She’s So Full of Herself

I was going to bed and my stomach laughed at my presumptuous ways. So, I decided to stop trying to dream with my eyes closed, and chose to spend time leafing through bookish dreams instead—books never laugh at me (too loudly *cough*).

Cinderella Skeleton, by Robert D. San Souci, came first. This Cinderella story makes more sense to me than most. I mean, as the picture below suggests, Prince Charming is obviously a forensic anthropologist with a thing for women’s bones… and shoes, which completely explains why he can identify his soulmate by a dismembered limb and not, for instance, by the depth of her conversation or unforgettable eye sockets.

I left the fairy tale to visit The Devil’s Rose, by BROM. As always, his words and art are dark and delicious. This particular book includes very few images with flesh on them, so I decided to show you this one… Well, part of it, since the rest is drenched in blood, and on the way to also being defleshed—dearest BROM delights in creepy.

Speaking of bloody and creepy and nailed, my delicious Piano Man got me a copy of Harlequin Valentine, written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by John Bolton. Yep, he loves me that much… Nothing says I love you like Gaiman, nails and bloody hearts.

And because everything deserves loving and cuddling, I read a few poems from The Sex Lives of Monsters, by Helen Marshall. It was a present from Rommy—it seems that she, too, knows me. I must remember to ask her how long it took her to realize that I’m extremely fond of giant eyeballs, ribcages, spines and dreamcatchers.

After three hours of book-dreaming, my stomach was still being a royal bastard. So, I walked to the terrace to talk to my plants in the dark… just to find out that the moon was completely full of herself, and the darkness had to dance in the shadows…

The dark and the moon playing their natural games made me smile. With a grin on my tired face, I went inside to collect some flower petals I had been drying for a day or 3, and offered them to the moon. She didn’t wink in appreciation or anything, but my tummy was finally ready to let me sleep.

How do you capture sleep when it does not want to play, my Wicked Luvs?

Your Words Will Always Be

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

Death can’t take
the tales you gave me.
Your words will
always be
part of the girl I once was,
of the crone I’ll be.

.
a
(not so) wee note…
Gabriel García Márquez was the first writer who made me admire the magic that can be conjured out of words. His novels, essays and short stories inspired me to ask difficult questions about people, about society and about myself. Decades later, I am still asking… and learning. If he hadn’t walked through The Veil in 2014, he would’ve turned 90-years-young today. I suspect he is still enjoying himself, telling stories to angels and demons… And if dying didn’t change him, he is probably terribly pissed off because Death kept him from living during this time of socio-political chaos. It’s not that Gabo loved trouble, just that his muse was so good at turning turmoil into magical realist art that made most people think.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Every time I look at this candle (thank you, Rommy!), I grin… and wonder if Gabo is also grinning at the sight of himself as “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings”.
Happy Birthday, mi querido Gabo.