushed the child deeper into Jarek’s chest. “Go! Go!”

Panic surged through Jarek’s veins as adrenaline battled paralysis. So shocked by the sudden turn of events and confused by the demon’s apparent concern, he was victim to slow-wittedness, unable to withdraw his scrutiny from the scene before him. Fear finally assumed itself as Jarek turned away from the two supernatural entities, coddling the infant closer to his heart. It was then that a great string of crackling white light struck Jarek in the back. He folded backward; his eyes melting in their sockets and dripping like candle wax. He fell to the Earth, his flesh bubbling like molten rock. Michael was on his feet with his arm outstretched, small sparks of electricity jumping between his fingers like an unnatural webbing.

“I will not allow this, Azazel,” Michael warned, lowering his arm. “Turn away, accept His divinity, and drag yourself back into that filthy pit of a realm where you belong. You have no business here.”

Azazel, observing the now-weeping bundle swaddled in her father’s cooling flesh, reflected for a moment, as if considering Michael’s order.

“Why didn’t you just smite her like you did the man?” He asked, “Wouldn’t it have saved you the trouble of having to deal with me?”

“You know I don’t have that kind of power,” Michael sneered. “There is a reason I wield this sword.”

As Azazel turned to face Michael once again, he realized the angel had unsheathed his weapon while his back was turned. Aware of the carnage that awaited them, Azazel allowed his human form to disintegrate. His features crumbled, splintering apart to reveal his truest self. Iridescent silver shadow oozed from his prior anatomy, gathering - or rather, congealing - into the silhouette of an imposing, brutish monster. Light refused to touch him. He was everything Michael was not.

“And for the record,” Azazel’s abstract form uttered from a space beyond the human dimension, “My soul is not afflicted.” The room darkened as the demon repelled whatever light attempted to creep through the hastily-boarded windows of the humble nursery. His inky presence suffused into all corners. “I have no soul.”

Prologue End.

I'll Be Back...

...with another Word Count!

What I've Been Working On

I've just been working on plotting out my new book! I'm very excited. I'm estimating it's going to be roughly 200 pages, give or take a few dozen. I'm very excited to start writing it, however, I don't usually plot like this. I'm totally a pantser - and to be honest, I think it's my ultimate downfall. I dig my characters (and subsequently, myself) into problems I can't work out. So having a solid, pre-existing base (in this case, the Bible) is a great catalyst for me. If I get stuck, I can literally just ask myself the good ol' WWJD. 

Word Count: 647

How I Feel About The Process

To be completely honest, I don't know if this book is going to come to complete fruition, but I'll be doing my best. I think I'm going to start posting installments every now and then on my blog for you all to read. A fan-fiction-esque upload schedule. I'd love to get feedback from all of you, and I'll do my best to keep the story alive this time. I'll let you all know if I decide to abandon it, but I'm sincerely hoping it doesn't come to that. I honestly don't get that many great ideas when it comes to my own writing, and this is one of the few that I can actually roll with. 

What I'm Reading Right Now

Brida by Paulo Coelho. Paulo has been my favorite author since I originally read The Alchemist in my junior year of high school, and I always pick up his books when I'm meandering the aisles of long-forgotten paperbacks in back-alley thrift stores. I love Paulo for his ingenuity and humility. He has such a metaphysical, philosophical air about him - it's coupled brilliantly by his down-to-earth story-telling and anecdotes. He is my ideal author. He definitely writes for his audience. I was introduced to him via a lucky find in a thrift shop. It was an unmarked book with gorgeous velvet embellishments on the spine. I bought it without even opening the front cover. Lo and behold, The Alchemist spurred my love for Paulo. It was further reinforced by my boyfriends grandmother, who hails from Brazil herself. Being Portuguese, she's experienced Paulo's work untranslated and pure, and she utterly loves him! He is her favorite author as well, and I found it nice that we had something in common with one another, given our language barrier (with which my boyfriend and his mother were very politely accommodating).

Hasta la Vista, Baby

     -Turdinator

I Would Have Gotten Away With It Too...

... If It Weren't For You Meddling Word Count!!

What I'm Working On?

     The honest to God truth? Absolutely nothing. And I LOVE IT. Now, now, before you get your literary knickers in a metaphorical twist, I have to tell you all that I have been TIRED. I know what you're thinking; "Well of course you're tired, Sarah. That's every college student." Yes, but tired is a very relative term. Tired can mean anything from "I'm fed up with this particular situation" to "I'm literally about to pass out because I haven't been able to shut my brain off for the past two months straight". I'm erring on the side of the latter.

     But no worries! I've already completed my narrative, and I'm ready to share it with my fellow Glowdarkians and my comrades, the Zenfadenites, on the 22nd! There are just a couple more revisions I need to make, but aside from that, I'm more than comfortable allotting a little bit of time to recuperate. 

Word Count: 154

How I Feel About The Process?

    FUCKING. AMAZING.

         ...zzz zzz zzz

What Am I Reading Right Now?

     The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I saw our main man, Stephen, recommended we take a look at his work and observe his writing techniques. Ironically enough, I started reading The Road about a day before I read King's entry. I honestly thought I would hate The Road. In the beginning, I couldn't really get behind his style - not once does he use a single quotation mark - but I actually ended up finding this stylistic nuance quite interesting. It makes for a poetic, flowery narrative complimented by a dark and dismal arc. I kind of love it so far! I'm about 100 pages in and I'm eager to continue!

     Looking for Scooby Snacks,

           - A Meddling Kid

a rotation.

a rotation.

that’s all it took to break me

like every hitched moan that broke my lover’s lips

as i made her mine

daylight broke

and took me with it

like traces of light under the bedroom door

it crept up on me

a rotation.

even the moon envied my tides

as her shoulders became my shorelines

dripping in foam

waves broke

and dragged me with it

back into oceans so saline it separated

and left me at the bottom

a rotation.

the ground fell away from the sky

and spun too fast for the clouds to keep up

but when it stopped

clouds broke

and thus, the downpour of a girl too dizzy

to take second chances

a rotation.

that’s all it took to break us

noon, too hot to speak through sweat

but in the night

fever broke

and we were left shivering, too afraid

to take second chances

-s.c.g.

It's a Word Count, My Dear Watson.

     ... and it's quite elementary!

What I've Been Working On
      Well, let me tell you, friends. I've actually written a little bit of something! Vague, I know, but I think it'll turn out to be something worth showing you guys. I already shared my idea with my fellow Glowdarkians today, and they were very encouraging, and consequently, inspiring. I am officially three pages into something not so terrible! I will have something of substance to turn in on the 22nd.

Word Count: 621

How I Feel About The Process
     Like I've reiterated time and time again to you guys via blog, I have been scarily busy balancing school and work. The process has been slow-going, but I fit in the time to write here and there, during lunch breaks or when astronomy homework gets too out-of-this-world. Luckily, I feel like I might be getting a workload reprieve here in a couple weeks, so I'll be able to crank out ALL of the words once I have enough storage space freed up in the brain.

What Am I Reading Right Now?
     Besides "On Writing" by Stephen King, I haven't had much time to start a new book. I'm still deciding at the moment. I have tons of books on my TBR list, just waiting to be revived from my dusty bookshelf. I'm sure I'll work around to that soon. I sincerely miss my relationship with my books. It's honestly my lifeblood. I finished up "Sharp Objects" by Gillian Flynn last week, and I was very happy with it overall. The ending seemed a little rushed, but hey, I can relate. I get a little too excited to finish something as monumental as a book as well. Other than that, however, the book was just fine. I gave it a 7/10*.

     This Porridge is Just Right, Watson

             -Sherlilocks Holmes

*I've never given a book a 10/10, and I'm very sparing with my 9s

The Framer

Between me, the strings, and the frame on the wall,

My fingertips will never be beautiful.

What they produce, however

Will be my most beautiful qualities.

From the glossy gold metal, engraved with damask,

Wrapped in silky beige linens,

To the linen bandage wrapped around my index;

I give my flesh to the craft.

Bronze and nylon sing to my callouses;

Create deep valleys from plains of flesh.

I cut myself pruning the aloe plant;

I cut another to compensate.

Between me, the strings, and the frame on the wall,

Is song more transparent than glass,

A chord stronger than cord and nail,

A lifetime of servitude to the craft.

-s.c.g

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a...

... word count!

     ... or rather, lack thereof. 

What I've Been Working On

     I'm going to be honest, guys, I've been doing my best to actually get something down on paper, but I'm having a really hard time managing my schedule without flipping over on my underbelly and floating to the top of the mental-health fish tank. What I will tell you, though, is I finally figured out what I'm going to submit to the Moorpark Review!

     I'm also planning on beginning my narrative for the class sometime this weekend. Whether or not I'll have a finished first draft by the time I come in on Wednesday is questionable, but I have an idea of what I want to write, and I will accomplish as much as I can, given my schedule and workload management. 

     Word Count: 0

How Do I Feel About The Process?

     Definitely not terrible. Yet. I mean, I don't know if what I come up with is going to be quite up to par with my peers, but hey, I guess I won't feel too bad about that. I'm more of a reader - an appreciator, if you will. I have always had an interest in writing, but never the discipline to finish anything I've started, with the exceptions of my poetry and a couple one-act plays. I have the voice, I know. I have the ideas, yes. But the discipline... it is my greatest artistic downfall.

What Am I Reading Right Now?

     I'm just about finished with Gillian Flynn's "Sharp Objects". I am very happy with it thus far, and I might go as far to say as it's one of the best books I've ready this year (seeing as I only read 3 books in January). It's definitely not as boring as the back cover makes it out to be.
     I'm also quite excited to read Stephen King's "On Writing". I'm not a huge Stephen King fan. To be completely honest, I haven't read a single book that I've truly liked of his. His writing style is witty and "user-friendly", and he's quite intellectual and cerebral. I can appreciate that. My problem lies with the story-telling aspect. His stories never quite make enough sense to me. They're not as coherent as I would typically hope for in books; although, given he is such a renown and talented writer, I am excited to take a deeper look into his writing processes and motives. He is quite the interesting character, and getting some insight and intention might actually be the thing I need to start reading his books in a more understanding, transparent light.

     Just keep swimming,

              -A Fish Somewhere Near The Top