Crowe's intro.
Feb. 16th, 2006 06:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
crowe-basalt.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
animal_quillshi. i first want to apologize about my lack of capitalization. something i picked up when i was in high school- thought i was e. e. cummings or something and it's a nasty habit to break. anyways...
i'm Crowe Basalt. some of you know me, some don't. either or- hello. i am crow and that right now is the only definite i can give you in my life. i am kind-of-female-kind-of-not and there's so much more but for now... let's start with a letter. a letter i wrote to my bird-self a while back over on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
as_it_were. enjoy.
dear Crow...
how do i begin? you weren't even there in the beginning, you disguised yourself as so many others. why? why did you seem to take so long to let me know you were you, not the wolf, not the fox, and, thankfully, not the snow leopard i so desperately wished to be when i was 15.
always the shape shifter, you keep yourself in the back of my head. i knew you were there, but not who your were. driving down the highway... "look, dead thing!"... or just walking along the road... "oooh! shiney thing!" even in my day to day life, allowing me to see what was beyond this world. allowing me to talk with departed family in crazy, Alice in Wonderland-esque dreams where you'd always sit, unblinking, in the background while the human rational part of me tried to make sense of what exactly was going on.
you are not, like most of your corvid kin, subtle. your lessons always hit me with the tenderness of a bag of bricks. when you have something for me to learn, or warnings, you do not whisper it to me carefully, you scream it in my ear.
everywhere i went, you. flying alongside, a memory when i was 19... "dad? where there always this many crows around here?" my father: "i think so." you seemed infinite. so many. so black.
when i was in the hospital for attempted suicide, that's when you made yourself part of me by being there. no one visited. you did. those hours where we were allowed outside, i saw your messengers. i saw you in my dreams, laughing that raspy smoker's laugh, no matter how many pills the filled me with. you were unstoppable, and you helped me FIGHT. i pulled myself out of my funk because we were now one and the same. you cannot keep a crow locked up. you cannot keep a Crowe locked up as well.
we are now One. and although i do not agree with many of your views, nor you mine (i really do NOT like tuna and sardines, but i refuse to eat rotting meat, and i know you do not like the medicines.) we are in this together now.
a murder of two, black against a field of snow. nothing can stop us now.
_Crowe
i'm Crowe Basalt. some of you know me, some don't. either or- hello. i am crow and that right now is the only definite i can give you in my life. i am kind-of-female-kind-of-not and there's so much more but for now... let's start with a letter. a letter i wrote to my bird-self a while back over on
as_it_were. enjoy.dear Crow...
how do i begin? you weren't even there in the beginning, you disguised yourself as so many others. why? why did you seem to take so long to let me know you were you, not the wolf, not the fox, and, thankfully, not the snow leopard i so desperately wished to be when i was 15.
always the shape shifter, you keep yourself in the back of my head. i knew you were there, but not who your were. driving down the highway... "look, dead thing!"... or just walking along the road... "oooh! shiney thing!" even in my day to day life, allowing me to see what was beyond this world. allowing me to talk with departed family in crazy, Alice in Wonderland-esque dreams where you'd always sit, unblinking, in the background while the human rational part of me tried to make sense of what exactly was going on.
you are not, like most of your corvid kin, subtle. your lessons always hit me with the tenderness of a bag of bricks. when you have something for me to learn, or warnings, you do not whisper it to me carefully, you scream it in my ear.
everywhere i went, you. flying alongside, a memory when i was 19... "dad? where there always this many crows around here?" my father: "i think so." you seemed infinite. so many. so black.
when i was in the hospital for attempted suicide, that's when you made yourself part of me by being there. no one visited. you did. those hours where we were allowed outside, i saw your messengers. i saw you in my dreams, laughing that raspy smoker's laugh, no matter how many pills the filled me with. you were unstoppable, and you helped me FIGHT. i pulled myself out of my funk because we were now one and the same. you cannot keep a crow locked up. you cannot keep a Crowe locked up as well.
we are now One. and although i do not agree with many of your views, nor you mine (i really do NOT like tuna and sardines, but i refuse to eat rotting meat, and i know you do not like the medicines.) we are in this together now.
a murder of two, black against a field of snow. nothing can stop us now.
_Crowe
