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The City takes care of its people. It houses them, feeds them, provides them with work. They only ask for compliance, to not question the safety it provides from Outside. Think only good things, provide for others and oneself without thought. Do not, under any circumstances, dream.
But the lions are lurking beneath the consciousness of the City residents. They invade dreams with predator hunger.
Sofia wants to know what the dreams mean, but the lions continue to elude her. She can only watch as their influence destroys the City and its people. The lions are the roaring force of the Outside, forcing its way in.
To say this has been a difficult last couple of years would be like saying Rasputin had a few problems. It’s been a long journey wading through sickness, death and and stress that has at times been impossible to manage. In August of this year, after a very long, protracted series of illnesses, my stepfather succumbed to cancer and I went to Winnipeg to assist my mother, only for she, too, to be wrenched from me by cancer’s stealth within a few weeks. I lost my job along with my family since I was refused a leave of absence and the only inheritance I have gained are sorrows and debts. Don’t let anyone tell you that death’s journey is easy, it most certainly isn’t, especially the frantic days after someone is gone. No one told me I would be doing a lot of crying in banks.
Losing a parent is a tragedy and losing two in such a short period of time left my heart shattered. I was very lucky in that I have good friends who were able to prop me up and keep me going when all I really wanted to do was crawl under the floorboards of any Winnipeg home and never surface again. It’s a special kind of sadness when you lose those who had loved you unconditionally all your life, and I don’t think it’s an emptiness that will ever truly go away. My mother was very proud of my writing and was herself a fiercely creative person, and while I know it is important for her memory to continue on with that legacy, it is not an easy thing to do with so many memories creeping into the mix.
I suppose patience is something I should start affording myself. Feeling guilt over not getting things done can be a bit of motivator, but it’s unwelcome at present. I think it’s high time I banished guilt once and for all, and to bring the perspective back. What I do here is absolutely self indulgent, as living and breathing itself is. I will keep going, on my terms, in my time. It’s the best advice my mother ever afforded me.
If anyone would like to offer a condolence or two, please don’t, and send a donation to the Breast Cancer Foundation instead. Give cancer the Fuck You it deserves.
M. Jones, November, 2015.
There are places, unfortunate journeys taken, where dreams lay barren and hope is eradicated. These are forlorn lands full of half promises and unspoken hurts that refuse to leave the psyche alone. It is a painful and unpleasant country , it has no feeling, no passion and no true understanding of what it is to be human among others. It is a very judgemental place, full of black spider hatred and envy and snobbish dismissal. It’s a vista of empty people who feel nothing and care for less.
This is no such place.
Welcome to Bloodletters Ink. The stories and novels within are not especially nice, some aren’t even linear, but I have done my best and if you don’t like them, or me, I am perfectly at ease with this. My imagination does not exist to make you happy. If you are close minded, shallow or self gratifying, you will at first be fascinated but ultimately repelled, because I am none of those things, nor is my work. Don’t try to impress me. How you have daily occupied time and space in your work life means nothing to me. Who ARE you when no one is looking? That person is the most interesting one in the world. When the veils have slipped and the shadows banished, the real person behind the fake smiles and drudging small talk, that person is who these tales are about. Because flaws are who we are, and there is great beauty in ugliness.
Obsessive, at times dull, anxious and caring too much about impossible things and always very much too much. That is the filter for these stories. I can’t change. If you like what you read, you definitely shouldn’t want me to.
M. Jones ~ January, 2015.