Saturday, March 5, 2011

The Doctor Dances


Here it is folks, the first burst of inspiration that arose from that da,m haunting phrase that refused to leave me be. Also, the result of Doctor Who opening up an obsession and love in me that I had kept away for fear of getting "too" into something and losing perspective of priorities.
          Screw priorities, because, really, what are priorities and reality to someone who can dream?

Nothing. 

          As always, though I'm not sure if I had already made this clear or not, feel free to let me know wot you think/how you fee (this goes for every post beeteedubz)l. As long as it's not just ranting spam, I love hearing about other people's opinions, whether they share my own or not. Cause really, wot's the fun in everyone just agreeing with you? (though, of course, gaining some fellow WHovian and Buffy and Harry Potter friends would be most welcome).Although, it is quite possible that no one actually reads this and I will just end up like that wonderful meme (the forever alone one). Wouldn't that be a tragic tale?


The Doctor Dances

and, a second generation and 9 incarnations later, I rediscover a dormant passion 
that the real world could never contain -
First manifest in a lifelong love for a tortured angel
And seven heart staking years of sunny California and its apocalyptic magnetism
Then encompassing a constellation whose bright light
will diminish before I can look into his depth
and an age that has long passed from memory, 
told now only as a fantastical fictional tale
brought to life down under and destroyed
so that wide expectant eyes could not transform into
false hope of one last alliance
in a lifetime of cynicism and inanity

[I realize that nothing is as real as what we imagine and nothing is as true as the words we whisper to faceless strangers hiding behind reflections in parallel universes where the sounds of raindrops on glass is a reminder that we are young and golden and as important as we let ourselves become]

and, instantly, I’m enthralled
Aching desperately to be drawn into his arms
Spun instead to face relationships that never live up to pre-determined expectations,
that leave me yearning, thinking that if it’s all going to end, it might as well be my fault
So I seek solace from the panic of eternity
in magic words and magical worlds infused with my very being,
a requirement to pay the passage of escape,
a tribute to the descendants of Greek artistic inspiration
Ginsberg told me to speak to my muse as if he were a friend,
For only then, he said, would my soul, raw and beautiful, reveal itself in my work –
But it is to my muse that I tell everything I could not tell my friends,
and it is his voice that utters soothingly, logically
when I wake up gasping for breath in a room drenched with shadows,
a ragged hole in my centre,
Striving to hold on to any last vestiges of brilliance
as consciousness furiously chases away the spiralling images of hazy brown eyes,
mischievous pretty lips, and cerulean swirls of hopeless romanticism;
Fighting to stop the incomparable pain of loss from shattering a heart that wants nothing more than to be consumed
mind, body, soul
By the right kind of Doctor
But is left instead with the thorough disappointment of slowly
Becoming inured to the mundane

[I was once told that every declaration ever spoken is unique to the speaker that creates the sounds and it made me think about the absurdity of the use of clichés when the thought that occurs before attempting to make oneself clearer to the listeners must have been complex enough to reveal their very essence before being distilled to some stock commonality that sucked the soul of each free flowing word with one breathtaking kiss]

and, eventually, I learn that maybe it is my friends that I need to speak to
As if they were my muse
So that the cowering insecurities that reside
in the dragon guarded ivory tower (in my mind)
can let down her golden locks and meet
the knights in dramatic armour
that my friends have inevitably become
and let them whisk me away
through space and time
up the golden rainbow of imagination
into my Neverland

[speak not for others, through others, from others
write not for others, through others, from others
speak to be heard, write to live]


The Doctor dances,
and, finally,
I dance with him