The Illusionist Keep

Find my illusion and materialise it. Find the mind and make thoughts words. Take the words and make them images. Give the images to be made into illusion.

Walking through the forest of ideas, I see a platypus cat dozing on a branch, it's the colour of the branch itself. My eyes linger longer, leaving surroundings blank. Vision crawls up the thick, uneven rigs of the tree's deep skin. From a knot in the tree emerges a swarm of giant transparent ants which disappear just as quickly into a deep crater in the bark. I look up until I can't swallow. In the distant crown, a tower emerges from the tree. 

The tree is the illusion. 

There's a rope hanging from the top, I can't see from where, but I climb it. 

Remember, everything is an illusion. 

When I think of my arms getting tired, my arms get tired because I thought of it. They had not been tired, but they became tired when I turned into being the thought of tiredness. 

I climb to the top steadily, rhythmically, calculating. A secluded yard awaits me, the flat, wide surface a filled crown with a cottage emerging from the middle of the stony tree. The door is bark, the flowers are weed, and the water pond green. 
I must not waver. I must be steadfast. I must be focused. I must envision the details exactly for them to keep existing. It is up to me to solidify illusion. 

When I open the door, the interior is pristine. A big open plan kitchen, inbuilt wooden shelves with books neatly shelved everywhere. Two working rooms facing each other with a toilet room in between. Two large king size bedrooms with inbuilt mirror wardrobes, one is a guest room. The floor shows the smooth solid wood circles of the interior of the tree, the walls are grey stone covered in polished bark shelves for books. 

It is not an illusion, I recite, it is real. This is my tree house, that is the gold inked brown leather covered book on the dark, polished tree bark shelf attached to the stone wall. That is my solid skin matted with hair, heat rosy skin surfacing the pump of blood and heart, and muscle, and eyelashes above the film of my eyes. That is the air I breathe, the tree floor which upholds against the surface of my sole.

My hand itches and I turn my palm up into view. Blue ink etches into the skin, blurring pigments into its wrinkles. "You may keep your reality if your fall towards humanity amuses me." 

Oh, what a cheat the illusionist is. To fall towards humanity is to fall towards the ground. It's death, and after death nothing would need to be given. 

So how do I cheat death?

I run and jump off the tower, focusing on flying. I fall towards the earth, I fall past a giant transparent ant so fast her antlers swish in the created wind. The lazy platypus cat lifts her head from the bark to gaze at my falling. I greet her politely, then I focus again.

Everything is an illusion. To cheat death I must let go of my reality. I must let go of materiality. I must let go of words describing my illusion. I must remember illusion, and create reality to suit me anew.


It's merely a little tree and I've jumped down a metre, landing on my feet on soft grass swaying in the breeze. I've fallen to humanity, it had amused her. I cheated death, and so the reality of my illusionist thoughts I was given the permission to keep, materialise into words, an image, for you to turn into your own illusion.

I bow towards illusion, and walk upon earth again.

The Island of Something

On the way to the Great Underground Library of the Desert She stopped on an a little island, no more than a sloped square hill poking out of the ocean. Covered in shrubs and plants from flora and fauna which should not get along, She sat down at its highest point and stroked Her furry ears until Her purred. The purring got louder and She realised that it wasn't her kitten who was purring, it was the island that was rumbling and rustling mildly. She argued whether she was exhausted enough to ignore the rumbling or cautious enough to get up, run and hold on to the sail for the many more hours it would take to get to the shore of the Great Underground Library of the Desert.

She crawled deeper into the sand and attempted to resume stroking Her, who would not be amenable and climbed onto She's chest to be as far away from the ground as possible. Her's continuous hissing at the occasional rumble eventually irritated She out of her dozing state and She grumbled about having to wake up after all. She sat up abruptly, Her meowing in protest at Her servant's unruly behaviour. And just as She was trying to tangle Her claws out of her fabric, she saw Something.

Something was staring at them. A long neck was winding out of a bush with greedy round eyes and a wrinkly, translucent yellowed cream skin with black spots and scars. A square jaw with eight chins shook with every slow, continuous chew. Between two beats of chewing the raspy, smoky voice said:

"How do you do?
I am Something, who are you?
There's a rumble underground,
You should not be earthbound,

She screamed and ran the twenty paces to the edge of the island. "Not the right place for a panic run," She remarked out loud and walked back sheepishly.
"Hello, Something. I'm She and the kitten who... was... just with me is Her. We're resting, but we'll be out of your hair in no time. I just need to find Her, hold on. Not like there are many places to hide on this tiny square island." She looked around.
"You are much mistaken," Something said slowly. "Search for Her. I'll wait. The rumble will only increase, it is good of you to stay."
"There's an earthquake at the Great Underground Library again? How do you even know that?" She asked while searching under the palm leaves and rose blossoms in the vicinity.
Something chewed slowly, wide eyes staring, never blinking. She felt awkward. Not wanting to ask again, she took her map from out of her knee high sock and unfurled it to ascertain the strength of the earthquake with the information She had. The information She got instead was that the island did not exist.

Click. Oh!

Something itself was grumbling, rasping, fluttering. It was a growling stomach. The island itself was trying to get Her to stay, She to look for Her and to stay, too. Something was hungry, She and Her the next meal. She had to fly, fly quickly - but not without Her. Crawling through the surprisingly deep bushes and shrubs, She called out for Her.

And then there Her was, jumping from out of the ground onto She's back, urging them towards the edge of the solidity.
"I crawled into Something's dried ink sewer veins where I discovered the leathery spine and a mouldy, flaking skin of paper. Fly, servant!"
She stomped into the ground, through the shrub, through a thin layer or sandy soil until She hit Something solid and sticky from which she could launch Her and herself into flying. A letter g got stuck to her shoe, stretching in its attempt to glue materialism to letters, but She shook the sticky g off and watched it flutter into a tangle of shrub leaves.

Something wailed brokenly and snapped at them in the sky, catching only the lock of fur hair Her shed in shock. She looked back down, the leathery covers of the carnivorous Book island engulfing its new material, re-tasting Something and shrubs.

She and Her had been this close to being bound. A metallic sky lurked and creaked on the horizon in muted clouds. They got away.

Or did they?

What LL Wore: One year of selfies in a single post

I know my blog somehow turned into a travel photography blog this past year or so, but following a particular discussion on fashion bloggers I felt inclined to accumulate the every day outfit pictures I've taken on the way out of the house with simply my phone this past year. Some are just selfies out and about, but they're all fairly similar in their context.

Watch out for my sudden long hair at the end. I think it's an interesting change in style from when I was fashion blogging outfit posts regularly and had it in mind when getting ready. These are more my everyday me and more comfortable, I think. Not that what I wore wasn't me, but I experimented more, and I was more willing to not be 100% in my comfort zone for the sake of experimenting or following a concept I wanted to try out (uh, here's a compilation of images from outfit posts). That falls away when you're just getting dressed to go to the corner shop, so I think this compilation is more genuinely me now. I still love dresses and now that it's warm outside, I'm wearing them. But the warmth doesn't last, and I'm fond of bow ties and jumpers and feet that don't hurt.