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Nova_Express
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Name: Staja
Country: United Kingdom
Metro: London
Birthday: 10/7/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: Anarcha-feminism, Apocalypticism, 'Artists of the self', Asatru, Beat Generation, Creativity, Crimethinc, Decadent Symbolism, Detournement, Elder Futhark, Existentialism, Fin-de-si鋃le, Heathenry, Masks, Nihilism, Norse Mythology, Nothingness.org, Paris 1968, Paris Commune, Performance art, Petroglyphs, Photography, Poetry, Revolutionary Self-theory, Riddles, Seditionaries, Situationist International, Stoicism, Surrealism, Writing, Zines
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
9/18/2004
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| The last update on this account...Soon to be found at a new address -
http://www.xanga.com/londinium_rising
I will hopefully catch up with people in the next few days on this account before switching to Londinium for the long term. Perhaps I best expressed the yearning for change and for actions based on the lessons of the last few years learned in the post below, I will not reitterate these desires here, enough has been said.
I will also not be offering explnations of my silence beyond that my health has been more difficult in the last year and perhaps I have not coped as well with this as I should have done. It is far from easy, though also far from the end of either the world or myself.. I am still here, and for that I am grateful.
I have very much missed being able to read peoples sites, I am enthralled by writing ?both the act of creation and the reading and enjoyment of other peoples work. I love recieveing feedback and commenting when I can, and always intend to do this more than situation allows me too. But with both seating and wheelchair seating assesments in the next few months hopefully computer access will soon be easier for me and connections will be more successfully formed - As chronic pain and muscular problems do not aid either concentration or my ability to stay upright!
If I have ever commented on your site then it was because there was something in your words or the pattern of your thoughts which fascinated me, that most likely caused me to admire at least some aspect of your insight and/or craft.
I have been rather lonely of late, more isolated in some ways than ever before. Having seemingly lost most of my friends and online contacts in the storms that have traversed my life rather fully of late. This is not a tragedy in itself, my closest friends have stayed and trust both my words and my silences. And for the more casual words shared I hope the future may bring greater wealth of interactions and less of the silences.
I will start adding people again in the next week or so - if you would like not to be missed out then please feel free to add me first and I will add back when I can. | | |
| Still alive, still fighting.Potentially moving to a new Xanga username ?work in progress currently. Much has been written and yet to be shared. Great is the loss of contact. Yet mourning eases little the hundred smaller deaths of self - and so it is onwards to new ground and greater visions.
Here to be spared the details of where life faltered, where betrayal cut most and where my physical being acts with treachery yet again. Unnecessary post marks for who I have been once before and never again.
Towards the next stage in my perverse and self-absorbed evolutionary nihilism...
Onwards. | | |
| (Reverse spell ?curse of genetics?To whom I owe such spirit of resilience
Or my silence, heavy and dark cloaked
When my creative lie is absorbed by genetic debt
A curse slipped from ego down, cast in the father name
Where difference yet equals opinionated refusal
And I shall too exist in this lonely kingdom
Where words both free and imprison
Sealing thoughts to be reassembled in new patterns
I have cursed his silvered tongue many times
For this act of mirror and sleight of hand
A creative lie that masks the failings of self
Indulges the child to enact the theatres of desire and loss
A longing for a simplified voice
And a language that fulfils its barest purpose
Thus saving the extensions of identity and word
While in the power of an intrigue that will not die
These tamed and yet unworthy children
The preparation of self into articles of print
Where to transmit extends life, yet ends the singular
There is no golden light in the sway of the lost words
Only aborted words and the potentials of form and style
The indulgence of her lacking skill and prowess
To spread such fickle hopes and desires
So that words may yet live on when this dark curtain silences all | | |
| Fire ExhalationWith fire and memory
Gentle hands yet recover
Life overflowed and stained this dry earth
A blessed fulfillment of past promise
Would I refuse such tender care?
And prove my strength in my bitter loss
Where childhood could play and win these directions
Now possibility nullified into force without choice
Such instinct hard won and cold to touch
Warmth I recall and recoil from its exploration
Where dry rivers can be tamed in dust and blood
I shall yet cross dead seas to regain her innocence
A lost charm that holds power only by its absence
There is no fulfillment to a debt repaid
Only the cessation of obligation
Obligated to continue this drifting path
A fallen fire that burns its own reason
Sacrifices the present for future spoils
Life that gives unto life
Once purified by the touch of blackened decay
A mythology of self forged in the flames
The indulgent folk whimsy of identity and ego
Where I shall yet sing a dead language paean
To cleanse this dust ridden shore of every lost wanderer | | |
| Shall we end this dream of life?To close our eyes and end this moment
Seizing a path where no time yet exists
Setting free a lifetime more to pass though this land
Or shall we drift and end in cold terrors?
Drowned by the shore of further trials
Where lessons earned are yet to be enacted
And fear yet holds us down?br /> | | |
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