the moon's first lover, and other tales
for the past number of months, i have been collecting and creating work for my first book. a story book, a collection of tales, that is written, photographed, illustrated, printed, bound, and embellished by myself. it features stories behind my photographs that i have never released in full, and acts, in part, as a retrospect into the work i have created prior to turning twenty. it is one of a kind, ready for exhibition; my spell book.
when lavender was a young girl, she said many dirty words. her mother held her jaw open wide and forced a hatching songbird behind her teeth, down her throat.
as lavender grew, the songbird grew. every choking word, now a sweet song.
at nighttime the bird made a nest of dried webs in lavender’s lungs, and she coughed and writher in her sweat soaked sheets. lavender had not slept for many years.
the webs from her lungs grew out of her skin like blossom; first they tied her wrists together, then her ankles, finally her eyelids. still, she did not sleep.
the songbird grew a family, and the webbed girl shrieked behind their song.
sever: my heart from your arms. dear one, let me be a tumour on your wing, a feasting cancer.
the hares are lulling me in an orchestra of shrieks. lover will not let me float; only drown, only drown my seaweed skin under his hands.
tou turn my veins to coral; and, as sleeping moths do, they become dust.
pretty little creature, don’t you step on the cracks. your noose is made from willow, melting softly into wax.
under water; under you.
dear Violet, daughter, lying disjointed in the brambles; i hope that your purpose skin was painted onto you. flora, as you gorge your moist tongue upon blackberries. fauna use your starlight skin for warmth, digging twigs underneath your fingernails to keep your arms standing, (insects use them as bridges as they crawl from dandelion to dandelion). so long, and farewell.
demure little river girl dreams elixirs of blood; bones melting softly into the mud.
i am drowning into you, lovelight.
wandering blossom breaks from her roots, crow holds crow, a rape by the lake; pussy willow, sunflowers braiding, kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate.
bluebird awakes blinded, brushed with cobwebs like drowning in water.
spirit peaks as bluebird’s bones, for bluebird is filled with nightmares that grow on her flesh like tumours, (‘i searched for the cure, with a witch, in the south, but found the answers hiding in your mouth’). bluebird only sees shadows, but sometimes by moon would dance for him in his darkness.
one night, spirit (crow) became too tired to peck at bluebird’s nightmares any longer, and so the dreams engorged themselves on his organs.
they burst through his ribs, through his skin, through his feathers. Swarming insects, they destroyed the night sky.
bluebird bites lover’s heart, lover bites his tongue.
the sky people had their homes interwoven into their skulls. a castle blacker from the crow king’s feathers, a treehouse built in an ancient oak, butterfly for an eye. oil and bark protruding from bone.
sir, please do not watch the birds as they weep, you are the reason i can not sleep.
'i can give you majesty', and he stitched a rusted crown to the swan's bleeding scalp.
by katie eleanor