Pain Is Gentle…

…like a smile on the face of a tiger.

The last few days have included insane laughter, baring of teeth, and loud thoughts, shouting, Bring it on, you bastards! Life and Fate and the bits of me that hurt like a hot poker in the ribs just glance at me, worry filling their non-existing eyeballs—even Life and Fate and hot pokers understand that pushing a wild witchy woman who’s about to reach the end of her tether is not safe for anyone. So, they just stare… half enthralled… half waiting to see what I will do next…

I have been keeping them (especially pain) busy by doing things with my hands. Pain has no mind for work or sarcasm. That’s the reason why when the hurt tries to burst my insides, I laugh and surround myself with jokes of questionable niceness. Yesterday, even the mad grinning was failing. So, I pulled out the big weapons: markers, pens, needle, thread, recycled paper, tea bags and coffee filters, dried flowers, refurbished frames, nail polish I’ve owned since the Dark Ages (of course they had nail polish in the Dark Ages!), my tiny silver hammer, and well… you get the idea, don’t you? I got crafty and set pain aside to starve for attention.

By the time the sun decided to sleep, I had gone all wildly crafty on 5 blackouts. I enjoyed the completed work for a while, grinning… not caring all that much that my hands were stiff and shaky. And yes, I laughed raucously after that. Like I said to a friend, who pointed out that I make a lot of jokes when my body is being a bastard, “Laughter confuses the Reaper.” Art does the same for pain—it won’t stop the hurt, but it lets pain know that it can’t take my choices.

I chose to keep one of the blackouts for myself (see below). Because looking at it makes me smile… with lots of teeth and because I’m quite greedy. The others joined a growing wee pile that plans to become an online shop… sometime before Midsummer… I’m grinning again.

I also gave myself a cute skully angel brought to sweet and creepy life by Marfi, of Incipient Wings. It was love at first grin. She looks perfect next to my blackout.

So, my Wicked Luvs, what do you do when pain hurts like a royal bastard?

Wicked Grins Do Wonders for the Skin

Someone enraged me before coffee. And the brain doesn’t act right before it has been properly kissed by its hot beverage of choice. I almost wrote a rambling post about soul-sickening people, about verbally smacking them until my hammering words bled some sense out of their skulls.

Then I recalled what I told the Little Princess when she asked, “Why don’t you hate anybody?”

“Hating people is exhausting business,” I said to her. “I rather save that kind of energy to plan obliteration and defenestration.” She laughed; defenestration lives in her bag of favorite words.

The image of the Little Princess roaring at the idea of someone being hurled out of a window completely appeased the rage brewing in me. What can I say? I’m ruthlessly weird like that. And a healthy dose of wicked grins does wonders for my witchy skin.

raging morn;
but on the Witch’s face,
curly grins
.

linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Magaly (Jan 11, 2016)