The Infinite Starr

mystical-writing

  • The Doorway That Read Corrupted Light

    There are stories that never found a religion because they were too old for scripture. They existed before language became organized, before mankind decided that the invisible should have names. They passed from one generation to another as whispers. Not because they were forbidden, but because they could not be proven. Some truths were never…

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  • The Sweetness of the Dark

    Are the sleepwalkers afraid to go into the darkness? I think they are. Not because the darkness is dangerous. Not because something is waiting for them there. Because the darkness asks questions the daylight lets them avoid. The darkness is different when you’re strange. When you’re weird. When you’ve spent your entire life being told…

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  • Zero O’Clock at the Blood Moon Door

    There we are. Standing at the door. Zero o’clock. No countdown. No drumroll. Just that quiet hum that happens when time folds in on itself and says, This is it. Everything you were supposed to fix by now is either fixed… or fossilized.Every apology you meant to make either found its way out of your…

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  • Zero Gravity Diaries — Part V. The Descent Through the Layers

    (It was February of ’93 when I caught White Zombie at Saratoga Winners, long before anyone knew their name. The mosh pit cracked open, and somehow there I was—penny loafers and all—throwing myself into it like I belonged there. I broke my toe that night, but it felt worth it. Then came “More Human Than…

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  • The Ones Who Read Between the Walls

    Some places remember us longer than we remember ourselves.Some doors keep the shape of a hand that once closed them.Some rooms still hum with old conversations, even after the voices have changed. You returned, not to reclaim anything, but to understand.To see if the imprint of the past still lived here in quiet corners —if…

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  • The Guardian of Balance

    They speak about you as if they know your name. As if the syllables of your being roll easily off their tongue, carrying a weight they have never earned the right to hold. They act as if they know what you carry—that you are both light and dark, both good and evil, both healer and…

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  • First thought

    It wasn’t named yet. The thing the child saw. It had no label, no boundary, no fixed place in the catalog of what’s real and what’s not. It just was. Suspended there like a question that had forgotten how to end. The child blinked. It didn’t go away.Instead, it shimmered — not like light, but…

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  • Water Of The Womb

    You step through the clearing first, boots crunching wet leaves. The angel waits ahead, stone arms open, moss clinging like old grief. You press a clutch of orange flowers into her palms—color against gray, life against ruin. Flowers die, you remind yourself, but the act matters anyway. Above, wings shuffle. The watchers have arrived. Black…

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