The Flaming Heart and the Scimitar

 I don’t know why it has taken me so long to know where Less Than Tender Arms came from. 

Every night I wake up with one of your songs playing so loudly that I cannot sleep.

Then I understand My Heart Is A Beast. 

Love is like cancer: it riddles me. 

Love is like Satan, the Archangel, the one that brings us back to God through the circuitous route.  

I don’t know what I believe in any more. 

I fight love every day because I do not believe it any more. It’s ironic because it’s my modus operandi, and so I fight myself like the autoimmune condition I have.  

And that’s the answer.  

“I’m not asking you to buckle, just to bend.”

How do you find all the lines?

How do you cross those liminal places?

I was also talking to JP a few months ago and he said that music and magic are the same, but for two letters. 

My uncle says music changes our vibration, because that’s what it is made of.  

I disagree slightly.  I think it gives the path to our vibration when it is distorted by interference.  That’s the magic.  

Does that explain this heart and rhythm?

Does this explain why it is a beast and wakes me?

I just sent off to the Americas for two brooches.  One is the Mexican flaming heart, and the other is a jewelled scimitar that can be retracted from its sheath.  I see the symbols and I still do not understand them. 

I ask you to speak a language you do not use anymore.  That may not be fair.  

Maybe it’s me that has to learn a new language.  My problem being that logic was the only way I could pull my heart out from the darkness before. When I follow my heart, she kills me.  So do I kill her first?

She kills me because the people we choose are beautiful but slovenly. 

They all are. 

There isn’t an answer to my riddle. 

All my heart wants to do is send you the funds.  If you tell me everything, I probably will.  My logic is only looking for reason. When she understands, it’s likely she’ll follow my heart. 

It’s a battle between love and death all the time.  Thus my dream.  Thus my lack of dreaming.  My denial of it, and your song, Less Than Tender Arms. 

Tend.  Such a word. 

What other meanings did I miss?  I won’t let my heart see anything because I don’t want to trust her any more.  That flaming heart.  The scimitar.  Your Arkansas toothpick. 

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