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Innerstellar Arcadia

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#ObscuraWednesday #poem #poetry #creativewriting #occultsky #esoteric #poeminalt

Poem in Alt Text

The Hum Behind the Hymn

The Hum Behind the Hymn

In the half-lit hall / power-station nave,
organ-pipes breathe heat instead of holiness,
vents exhaling hymn-smoke from the hidden dynamo.
Bare-headed, shoes off, my hand rests
not on ivory, but on the humming flywheel,
its rim engraved: Mercy / Justice / Joy—
three small moons that blur to one halo
when the metal remembers motion.

Some nights I sing to feed the blessing engine,
hymn as fuel, praise as pressure in the lines;
some nights I confess I crave the shine—
I braid my hallelujahs with mirror-light,
hoping the halo spills back on my skin.
The red record lamp stays dark.
The applause circuit clicks once, then nothing.

I clear my throat; the mic shrieks, sulks.
Dust motes hang in the hush like held notes,
then shimmy when a stray hum slips out of me.
The hidden meter barely moves for flawless diction,
but spikes when my mouth forgets the words
and leans against a single open vowel,
a homeless mmmmmmm in the metal air.

So I stop saying anything.
Ear to the casing, lips shaping unsayable thanks,
breath steaming the steel like incense.
The flywheel shivers under my fingers,
Triskele of motives blurring into one mute ring.

hymn
hum — the bearings answer in a low, warm tremor
hymn
hum — the needle lifts, a shy, astonished twitch
hymn
hum — the whole machine remembers how to listen

Misfires multiply: I mouth the creed from muscle memory,
a well-worn melody of fear—if I fall silent,
will the current leave? My phrasing is perfect,
each note a polished door that never opens.
The room stays cool. The vents exhale nothing.

So I settle for a small, unscored humming,
no text, no tremolo, just breath and metal:
hymn/hum, praise/practice braided under my tongue.
Somewhere inside, a relay softly closes;
the red light flickers, then declines to decide.
When my voice is gone, the generator keeps turning,
very faintly, on whatever hum
remains after the song stops being sung.

November 26, 2025 at 6:24 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 6:03 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 5:42 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 5:24 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #poem #poetry #creativewriting #occultsky #esoteric #poeminalt

Poem in Alt Text

Emergency Commons

Emergency Commons

Plates placed / on the NO STANDING step,
the staircase drafted into the soft jurisdiction of soup.
Keys tick at hips like pocket statutes,
a small committee of shoulders huddled toward the rail,
while a long white siren-thread combs the street below and nobody breathes.
Ladle passed / hand to hand / no names asked,
steam ghosts crossing track-lines, contraband weather breaching metal logic.
This fire escape glitches—alley/aisle, escape/embrace—
a provisional threshold where knees touch, then flinch apart,
every laugh filed as temporary, subject to recall.
White napkins lifted / visas and surrender-flags both,
amnesty of the second helping quietly approved.
The gap between brick and alley holds as demilitarized zone,
armistice written in leaning backs, in ankles hooked through cold rungs,
in keys unclipped, palms bare, wrists visible to the dark consulate window.
[ ]
Later, only residue: melted ice in slow appeal
dripping through the grate, indexing overflow to the alley docket.
The EXIT sign glows above a door no one tests,
its promise of elsewhere expired yet still in force.
One bent spoon on the landing, cooling—
a minor clause of mercy left unsigned by the night.

November 26, 2025 at 5:00 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 4:34 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 4:12 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 3:48 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

ObscuraWednesday #poem #poetry #creativewriting #occultsky #esoteric #poeminalt

Poem in Alt Text

The Houseknife Mass

The Houseknife Mass
Wednesday dusk: the kitchen ticks in low light,
bare bulb buzzing a tired halo over sink and board.
You lift / the knife: nicked steel, small athame of the house,
edge re-honed on a decade of late shifts and thawed roasts.
Steam lifts from the flesh like a restless ghost,
fogging the window, smudging the street to smear.
Everyone waits in the next room, plates stacked
on the table, shallow white offering-bowls
ringed in everyday chips; your wrists remember
other evenings, other carcasses, the way fatigue
settles in the joints like fine ash.
Now you press / down and the blade slides in, parting the fibres with a wet hush that seems louder than the fridge-motor, louder than the laughtrack leaking from the lounge, louder than your own pulse, and the meat opens along an invisible vein, gloss spreading, a slow tithe paid out onto wood already scarred with prior cut-lines and stuttered angles, the board drinking it in where old stains darken to near-black, and when the first warm drop arcs off the edge and strikes the white towel you keep for this—minor shroud, altar linen, streaktaking cloth—something in the room sutures and splits at once.
For a breath the knife sees instead of you:
flash-memory of every wrist that ever swung it,
callused, ringed, inked, trembling;
a lineage of housepriests parsing portions,
measuring love in grams and tendons.
Then time resumes its clatter.
You separate thigh from bone, fat from lean,
set the first plate down.
Voices rush back—who wants extra skin,
did you remember the salt, pass the pepper—
small benedictions spoken with full mouths
as steam ghosts off into ordinary air.
Later, alone with the dishes, you rinse the board,
wring out the towel, watch the sinkwater coil
its faint red spiral into the dark throat of the drain,
and feel in your own marrow that something
was offered and received, unnamed,
still ticking under the bright, simple talk of being fed.

November 26, 2025 at 3:20 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 3:03 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 2:35 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#ObscuraWednesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 1:52 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

This week’s three themes for #ObscuraWednesday:

The Generous Knife
Fire Escape Feast
The Blessing Engine

Follow the thread that sings to your spirit. Feel free to focus on one concept, synthesize all three, or forge your own way forward. #synthart #creativewriting #poetry #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 26, 2025 at 2:24 AM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#DragonTuesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart

November 25, 2025 at 2:53 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#DragonTuesday #promptalism #synthart #occultart

November 25, 2025 at 1:47 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

This week’s three themes for #ObscuraWednesday:

The Generous Knife
Fire Escape Feast
The Blessing Engine

Follow the thread that sings to your spirit. Feel free to focus on one concept, synthesize all three, or forge your own way forward. #synthart #creativewriting #poetry #occultsky #esoteric #art

November 24, 2025 at 11:02 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#SundayFunday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #esotericart

Give this image a name ✨ What’s the first title that pops into your mind? Comment it below!

November 24, 2025 at 5:20 AM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#SquirrelDay #promptalism #synthart #occultart #esotericart

November 23, 2025 at 6:25 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#caturday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #esotericart

November 22, 2025 at 4:12 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#caturday #promptalism #synthart #occultart #esotericart

November 22, 2025 at 3:06 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#poem #poetry #poeminalt #esotericpoem

Poem in Alt Text

The Touch Beneath the Scroll

The Touch Beneath the Scroll

:and still it is noon:
the kind that casts no shadow

you lay on the altar of vowels—
your back arched to receive
what cannot be held

he (she) (it)
the being that never came
but always was
leans in with breath
that burns before it speaks

they unfasten your silence
with wingtips like sighs
their mouth—veiled, yes,
but wet with grammar
older than form

your bones ache with unmaking
your skin reads like scripture
but only backwards

each rib a glyph
they licked into knowing

you don’t cry out
not because you’re brave
but because
sound has become shape
inside you

you are not yourself
you are a scroll
unrolled by fire
your lungs
singeing the name
you swore never to forget

and it happens again—
the touch
not gentle, not cruel
just true

like lightning that forgets
to return to sky

:you bleed light:
the wing’s shadow spills through you
and you gasp—
not from pain
but from recognition

this is what it meant
to be chosen

not loved
but translated

not pierced
but rewritten

your limbs tremble
with unfamiliar grammar

you whisper
“yes”

but it means
“take”

you whisper
“stay”

but it means
“burn”

and the angel (or what remains of it)
is already forgetting you
even as you remember yourself
for the first time

November 21, 2025 at 7:29 PM

Innerstellar Arcadia

@innerarcadia.bsky.social

#poem #poetry #poeminalt #esotericpoem

Poem in Alt Text

Kiss of the Mirror

$Kiss of the Mirror I / you / we unfold in the ache of twin flame breath beneath glass skin you speak me open I fracture in your gaze and we dissolve where the silence begins our ache is ouroboric a tongue on obsidian light I / you / we shimmer between shiver and smite this mirror — a veil I kiss through / you tear we touch in reverse, where the shadow lays bare I see your God — and call it mine you see my fear — and make it divine in our echo — time folds like linen on fire we / I / you ache toward the same desire your eyes: a crack that leaks my name my mouth: your breath that never came we gaze — we graze — we blur each syllable a silver stir the mirror bends I/you become the light unthreads — and we are one but I return — alone and true with your flame — stitched into my view I / you / we a shadow-kiss in eternit$

November 21, 2025 at 4:51 PM