Brambling's Blue

II

The Bramble is a net in which you are pushed down, down past the stems, past the roots, into something entirely make belief. That’s what it is. Belief making. Storytelling, but not so much telling as there is no audience, although you are not entirely alone up there, are you? I mean, Lotus you are up there with Her so there is someone or something that this belief making is for, or there is something up there that orchestrates it, but it is something entirely made. It is created from dry, rotted, possibly angry, I get an angry cloud from it, set of roots that come from somewhere you don’t See. Don’t you See? Entire cosmos underneath the eye. They brim and babble, and enhance, that’s it Flower, it enhances, flowing power, fucking flower power, peace and love you know, I suppose it promotes some kind of outward emission of peace but remember Lotus, the Bramble does not love, but you love it, She loves it, she Brambles for the power of the flow, flow, flow. The Bramble keeps what’s dead is dead, but it offers protection. For them, and for buried friends. Is it to appear busy, this artmaking? This over-hanging swell, this beautiful cage, smelling of burnt acacia, what is it all for: Echoes of makers before chime with the same question. To appear busy, to battle the echoing, echoing that is slow, slow, thick, thick silence. It is only wanted in a state of Blueness, in a bubble of Nothing, of No Time, those moments when nothing is everything. But when are you ever calm? The calmness comes from the Bramble, Lotus Flower, Egyptian or other. Sacredness comes from acacia. Almost religious. You know it’s dark in there, the body. The shell’s warmth comes from darkness. I need more words, I need more space, I need something new. The Bramble flits between, doesn’t it? It chooses of its own creation (Her creation) and don’t forget the music either. You cannot forget the sounds of music. Where would anything be without music? What would be the sound of existence? Lotus, what is your favourite sound? Lotus, do you hear anything? Lotus, Lotus, do you anything? Do you do you do you? Are you a Lotus Flower? Or what is it that I speak to? Write to. Where were we, Lotus? I get awfully off track sometimes. They change, you See? Flitting in between dimensions like a sojourning little clown. Which circus would you go to? For some reason they’re all flawed. Lotus, is that you? Is this your little jesting act? She can have worlds but almost none of the glassy, sewed-to-the-seems type of dimensions clutched her roots like Ours did. Do you hear the glass sometimes, Lotus? What do they say? Could you even tell Me if you cannot See? The glass did things to us? What do you mean, little flower? Insects are nibbling you; I see. There is no reason for the Bramble, there is a million reasons for the Bramble, there are none you can touch, there are none you should fear. Not anymore, Lotus lily, because of the roots. Roots. Roots. Moving up and down. Roots. The thick, thick, slow, slow roots. It is unapologetic, don’t you remember? It is all there is, nod if you understand Her. Some don’t suppose that She is capital, but I’ll tell you one thing. There are Greats that came from webs such as these. Totally capital. You’ve got to spin them on your attic, and you have only minutes before the water flows in, thick, thick, Blue, Blue. Blueness like we’ve spoke of, Blue, printed on your papyri. Will you alter my mind, dear Lotus friend? I would like you to alter my mind. I would like to entomb it, paint Blue on the rock as I float in my Brambles and forget what dreams tasted like as a child. Free me, Bramble, but don’t encase me in the Glass of Blue birds sing from black wire. Free me, Bramble, take it From Me, some of us dreamers flitter from punctured belfry. it apologetically, Lotus, it is apologetically.