I paid my tribute to the Sun, a pound of flesh; there is no shelter, there is no refuge for the night creature I am to the brilliant Eye devouring and bellowing flames, ever still in the arid sky, whatever night or day. Its surreal omnipresence ignited ancient visions of blazing and exacerbated, reactivated old manias and long-known demons, revived myths like dedicated pyres at the feet of gigantic statues; just as fire running on runnels drawing immemorial symbols on the ground of temples. Never visited - yet familiar.
So have been the visions in the last days, hidden behind sunglasses as futile as soft analgesics for a strong headache. And fever. My fingertips are caffeinated open wounds, à vif like just like in feu vif.

We approach the Zenith point, or solar Apex - yet the tribute has been paid and the burnt skin heals. Yesterday night thunder broke above our heads and today's morning immense clouds revolved against the blue at an incredible speed, blown by stormy gusts. The tension in the air changed, there's a hardly sensible inquietude as we head toward a concealed destination. Only with some fatalism I contemplate last day's trouble as the last bursts of resistance of a surrendering part of myself... Strange and beautiful flowers are blooming in the mild half-night, their swirling stems yet strong enough to support me. I will get back my moonstones, so appropriately also birthstone for June, and will hope it'll help. A bittersweet taille for the shelter of winter nights, not that much of a high price to pay.

I am not too keen on burning remains - if asked I'd tell I'd prefer being buried under a young tree, and its roots growing through me would crush my bones and suck their vital substance up to the crown's young leaves I would grow through. But there are things better burnt. At a year's end from now, the most of my previous life shall turn to ashes in a bonfire, before I take off hopefully for good.

"Rebirth, inner coldness, loss of soul and loss of sense, yearning for a renewed ability to feel and to love and for this part of... I don't know what, childhood, magic or innocence, mystery that veils the reality of life, this part we've been torn away from, or worse, clean-cut by our own good offices.
What has been lost is irreparably lost.
No need to ponder on what has been lost and can't be regained, it is on the contrary a unique chance - we are at the threshold of the world."

Reburn.