You see, there is a plane of raw thought, and a plane of working that raw thought into something the world outside of your head may recognize as real, most of the time in the form of language.

 

My thoughts are bilingual most of the time, chafingly so, a mischmasch of English and German, both thought up from the same brain, thoughts brought to the thinker in two threads, not always fit to match.

 

I tendril-wind my hands around you

your throat a tendril in my hands;

speak no word that is not true, speak truth,

schweige, nimmermehr.

 

You see, the essay. The essay wants to stretch herself out (because in German, she is female) from one topic that is personal and close to heart to what seems to be the same topic, but is no longer close as a friend, but wide enough to encompass the world as it reflects the zeitgeist on our souls: globalization rules us, whether we want it to or not.

 

Das Wasser, das sich selber schöpft, Herzblut;

Trink mit mir, Met und der Poeten Blut,

skim the rivers of our thoughts

und tränke der Stille Federkiel

 

In my thoughts, the world can only be big enough to fit into one sentence, perhaps a paragraph, but no more. Always the same, I will say, but everchangeling, something that has not been here before

 

Something that we will never observe after. An Occasion. A reason to celebrate, our palm fit to a stranger’s palm so that

 

The language is

nothing,

wi[re] sind alles [everything].

 

Here, Stranger, my palm for you, to keep.

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Alexandra Seidel probably caught the myth and fairy tale bug while she was out in the woods one midsummer day. Meanwhile, the disease has turned her into a poet, writer, and editor. Her work may be found in Mythic Delirium, Goblin Fruit, Strange Horizons, and elsewhere. You can follow her on Twitter (@Alexa_Seidel) or read her blog:
www.tigerinthematchstickbox.blogspot.com.