“Change” – A Literati Mafia Collaboration

 

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It was wonderful to write this with The Melancholy Spitfire.  I hope you all enjoy!

 

 

The literati mafia

Some nights, I randomize my entire music collection. I like the surprise of never knowing which songs I’ll hear, or which memory roads they may lead me down.

A song from Grease, the musical, plays. Those Magic Changes. It’s a song I love to sing from the corners of lonely rooms.

I think of change and how it is, indeed, magic. I should know. I’m a master of illusions. I make grand, spectacular entrances, then no one notices when I log off dart out the back door with loads of ancient secrets & experiences up my sleeves.

I leave dust bunnies behind. Trace evidence of my existence. Clues for anyone paying close enough attention.

And isn’t that just the thing, darkling?
No one’s paying any attention.
Paranoia only invents the idea that I am constantly under a magnifying glass.

The one constant change–the magic–that I can believe in…

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Omertà 3

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III


Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back as I grow older, letting emotion cover every fiber of my being as i’m lost in my own sense of noise. I have seen those that don’t know one true fact about me, talk down about my hopes and dreams. It floods my mind in waves. For when I heard conversation behind my back, I knew it was words in which would cover me in blood and agony.  I was finally cleansed. I forgot about those that used words to hurt each other, or hurt me. I began to find silence was spectacular. I didn’t…

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Omertà 2

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part II


there was a time when it would settle, a threadbare mantle covering all the things that buzzed and hummed inside, demanding stillness. but now it is the rasp of snoring children, the score of tires on asphalt, the whisper of birch leaves. it does not cover so much as it permeates from the outside in. penetrating skin and fascia and muscle and bone until there is no more to traverse unless it were to exit. and that it will never do on its own. it is still made to settle, preferably in the supple bowl of my diaphragm, until breathed out by forces beyond control. only then is it reality, when it has been stealthily captured and exhaled in the guise of my own air. only then can i call it silence. and that silence is the enemy of mine enemy, welcome yet conniving…

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Omertà I

A Literati Mafia Collaboration :

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part I


In the end, everything is silent. Maybe that’s why I hated it so much, I’d always liked beginnings so much more. My flat when my parents reached the end of the end of their marriage was like being a character in a silent movie. We might as well have been in black and white. I laid in bed, waiting for them to start shouting, arguing, reading the same old script they’d been reciting every single night for years when they were foolish enough to think their insomniac daughter had fallen asleep. But it never came. There was nothing left to fight for. The war had ended and they’d both lost, claiming my childhood as a casualty. I never thought I’d miss the fighting, but somehow the silence was worse. My own relationships are plagued by all the things left unsaid, silence where there should…

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