abigailabbyallen

[abigailabbyallen]

[abigailabbyallen]

"Tapetum Lucidem," a.k.a. Eye-Shine...

“Tapetum Lucidem,” a.k.a. Eye-Shine…

“Tapetum Lucidem,” meaning Bright Tapestry, and otherwise refers to the phenomenon of “Eye-Shine,” which is the reflective layer that exists behind the iris of certain (mainly nocturnal? me thinks?) animals to afford them necessary night vision. Depending on the particular species of critter, this particular hue of refracted luminosity varies from pale blue, emerald green, coral pink, red,…

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#abigail allen #art #art gallery #bravery #bright tapestry #courage #dark night of the soul #drawing #emotive art #empathy #eye-shine #inner beauty #iridescence #melancholy #Mind&039;s Eye #short film #soul speak #tapetum lucidem #video #who are we

[abigailabbyallen]

oh hi there.

abby here.

"me, doing what i do best: trampsing through the forest in long effluvious dresses like some sort-of Marie Antoinette-esque faux Bohemian will-o-the-wisp-ish Nietzschian Dionysian desperate hipster. but really, i’m just me, which isn’t much of anybody…not really. Guess the joke’s on me. Good one, abby…good one."

ok ‘abby,’ so what?! who am i and what do i do and why on-earth should you care?

ok, okay. honestly, you probably shouldn’t care. but, on the freakish off-chance that somebody out-there happens to feel, even just mildly intrigued, here’s a bit (ok, a bit more than a ‘bit,’) about what makes me totally amazing…

i’d call myself an amateur dabbler of-sorts in the epic pursuit of creating something, anything that feels actually meaningful, which seems increasingly difficult to achieve in this culturally divisive, label obsessed, social media skewed, generally soul shattered and straight-up surreally apathetic zeitgeist of our current national climate circa 2017-’18.

So i guess i spend most of my time trying to figure-out how to say something that’s relevant, that at-least feels important, that speaks to people in some emotionally real or soul-stirring way, that would resonate at a frequency that could be felt and so heard by a few finely tuned ears above the din of mostly angry static.

so. what does all that make me, exactly? personally, i’d say it makes me a dreamer, of sorts (quite possibly a delusional one, but still) a dilletante, an idealist, a bit of an agoraphobic hermit, and, once again: a dabbler in the arty-ish-esque pursuit of the visual, creative, and i hope one-day truly meaningful sort, mainly involving drawing, photography, and mixed-media manual mashups of the two.

i like art that shows its fingerprints; some lingering trace of the soul who created it (this “trace” would smell of pine needles, preferably. Or of a match, right-after after its been struck).

i love the way art can often bridge the gap of pleasantries and personna and politeness, to meet at a point where two souls can just sit quietly and reach an intuitive understanding. Whatever this is, this Soul Speak (so-to-speak. ha..)

“i call this creature ‘the Being of Unbearable Lightness’…a winged yet tragically flightless creature typically seen fetally perched amidst the words or glimpsed wandering deeper in the subtext between, the lines of Milan Kundera’s ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” deep in the midst of an existential crisis, paralyzed by life’s seeming lack of meaning, held forever in-place by the great burden of being, and all of life’s just barely endurable beauty and hoping all fraught with subsurface knowing that it is all ever so fleeting- so we’re left half in awe half overwhelmed by the weight of these feelings of being alive and awake to our own fear and trembling, by the simple sound of our own heart’s beating, the sigh of our unspread wings impatiently heaving…. such unbearable weights both the beauty and sorrows of life can become , by such undeserved and immeasurable freedom, our brightness, our lightness our weightless capacity to rise-up in flight, it’s a light that, taken lightly- can both inspire and ignite us, but stared at directly with wide-eyed intensity, it becomes a dark sort of brightness- the kind that will bind us and blind us to the wings we have enfolded behind us, unseen afixed to our backs, and to that which has taken our sight and is holding us back; our capacity for flight kept just out of sight and beyond the brink of our wildest dreaming, and life instead becomes a picture of some living thing captured, a winged being whose chest is still heaving, whose heart is still audibly beating, emanating still a waning sort of fading light, living paralyzed inside a picture framed-in perfect still-life.”

anyway, i just think it is utterly crucial to the honesty and depth of empathy we seek to express and receive in this all-too-human exchange of hearts that beat just beneath the pristine surface in the ancient language that is the secret to all art–

something ancient, forgotten but infinitely innate hidden wisdom that’s held deep beneath the surface of mind, in the depths of every human soul, lost beneath layers of dreams upon blackness upon nightmares upon imaginings upon shadow-figures’ outlines traced in ghost-chalk, held beneath layer after layer of our heart’s bottomless, untamed and unknowable darkness.

and even-though i think We’ve mostly lost touch with-it, there is, every so often for just a little while, that unmistakably “other” sort of silence, that draws-forth our tentative visions from beneath the shadowy-netherrealms of our subconscious, and into the illuminated theatre of our mind’s interior.

Art has the capacity to capture and translate what we can only glimpse or guess-at through our mind’s eye, which is all one very long-winded way of looking at it. Mainly this was just me at my worst: being wordy and tangential in-attempts to sound extremely intelligent. My hoity-toity Stream-of-Unconscious-Gobiligook.

… my somewhat obscure/obscured Point-being: it’s all a matter of how you see things, and what you feel is the best way you can express something deeply and honestly.

And while I’ve seen so-much digitally created art that has taken my breath away ( i marvel at the artist who can look into that boundless techno-void of infinite creative possibility and bring that dream into the light of actual reality…) Because our current technology is pretty powerful stuff- pretty powerful, as in:

“ANYbody! even YOU! possess the power to become magical-God-like-omnipotent-creator-of-virtual-realities-from-pure-visionary-techno-void! All that’s required is some basic computer Know-How and the requisite digital dexterity in-order to press that ‘click’ button!”

But…speaking personally (with way fewer exclamation points) all this apparently very “basic” technology that My Generation is simply expected to have some magical, inherent understanding of,

or at least possess some innate potential for understanding,

or (at the absolute and very least) possess the intellectual hubris necessary to reassure myself that, while theoretically, i totally have all the inherent, intuitive and intellectual hutzpah necessary to develop a highly advanced & thoroughly complete understanding of ALL this technological hooey, if!

If …i felt like it,

the truth is? i DON’T.

Ergo? i DON’T.

instead, i choose to fill my head with whatever i find interesting, such as:

Legends, myths, and figures of ancient Icelandic lore,

apt metaphors and poetic similies that parallel the plight of moths,

Rhymes and imagery relating to the moon,

various metaphors, symbolism, allegories and what have you that embody the nature or capture some elemental facet of the meaning of illumination; including but not limited to such qualities as related to emanation, refraction, reflection, invocation, obfuscation, sfumato, chiaroscuro, projection, bioluminescence, phosphorescence, foxfire, prismatic bifurcation and so-on and so-forth,

other light-related Questions such-as, implications of what it really means to be the kind of thing known to have a particular propensity and/or the inclination to “shine,” …versus the very different sort of thing known for being inherently bestowed with that coveted capacity to emanate from within, i.e. To “glow.”

(This is all important stuff, people)

i also think a lot about eyeshine, a.k.a. “tapestra lucidem,” (i highly doubt that my spelling there is correct, just bytheby) but which essentially translates to mean “illuminated tapestry.” ...which is obviously pretty intriguing because the two things (eyeshine and illuminated tapestries) don't immediately strike-me as being in anyway related let-alone synonymous, so by its very definition alone this idea of eyeshine is weird, in that mysterious, spooky-beautiful & phantasmagorically delicious kinda way...

[abigailabbyallen]

see more of my art here: http://abigailallenart.com my mind's eye, magnified... i close my eyes so i can see.

#abigailabbyallen #art #illustration

[abigailabbyallen]

Hi. I’m abby :) … Here are some of my photos and drawings and words and thoughts and things. call them “Art,” call ‘em pseudo “art-esque” doodlings, call them “art?! my-arse!” utterly meaningless deductive drivvel. Call it all what you will, because whatever it-is to you, whatever sort-of image happens to strike your soul, your fancy, your heart, your whatever part that most purely resonates-like a bell ringing true deep within you- this is art. i mean, it must be- right?   because whatever rare, precious image takes you aback, leaves you in awe, or just genuinely makes you feel, anything at all- in a way that stirs some lost, forgotten, or yet-to-be-discovered beauty deep within you to awaken, to be-moved, to feel the undercurrent of awe that lifts you up once-again in wide-eyed flight out from the nosedive dark arc that had you spiraling unconsciously downwards in apathy and your soul’s diminuendo towards the utter nadir of loneliness and hope’s final settling- whatever gasp of spirit or inhale of awe can give us the will once-more to fly up and out of this fatal flightless Fall- this too, must be a form of art.  I think it’s a question of who you are and what captivates you- what invokes a sense of connection, awakens a feeling, causing some hardened-part of your heart to crack- just a little…just enough to let a little light shine-on… You crazy diamond, you : ) When an image intuitively resonates with you, in a way that, for a few seconds at least, alters the shape and shifts the light of your inner landscape…making you feel something, or anything more deeply, i call that art.  My underlying issue here, is that i could never just proclaim myself to be an “artist.” It’s not really a self-issued title, i don’t think. or a “Hello! I’m ____” fill-in the blank sticky-label. But people do it. A lot… Maybe i need a healthier ego. Or maybe i need to stop quibbling over abstract semantics & direct my squabbling towards greater concerns; it might be nice if, like maybe we could eventually get-around to freeing Tibet…just for example. But i mean, god-forbid no-rush or anything… Let’s give ourselves a pat on the back for AT-LEAST being awesome at commodification and mass-consumerism of those pretty Tibetan Prayer Flags by relinquishing all relevant symbolism and actual intent behind the Tibetan flags and transforming them into empty, non-threateningly simple, hipster-cool decorative splashes of colorful blahh utterly devoid of any and all deeply entrenched historical and currently still-direly relevant content. so, sure. it’s been a multi-DECADE long cultural/political struggle, plee, plight, and peaceful yet desperate perpetual prayer made by the Tibetan people for their right to individual and religious freedom, but before we free-up some time (i’m talking like, at-MOST a three day holiday weekend here. seriously) on our great nation’s busy schedule to actually, like, you know, um. “FREE? Tibet,” it’s really only fair that we give Urban Outfitters at-least a few more good years to ride-out the $$$ trend-wave of those Tibetan Prayer Flags with their “politically aware” swiftly fading symbolism, falling-back on the rainbowbrite decorative hipster-vintage-statement-making-cool, a mainstay for every liberal artsy freshman dorm room, right-up there with the trippy Salvador Dali poster and red-chilli-pepper lights, and conveniently, strategically displayed (in an unspoken gesture of possibly? totally unconscious irony) displayed as “Free Tibet! What’s Tibet? It’s pretty…” for 20 bucks a pop next to the Che Guevara midriff-barring crop-tops. …just as an example. i mean- you get my point… again, a big thank-you to everyone (if indeed, there is anyone) which i realize there probably isn’t, and i’m talking (like a mental patient) to myself, and to no one…  But! I’d like to hope that somewhere out-there listening is ONE…just ONE, similarly strange, singularly lovely, and utterly extraordinary SOMEbody.  YOU ‘Somebody,’ mean more to me than ANYbody,   So thanks, buddy :) .abby :.  

“…still, what i want in my life- is to be willing to be dazzled. To cast aside the weight of facts,  and maybe, perhaps- to float just slightly above this difficult world.”   Mary Oliver 

      Quoth The Raven, ” Why, Hello Lenore. 

The Abandoned Planet of Microscopia

   Empathy

” Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage-Rage, Against the Dying of The Light. ” 

-Dylan Thomas

“There is no language for our pain…only a moan.” -Jerome k. Jerome

“Mono no Aware”

” this is the root of the root, and the bud of the bud

and the sky of a sky,

of this tree called life- which grows, higher than mind can hide or soul can hold. and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart- i carry your heart ( i carry it in my heart) ”    – e.e. cummings

Hope…

Hi. Thanks for visiting! I’m abby :) … I dabble in drawing, photography, and various conglomerations of the two.

[abigailabbyallen]

my love, plaster cast in still life

O my Love My plasticine plumage I see you, just beneath our earth’s surface sheen You are the bravest thing i’ve ever seen You hold the wholeworld in a palm a pearl held so gently, To balance its weight w the opposing hand- held open & hoping& eternally empty. letting fates unfurl like rollin the future with a lucky die cast, Or is it dye in liquid ink we cast? How are we finally tragically…

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[abigailabbyallen]

Frail children of the air; excursions into the world of butterflies.1897. Cover detail. 

[abigailabbyallen]

Arthur Spiderwick’s Field Guide to the Fantastical World Around You, illust, Tony DiTerlizzi, 2005

[abigailabbyallen]

Norwegian Forest Cats 

[abigailabbyallen]

These animals are phantoms as well as monsters. They are, because they exist; if they were not, reason would be justified. They are the amphibia of death. Their improbability complicates their existence. They border on the human frontier, and people the region of Chimeras. You deny the vampire, the octopus appears. Their swarming is a certainty which disconcerts our assurance. Optimism, which is the truth, nevertheless almost loses countenance before them.

Victor Hugo, still completely losing what little chill he possessed over the existence of the octopus.  (via pilferingapples)

[abigailabbyallen]

Hi. Thanks for visiting! I’m abby 🙂 … I dabble in drawing, photography, and various conglomerations of the two. call these things “Art,” call these things pseudo “art-esque” doodlings, call them “art, my-arse” utterly meaningless deductive drivvel. Call it what you will, essentially. But-Whatever sort-of image happens to strikes your soul, your fancy, your heart, your whatever part that most purely resonates-like a bell ringing true deep within you- i think this is real art. And whatever rare, precious image takes you aback, leaves you in awe, or just genuinely makes you feel, anything at all- in a way that stirs some lost, forgotten, or yet-to-be-discovered beauty deep within you to awaken, to be-moved, to arise wide-eyed from the darkling still of our soul’s dimminuendo towards sleep- i think this, too, must be true art. I think it’s a question of who you are and what captivates you- what invokes a sense of connection, awakens a feeling, causing some hardened-part of your heart to crack- just a little…just enough to let a little light shine-on… You crazy diamond, you : ) When an image intuitively resonates with you, in a way that, for a few seconds at least, alters the shape and shifts the light of your inner landscape…making you feel something, or anything more deeply, i call that art. My underlying issue here, is that i could never just proclaim myself to be an “artist.” It’s not really a self-issued title, i don’t think. or a “Hello! I’m ____” fill-in the blank sticky-label. But people do it. A lot… Maybe i need a healthier ego. Or maybe i need to stop quibbling over abstract semantics & direct my squabbling towards greater concerns; it might be nice if, like maybe we could eventually get-around to freeing Tibet…just for example. But i mean, god-forbid no-rush or anything. Just- nevermind. You get my point… again, a big thank-you to everyone (if indeed, there is anyone) which i realize there probably isn’t, and i’m talking (like a mental patient) to myself, and to no one… But! I’d like to hope that somewhere out-there listening is ONE…just ONE, similarly strange, singularly lovely, and utterly extraordinary SOMEbody. YOU ‘Somebody,’ mean more to me than ANYbody, So thanks, buddy 🙂 .abby :.

“…still, what i want in my life- is to be willing to be dazzled. To cast aside the weight of facts, and maybe, perhaps- to float just slightly above this difficult world.” Mary Oliver

hi there, and welcome! kind and curious stranger. i’m abby 🙂

thanks so much for stopping-by. …Here’s some of my artwork : ) and my many, many (indeed, perhaps- TOO many…?) pretty-random thoughts and feelings, …expressed predominantly in Rhyme. Yes. I repeat: i have an unconscious tendency to slip into what i desperately hope can sometimes sound pseudo-poetic, but what i suspect comes-across as more DR. Suess-like rhyme-speak. Now, you might be asking yourself “i beg your pardon?” Or “what on Earth is this girl even talking-about?” or some variant thereof. And trust me, i’m right there with ya. I hear you and i empathize completely. I just wish i could help you-out. I really, really do.

So here is my official “fair forewarning” beginning with a disclaimer: sometimes when i write, i start unconsciously rhyming all my sentences. It can get weird sometimes… that’s the worst-of it: you might think “this is weird,” which in-turn might make you feel similarly weird and slightly awkward reading it. At best, it’s mad-genius. At other-times, it is… quirky? devil-may-care whimsical? manic-pixie-esque self-actualized? um… i don’t know, cute? […please mentally insert appropriate adjective of your choosing, here: ____ ] oh, i almost forgot to add the requisite “it isn’t my fault” line. Ha. no but seriously, it’s not. it just seems to happen. its like a nervous tic, or a lisp…a silently typed “typo”-version of an insthurmountable, insthidious insthatiable lisp. Right… so it’s a bit like a lisp. except not at-all… for extremely obvious reasons. most notably: because, instead of having a truly adorable speech impediment due to a massive overbite that is nonetheless doomed to be obliterated by an absurdly expensive onslaught of orthodontic medieval torture at some point during childhood, i have already HAD braces. tra-la-la. But, more importantly, my issue has absolutely nothing to do with lisps or braces but with an insatiable, mostly unconscious, tendency to fall into Dr. Suess style rhyme-scheme whenever i write with some lofty, overarching intention (the irony here has not eluded-me) of attempting to express something i feel deeply and/or passionately about- regarding things i believe, or how i see certain things,or a part of myself that feels somehow inextricably entwined with the roots of something much greater and wiser than i could ever be. So, basically whenever i desperately want to communicate a real and honest feeling to other people- i tiptoe-backwards in time to a memory of some half-whispered song and an oceanic sway, where things felt safe- in that rhythmic to-and-fro place of breath, heartbeats, all in-sync with Kaos and harmonized with some great Symphony. So, here is a final, friendly fair-forewarning: There Will Be Rhymes.

and so, this is probably the reason why, sometimes, i wish words just didn’t exist- that we could rely on some other, silent form of communication. Like… we could converse via full-body dance charades, or we could speak – but only in Middle English, and only vicariously through sock-puppet avatars, or life could be one epic game of meta-pictionary, or, we’d learn to communicate via silent emanations of Soul-Speak; intuitively conjuring symbolic imagery through some combination of creative forces, like whatever maybe happens in a college “Improv 101” class… except we’d learn to cast ciphers in shadows by firelight, on a stage in some surreal dreamlike theatre infamous for its dedication to a single show, something with a strange and alluringly avant-garde title like, “In The Silence of Ciphers: Plato’s Cave of Shadow Puppetry.” But sometimes i just wish i could hear, for a little-while at-least, that truly ancient and long-lost Silence. Before Man came along with language and his constant chatter of words, and seeing-as how divinely complete the whole celestial orchestra seemed to be, the cosmic design of harmonic synchronicity (they had it all-down to a perfect T) we just couldn’t resist. We HAD to ruin-it, with our out-of-sync and off-key lil’ doggerel ditty- our dying cattle, death-rattle-like cry, resounding straight-up to Quintessence and back- in atonal unhindered cacophony:

We just had to shatter that silence.

So there you have it. Sigh… epically. (One must ALWAYS sigh epically.)

anyway, i hope you enjoy my art (and aren’t too terribly irritated by all my silly writing, pseudo-poems and general glossolalia). But i’d love-it if you stayed awhile and took a look around. I hope you leave here in a better mood than when you first entered. I suppose that’s probably a part of what i’m hoping to do here. because sometimes, feeling “better,” or even, sometimes… just trying to stay in the relative-range of “basically okay for the time-being,” are not always so easily grasped. Especially without other peoples’ help. so, i wish you the very best of luck- wherever you are out-there in this wildly bewildering world, wandering the earth with all the rest of us strange, beautiful monsters. again, thanks so much 🙂 – abby *

Note: This is a poem. Hence, the rhyming-thing is entirely intentional. Just in-case you started getting nervous 🙂 We may so often glimpse, but so rarely can we hold these ciphers cast in amber-fire dayglo. shadows perceived as mere hypnagogic echo-light , for insight speaks a language known only by the soul- symbols still-framed in flash-bulb brilliance- like a moth’s dazzled gasp, or a pale-fire ghost, hoping to re-ignite those wide-eyed-fires our hearts ache for the most. those things we had that made us happy, so very long ago, those things we lost somewhere back there, or left behind? cast aside? Did we spare a blink before releasing our hold? were we ever SO young- too young to regret our unscathed hearts yet to start bleeding,

when we were whole, unbearably light, and life felt breathless and beating, and there was a restless beauty awaiting discovery, a sense of grace in all of life’s unknown- but now looking-back, we shoulda coulda woulda really wished we’d known: that there are parts of life you must cherish- certain things you don’t let-go …and the rest of life? These other things are best held lightly- all-things fade, “mono no aware,” “this too shall pass,” so “go with the flow,” read “the art of letting-go,” learn to distinguish the sound of your voice from impostors of ego. but amidst all of this letting, losing, going, flow, there’s one thing our hands must hold, never let Who-You-Are fade-away or slip from your grasp, keep it clasped tight to your chest- because once it’s gone, you can’t get-it back. It’s these precious unspeakables that slip-away so silently, without the slightest “peep,” this moment of our heart’s detachment,

the moment we stop “Seeing” and the soul falls asleep, but some of us get lucky enough to fall- fast and far so finally to break (it has to be hard to re-start the heart and slap-us awake) That’s when we get that second chance- numbness gives way to melancholy, a newfound “dust as quintessence,” kind-of human empathy. an empty ache shaped by the contours of absence. That’s the Happy Ending, anyway. But its the only end i can envision, for some it takes a lifetime, to end at “Happy” once again- ….for others, merely an instant: a disaster, a loss, some miracle or gobbstopping vision, and that’s all it takes for us to fall, to break, to splinter like a singular beam of pure-white light suddenly crashing through a prism- to awaken as from a dream fractured- a kaleidoscopic collision a rainbow awaits at the end of every catastrophe, to glean from the wreckage still-reeling- its the BEAUTIFUL DISASTER reflected in our mirrorball shattered that bewilders and delights and creates us anew blinking-awake with the dazzle of light that seems to illuminate, or even originate- somewhere inside you. in the end, what we deem “True” is at the mercy of hope- a force that is truly unstoppable- for at heart, we’re all visionaries, creators, and dreamers

our imaginations careen beyond logics’ brink to dream the impossible- So-moved are we all by these God-lights colossal, that we can let-go for awhile of our “all-too-human” hold on so-called truths before we turn towards the unbounded numinal- to spin-up and out of ourselves in becoming something Chimerical something weightless, winged and Greater than ourselves overtaken by wildness once-more for a momentary miracle, as brightly-glanced will-o-the-wisps, wild and flying in breathless hope upwards, Up, Out. and Gone- with wild-eyes’ hypnotized in hope and blinding bright-sight of the Luminal.. Boo-ya. i.e. “The End.” And Now . . . More Artwork. By Me. Abby.

Quoth The Raven, ” Why, Hello Lenore.

The Abandoned Planet of Microscopia

  Empathy

” Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage-Rage, Against the Dying of The Light. ”

-Dylan Thomas

“There is no language for our pain…only a moan.” -Jerome k. Jerome

“Mono no Aware”

” this is the root of the root, and the bud of the bud

and the sky of a sky,

of this tree called life- which grows, higher than mind can hide or soul can hold. and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart- i carry your heart ( i carry it in my heart) ” – e.e. cummings

Hope…

  Hullabaloo. Hi. Thanks for visiting! I’m abby 🙂 … I dabble in drawing, photography, and various conglomerations of the two.

[abigailabbyallen]

more nonsense, i suppose? it's a total catastrophe but i think some of the words make pretty images and most of it rhymes so....

more nonsense, i suppose? it’s a total catastrophe but i think some of the words make pretty images and most of it rhymes so….

plus i really meant a lot of what i wrote when i wrote it, and i’m sure i still do. so, i figured maybe someone else might catch a glimpse of some shiny fragment, some glint of meaning somewhere in this wreckage too…maybe? who knows? (shrug) okbye.:)

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[abigailabbyallen]

here; a tangled ball of synaptic nonsense. catch.

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[abigailabbyallen]

Heather Heyer’s mom gives heartbreaking yet stirring funeral speech

[abigailabbyallen]

Atherton’s Magic Vapor! Stop Reading this insane incoherent gobbilgook of sounds that sometimes sound sorta-like-words, and GO READ actual words that not only make sense, but glow with the rare brightness of insight that is truly beauty illuminated, and quite honestly brilliant.

  Please, go over and ogle, with eyes agog, jaws agape, soul astirred, palm upon, a gasp inhaled inheld, halted to inhabit the espirit in-being before returning the fast-flitting spirit of my big sister’s brilliancy,

and i know- you could hardly forsee that seemingly rando twist coming, , but quickly catch-up cuz this wordsmithin’ ain’t pausin,’

the truth is my Sister my SiBling is Miss King of…

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#"athertons magic vapor" "melanie atherton allen" #athertons magic vapor #fiction #horror #literature #melanie atherton allen #philosophy #post #writing

[abigailabbyallen]

(sorry- i accidentally hit “publish!” on this post a bit prematurely earlier today, and failed to realize it, until now! how humiliating! whoopsie-daisies! awwPhooey. Blastitall. to hell with it.

anyhoodles! :) THIS post should be at least comparatively less-incoherent. It is also WAY longer. epically so.

so HOOrah! oh horay, how splendid.

gargh. sorry for the mishap, you silent in-cognito shadow people/friends, you…)

HERE GOES-IT. AGAIN. visit my sister’s blog please. link at the end. thanks!

The End.

ha! tricked ya! no it’s not “the end,” geezlouize,

…so gullible.

ahem! let us BEGIN….

Please, go over and ogle, with eyes agog, jaws agape, soul astirred, palm upon, a gasp inhaled inheld, halted to inhabit the espirit in-being before returning the fast-flitting spirit of my big sister’s brilliancy,

and i know- you could hardly forsee that seemingly rando twist coming, , but quickly catch-up cuz this wordsmithin’ ain’t pausin,’

the truth is my Sister my SiBling is Miss King of the Ling- she being linguistically quite limber and a short-Fiction Lit Writer who is Literally Lit-up like pure ether light as an quill-pen feather untethered she’s leaving earthbound bloggers beneath her, because Seriously,

Melanie Allen is my Kickarse sister, a burning solitary cinder a Wordsmith of incandescent imaginative capacity that’s the real incendiary envy of the whole smoked-screened-in Lit Fiction choked Biz,

Because Matherton’s Magic Vapor is the one Phoenix Rising from all that creatively choked burned up ash and smoke,

and longing for the light my big sib heads straight-up and out to incense and infuse and write to blaze a tale that burns a trail of literary synaptic sparks that recharge and invoke that spirit of creative tenacity.

ok i know, i am officially OUT of all possible puns, metaphors, rhymes, similies and adorable “sounds-like? sorta?.” half-formed ideas concerning the topic of light, being like light and bright and “Lit” like “Literally” and! genius i be, “Literary, i.e. Literary short creative fiction is my bigsib’s preferred written-word specialty.”

Also the whole luminously “incendiary sparkplug of synaptic short-circuitry” as a metaphor attempting to illustrate Mysib’s Creativity, admittedly, didn’t get the first necessary charge of passionate inertia, that extra lil’ “oomph” of “go-get-em-tiger!” that all epically charged Phoenix/Lightning/Synaptic-Fired-up Central Nervous System metaphors (which, now, retrospectively, is perhaps slightly intense on the neurological descriptive accuracy … but oh phooey)

regardless, without that extra spark of a true writer’s elemental  “oomph” of initial inertia or that “go get’em,” cheer that every sentence  needs to perpetually maintain that light-speed that is simply unfeasible for certain individuals who lack that particular knack for these very same word-smithery feats of linguistic magical wizardry of which i speak,

for i, abby, mere Lil’Sib underling to my meta-Esteemed Ethereal Ember of Amber Hued Sentient pulsating Light-Living Being, the Big, the Elder, the Sisterly Cinder of incensory like a sixth-sensory wordly “Wowza” that truly IS Melanie Allen i.e. my BigSibling’s wisdom and capacity to imagine, express, and capture in words by transcending their form to truly bring life and depth to her creative Intelligence.

BigSib (unlike moi, which begs the question, “why, then, does she not simply STOP this horror wordBlitzkrieg she insists on consciously inflicting upon us unsuspecting readers? WHY, lilsib, why.”

(Shrug), i honestly don’t know. and it confuses me too. i feel your pain, but like- really. i do. and i’m sorry for all of this glossolababbling that is an insult to the english language and to my sister too. let’s just try to wrap this catastrophe-up as quickly as humanely possible, shall we? ok. ok, just gotta keep-on keepin’ on…we’re almost done. i swear…

so Melanie. my sister. the one with the effortless grace in her grasp on language’s positive features, such-as its unique usage as a convenient tool for human-to-human communication of various feelings, thoughts, and other stuff.

for all that, i’ve managed to get by with the expressive use of shadow puppets.

…sometimes interpretive dance. Drawing pictures with a notepad i wear draped around my neck attached to a sharpie- this has sometimes proved useful, particularly in frantic, wildly desperate situations of a fiasco-like nature.

but the capacity to use words like my sister, is something that not only folks such as myself, (those who seem somewhat incapacitated and non-linguistically degenerate) should seriously admire if not visciously envy like some feral, wild nocturnal critter who gnaws on garbage all night whilst they plot increasingly batsh&t crazy-cray schemes to steal my sister’s god given and hardwon way with the written word and with her boundless imagination, in all its wildness, weightless light that seems held aloft on black winged shining that spreads to silently embrace and enrapture so much seemingly infinite capacity for wonder.

even the most communication wordy-abled don’t have that unknowable something thst somehow has this transformative necromancy over the essence and composition of words themselves. it is an alchemical “Hutzpah” that somehow infuses words with dynamic life and deeply invoked dimensions of innate truths and reverberations of all-too-human universal knowing, truly talented writer extra-enervating all that fire-fueled comparative imagery (despite being absolutely appropros and dead-on in describing my sister’s genuinely brilliant and inspired body of writing with total accuracy)

and i think, at longlast! i have blessedly, for the love of good-god finally. just. puttered-out….fffbbptz.

see?! yay:)

so anyhoodles Melanie allen, at her blog, athertons magic vapor, (see and CLICK below please) is seriously KILLing it like blitzkrieg–world-war-Lightning at this Blogging A-Z Challenge aforementioned. (note: it is tots apropos to be awestruck  gobsmacked mind boggled body-clobbered aghast agog aghape etcetera at the big sister’s luminous brilliance and magical way with words and telling riveting transformative tales that have a depth and meaning balanced with a seemingly ungraspable lightness brightness, humor and an effortless grace,

so not to get too worked-up but last of all! try to imagine standing on tiptoes, tethered to Stone and Ascending-to-Star…

that kind of longing, it exists inside all of us. somewhere, i’ll betcha…

bye:) and holy jeez, DO go see melanie’s words please.

Source: Archives – Atherton’s Magic Vapour

Atherton’s Magic Vapour! Stop Reading this insane incoherent gobbilgook of sounds that sometimes sound sorta-like-words, and GO READ actual words that not only make sense, but glow with the rare brightness of insight that is truly beauty illuminated, and quite honestly brilliant. (sorry- i accidentally hit "publish!" on this post a bit prematurely earlier today, and failed to realize it, until now!

#"athertons magic vapor" "melanie atherton allen" #horror #illustration #literature #post #writing

[abigailabbyallen]

Archives - Atherton's Magic Vapour

Archives – Atherton’s Magic Vapour

  Please, go over and ogle, with eyes agog, jaws agape, soul astirred, palm upon, a gasp inhaled inheld, halted to inhabit the espirit in-being before returning the fast-flitting spirit of my big sister’s brilliancy,

and i know- you could hardly forsee that seemingly rando twist coming, , but quickly catch-up cuz this wordsmithin’ ain’t pausin,’

the truth is my Sister my SiBling is Miss King of…

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