The Times

Even though it's suddenly cold and the the equinox seems to have reminded the trees to get fruitin' or get nekkid, the nights are not clear. I see one or two maybe three stars at a time. Last night it was Vega's turn, shining big and blue and friendly. I could just about see Altair and Deneb too, the Summer Triangle pointing south like an arrow.

I need more starlight.

Meanwhile, a place for some potted research, and another triangle.

The Wold Newton, named after the village at its centre has, at its eastern side the North Sea, running the length of the A165 coast road from Gristhorpe and Filey Brigg along to Flamborough and Bridlington. The southern side runs parallel to the old Woldgate Roman road, which heads out from Bridlington and across towards Stamford Bridge and York. This place has all sorts of paranormal/fairy stories associated with it, but it's the werewolves that capture everyone's imagination.

There's a 1960s story about a lorry driver on his way through some remote part of the triangle, glimpsing a pair of red eyes just before a “wolf-like creature” tried to smash its way through the windscreen. This story had several iterations in the area, often but not always focused on the Flixton-Bridlington Road where people would talk about seeing what looked like the headlights of a car in front, only to reveal itself as the red eyes of a wolf.

But of course, wolf eyes do not glow red in the dark. They are reflective but red? The infamous 'Old Stinker' was seen back in 2016, standing 8 feet tall with a dog in its mouth at Barmston Drain, which I don't think is near the Wold Newton Triangle, but what do I know? The moment I get to Yorkshire I keep travelling north til I reach Whitby in order to swan around in gothic lace and jet jewellery.

La Flaca came to fetch the musician.  She stepped over the threshold and he knew her straight away for her cheeks were hollow and her eye sockets were empty. 

'Come in, skinny girl,' he said. 'Make yourself at home, for I am not leaving til I finish my work. Help yourself to food if you like.' 

La Flaca looked around her in wonder. The whole shack was full of music manuscripts in rolled and crumpled sheaves piled from floor to ceiling or crammed against the windows.

'If you had food,' she observed, 'I would not be here.' He shrugged and La Flaca sat down. 'Your family will be waiting,' she said.

At that, he paused playing and flexed his hands.

'I never had a family,' he said, 'no father, no mother, no sweetheart, no children. All  that I ever had was this,' he began playing again, 'and no-one really wanted it.' 

With that the keys took his melody into the air and La Flaca sat back prepared to be patient. But the musician, who had never known another audience in all his life, did not stop. She wondered if perhaps he could not.

So she called up all who had loved him and the notes themselves came. Among them flowed the elegant, the witty, the whimsical, the loving, the tragic, each of them singular, dancing to its own creation. There was such a throng that the musician could not ignore them. His fingers stilled aghast at their beauty, and in that moment, like the rustle of rain turning into thunder, came their applause. Maestro! They cried,  cheering, bravissimo! Maestro!

Among them stood one older and sweeter than even his music, gazing at him like no other. 
Well done, came the words, I am so proud of you.

With that, the musician stood up, bowed to them all and walked into the sunlight. The crowd followed him.

A long time later he saw La Flaca again, though this time she was far from skinny. Her cheeks were full, her eyes sparkled, and her body was round with a promise he could barely believe.
 
'Who would have thought it?' He laughed, gesturing at her happy belly. 

'It is time,' she agreed, 'but not if you are still tired. Are you ready to try again?' 
 
It took him a moment but he nodded, flexing his hands once more. 

'Yes,' he said, 'this time I am going to learn to paint.'

The man did not come back but the migraine did and KO'd me for all yesterday, meaning we had to cancel last night's meet up with friends. Annoying. I woke up with the edge of it not long ago. I wish I still had some of the pills they gave me after the op, the ones they warned me not to take unless things got intense. Things did so I did. Result; I am stuck with strong but ordinary painkillers rather than stuff that will send me to the moon.

As I write now, while there is nothing happening beyond a mild ache which hopefully will go away fast. I will walk this morning if I can. The success of my diet relies on me exercising as opposed to impersonating The Death of Chatterton in my front room.



Good dream though. I met Rex Harrison, we had been working on some project, but I have no memory of it. We were walking along and he told me in a very gentlemanly way that if we continued to spend time together, he would begin to have feelings for me/had begun to have feelings for me, something like that. So we parted, and I walked back to where I was staying. It was all thoroughly autumnal, and as I went in, I saw the hallway (which seemed to be in the basement somehow) was full of bicycles parked underneath people's people's coats, but leaves had blown in from the outside, very red and beautiful. Then I realised that I had been in Vietnam (?) for three months and it was time to go. I saw my mother, we were going to eat together and were discussing how to prepare the food delicately. She had no time for Rex's behaviour though, and raised her eyebrows in disapproval when told about it.

Well, that was truly terrible.

I used to get cluster migraines with aura. Now they don't cluster, in fact they hardly come at all. I don't think I get more than 3/4 a year. But when they arrive...

Last night was one such and onset was so rapid all I could do was go to bed. The migraine went away eventually and there was a man at the end of my bed. I was awake and I was screaming, R rushed in and held me, and for a while I couldn't stop.

The man had long hair, so long in fact that it might have been some sort of Louis XIV wig, only much lighter and less voluminous. I didn't see his clothes, I barely saw him before screaming. Pfff, when I would give so much to see the spirit of our dear boy Ralik I get some 17th century random. He was raising his hand.

The ghost can't be house related, this place is less than 30 years old, half that possibly, and before that it was pastureland. I said 17th century, might have been 18th, I'd have more info if I had been able to hold back my shock. So much for that.

When I was better R went away, I told him to turn off the light because... I don't know why. The room was very cold and I kept hearing creaks. but the room wasn't so cold. I was so cold.

Then I started to burn up and I went to find R, asked him to get me a drink of water. Noticed a butterfly down in the corner close to the floor. Checked with R, it was really there. I was disturbed because how would it feed there? Wouldn't it die?

Went back to bed and dreamed now, of nuclear man and his wife, how we seemed to be in this strange strained situation where everyone was trying to act normally. Then a glimpse of the proper ex trying a combover. I laughed, cos there was no need for such effort. He was always handsome, might as well let lack of hair show off his features.

Then I woke properly with the smallest remnants of a headache but there's nothing ominous to it. Still, no caffeine today, very little screen time, and I might well have to postpone my calorie burning walk.

The butterfly was there this morning, so I moved it with some flowering mint. I placed that on a sunflower facing the outside so it can go when it wants, but it's a small tortoiseshell and they hibernate in sheltered places. How long is that for, and where can I put it that's dark enough and safe from the cleaner?



The peace symbol was entirely accidental. But it's a cute moment.

P.S. I heard a stern fluttering at the patio doors. Butterfly was awake and ready to fly off, after all that, not hibernating, just asleep. I hope its dreams were better than mine!

I did see it though, that black and silver river.

Dreams rose, seeing myself in a carriage where appeared a small Nosferatu/elven type creature. I was very prepared and basically kicked its arse right out of the carriage, but it appeared again, with a ring as a gift from its 'master.' The ring had a stone most like one of those black opals full of fire. He took forever to persuade me to take it, merely as a gift, no strings attached... but it did have a wish in it, if I ever wanted/needed.

Then I was on the silver river and the night was black above us all. All! There were loads of people, in dinghies and coracles and little boats, whole families, many with their pets (lots of dogs playing in the water) and along the banks were walkers travelling in the same direction, some pausing for a while to sit around fires, maybe eat a bit or just tell each other stories. There were so many of us, beasts and people alike, all headed in the same general direction, that I wondered if a major event had happened and we had all died. Were we on the way to Hades? If so Chiron was clearly out of a job. It made me think of the song 'Future' by Madonna, 'Not everyone is coming to the future/Not everyone is coming from the past.'*

Meanwhile, some people were not - I couldn't get it right, the picture in my head - not joining us. But the physical barrier was something like a page being turned. And I remembered the ring, realising that if I reached event horizon, the wish was still there. I could go to any point in history or space or imagination, I could reincarnate if I chose. Then for a moment, I saw the old train station at Hue and then somehow after that, the Cao Dai temple in South Vietnam.


*Remembering her performance of this at Eurovision19, it seems fair to say that that even Madame X must face this possibility.

That was a very tough weekend.

I cried a bit today, out of tiredness more than anything.

He's fine, or as fine as possible, he's gone home. I introduced him to Clarkson's Farm and Grimm, he seemed to enjoy them.

R has comforted me. But.

I'm going to take my acrylics and paint a black sky, and a broad silver river/sea beneath it. Today's sunset was so extraordinary in its gold but it hasn't stayed with me.

Maybe tomorrow. I have things to do tomorrow, quite a few of them. Still, at least I will be able to think and read, get back to myself, later maybe read and paint.

Or perhaps the black sky and silver sea will just be, untouched by my attempts to express or make something out of them.

Gosh, time to close my eyes.