• Published 26th Jul 2015
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The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Sandy Things

Author's Note:

A delicious melody of finely-crafted syntho-pop crackles into my ears. It gives the edge of the world a cool blue mellowness as I walk the beach of Baltimare. It's early. Deathly early. The birds haven't yet come out; the sandpipers are all hidden. A constant backdrop of roaring waves echo against the soothing beat, and I'm in heaven. A cold blue heaven—where even the colors surrender to the pure chill breaths that are tickling my ears.

One thing is for certain: I can always find ways to distract myself. At times, rapturously so.

The moon is a bright silver beacon, even into the liquid lengths of early morning. I stand to blame it for any bouts of mania this tour has wrought, but I'm not in the position to care right now. I gaze down at the soft sand, still moist from the rolling tide, and I see an ice cold shadow, a moon shadow. This far away, separated by the heavens, and still Luna's gift has found a way to kiss my forehead. I fall asleep, but only on the inside.

My eyes shut, and I keep the crashing of waves to my left as I trot south, shuffling past dune after dune, reveling in the cold salty breeze cascading all over me.

And then, out of nowhere, I stop. I stand against the morning wind, my short tail and mane fluttering like trails of sea foam green being billowed about by the waning cosmos above and around me.

I am here, and yet I am nowhere. I am a trailing thought, an abstract accident spawned within the plasma of a slowly dying star. I was dead long before I was born, and this waking dream has floundered my way, carrying with it soft textures, salt air, and the limp green haze of a coming day's blossoming penumbra.

The dawn is always the most exciting moment to be alive. It's the humid, bright afternoon that slaughters me, guts me like a fish and tosses me into the drink, where fears and doubts swarm in tight circles, craving. But that is far ahead of me and far behind me all the same. I teeter upon the crest of a dull blue marvel about to roll its way into the flames of passing. Agony and ecstasy, exhaustion and charisma. I know the refrains. They're built into my blood like song sheets, growing yellow and yellower with the passage of time—and yet—more pristine and valuable.

The sun will be coming up soon. It will bring with it a burning fire, consuming the moonshadow and all the other cool, comforting vestiges of this sacred moment. There was a time when this would bother me, but I'm starting to grow an affinity for the immolation of everyday things. If sleep is simply practicing for death, then I'm not ashamed to be lazy for once in my life.

I feel the first fingers of it as it spread over the horizon. Like an emerald dagger, it digs at my throat, and all that bleeds out is a sigh.

I'm about to do something that I don't normally do. For some reason, I'm not afraid. The sun this morning is laced with a purple sheen, a brief but palpable bubble of violet comfort that dissipates as soon as I contemplate it, a most charming idea, the feeling that I've indeed made a most daring masterpiece... and yet there are still more priceless ballads to come.

So long as they're laced with her, and the joy and class that she brings to this world, then it's a feeling that will never melt away, no matter how infernal the crest of this coming moment may be.

And so I do the impossible thing. I take my shades off. I keep my eyes closed—I'm no idiot. But with a tilted chin and a stupid smile, I pivot towards the precipice of everything. As the sun blossoms—its radiance covering my every contour—I am awash with green energy, bright and burning, rising and lowering in pitch until the frequency stretches out, rebirthing the endless hum of this foalish world that dares to twirl in the darkness.

And when the horizon is finally no longer blue, and the golden shrieks of seagulls echo overhead, I put my shades back, turn tail, and trot back to the hotel.

I think I can sleep now. Dreams can only be pale compared to this.

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