today the berlin gray fell, a felt blanket over exhausted-still-desire-to-fuck-and-hold body. upsidogi is deep in a ritual. a pigment-aroma-sun ritual. upsidogi does not know what will happen. has no idea the way the leaves will move with the breeze and the way the light will flicker-fly through, but she knows it will fill-her-with-awe-cry-up.
upsidogi had a plan to have ink pushed into her skin tomorrow. it was officially a plan in ali's black-calender-book. it dissolved with life-water dripping on the pile-of-sugar-plans. but as upsidogi trust-trust-dances-plays with sound-smoke-smell. as she passes a mirror she remembers how yesterday as she was together-strong-peace-dancing in the black hole. she floated alongside the idea of dyeing. dyeing her body with plant pigment. and cutting-healing-growing miniscule-pink-mountain-ranges on her skin. she does not know how to do that, how to cut her skin. and her body is her tool. as upsidogi grows-shinks-older she begins to understand how she must not harm her tool, how she must nurture it so it may serve her. upsidogi does know how to dye. this is something stephie gifted upsidogi. today upsidogi's rituals expand as knowledge-ripples return to meet her body and again continue on away as upsidogi dyes her skin with plants, as she dances with nature in a new way, as she returns to her own body and it answers with, me, i am your surface, i am your tool, i am your art, i am your strength, i am your beauty, i am your vessel for and in this moment.
we got this.
upsidogi remember-knows how she learned in the room full of wood and twined wool, upsidogi remembers the smell of cotton and wool when it fills a room. upsidogi remembers how she learned there of the indigo dyers. how their hands are black-blue always. how this is their mark of choice on their bodies always. she remembers the hands she drew when she was teenager-stephie, two hands with woolen gloves holding a fish. and she remembers that she gave this drawing to k's mother. <Feb 24 XIV ∆K> she remembers that k's mother has many drawings which stephie gave her. she wonders if k's mother hung them on her walls of her new home. her new home outside of berlin where she must-can-afford to live. she wonders if k's mother has hate or love for her. upsidogi is scared. she knows she must trust-trust. she turns to her fear and looks into the corner-caves.
we got this.
upsidogi remembers-knows how she found another of her scales in the black hole these last days. how she adorned her cunt. how she spiraled-focused-energy-nurturing down her body to the base of her spine-ass-cunt. she wore her warrior-wizard-yoke. she is upside∆down∆girl and knows where the center of her together-strong-peace is.
we got this. upsidogi is deep in a ritual. in a clearing in the ancient-jungle-dense-mind. she is close to, but not feeling the high of fear-anger-hate. upsidogi learns fast but upsidogi is new at this. she knows the together-strong-peace-dance with herself, still she slips out of the dance. she falls out of orbit, her own orbit. she is a falling dreidel when she chooses to do the fear-anger-hate-dance. it is a choice. matter how strong the high feels-is, no matter how addicted she is to the fear-hate-dance, she knows she must-can choose the together-strong-peace-dance.
upsidogi ripped off a scale and stomped on it. stomped on a part of herself. she chose anger. she chose to hate them and hate herself and she road the spooked stallion as it pitched toward the edge. she rode it and felt the freedom of giving up. of no effort. the freedom of ease. she raged and threw a jar of black paint at the wood-white-acute-angle-corner. she threw her demons onto the wall. and now she tries to scrub her demons from the white wall before her, and she knows they will never be clean. they will never close their mouths forever. they will never close the open palm, warm and waiting, and turn away, walk away. she looks at them, at her demons immortality. she looks them in the eye. she promises to stop trying to suffocate them. she promises to recognize their existence in the space between her organs. their slithering body searching for warm-wet-caves. and she asks them to join her. she holds out an open palm, warm and waiting, offers peace, offers them to join the together-strong-peace-dance. we both need each other, lips cracked-white-wording.
upsidogi is deep in a ritual. she sees-feels-knows now how she was standing in a fog of fear-anger-hate. she spoke and believed love but did not feel it where the warm-wet-demons were bulging-full-bellied-always-eating.
upsidogi remembers-knows two days ago, as upsidogi sat crying in her fog-fear-hate, how a voice and a hand turned toward her open-palm-warm-waiting. how she accepted. she looked in stranger-human-eyes and trusted. upsidogi sees-feels-knows only now, this is the drop. she is the drop in doing the together-strong-peace-dance with-for herself. and they are the drop as she and humans do for the first time, and over and over again, always choosing with every single coming together, the together-strong-peace-dance.
we got this.
the ravens caw and the echo caws. upsidogi accepts help from her tribe. so she can do the together-strong-peace-dance-inward-outward-exist-in-choose peace. upsidogi offers help to her tribe so they can do the together-strong-peace-dance-inward-outward-exist-in-choose-peace
the raven caws and the echo caws. upsidogi invites stych on a ritual-journey-dance. upsidogi is deep in a ritual. a dance-whisper-light ritual. a sun ritual.