“That’s what this place is. One Giant Coffin.”
I have never thought of a more apt description for my website than this.
So many dead things.
Wrote it on the back of my hand whilst driving down the highway late last night.
As if I could forget.
As if I get the luxury of forgetting anything at all.
I’m an old hotel that fell into a fault line. And now monsters live here amongst the dripping candles and canopied beds and obscure artwork.
I wait in my little magpie nest for the sun to go down, for the dead to awaken, for the second star to the right to appear…anything…then straight on till morning.
I’m just going to roll with this glorious fucking metaphor.
I dress like her. Star. Arms stacked with beaded bracelets. Layers of colorful silk, belts that make noise, and tiny lacy camisoles with messy long hair and smudgy black eyeliner. And I love like Wendy, darling.
For someone who references Lost Boys so much, both the group of boys/men I surround myself with who disappear from bedrooms in the night and go to some place unbeknownst to me where time doesn’t seem to exist or the only clock that hasn’t been smashed got swallowed by a crocodile or some such shit, and the 1987 horror movie. You think I would’ve clued in before now.
I don’t know what’s worse. A tribe of gorgeous wayward boys that literally live in a place called Neverland. As in nuh uh no never gonna happen. Or the ones with beautiful faces, no heartbeat that walk the boardwalk at night eating people and fucking shit up.
They’re all beautiful and none of them are here.
I stopped inviting them in.
One of my lost boys said that he can’t ‘drop everything, come over and make me ‘a happy Sarah.’
Wait now, back up there sparky.
I didn’t ask for that. It is no one’s job to make me a happy Sarah. I don’t outsource/subcontract. That work is internal and mine alone.
Besides, you already came over, added to my pre-existing happiness, asked to come back and sit on my porch glowing in the star lights and fairy lights and my attention.
I think I just stumbled on some of the ‘why they leave me’.
Other than their predisposition to do so because they are lost boys who get lost.
If you place the source of your happiness in another human being, that happiness can be taken from you.
I’ve been a lost girl from time to time. Both akin to the television show full of fae folk and just by base description.
Treat me badly and I wander off eventually.
But it’s like they are all trying to beat me to the punch and I’m content meandering. Looking at flowers, feeling the sunshine and enjoying the journey until I look up and they have either gone to ground or flown away using my pixie dust or blood, depending.
Then I feel lonely, lost, abandoned and drained. I question myself/my worth. I can’t help it.
So I’d leave my window wide open at night and invariably the come back to get their shadow stitched back on or snack on me, or both.
I think the one might have likened me to some kind of drug that he is denying an addiction to. I am an opiate I know this. But he keeps calling me cake.
“You’ll never grow old, you’ll never die, but you must feed.”
And I kinda am the girl with the most cake (Hole)
And he fights it. He’s only half, “like Laddie and me.” But the hunger is there.
I’m done being ego food, Mama Wendy, having my life shaken up to harvest my pixie dust.
“These creatures do not die like the bee after the first sting, but instead grow strong and become immortal once infected by another nosferatu. So, my friends we fight not one beast but legions that go on age after age after age, feeding on the blood of the living.” Bram Stoker’s Dracula
So what to do? WWVHD?
Van Helsing: Yeah, she was in great pain. Then we cut off her head, and drove a stake through her heart, and burned it, and then she found peace.
Take all the emotion out of it and do what needs to be done.
I know who the head vampire is, I know where this stems from. Kill him and everything goes back to normal.
I am nailing my window shut.
“That’s the one thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach, all the damned vampires.”
Italics = The Lost Boys