The Witching Hour

And you say “forever, and ever”….the words come out and the succession of sounds evaporates in the mist.
I gaze the rain outside and mutter “if ever”…
the shapeshifting shadows grow and engulf it all.
Maybe we are all alone, maybe ever and forever do not exist, maybe we are equal in the nothingness.
The mist becomes a wall that close in…the burning candles die and only our gasps of air break the death of it all.
If only we had love to keep us warm.

Ligeia002

Have you ever awaken in the middle of the night having this haunting feeling you are being laughed at by the shadows? I remember when i was little I sat next to the window and watched into the woods that surrounded the house… the trees seemed to shapeshift and grow, and the silence was unbreakable. For those that are from a rural area will know what I mean…there is this time a moment before dawn breaks and when dusk settles, when all stays silent…

I used this time of the day, since i can hold a pen, to write. It was when I felt I could escape sanity and reality. Witting was a way to look into the darkness and make it my friend and confidant. I wrote till i could not more. Since my parents considered any artistic activity sacred, I was left alone with my sudden raptures.

Suddenly I came back to find myself in a silent house filled with shadows and the witching hour upon me…so I closed my notebook and got into bed, hearing the silence from the woods weaving goodbye to my traveling soul.

I am wearing: Babyhead by Genus / PoPo skin Albina+ (BOM) from Boataom / Monso‘s Carol Hair / Agapa Dress (Onix) from Tetra / Kitty Bell Choker from Dazed / Cureless‘s Bindi Moonlight Jewels (Group Gift) / Seashell Headpiece from Dahlia / Pathetic Rose Bouquet from Hotdog

The Mark of the Witch

In my country has been a revival of the feminism. Women in the streets cost the brutal death of a woman every 3 hours. A woman killed because she lost her status of human, most of the time killed by someone close and usually discarded in a trash bag. We hear her name, we hear what she wore the day she was killed, if she was “good” in the most bleached sense of the word.

About 5 years ago, thousand of us spontaneously went out to the streets, shouting and howling in the streets, our bodies pushing against each other, and for the first time i felt safe. Someone started singing “We are the granddaughters of the witches they could not burn”, and a second all were singing as one voice…and thus we are, the dissidents, everything that did not fit the status quo was marching along. I think i can not put to words how empowering it was.

The mark of the witch was a mark that was looked as the physical manifestation of a woman’s pact with the devil. Far from stoping, witch hunts have evolved, and the marked has changed. We are judged in life and in death, if we are hurt or killed, we stand on the scaffold one more time.

We always remember the name and face of those killed, but their murderers could be next door neighbors, because they are not judged. Our shout is primal, we are murdered even if we follow every footstep that is asked of us…if we are walking in broad day light covered as if we were “respectable” victorian women…if we are minding our own business…if we do not talk with anyone…if if if… and the blow usually comes from the person that shares our bed.

Our shout is the prelude of our death…and the mark is as unerasable as it used to be, the witching hour is calling upon us. It’s time to make some magic.

AHIRU -Silent Devotion –

I went to one of my favourite sims with the plan to take a picture, and eventually photoshop it into a painting, to have displayed on my digital fireplace. So why not make a picture just because.

As it is common knowledge, the victorian times were a restrictive society in the surface, yet things are always more complex. The Lenguaje of Flowers was a kind of dictionary of what flowers meant, in order to say what was badly seen with words or could not be done so easily, such as a declaration of love or an insult.*

Apparently for the victorians the hydrangeas were a symbol of dispassion and were given to heartless person, so if you were given this flower, you were in trouble. The Hydrangeas change color when the ph of the soil is too alkaline, turning from blue to pink, so they were meant for someone voluble.

In Japan it seems they have a bad note too, yet they also have a beautiful meaning, as it stands for silent devotion**.

So on this note, blueberrys stand for eternal optimism, raspberrys for matters of the heart, and the camellias for devotion, gratitude and spiritual growth. So all in all we have a beautiful story here…only waiting to be told.

* https://archive.org/details/languageofflower00gree/page/10

* http://blog.alientimes.org/2011/06/hydrangea-ajisai-%E7%B4%AB%E9%99%BD%E8%8A%B1-in-japanese-history-and-culture-revisited/

Hair pice by lode and kimono by Zenith.

Here is the LM if someone wants to take a stroll:

http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Ahiru/56/42/2502