A Short Note from Magaly’s Right Eyeball

I’m seeing red.

All right, I’m not actually seeing red, but there is a little red spot on the left side of my iris, and Mrs. All Gloriously Wicked and Hot doesn’t care for it. I can’t say that I like it much either. It kind of hurts… and I’m tense… and the whitish wee dot inside the red spot is making me lose my cool. Not all of my cool, since I’m typing this short note with myself shut and using Mrs. Deliciously Wicked Wise fingers. Have you ever typed a note with one eye closed and using someone else’s fingers? Didn’t think so. So yeah, I’m awesome.

Anyhoo, I need a vacation from too much light, so Mrs. So Freaking Amazing It’s Almost Unreal will be taking a hiatus… just a few days… maybe a week… at least until after the ophthalmologist tells us that I’m healthy and completely fantastic. No more than that. I have already told Mrs. Magaly that she can’t be such a lazy lump.

By the way, don’t worry too much about this bit. If something’s really wrong, I’ll just go undercover. I would look sophisticatedly gorgeous in a Steampunk(ish) eyepatch. And Magaly “Quicksilver Hammer” Guerrero has always entertained the possibility of morphing into a wicked sexy pirate writer.

*Read you soon, my Wicked Luvs. Wish me luck… or extremely sexy eyepatches.*


Wet Dragonfly Wings

I had lived long enough to have forgotten what my kind did to its old. “I dreamed of flying,” I said to my younger brother, holding on to his hand as we walked through the dragonfly garden. When his eyes moistened, I added, “Don’t fret. They are just dreams, not madness.” Dragonflies flew high over our heads… the largest of dragonflies.

“You won’t make it across without a snack.” My brother detached an egg the size of a grape from the back of an enormous leaf. “Don’t be like that.” He said when I twisted my face and stepped away from him. “Just pop it in your mouth and swallow. You won’t have to eat another for as long as the trip lasts. I promise.”

Reluctantly, I put the egg in my mouth. It was warm. I let it nest on my tongue for a few seconds. Closing my eyes, I raised my head to elongate my neck, hoping it would ease the swallowing process… The egg wouldn’t go down. I tried reaching for my throat, but my brother was holding my arms behind my back. I opened my eyes to beg him to stop, and watched as a swarm of dragonflies rushed down towards my face.

Panic bent my neck forward with a crunch. I dropped on hands and knees coughing out shell pieces, unable to breathe. Before darkening, my old eyes saw a wee woman crouching by my left thumb, wet dragonfly wings protruding out of her back. After an old man-giant blew my wings dry with his breath, I flew with mine for the first time.

To fly in the sky,
swallow a dragonfly egg
and forget humans.

linked to Magpie Tales 270 and the Real Toads (Tuesday Platform)
Ulrike Bolenz“Kleine Libelle” by Ulrike Bolenz

Witchy Living

I was sitting in bed the other night, browsing through Remedios Varo: Unexpected Journeys, and waiting for some information to load into My HealtheVet, the VA’s online personal health record system, when my Piano Man said, “It will be so awesome to reread your blog in twenty years.”

I followed his eyes to my laptop—it was showing one of the first posts I ever wrote about us. I nodded slowly, thinking, It will be something, won’t it?

It might sound silly, my Wicked Luvs, but I’ve never really thought about it. I mean, of course I’ve considered that my blog would make a decent record for anyone who might want to read about me now and in the future, but the idea of me (or my Piano Man and I) silvered, our skins generously wrinkled with living, sitting in front of a computer, two decades from now, reading about our first “Kissing break!” never painted itself in my mind this clearly. The mental picture kept me smiling until my eyes went to sleep… and it’s making me grin as I type these words.

There are so many people who believe blogging to be something trivial, a bit ridiculous, even a huge waste of time. But you know what? This kind of electronic records are going to be the precious journals of years to come. And I really, really, really like that.

While on the topic of cyber journaling, here is my semi-set blogging plan: Mondays will be for poetry, Wednesdays for fiction, and Fridays will alternate between Witchy Living (current happenings in the life of moi), Rereading My Pratchett, and Bits from my Pagan Culture; except the last Friday of the month, which will be dedicated to The Magaly Gazette.

What about you, my Wicked Luvs, what are your thoughts when considering blogging, social media and what these might mean for you (and others) in the future?

The Weaver of Verona, by Remedios VaroThe Weaver of Verona, by Remedios Varo

I love this painting because I see The Weaver’s past floating on the ceiling, perhaps in case she wants to use it; her present seems to consist of  weaving her living and what’s to come; the latter flies out of The Weaver’s house, blood-red and full of life, still linked to her. This looks so much like the Circle of Life… for I think that The Weaver will become another echo of herself, and Red will return to live the present and weave tomorrow.