India Q and the Temple of Gloom

In a candle lit room with the perfume of peppermint wafting thru the air, strains of music can be heard as three priestesses sing lustily along with all the fervour that a prayer demands.

They are lying on the floor, eyes wide open, staring beyond the room walls, silent but for the words to the songs, “yeah.. you bleed just to know you’re alive” and then others go “sometimes I feel like I don’t have a problem” and then again “Just remember when a dream appears”..

There’s no one like a young girl to make a God of something she knows and doesn’t understand.

Alanis, Paris and I have worshipped at the Altar of Gloom for the longest time. Like any other God he can be benign and angry, tease our senses with a happy gloominess, a knowledge that we can feel.

And like all the great Gods, sometimes there is no reason for His presence. We can wallow in it just for the heck of wallowing in something that can be reached and believed. And if music has forever been used in temples, ancient and shiny, to sharpen the worshipper’s mindless devotion, then we three have been High Priestesses for the longest time.

After college, the temple lay bereft for a while, the High Priestesses flown to try the world. But they met again and found that the God had lived.

For anyone who has ever understood a blue song or got a peculiar joy from lyrics you’ve not written, or sat looking at truck lights passing away on a distant highway with some kind of scratching in your inside; wanted the clouds to rip away from you as you plunge through their depths, string less; for anyone who’s ever wanted to burn and live;
For where there is youth and a desire for life and love, the Gods shall bless us in all their bounty and there shall always be the Temple of Gloom.

And like different Gods bind different people into one force for good or ill, here we are...
Still bound.

Coz I know that you feel me somehow
Fly the ocean in a silver plane…
Lonely as I am together we cry.