Gothic Charme and Unspoken Magic.
A new way of looking at the days when you’re lost in a funk.
Maudlin, gothic, eerie magic is almost better than the sparkly bright stuff in my opinion. I’m over here exploring all of it. Join me?
Dearest friend of mine,
Mid June. Half way through the year. Solstice. Time seems to be moving so very quickly, the more that passes - the quicker it goes. I’m sure there is some sort of quantum physics theory surrounding that, but I’m choosing to believe it’s the magic of the sun. More sunlight hours = more things done and felt and more thoughts had. More of those things seems to move time along faster.
I digress. Today I come to you with few words.
Partly that whole “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything” thing (fuelled not by malice or ill intent, but rather a sluggish, downbeat kind of a day) and partly because The Internet (people in it), keep telling me that you’re all busy and need shorter writings. I’m not sure about the latter, otherwise why do people still read so many books? I think the Internet is full of fibs and I probably won’t listen to that particular piece of “advice”. Instead, I shall aim to write things that are magic to your eyes, mind and heart, that you simply cannot bear not to read.
The other thing - my own fault entirely. I had energy. Anyone with chronic health / energy issues knows what’s coming next… I used it like it was going out of style and I’m now running on empty. Zero buzz, fizz, clink or swish left to power all of the everything I want to do. And there is oh so much that I want to do. And so now I am tired and in a bit of a funk.
Today is embodied by the feeling of slowly moving down a river after a flood.
Boat drifting cautiously among debris strewn artfully, a gallery of mishaps and could’ve beens.
Where the waters were fast and carried everything with such fervent energy it felt like they could never be stopped, I’m now picking pieces of dreams from tree branches and collecting what I can from the wrack line.
There’s a loaded mist, an unnatural quiet hanging heavy over the water and a feeling that sits on age worn plush velvet theatre seats - somewhere between the essence of Bird Box and Where the Crawdads Sing (or else the Taylor Swift mashup of my dreams of Florida!!! and Carolina if I were to give it a musical character).
An eerie river lined in trees decorated in washed up dreams, to float down quietly, me and the ghosts of all of the lives I took. Stamped out, washed up, their memory confined to stories or a folk song.
Like a Nick Cave tune to a Millais painting, there is faded beauty in the stillness, waiting to come back alive.
A quaint gothic charme full of unspoken magic, waiting for the next rising waters to carry it.
And so today those few words I give to you, come with a gift card carrying the scrawl of some that were given to me by a friend when I most needed them, that simply reads “it’s OK to not be OK”.
Your feelings are yours to do as you please with them. Use them as fuel to write, do, create, make, or else sit with them at afternoon tea, entertain them a while and before they get too settled, send them on their way with the rest of the sandwiches.
I made greetings cards (back in the pre head injury days that I did such things) and one said -
“It’s always sunny above the clouds.”
It’s always worth remembering that, along with my old friend “no feeling is final”.
I feel like I can tell you this, in truth, my spirits have been lifted by writing to you this afternoon. I think part of the malady has been from jumping on the “please like me” train rather than creating from the “here’s this thing I made with no motive whatsoever other than it needed to escape my soul” place. Have you ever boarded that train and regretted it? I find it a tricksy balance between the train and the place because of course I want to create for you. Maybe Barter Books is kind of the answer (a book shop in the north of England that has a train set suspended from the ceiling that runs around between hundreds, if not thousands of books).
I digress again. Last time I mentioned the boy would have finished his GCSEs by the time I next wrote. He has indeed. Sending love to anyone doing battle with no longer having space to themselves during the day. Be it sharing offices, holidays, end of exams or other care-giving responsibilities. I feel it too.
Sending love to you.
V.V x
P.S. I’ve put a list of the things I mentioned below.
I’d add The Outrun to my recommended maudlin movie list too and I just got back from the cinema having watched The Salt Path. Also kind of perfectly suited for my mood today.
Bird Box / Where the Crawdads Sing / Florida!!! / Carolina (the idea of those two combined came from this Liverpool N3 of the Eras Tour mashup) / Nick Cave (thinking of this in particular) / Millais / Barter Books
If there are any films / books / songs you think I’d like based on these, please let me have them! My soul feels like it’s been separated from the perfect gothic inspired, place as character driven sad story. I know it must be out there, if it’s not, then I’ll just have to write it.
Still with me? I love writing letters, but even more I love getting them back. Drop me a message below or directly. It’s like sending a letter back, but without having to find fancy paper or a postage stamp…
If you know someone who would enjoy this post, please do pass it on.