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Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Day 1487b - Astra returns

At 2pm yesterday, Astra returned, posting this wonderful (but sad) piece on FTM:

Astraea has left a new comment on your post "Day 1482 - Kunst Kunst Kunst":

Last week I fell in love. My head, over my heels, over my heart, in love. Then over my legs.

He was 27 years old. The most beautiful construct I’d ever seen, and quite possibly the most beautiful thing in the world. I was also only 27. Would you believe me, if I told you that it was the first time that it’s ever happened?
I almost definitely never tell a lie.

Then suddenly it was over, before it ever even began.
Everything shattered. My heart broken. An explosion. Incinerated. And now where once beat my heart inside of me, there is only the deafening sound of my own silence.

I listened to Francoise. I lay in the dark and closed my eyes. And she reminded me that I’ve always been alone. And that I’ll never be alone.

Always. Never. Always. Never. Always. Never. Forever. It’s all exactly the same. With lilting rhyme and with no reason, some things never have to be explained.

And then finally, I fell into sleep. When I did, I felt her hair brush my cheek. And then I knew, that this is what tenderness must be.

Another night, one night, any night - I stepped outside into the street at midnight. Wind whipped my face, from every angle, from every facet, like small glass splinters coming from all sides. Thin dress. Too thin to be battered like this. I saw dark cars slow as they passed to look at me. No faces. Only darkened windows, to match the blackness of the night sky. Where are my stars, tonight?

Two identical kittens, just two empty little sacks of nothing more than thin skin and small, delicate bones, smaller than my thinnest finger, were in the middle of a still very busy road. Playing together with the exalted, naïve, beautiful happiness that only those who are truly free, have ever, or will ever know.

Playing together and with one another, and with a dirty mound of ash and used cigarette ends that the wind had swept into one single big pile in the gutter, as though the city’s mother, beleaguered but loving, had come at the end of the day to sweep up after her vagabond urchin tearaways. Love is blind.

I called to the kittens and with big saucer eyes and the sweetest of all whiskers, they looked at me, and came. Inquisitive, precocious, brave. And those beautiful, trusting, loving, innocent eyes. Drowning in their turquoise.
But don’t ever look away. Because then it stops. It all ends. And the clock starts to tick tock, tick tock, click clock, click clock again.

Time only stops for as long as you hold a gaze.

I picked the kittens up, and with one in each hand and under each of my arms, we looked and saw a restaurant across the street with flickering lights and a somewhat magical outside garden. Empty.
Romance lurking in the shadows, but it didn’t look like anyone found her there that night.

We went inside together. The waiters were completely disinterested, and then equally assured me, in broken English that could break no further, that the kittens were theirs.

I pretended to believe them. Something I’ve been known to do on occasion, more than just once or twice. It’s the easiest exit from any conversation when I’ve already disengaged, and in my mind, walked away.

I asked them not to make soup out of them. And then went back outside into the night, alone.

Gentleness only exists if you know where to look. Usually, in the dark.

And if you want a bit more, well, that’s always there too.

There is no difference at all in between any yesterday, and any tomorrow. They are exactly the same. And this is because neither one exists, anywhere, in any dimension or in capacity at all.

In the ether of every yesterday, with lilting rhyme, and with no reason,


Posted by Astraea to Following The Mozziah at 6 October 2015 at 14:00

It has been a busy last couple of days on Twitter, and yesterday at 11pm, Astra arrived to join in with the fun. She stayed until 1am. Here are her highlights:

Throw my bones all over the stones
I'm only a go-go dancer who nobody owns

For lovers, here I am again, here I go again. I was most likely never there at all.

For those whom I care about more, I always be right here. Just out of reach.

Once a poetess, twice the writer, three times the heart that's never to be touched. Four times says now it's time for me to go.

Astra also appeared briefly for a period today, leaving at 4pm, and mainly posting pictures of Françoise's legs:

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My blog stats reveal that FTM is no longer receiving any hits from Switzerland, but the hits from Italy have risen. Tonight Morrissey plays Naples.

And finally, the Solow user Vegan.cro has posted a piece on Solow regarding List of the Lost being No.3 in the UK Chart. Vegan.cro has used the photo I took (which features my slippers!) that I posted on my blog yesterday. If I didn't know better, I would say that this Vegan.cro character, who has been giving Uncle Skanky the run around of late, is none other than....... oh, my delusions!


  1. oh whiskers they look like old blokes slippers, poor astra, that my dear is coming across as quite sad, some might say troubled, a big hug for you tonight xx

  2. just read the Croatian review by Moz, his answer to his book is indeed very Virginia Woolf

  3. Overwhelmingly beautiful, tender poetry from Astra. The words are truly captivating .
    In a world where I so often feel lost & lonely my heart is touched at the deepest level.
    "And then finally, I fell into sleep. When I did, I felt her hair brush my cheek. And then I knew, that this is what tenderness must be". So real, so sad, & it reaches out to me in ways I find hard to describe in words.
    I want to hug this forever.
    Thank you Astra, with my heart & love.

  4. This comment has been removed by the author.

  5. Star Maiden, I was overjoyed to see you back with us. After reading your lovely piece, I am extremely heavyhearted in discovering what happened during your absence. That was so beautifully written and the emotions it touches are indescribable. You have an aura that is so very ethereal, light and delicate, with traces of irony, satire, melancholy and metaphor. You are a treasure, gem, jewel to all of us. It is of great comfort to know you are here (even when you're not). I always have you in my heart (sometimes it skips a beat when I think of you) and I know all of us adore you, lovely lady.
    Love and devoirs,

  6. Since I already thanked Astra for her exquisite piece of writing in the earlier post, I can only echo what Ears and Harrison have expressed so well. Thank you, Astra, for speaking to our hearts in a way that no one else can and for gracing us with your luminous presence. It means the world to me.

  7. Never mind about the slippers.. Stop buying The Times. Remember.. Rupert Murdoch is bad news.

    1. Mrs Whiskers got it free from Waitrose! Stop supporting Manchester City. Remember.. the owner, Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan, is the Deputy Prime Minister of the United Arab Emirates, who amongst other barbaric atrocities, put people to death for being homosexual. Why aren't all Manchester City supporters demanding he has nothing to do with their club? Oh yes, because his vast wealth brings success.

  8. 3 Years ago today- Happy Blue Rose Day.

  9. Astra can never leave us for long.


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