#brinktober 2020

[image description: brinktober 2020, created by @onthebriiink, in an open journal page outlined in orange and a flying broom above. several pens embellish the corner. 31 prompts for each day of october, in order: dangle, flame, pot, bone, glow, shelter, creepyflower, sting, potion, orange, disguise, sharp, thirteen, mirror, wings, luck, night, broken, imaginary, yellow, stairway, dust, scroll, jewel, bend, sugar, clock, anatomy, flutter, red, hybrid.]

yay, october is upon us! falllllll weather. pumpkins. halloween. and all those exciting, lovely things, feel me? and, of course, we can’t forget… …brinktober!

my dear friend bri berry @onthebriiink has compiled a list of spooky, thought-provoking prompts for this month! oooooh yess.

DEAR ARTISTS – here’s to splashing in our creative juices in however ways our hearts desire! readyyyy? go ahead, make a little bit of magic.

🕷 🕸

Growing up, I remember those trips to the beach with my mama as the sun neared slumber. At dusk, with the sky faltering to a dreamy lull of blue and grey, we’d take our fluff nugget of a Pomeranian to the dog beach every once in a while. He’d stay close to us, with some occasional random zoomies, and we’d walk along the shore and watch all the dogs and puppies and reindeer-looking types dive in the bubbling water, grab tennis balls, or even catch a wave on their surfboards. Yes, tru biz! Anyway, I remember my mom confessing that she was afraid of the deep water. That she never liked swimming in big, unknown bodies of water, with man-made pools and jacuzzis as the exception, of course. Because you never knew what was lurking down there. Oh, no. You’ve heard of the Kraken, right? One time we watched a documentary about it, about reported sightings. We’ve also seen news about humans eaten alive or mauled by sharks every couple years. I remember this big tsunami scare we had, oh, yes, all the tsunami scares. The erosion and cliffs falling and killing actual humans near one of my childhood homes. My best friend being rescued by a lifeguard with an intense jellyfish sting. You see, the ocean is a big, scary, undefeatable beast. Many greats have disappeared in its teeth, and many have emerged above it. It is a source of flourishing, vital, bright, beautiful life, and also a source of the deepest, darkest, and freakiest mysteries that ever existed. 

Anyway, I didn’t care at the time. So what? I was a California baby. I grew up swimming in the waves, paddling out with a surfboard, floating, boogie-boarding, bodysurfing, snorkeling, kayaking, you name it. I loved the water so much. I still do, mind you. But the older I got, the more aware I became and the less naive I got to be. The world holds so much in its palm, a stunning mixture of gore and glory. My glory in the water was all it was – a glorious experience and sight other than those times I’d be swallowed alive, sucked in deep. My body thrashed and slammed amidst the strong water’s current, and my lungs felt like they were about to burst, and when I finally fought for my life and pushed myself to the surface the taste of life had never tasted so maddeningly good in my entire life. Yeah, good thing my father taught me to accept those moments and just let the water control me, and then it’d surrender. I just had to surrender to the fear. He always made sure I never ever doubted the power of the ocean. To never turn my back to the waves. To always keep track of where I wanted to be, otherwise I’d drift off and perhaps never find my way back. 

Well into my college years, I’d been spending most of my time in the East coast but of course made my regular visits to sweet old California. My comfort. This often happened during the winter, though, so the water’s like 50 degrees, okay? I’m totally someone who’s sensitive to the cold, and the place I grew up probably has something to do with it. Anyway, so I wouldn’t usually dive and swim and bounce along the waves like I usually did as a kid. I’d dip my feet in the sand, walk along the shore, and take all the glory of the sunset and everything around me. My dad, on the other hand, would always go surfing. Oh, gosh. Those days. He’d go surfing two, three times a day no matter how cold it was, 12 months a year. So, on one fateful day, I decided to pay him a visit as his tiny figure bobbled along on his surfboard along with all the others. It was like dots of black of surfers in their wetsuits, with lines of white. It was beautiful. Anyway, I took the hike down to the shore from the top of the cliff, and I decided to wade out in the water so that the ice-cold saltwater went up to my knees. I slowly walked, lifting my feet, towards and towards the sleepy sun. At this moment, my dad appeared behind me holding his board, and he said a cheerful hi! Of course I had a hard time identifying who was who and this whole time I had been smiling and waving at this dot of a dude who I thought was dad when he was like, all the way over there… Ahem. Anyway, perfect timing. I retreated from the suddenly much colder water towards my dad on the shore, and… All hell broke loose. Like, my world stopped, and I know that feels extra but yeah, that’s what it felt like in that moment. 

Electricity shot ALL over my body in an instant, and I suddenly started shaking. This huge, giant, indescribable pang of pain pulsated in my leg, and everything went numb – well, not the pain. I shrieked and jumped out of the water, skipping out of the water, and my dad gaped at me. As I looked down and behind me, I saw a trail of dark, hot, red blood that was still spilling, and that’s when I finally saw it… AHH! My foot had been stung by a stingray. My foot was black. Like, seriously. Not the whole thing, but there was this long line of… Black, with dark liquid bubbling out of it, and it had frigging veins. Okay, honestly, I’m probably super exaggerating this part, but I do remember it was badly bruised and was almost black the day after. Anyway, I was okay, just had to drag myself home, take a whole ton of pain medicine, soak my foot in boiling water for hours, and eventually just medicine to help me sleep to deal with the intense pain. The pain was at its most intense that night, but it eventually got better. I never went in the water again for a while after that. I mean, yes, I totally swam in oceans in Australia and Fiji, and Thailand, and Florida, and Virgin Islands, and whatever country I’m forgetting, but not the Pacific Ocean over in good old San Diego. 

Then, like two years later, I went back to the very same town with my friends for spring break. We had the crib of ourselves and even though it was pretty cool weather, we had every intention of living up our spring break as much as we could! We lounged on the beach, read, did headstands, and swam in the water. Funny, the very first time I entered the water again since that one fateful day, I actually made a point to flail my hands viciously to get my friends’ attention and emphasize to them the importance of wading rather than taking their feet off the ground and stomping because that’s when it’s most likely for a stingray or something else to be touched and sting you out of surprise and self defense. And I kid you not, at the exact time I UTTERED THOSE EXACT WORDS ABOUT BEING CAREFUL IN ORDER TO NOT GET STUNG, I… got stung. By a lil baby sting ray.

So it wasn’t bad this time, ya know, but it still hurt like a mother. I decided to go back home, and put my foot in a boiling pot of water, and I chugged a whole bunch of Corona (ahem) with lime which helped. Having my friends around in my home made me wanna act a lot more confident and nonchalant than I would’ve if my dear old dad bear was there, so I was cool and collected and chilllll. And… yeah. That was the last time I’ve swam in the Pacific Ocean, and mind you, I HAVE SWAM IN THE OCEAN SINCE THEN! Just not in that particular beach, because the water’s too damn cold and too dark in the winters when I typically visit. Maybe the next time I go in… Third time’s a charm? Ehhh. So, that’s my blabbing, run-on story for you as I brainstorm and type at lightning speed and procrastinate.

Now I think I get why my mom has a bit of fear of open bodies of water… But I’m not going to let that stop me from going in the ocean again, with all the danger and fun. And in my defense, I recently went in the ocean in the middle of the night with my friends in Jamaica. The water was luminescent, and we could see the full moon and stars. It was an amazing (and also a bit of a bizarre and scary experience before and afterwards), so I think I’m alright. The ocean has a lot to offer, and it’s worth the occasional sting.

Footnote: It’s December and I’ve only done 7 days of the Brinktober challenge, and I would like to continue the challenge despite being overrrrrrrly late… Just because I can. Seeing as it’s the 8th tomorrow, perfect timing! Enjoy. Thank you. Bless you. Be safe. Be careful out there, because, ya know… COVID and all. THAT’S what we don’t want to get stung with, and it could happen in the blink of an eye even if you put in the effort to be careful. That’s a completely random and unintentional metaphor behind this story, but so be it… Take it? Bye. Mwah.

An old man sat on his armchair, holding a pipe. Half of his body was a strange shade of purple, like an unhealed bruise. This man was an explorer, a warrior. A survivor of unbelievable horror. His grandchildren intently watched as he began.  

“I’ll never forget the time I saw a living thing eaten alive. 

I’ll never forget that place. 

A swamp. A musky smell. Mosquitoes sucking us dry. But mosquitoes were nothing, measly nothings, compared to what came next. 

Dave was walking way ahead of us, holding up a machete. We knew there was something off about this place. We had been told to stay away. Locals had warned us. DANGER. STAY AWAY. RISK OF DEATH. But, of course, we couldn’t resist. We had to step where nobody hadn’t in years to seek new species of plants – we were researchers and we had been searching for this one specific rare plant for a decade. 

We were knee-deep in the muddy water. On the look out for alligators. Wading along. Flora everywhere, swiping us, us cutting them away. 

And then we heard a blood-curdling scream. 

As we started ahead, carefully but quickly, we finally saw Dave. And I can’t get this image out of my head. 

Dave’s arm was trapped in this big green… thing. It looked like a Venus flytrap. But… the teeth looked like shark teeth. 

He was screaming, thrashing. No way to escape. The mouth of this beast tightened. The arm turned purple. 

Dave started hacking at his arm with his machete. Hard. STOP! STOP! We screamed and tried to help, but there was nothing we could do but watch. 

His arm began to break away when he lost consciousness. But not yet. We were horrified. His body hung sideways, only strings of muscle and skin holding him up.

Then, in a quick motion like a disposal being turned on, the plant opened its jaws wide and swallowed him whole. 

We froze in our tracks. The mouth of this green creature slowly closed and turned towards us. The ends of the mouth raised. It was smiling at us. Licking its lips. 

I got a good quick look of this carnivorous organism to know what to brace for.

It had legs. 

RUN!

We ran. And this goddamn creepy flower monstrosity started running after us.”

Red and green swaying in the sky. I’m all cozy on my sofa, gazing at the giant white up there like a shark staying still, like the greatness of the proximity in our eyes, and we’re the colors. Tunnels that bring new depths, new discoveries. And I feel warmth, but not just physically. It’s from spirits united, a place of belonging and community with souls all over the world. Despite such conflict and turmoil, the support that emerges, and the love and care that shows up as we try to heal and build – that’s some kinda magic. All over. A few miles away, or across the country, and everywhere in between. A brooding, evolving, shifting nest that may falter, but always remains steady – the spirit, the desire to stay alive. What it means to be home. And of course that may come with an unfathomable amount of different definitions. Community. Endless minds and darting eyes widening or shrinking, swaying leaves and swaying hands, extreme differences and the beauty in that and the liquid I feel building in my eyes as I think about love, and opportunity, and opening doors, and opening up. Being unafraid, but yes, with some insecurity, as we lift the sheet to new dangers, new pains, and new blessings and new beginnings. Millions of slimy, wet eyeballs for miles and miles prod and peek with shimmering, dilating views. Perceptions. Our takeaways of all this around us and within screens are opening and observing, and also often obstructed, and that’s okay – it takes time to adjust to a new kind of light. New ways and our own ways, and we begin to realize that so much of deemed reality boils down to perception. With more communication, and a push to get in touch with our innermost feelings and biases, we move closer to finding “home” with whatever parts may not have found solace. As we do our own damn thing, drifting along in our own journeys, we still have this shelter – the people who love us. Little bits and pieces of humanity that are often hidden, swept away, because we don’t quite know how to reveal them. And when they are revealed, that’s that’s a dear thing. A dear thing we begin to uncover more and more. Red and green leaves on a chilly October day swaying, and my eyes swell as I think about what so many others might be gazing at or thinking about right now. Are you thinking about home, and the eternities of realities that bubble, float, and whirl in this physical plane? Love, and what lies beyond the outer surfaces of illusion? Dear you, and me, and we, in your troubled times and feelings of being alone, I hope the memory of a million definitions of love and community brings you somewhere “home”, whatever that may mean to you. I believe you and I may share a little piece – or a mighty chunk – of this vital force.

Okay, it’s only day five and I’m already feeling a bit of pressure, thinking, trying to come up with something super creative and intelligent, but you know what? Like Ross Gay said in his Book of Delights, inscribing a delight of your day, pen flowing (well, in my case, fingers rapping away) will do, as October is not all about spookiness or creepy tidbits… it is a month chock-full of delights, and the awakening of a new season, of a new circle with new beginnings and endeavors, with loved ones, in solitude, whatever makes you feel most at home. So I will share about today, this morning, as I set off for a morning walk at seven o clock. It was fifty degrees and I donned a sweater, sweatpants, flip flops, and unshowered hair, and of course, a mask, and glasses which was unfortunate for it kept fogging up, but nonetheless I tried a new route. As always it brought me much calm joy. The music of my hips slowly swaying as if with its own mind, with my essence following it, following whatever paths led me to. And with a spontaneous twist I crossed the street to a new road, and immediately as I neared the corner, I spotted a great big and majestic dog. It sat as if with royalty, gazing through the gate, and I was compelled to approach him. I spoke gently, with my deaf as hell voice, as I always do – I never speak to humans, but I will sing and whisper secrets to creatures – and his tail started wagging, and his excitement started to swell over, and then it overcame him, and he slammed his body against the metal, anxiously awaiting a good pet. And from then on, for what felt like a strange long but short chunk of time, I scratched his chin and caressed his face and pet him and he kissed me and we both so wished the fence wasn’t there and just like that, love traveled between the air and our days had been made. For several moments I wondered – is he okay? Why is he outside in the cold? Does he want to come home with me? No, he can’t – but is he safe? I kept patting, not caring my sweater was now damp from his slobbery kisses and my hands dirty from his coat – and then suddenly, the door swung open and a kind-looking man looked out, perhaps because of all the sound we might have been making partaking in this cuddly encounter? Anyway, he looked nice enough (though that’s never enough, sometimes that’s only an illusion) and I bid goodbye. The dog barked and barked like a thunderstorm, finally pouring sound in my ears after so long of pure silence, and the man called him in, and he ran inside. And I walked away, feeling much warmer than ever. Those encounters, those creatures… Oh, how much they mean to me. Like an ever-growing glow, feeding light even as they’re out of sight. The fireflies of glowing, flickering, temporary connections with fond creatures brighten the horizon, leaving a valuable memory, and they bring such loving meaning to my life.  

VV adaptation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asoePxej5C8

Thinking about this brings this feeling… I don’t know. The whole notion of our existence, of our entire abstractness, confined in a cage. I used to refer to our physical entities as cages, often, you know. What throbs and lives and digests and survives – all soft, all pink, fleshy – protected by nests and formations of bone. As I type away I feel more on edge, slightly dizzy. Because it was a bone castle I used to want to reach. I wanted to suck any visible fat away, remove any excess skin and hair, and just feel the bone as much as I could. Feel the smoothness, the corners, the sharpness. Hardness. I craved it, hungered for the skeleton, to be closer to death than life, but still with breath. Thinking about that time of my life brings me a strange kind of emotion, like an old childhood story, but I know it is still the reality of many. How ridiculous, but how real, how human. How could we not crave what we’ve been taught to feel? The thinner, the better? To model those mannequins, to yearn for a body with nothing but the outlines of our insides? I feel goosebumps. A slight itch on the bottom of my foot, a slight reminder from my bladder. All those motions, all those feelings, of the body being alive. What about that? Why are we not taught to crave feeling human, with the tickles and the feeling of a full stomach, the excitement of a cold breeze, a warm bath, and the sounds that travel out of us? The gifts our bodies have given us? Bless our vessel, a ship which gives us the ability to taste, breathe, and live. Our bone cage is a vital part, only to protect, to help us survive, and ultimately to ensure we are never forgotten. Do your bones stop changing as long as you are alive? No. The body continues to grow. Our bodies break and age. The bones reform and adjust. They may worsen. Remodeling, shifting. Always. Your entire body is alive. You must take care of it. You are composed of stardust, and you are also made of your spirit. Treat your entire being well, love. Be your own backbone, for this precious life, for your precious self. Be so until you’re laid to rest. For after everything rots and melts and is eaten away, and after your soul breaks free, the only physical reminder left of you will be the bone castle, the cage, that protected you. 

ASL Translation: https://youtu.be/YzFHh1as26o

Dude, you’ve heard of “the twilight zone”, right? No, not that television show, but… Yeah, all that jazz about accidentally entering an alternate universe or whatever. It’s happening to me right now. I’m telling you, you don’t even KNOW. I feel like I’m dreaming… But I know I’m not! I feel the gushing blood on my leg. The bite mark, the exposed bone, and it’s mind-blowingly painful that I’ve just… God, I’m laughing like a maniac. I’m furiously screaming to the skies for some documentation, some indication of my breathing, of my existence, somehow, in case my incessant sounds ever carry back to reality, to the default world. Ugh! “Reality”. Heh. Will I ever go back…? Or at least see any human again? Because there are none in sight. Damn it. Now my head’s just pounding like hammer on nail. Just… out of nowhere I woke up in this strange land. Literally. I don’t remember what happened. I awoke to nothing but sky shimmering of metallic rainbow, like molten metals and crystals. Not normal. No, not at all. And this nonstop screeching. It’s like a fingernail on a chalkboard, and I’m Deaf!!! I shouldn’t be hearing anything! But all those… vibrations, all those new sensations in wherever this dimension is! It’s the oddest thing. The freakiest experience of my life…. and I’m still LIVING it. God. Now I’m… I’m trapped. I was this close to escaping through that portal thing. I SAW it. I saw my life as I knew it flash before my eyes. In this kaleidoscope hologram thing, I watched millions of images of home, and they were animated, breathing. The city at night, the ball court, my Jeep, my favorite restaurant, my human friends, the steam of my tea kettle. My mom and dad. Home. I was about to run and submerge my entire body… so close… and then the Thing attacked me. It was so fast I couldn’t even make out what It was. I only know It was freaking vicious, and weirdly tiny, and… pointy? Somehow only one set of words – a message, or a warning – from this Thing remained. This sole message burned into my memory – I guess we can read minds here? – right before I felt a crack and the sudden release of thick, warm liquid. Then all black. I awoke to this sky. Again. Absolutely nothing in sight. Just a broken record playing in my head. I know what to do, but I don’t even know where to start. All I have to do is find this hidden treasure or whatever it is, and give it to the Thing. Then It’ll let me go. I think. I fricking hope so. I won’t stop until I find it. Ugh, it keeps playing over and over again. Has a pretty rad beat, I’m not gonna lie. Making me want to either cry or do a twisted jig. Anyway. I gotta go do this, man. Wish me luck.
“I’ll not let you go till I retrieve me gold. Curse this land that our souls shall dwell, till someone finds me pot of gold that breaks this spell of hell.” 

ASL translation: https://youtu.be/tQxIi6lx2xA

Shuddering, slamming. Plastic on pavement. Her soles hit the ground with resounding booms, sounding her presence to the whole wide world. “I am here. But leave me the hell alone!” A roll of dynamite was trailing her, not stopping, burning… She had to get away, if there is even an escape from this nightmare. “There has to be.” She had to keep going, keep going. Running away, away, toward, toward. She couldn’t get rid of this darkness that engulfed her, just yet, and she pushed herself harder, panting. The light at the end of the tunnel, just about. Beads of sweat clung to her raised skin, and she could feel her hair flapping with the wind – it felt as if she was flying. Her heart was pounding like crazy. Chasing, chasing the end, or a new beginning. “Go away, go away,” her entire core screamed, and the pain of her tightening chest relieved just a tiny bit of this constant shudder across her body. This never-ending series of terrors. Shadows of mercy just out of reach. Like a hand holding out a luscious red apple, trickling with an antidote, but she kept straining, straining. Oh, no. She gasped, finally coming to a slow. Home. She sighed, pushing the brakes, shifting to a jog. Finally, she stopped, and suddenly turned around. “Someday, just someday, you’re going to get the hell away from me! Watch me!” A triad of grotesque, ghastly phantoms – that would make anyone shudder and recoil, or even nod with familiarity – cackled loudly, their acidic breaths mere centimeters away. Only this time, the grips they always had on her slightly loosened. She began to raise her upper lip in disgust, then she remembered. Turning back ahead, she gazed at the bright, compassionate light ahead of her warmly smiling. “You got this, sweetie. You’re healing. You’re getting there.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself of this: Even with the wicked, there is always hope. Amongst all this, with the darkness and inner demons… you can, and you will, embrace a full world with your wings and eternal inner flame that never lost hope. 

ASL translation: https://youtu.be/Z8MQRQB8lXY

Okay, here goes. I grasp the material and carefully position it, from forehead to chin, ear to ear, and it wetly sticks. Squishy. The sticky, pungent mass of skin makes a plop feeling. Like bare legs glued to leather on a hot summer day. But… bloodier. A chill down my spine, and I feel my pulse rising – I missed this. Oh, I forgot what this felt like. A sudden breeze. The calendar page bristles. It’s chilly. The first of October. Today, in the mirror stares back a red, dry-faced lady, looking like she’s smoked a dozen too many cigarettes every day until her last. And now her – my – eyes are black. The microscopic image of a spider’s eyes, wicked and as dark as the depths of the universe, flashes. A high-pitched scream. Like a flicker, then gone. Now I see a reflection of blue pools, familiar spheres. Tired creases on her face, a line that never left. “Remember, that’s you”. Deep breath. Of course. Off I go. I open the door, and a sudden thought – right, the gloves. Can’t mess up like that again. Digging around my drawer, I spy a beige-colored pair of gloves that matches my face – eh, close enough – and force them on, the blood and skin squelching. Gotta wiggle and pull until the tip of my bare bones reach the very ends. Finally, I look at the long red nails, hauntingly new. I become there, and this entity becomes here… whom, self, what a terribly difficult and complex thing to pinpoint. Why not just choose, anyway? The door closes. Click. The figure walks away into the shadows, off to another adventure.
Inside, endless mounds of perfectly preserved heads dangle.