2010
02.23

marrana, marrana, narhile (narhil) nahndaiao.. prandhe, asha narooiao, naii morrhao.. hawsha mitao, mitah ooraiao..
(little cat, little cat, sing the song that belongs to your heart.. listen, the death that belongs to your life, the light that belongs to the dark.. the ash that belongs to the strong, powerful wind, the ash that belongs to the grounds…)

the spring is returning, but it will yet take a while.. but for once, it feels like it can wait…
because now I have hope again.. for a future, with meaning and purpose…

the patterns are clear, once again.. once again marrana’s eyes are clear, and her purpose is known.. once again marrana knows her place.. once again she feels safe in her position, in her capability and knowledge, in her mind.. the patterns make sense again, and they are stronger this time…

marrana, your song is wanted.. marrana, sing!
sing a song for the returning spring, a song of joy for finally seeing it return.. it is in the light, the light has changed.. you can already see it, marrana.. you know what the change of light means.. just another month, and the sun will take over.. every day it grows stronger.. soon, the fire will return…
soon there will be the celebration of fire, a new year, a new start, and life will wake up…

do you see the buds on the trees?
life is not dead, life is but sleeping, dreaming in the cold..
waiting, like you, little cat.

but you, you woke up.. too early.. but what you found was worth it, wasn’t it, marrana?
(it was, it was, it was)

spring is returning.. soon, you can relax, soon there will be food, soon there will be life.. for the sleeping world, and for you.. for all those who sleep, survive, make it through the winter.. for all us who is waiting, restlessly watching the returning light.

sing a song, marrana; a song of fire, of courage, of grief and joy.. you know at least two beings who didn’t make it through this winter; sing for them.. you know pieces of your heart that had to be sacrificed to make it through the winter; sing for them.. you know what you had to leave behind, you know the pain of starvation, how it feels when breathing turns your body to ice.. you know this, so sing it, marrana

sing a song, marrana; a song of pain and suffering, strength and hope.. the light is returning, little cat.. you can feel it, see it, sense it, but not yet taste it, not yet catch its scent… the winter still freezes your tongue, the air still hurts your lungs when you try to catch breath and sing… but soon

do not let your guard down yet, marrana..
the cold is still out there, with a soft, white coat and icicle teeth, sharp as knives..
do not fall asleep again during the starvation.. you have woken up too soon, but you have to stay up now..
there is no turning back.. if you wander out there again without a proper shelter, you will die
but you don’t have to.. you can stay here; stay in their warmth, in their home, in the safe, until spring returns.. you have battled the winter, you have danced in the snow, you have slept and dreamt
but now you have to return to them, let them warm you until the sun thaw your bones.
it is alright, little cat.

being strong is knowing when you are weak, and accepting it.. accepting your limitations and doing what you can to solve them.. sometimes, that means a bit of help…

marrana, out lady Bastet cannot kill.. our lady Sekhmet cannot create…
both are needed, both the creator and the destroyer..
and Anubis, who sings the dead to rest

do you remember when you used to sing the dead to rest, little cat?
(who will sing me to rest?)

the fire, the warmth, the food, the patting and the laughter..
do not forget what you have, even when you wander out to do battle with the winter, the storm, yourself, little cat.. remember? you wanted to be free, to be allowed to come and go as you wanted, do you remember, little cat? that they would be there, let you sleep in their arms, let you share their fire, that they would understand when you had to leave, and trust you to return?
to what use is that wish if you walk out the door and forget that they exist?
you have danced with the snow, done battle with the winter, you have starved and you have slept out in the cold.

it is time to return, little cat.
the dream has ended; now it is time to remember.. grieve that which died, which froze, which ended.. the pain, the starvation, the cold…
the dream has ended; now it is time to remember that which you still have…

remember, and return now…

*

now I have to walk off to bed.

the tears are gone for now, and the fire has made me stronger.. the winter made me cold, starved me.. but now I has worn the snow in my hair, adorned myself with jewelery of ice.. now I have dusted my face with ash, and my eyes have life once more…
my clear glass cut my frozen skin, and my blood was still red, still flowing, still warm
my tears reminded me of the sea
the pain reminded me of Life.

I am still alive.
I am alive, again.

A part of me died in the fire, and now another part can grow.
We have to know what has to die, and what can be saved.
What is broken beyond repair, what can be mended.

The scars are there.
Time to remember.

*

marrana, marrana, narhile (narhil) nahndaio.. prandhe, asha narooiao, morrh naiiao, naii morrhao..

*

I have songs to sing.
Songs of fire, grief and joy.

/pao – 23 feb 2010 – 06.37 am
(narooio marrana)

2010
02.18

I tried to write a ghazal. At the time of trying, I was speaking to friends about how – when I was a younger Pao without friends, when I sat alone in a corner of my room, surrounded by books – I used to feel like I was a dusty, forgotten doll in an old, abandoned library.
I had this mental picture of a small library out in the forest. The roof was made of glass, and had been broken and shattered in places. Thick ivy and vines were taking over, overgrowing the building. The books were wrinkly with age, just like people get. The dust was settling over the place, and the eternal golden autumn sunlight would sift in through the broken glass and growing vines.
And I was a ragdoll, left sitting in a armchair in a corner. Watching the place slowly decay and fall to pieces. The air smelled of old books, autumn, lavender and clove oil.

I miss that place.
I wish I could draw picture of places like that.
.

In an armchair in the golden dusty light
sits a ragdoll forgotten by everyone

All surrounded by the ancient, wrinkled books
the ragdoll sat there forgotten by everyone

Eternal, golden autumn sunlight sifts through
broken-glass roof forgotten by everyone

The books are her silent, storytelling friends
but stories are forgotten by everyone

The dust settles, gathers on the memories
in the still woods forgotten by everyone

**

After having been quite sick, having a crisis and a lot of crying, being terribly broken and being otherwise in a terrible condition, things are finally looking better again. Tickets to go to England is booked, and I am leaving the third of march. I am still not sure I believe in the existence of aeroplanes, and I keep on forgetting the whole thing. That I am going to fly. Say wooosh. It is rather scary.

Things are getting better, but it is still a rather unstable and fragile thing.

I want to be writing more, here and at the other blog, but I have really not felt well enough.

**

Today, Mothersister is coming over with her kittens. I will have them here, while she and her male renovate and repaint their lair. White paint and black fur does not constitute a winning combination…

**

I find myself missing Second Life. I also want to create First Life clothes for myself. Or buy new ones. And a bag or three. Good, practical, nice bags.

**

I am torn between feeling happy and hopeful, and clawing despair. Content with my life, and hating myself and everything about me.

Tomorrow, I will become twenty-four years old.
What am I doing with my life? If I were to die now, what would my regrets be?
I usually don’t do regret. Regret is not my strong side. I try to not do regrets at all, at least not get new ones. But… I have a few ones now.

Have I done what I could? Have I tried my best? Could I have done things any different?
No. Yes. No. Nothing could have been done differently. A few things might have been able to have been done slightly better. But, I shouldn’t have any regrets. I did the best I could. Didn’t I?
Is that true? Isn’t that true?

I have a nagging suspicion that I really didn’t.

So many things has happened and changed the last year, the last few months, the last few days.
It felt as if I died, and as if I have to find a new life again.

I should do things that I like and enjoy doing.

But it is still so cold. It is still winter. The world is still sleeping, dreaming. But my dreams have all ended, and I woke up to find myself starving again, the world still frozen, no food to find.
No food for my body. No food for my soul. Hambre del alma.
Grammar for my mind, words and patterns for my mind, to distract me. But no dreams. No drawings.
A poem written in patterns, by rules. No feelings.

It’s so cold.

paint the walls with your blood, little cat.. cry your song to the heavens…

***

It is so cold.

Tomorrow, I will be one year older. And in a bit more than two months, the new year will begin. I haven’t needed it this much for several years. But I have a lot of regrets to burn…

/pao – 18 feb 2010 – 21.09

2010
02.10

(interesting day)

My female is not here. After having finally fallen asleep yesterday (after a lot of talking to my dear Kadanina about Swedish and other languages), I woke up this morning, far too early. First by a terrible nightmare, and then later with a creature sitting on my laptop, staring at me about two inches from my face.

Well, I didn’t do much today, mostly spoke to Kadanina, and dreda, and a male of a friend of my male, and waited for Mothersister to end her shift and come over.

Ate pancakes today, and later fishsticks and egg.

Mothersister came over, I went to the door to meet her, bringing New Rat Kadana with me on a lead. Later Mothersister and I talked a bit. Hugging, discussing small humanlings, being awed and me being awed and impressed by the complexity of placentas…

Then, Kadanina introduced me to another person I am not allowed to hunt. It was alright, I was the best Pao I could. Trembling and nervous and filled with suspicion.

The creatures started saying bad things about her and Kadanina, but I am already too drugged to mind them much..

I have to go to bed now though. Mothersister is already there, sleeping.

Nightycat
high as a kite
/pao – 10 feb 2010 – 06.05 am

2010
02.05

(new rat)

today I got a new rat.. a big, twitchy male rat, who doesn’t like to be held or picked up.. I named him Kadana.. there’s also another rat here at the moment, a female rat with a wound, that I will take care of while her human is in another country over the weekend…

today I actually worked a little with languages.. mostly Latin.. it was very nice…

I worry a lot over my male, but I have no idea how to help him.. I really hope he would come to me and/or tell me if there was something I could do…
I miss him a lot, but I have almost no energy to eat, I don’t get enough liquid.. I can’t visit him… it makes me sad and worried.. but I hope he remembers that he is very loved and very important for a Pao…

*

other than that, I still try to plan for my trip to England.. I don’t count on getting out of this alive.. I don’t trust in aeroplanes.. not even sure if I believe in their existence…

*

besides all that, I really need food..

*

also, I wish my friends could be magically happy and have good lives all of a sudden…

*

Here, since I have nothing interesting to say, have the two last parts of a recent poem I wrote for a friend instead;

And she wears her scars proudly
saying “It’s only pain, it will pass”
and “They remind me of lessons and
things that should never be forgotten”

The scars tell their stories
and whisper in her ears
and she knows deep inside
that most of them could have been avoided
if she would have sometimes accepted
the love and the help of her friends
but she would rather take the fall
all alone and keep the scars
than to call out and reach
for a hand that wasn’t
there for her…

*

Nightycat.

/pao – 05 feb 2010 – 03.57
morrh narhile, marrah imaile