Fantastical, Adventurous, Necromantic, Tenuous, Alternative, Spiritual, Yearning
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Baby D Let Me Be Your Fantasy
Unless I’m living in cloud cuckoo land, I’d say I’m right to assume that every last one of us likes a nice bit of fantasy once in a while. Granted, this is to varying degrees, as attested to the leagues of cosplayers worldwide who act out their pent-up fantasies openly at exhibitions and those who love nothing more than a table-top skirmish on Dungeons & Dragons. Meanwhile, others take part in medieval jousts and have a secret draw full of elven ear enhancements. I adore that, while it may not be for me personally, I can recognize the appeal and say go for it. Why the devil not? I’m sure World of Warcraft is an all-encompassing delight, which is probably why I distance myself from it. You see, I once racked up a four-figured internet bill on Phantasy Star Online on the Dreamcast back in the days when internet usage came at a cost so I have felt that sting in the wallet already thank you very much and therefore choose other hang-outs for my OCD to inhabit. But I do get it.
For others, dowdy attire is merely a mask and those whips, chains and rubber gimp masks are reserved for when behind closed doors with any sexual leanings explored in private. Aside from which, most lovemaking couples eventually relax to the point when fantasy becomes a logical advancement. Anyone citing they don’t care for fantasy is either repressed in the extreme or full of pixie shit. We all fantasize, some more than others sure, but our minds are complex pieces of kit and possess many hidden crawlspaces for when the sheen of everyday existence begins to dull.
Each fantasy is different but there are constants within these dreamscapes. Sexual fantasies allow us to act out those hidden desires in the sanctuary of our own minds and without fear of judgement. Recurring themes are prevalent for some; while others’ passions transmogrify with each lucid imagining. Nothing is forbidden when yearned for in our own subconscious and the only boundaries that exists are those of our own imaginations.
I always did have a very vivid imagination; from a very young age I crafted these safe havens and this only heightened once my hormones began to kick in. I exercised my divine right to slip out of reality often, daydreaming of these lurid infatuations at every available opportunity and neglecting my curriculum at school. Reality was never enough for me, which is probably why I slipped away habitually and also the reason for me dropping acid.
That first trip allowed me to fuse fantasy with palpable reality and concoct the most effervescent of landscapes. Stark coloration with tinges of fluorescent, exaggerated shapes and outlandish hallucinations all played their part and the darkest recesses of my mind were accessed. Alas, that first trip can never be repeated and, over time, my mind became accustomed to their intensity and eventually they lost appeal. I don’t regret my actions as they enabled me to free my mind for the first time and deepened my perspective exclusively.
I probably killed off a lot of neurons in the process but, still now, I glance back with rose-colored spectacles. When undergoing therapy for the first time I was informed of a smile appearing any time I talked about my history of drug use. My oracle deduced that I romanticized these times and she was bang on the money. You see, a normal existence has never really felt like sufficient to me. Don’t get it twisted, I wouldn’t swap it in a second for a world where fire-breathing dragons are used as transportation or anything that bizarre. But I do kind of like believing they’re out there should I need to hitch a ride.
I simply want to believe; and if life is getting me down, I like the concept of having somewhere I can escape into on my own terms. Some see that as an unhealthy detachment to reality, I prefer to look at it as a coping mechanism. Study the facts; my mind is a most colorful place, filled with otherworldly distractions. It’s how I constantly come up with fresh ideas; a perpetual font of the fantastical if you like. When life is kicking my ass to the curb and pummeling me with low blows, I have a place where nobody can hurt me. Is it detachment? Yes, I suppose it is. But I always ultimately end up back in reality.
For whatever reason my sub-conscious is a little different from the norm. More to the point, I access it in a different way to most. I’m not suggesting it’s the correct procedure to take but, for me, it works. It has aided in my dealing when times are challenging, I’m a simple man with simple needs and I have no wish to hurt anyone. When I do choose to access this stronghold of fantasy, it sets me on an even keel once more and I can return to my transience more prepared. That’s just me.
I always wanted to believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Moreover, I wish for my boy to trust in such for as long as possible. Not that I wish him to use my methods of dealing but I believe children often grow up way too fast. I want him to have his innocence for as long as humanly, not be swallowed up by cynicism and discord like so many. Of course there is a balance, I’m not proposing the cotton wool procedure, but I do desire for him to get lost in himself on occasion and explore his mind, rather than denying its existence.
As for me? I’m safe in my madness, if that’s how some wish to label it. Nobody is harmed, at least not intentionally but many view it as being this malignant pursuit. How wrong can they be? In my fantasy word there is no pain and suffering, only peaceful sanctuary which stretches as far as the eye can see. I’m not intentionally removing myself from society; but it does provide me a safety net. Right now, I’m sitting on my laptop in the open air, nobody for miles and civilization just a distant hum. It’s still there; when I shut down and stroll back into my ‘normal’ life, I will be rejuvenated, able to deal with the typhoon of bullshit which seems to swirl around my head with constancy at present.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering whether there are pixies in my safe place. If they wish to exist here then i certainly won’t be blocking their entrance. That’s not to say I entertain the little rascals, they go about their business and I mine. Besides they’re pickpocketing little fuckers. But if they want to come and co-exist here I won’t deny their access. Unicorns are a myth right? Are they? I rode into the Forest of Avalon on one only this morning as I searched for the six keys of Ganesha. You see where I’m going with this?
My fantasies are for me. I’m no dream crasher and have no intention of taking a dump in somebody else’s clearing. I only wish to bathe in these crimson waters, replenish my supplies, build fatigue and be back for dinner. Instead, I’m persecuted by loved ones for my so-called detachment. This is how I deal. If you cannot gain clarity in an everyday existence and have to rely always on others’ grasping of your mindset, then you open yourself up for disappointment. Don’t get me wrong, that may sound at odds with my belief that we should all trust openly. I’m contradicting right?
Not true, it’s just my way. I have been in the midst of grieving only recently, not crying into a handkerchief, just hurting with constancy. The instances when I’ve been in solitude, are examples of times when I’m afforded some down-time. When I return to normality I’ve felt invigorated but have been chastised the very second I return which consequently makes fantasy just the more appealing. Leave me alone to cope, understand right now that I’ve needed to be selfish and please myself as the pain has too great to face all at once.
I actually learn from myself you know? This is some kicker; when I scribe I don’t really have any concept of where I’m heading as the Crimson Quill takes over. It really is that ethereal, as though a ghost writer exists within my own sub-conscious but I’m not schizophrenic. I read my own work more than anyone else, and the reason is that I read shit that I wasn’t even aware I knew. I shit you never. That’s when you know only too well that you’re not destined to be caged like an animal and taken away from captivity.
Just let me exist. Right now, at this juncture, it’s something I have jurisdiction over. I’m not a control freak but I have spent my mortality relinquishing the reigns of my own existence. I’ve been kicked swiftly, toe nestling beneath both of my testicles and sending a searing pain directly to my gut. Rather than continuing to recoil in agony, I am going to a place where said nuts can rest up, feel the low tide splashing up over them and healing my traumatized cock brains.
I’ll come back, I promise. I would never leave reality behind. My three year-old boy lives there and he gives me the joy in my heart I crave. But for now, I have only wanted to sit under this magical tree, soak in those lambent rays and heal a little. Don’t fret, I haven’t been alone. The Grueheads have all been present and correct, they know and love my soul (and I theirs). This is my unassailable fortress; only it isn’t tucked away out of reach to all, it’s outside and accessible to all who choose to traverse. We’re in direct sunlight so we’re getting our vitamins, and we have supplies for in case we need to nourish.
Don’t worry about us, we’re doing just fine here. If you checked your mail then you’d see a potpourri of postcards from the Keeper of the Crimson Quill, each one elaborating on my experiences within these rivers. Believe it or not, my grasp on reality has never been tighter. That may not seem the case but I have no inclination to languish within my own ‘madness’. It’s just sadness, everyone suffers in some way, and for me, this is it. I’ve felt happier than ever before in the ‘fantasy’ we have crafted here at Rivers of Grue. I’m not like your average Joe or Bob, but do you know what? I ain’t harming anyone. Anyone who believes otherwise or blames it for their own injustices are in their own fantasy world. I only wish to spread a little love, make something positive from the fragmented shards of my life and leave a legacy for my son. As long as I can do so, then that’s one fantasy fulfilled right there.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013