buzz of static

It's a little funny. I am constantly under the impression that Killy and I don't talk very often any more - and, in a way, I'm not wrong. Those deep, serious conversations we used to have crop up very rarely these days, and there's no real need to talk about forms, or visualisation, or clarity of speech, or any of those little inner relationship features we used to muse on as two.

At the same time, however, we almost speak more frequently because of it; it just happens so quietly and easily that it doesn't quite register in my uppermost consciousness. I don't bother to deliberately have A Conversation with my daemon - but if I pause and think about it, I can pick out dozens of short exchanges scattered throughout a single day.

"Absolutely perfect, if I do say so myself."
"And you do, don't you."
"Oh, I so do."

Nothing profound. Nothing that will assist me in a deep and meaningful way as I wander my worldly trails. (Something that was in fact referencing toast.) Just evidence that the flow of mental dialogue has become thoroughly, and possibly permanently, ingrained.

doppelgangers

Corporeality has never been of huge concern to either my daemon or myself - I could dig up a forum post made several years back in which Killy presented a rare speech that effectively said he was incorporeal because he was meant to be incorporeal, so lusting after some sort of physical presence would not just be lusting after corporeality, but a whole different system of operating. That's not to say I've never considered what it would be like, given that such musings can be a lot of fun. I've just never felt a great deal of grief over the way things are.

However, I recently realised that when wistfulness does rear its head, it's usually in consideration of how it would affect the way people perceive me. This seems a bit odd as, although I'm not the most secretive person I know, I do tend to be a bit touchy about who knows what, and perhaps I wouldn't be as prone to these grumblings if my settled form was that of a teeny tiny ladybug.

As it is, my settled form is a predator of reasonable size, and it's easy to imagine the ways that could come in handy. Many a night of wandering down dark paths after a late lecture at university has seemed like it would be less nerve-wracking if there was a solid presence at my side with a mouthful of teeth. Confronting a misbehaving child seems like it would be simpler if my daemon were able to calmly sit on theirs. Flattened ears and a low growl would be a better indicator of genuine anger than my own flustered prattlings.

Of course there are flaws to these notions as well, and they never will be anything more than idle thoughts. Some might even wish to ask that if my inner self is so inherently threatening, how come I can't express that myself? To that I ruefully point out that mouthful of teeth or not, coyotes are nervous little scrappers. The only reason my offsider would enhance my supposed intimidation factor at all is that it would be 'operated' by the part of me that is composed, confident, and not inclined to take crap - namely, Killy.

it might have been parasitic

Me: Argh, the bread has mould! And I already ate a slice of it!
Killy: I'm sure the folk who would consider themselves fortunate to have an entire loaf of slightly mouldy bread at their disposal really feel for you right now.
Me: Did you really just whip out the 'there are starving kids in Africa' line?
Killy: *straightface*
Me: ...fine, alright, you have a point.
Killy: :)
Me: I'm still not eating the bread.
Killy: *STRAIGHTFACE*

So I guess, deep down, I am a very socially conscious person. It's just a shame all my shallow top-levels keep getting in the way.

The Confetti is Soggy Now

Oh, right - five years of daemonism as of last Wednesday.

I'm good at anniversaries.

Dust in the Guest Rooms

It occurs to me I haven't actually said anything about the State Of Upstairs for a while, though in my defense there aren't many who are likely to care.

Killy is still a coyote. I still dance around the word 'settled' as though it is wearing a slinky black dress and has a rose clenched in its teeth. For a while, during an overseas trip, he adjusted his colouration to an interesting mix of his usual yellow and a lightish grey; it was somewhat reminiscent of this. It did not last longer than the few weeks, however, and he has since resumed his usual fur colour.

There are no tenants at all on hand, and it has been this way for a few months now. Alex never returned from wherever he went. Maybe he will one day, but maybe he won't, and as fond as I was of him it is hard to feel too sad about the matter when I know he was never entirely content being 'stuck'. Likewise, Jim has quietly vanished from the apartment. I don't think it too likely he'll return, though as I did have much say in his appearance in the first place, I couldn't say any predictions would be accurate. As I can keep a sort of an eye on him via his ongoing canon, it's not as complete a parting as it could be anyway.

So it's rather 'empty' upstairs. I have to admit, I'm not particularly unhappy about this. While it was never a major inconvenience having people around, it wasn't a huge, positive influence on my daily life either. Maybe if I didn't have a habit of attracting adult men with other concerns...

As You Would Love Thyself

There are a considerable number of benefits to be had from knowing your daemon - indeed, why else would so many of us stay with it for so long? - and they vary from one person to another. Speaking personally, I find that exploring the settled form constantly allows for expanding self-awareness, forming problems as a dialogue is both calming and therefore provides greater clarity, and even the illusion of not being entirely alone can instill more confidence than would otherwise be had.

The greatest positive, however, is something that can still take me by surprise. In a way, it is a combination of the three things mentioned above; self-awareness, clarity, and confidence. What Killy says, and how Killy acts, has always been an utterly truthful reflection of how I feel - even if I don't realise it at the time.

Over four years experience and the use of hindsight shows a consistency in this that can feel genuinely startling at times. There is honestly no room for error. Things that I have done in the past and, years later, come to finally realise and admit were foolish are always, always paired with Killy's brand of anger and disappointment. Likewise, a contented coyote inevitably means approval for whatever action I have taken. I cannot force him one way or another, because if I am too wary of an answer that I don't want to hear, he does not speak at all, and that silence can say plenty about my conflicted stance on its own.

Of course, Killy is technically only correct in a very subjective sense. He is only ever a flawless representation of my feelings on any matter. This does not make it any less useful, however. What would otherwise be a muddled circling of uncertain and frustrated monologue can be cut down to a matter of seconds simply by turning to my daemon and requesting his opinion. Is it because by shifting the blame for the harshest observations onto a different subject I can face it down better, or is the daemon in fact a sharp-tongued mouthpiece for the subconscious? I don't really know enough psychology to say either way. I have nevertheless found it of incomparable help several times in the years I have known him.

Sidenote: I only have to travel halfway around the world for my daemon to be gentle with me.

Happy "Let's Be a Little Loony" Day

It's been four years since I decided this whole daemonism thing might be worth a spin. I feel highly accomplished.

I may or may not have forgotten this until the day was nearly over.

Insubordination

Yesterday
"...rat seems to be the form of choice lately..."

Today
Killy: *Leaps onto shoulder*
Me: Huh, that tail you're sporting is pretty poss...possum-y...
Killy: :)
Me: You just like being difficult, don't you.
Killy: :D

I gave him a face-noogie with incorporeal knuckles for that.

Status

I'm a terribly infrequent blogger, aren't I? On the upside, after a month or two I tend to have something interesting to report on, and if I don't then there's almost certainly something else I can ramble about.

The group's status has shifted somewhat in the last while. Killy and I are still ever-present, as you'd expect; we don't talk as much as we used to when younger, and rat seems to be the form of choice lately, but we're otherwise the same. I still feel like coyote is what best represents me, and I'm still holding off on declaring myself settled. He still thinks I make stupid choices too frequently for my own good.

Alex is still absent. It's been...hmm. A few months at least, so his longest stint yet. I don't think I can call it a permanent absence, as it still feels like there's a place for him here, but he's certainly Gone for now. I hope whatever he's doing, be it an activity or a restful hibernation, is working out for him. Perhaps he's found a way back to his sister. I know that would make him happy.

However, as of yesterday the relative quiet (because he was so noisy) has been broken by the highly spontaneous arrival of someone I honestly would never have expected. Unlike with Alex, there was no gradual fading in, nor even a recent immersing in his source - Jim was just there. Understandably we were both rather startled, and several hours was dedicated towards, erm, a great deal of flailing and attempted sorting out of things. (One day, one day I will greet an headstranger and not sound like a psychotic babbling child.) Eventually I managed to call up one of Alex's old haunts - a sizeable apartment/house with more than enough room for a single person - and Jim's settled in there.

The means of his arrival are not the only unusual point; Jim is what the soulbonding community tends to term an 'outsource', in that he came from a 'fictional source' outside my own creation. Discussions regarding reality can get very complicated when it comes to soulbonding, so I hope you'll excuse me if I skip lightly over that. Like Alex, he has strong ties to his world and to certain people within it, but unlike Alex his position there is one where he's unable to do anything in any case. I believe it is this more than anything that is making him consider staying here, at least until things change enough for it to be worth going back. The decisions haven't been finalised, however, so nothing is very certain right now.

So things have been just a touch chaotic! Hopefully we'll manage to find some sort of a rhythm sooner rather than later. Should Alex return while Jim is there, things will be interesting; I've never before had two self-aware headmates at any one time within the same space. They're both adults, though, so I have faith they'd work something out.

Mammalian Scalian

Hmm. Haven't posted to here for a while. Honestly, there's been very little worth noting; while a few things have happened here and there, occurances on the inside can be so fluid I'm rather wary of making any definitive statements lest the situation change two days later. I can say for certain that Alex has been quiet for a long time now. A permanent change? I'm not sure.

Killy's also mostly abandoned kingfisher, but hasn't returned to favouring coyote. Instead he has picked up Cameroon scaly-tail, a fuzzy-tailed rodent with scales at the base of its tail. I will say that these smaller forms are a relief when it comes to crowds, given that I'm no longer imagining a largish canine squeezing itself through impossible gaps.

'Tis the Season

No, no I could not think of a more original title.

There are two main areas within my headspace that I access. One is set in the middle of a forest, surrounded by greenery and a small stream. This is the area in which the postbox is located, situated neatly as it is in what we generally refer to as Little Tree. The second area is a strip of beach, hemmed in by cliffs with a lighthouse visible in the distance.

As December approaches, I took a customary wander around the areas to see if anything was new. The postbox was empty - but as I backed away from it I could not help but do a double-take. "Was...was Little Tree always shaped like a Christmas tree?" Killy shrugged. "'Tis the season."

As if this weren't surreal enough, a visit to the beach reduced me to a disbelieving stare. Perched cheerfully atop the lighthouse was very distinctly an enormous, bright red Santa hat.

"Oh now that's just not possible!"
"It is your mind."
"But-"
"I dunno, I kind of like it."

King of the River

Killy has taken the common kingfisher as his primary form for the past three days now. Neither of us seem particularly certain as to why beyond his own thoughtful comment that he "liked the headfluff crest thing". It's interesting having a form capable of fitting in a majority of places, I will say that; on my desk, perching on the seat rest in front of me while on the bus, tucked against my shoulder in a crowd...I was able to visualise him consistently while at work for what may well be the first time ever, for he was able to perch within my line of 'sight'.

Fake Moustaches and Glasses

Within the daemian community, Indy suggested an activity wherein each day we organise to swap forms with another member. It's nice to note it has been a resounding success; even daemons who are normally reluctant and uncomfortable with changing forms, like my Killy, seem to be getting into the swing of things, as evidenced by the mongoose sitting on my desk.

For amusement's sake, I present you with my week's schedule. (Thursday is absent as I'd like to be myself on my birthday.)

Sat: Dingo
Sun: Slender mongoose
Mon: Axolotl
Tues: Blue Jay
Wed: Raccoon
Fri: Ibizian hound

Sign Here Please

I received another letter recently - well, package more than letter. I was surprised, because although Alex has gone on another of his little sojourns into the deeper recesses of my mind, I did not think this was from him. Who it was from remains uncertain, as inside the plain white box was an impossible amount of bubble-wrap, and a single folded piece of blue cardboard, about an inch and a half square, with the word "Hi" handwritten on the inside. Killy and I spent a while wondering if it meant something significant before hesitantly deciding not everything had to have a purpose, and that sometimes my brain is just weird.

That decision became a lot more concrete when the postbox started offloading an alarming amount of fruit, forcing me to duck a wayward orange.

Moral of the story: do not install a postbox in your mind. It is far more trouble than it's worth.

Surf and Sand

If I were to ever doubt my love of the beach, I would only have to look to Kilmaeyon for proof otherwise. My coyote, my sardonic, brusque, occasionally caustic daemon...goes completely goofy. The moment we hit the sand he is alert, ears pricked forward and a loping bounce to his step. A section is claimed, towel placed down with keys carefully wrapped inside, and then we turn to the surf. He bounds amongst the shallow waves, snapping at the froth and shaking free of the rolling breakers, pushing forward until it is so deep he is forced to paddle, fur fanning from his body in a golden fringe.

It is then he changes. The restrictions we so frequently battle against are eased by the simple fact coyotes are not built for the sea, and soon enough there is a pale-furred sea otter floating alongside me, cresting low waves on his back only to bolt under the surface and dart about me as something bigger comes crashing down. He laughs, a solid sound compared to his quiet chuckles, chasing imaginary fish.

This last holiday I was fortunate to have the opportunity to spend several hours riding a family friend's jet ski; it is a canine's delightful dream, streaking across the surface of light-speckled water with the wind drying the spray from your face almost before it has landed. Killy accepted the challenge with no hesitation, a grey splash of dolphin easily keeping up, flicking his tail to arch through the air in glee, circling about us in impatient acrobatics should we be forced to slow. If we fell he would roll in encouragement, perhaps offer his own incentive by stretching his form into that of the shark, grinning a sinister approval as I scramble to climb aboard again. And when tired of this racing, desiring closeness, a damp scrap of harvest mouse clings to my shoulder just below my ear, thin tail streaming out behind.

It was also a holiday that followed a period where I have communicated with Alex more frequently than ever before, and so for the first time I was able to hear his opinion on the happenings, however brief. For all that he was born on the coast, he has no recollection of spending any time at beaches, and so seemed to regard the sea and its tumbling surf with apprehensive awe. He was not, unfortunately, remotely interested in sharing many related experiences, and indeed countered my request to "see what jet skiing's like!" with an alarmed "Why?"

Night On the Town

On Monday (now why would I post these things as they actually happen?) I spent most of the day finishing an assignment and handing it in. After that I decided that was it for my bloody work-related effort for the day and skipped my tute for a trip to the city.

The daemon would like to take this moment to interject and point out that the author is a very bad person and her work ethic should not be emulated under any circumstances.

Alex turned out to be in a rather tolerant mood, and so after purchasing dinner I decided to take the opportunity to drag him around a bit of my city while he indulgently listened to my excited ramblings ("You've finally had the chance to travel, you might as well enjoy it!") and Killy pulled that lazy grin of his. Most of the movies ran too late given that I wanted to be home by eight at the latest, so we simply wandered while I conducted the scattiest tour known to man.

It turned out they had temporarily erected an absolutely enormous ferris wheel next to the river, and I figured that was entertainment enough, and forked over fifteen dollars for a ride (it was a very fancy ferris wheel; AC and all). There was an amusing moment in the line when the lady was collecting my ticket and asked if it was just me, for I very nearly replied, "What? No, I'm with him," before recalling that him didn't exactly count to the majority of the corporeal world. So, frankly, it was quite a deal, with fifteen dollars for two adults and a coyote - bargain.

And then I bought icecream with cookie dough because one should never pass up icecream with cookie dough.

All in all, a much more preferable night to slumping in uncomfortable chairs and pretending to care about my classmates poetry, don't you agree?

(Remember - very bad person.)

Temper, Temper

Killy is a very calm daemon, at least when it comes to the outside world. I am a fairly emotional person and although I have a reputation for being adept at keeping control of my temper, the calmness I present is usually little more than a facade. I tend to release anger privately, sketching out great long novellas in my head involving everything I would like to say and do, plans drawn up for the day I might be able to let loose. And throughout my fuming, seething rage, Killy is perfectly calm. At this point in time I can think of exactly two experiences that made Killy noticably peevish; one was the unexpected and brusque physical action from a co-worker (he laid his ears back and bared his teeth), and the other was consistent advances from someone I wasn't fond of (I had to censor him for the first time in my life). But even then you would hardly label it more than irritation.

Indeed the only time he truly expresses anger is in regards to myself. I have been growled at, snapped at, and even shouted at. He has even made attempts to bite me, and although no harm can be done, the message is clear.

Some might interpret this as budding self-loathing. I, however, have a different view. Yes, Killy can frequently represent the part of me that is too hard on itself. But why should he be angry with outside issues when I can do it just fine on my own? He provides a counterbalance to my brief bursts of fury, and pushes me when I would let a private misdemeanour pass. Together, we manage to cover all the bases.

I suppose that's worth the incorporeal toothmarks.

Famous

Killy's taken to moonlighting as an American kestrel on occasion.

Why?

Because one of its many nicknames is the 'killy hawk'.

It seemed appropriate.

Banalities

The urge some daemons get to socialise - I don't understand it. I cannot think what there is to talk about but the humans. Perhaps that seems pathetic at a glance, but who do you think I am? Or is the real question who do you think I'm not? The answer is simpler than people try to make it. I am the inside that focusses on the inside. I am she. You cannot look to the left leg and expect it to function apart from the whole. You cannot look to the daemon and expect the human to make itself absent.

On the whole, it seems easier to converse with the one who has mouth and fingers. You will hear from me - when you speak to her.

-Killy

Peter Pan Syndrome

Killy and I have taken to something that is half a game, and half quiet desperation - practising the state of being unsettled. It sounds fairly ridiculous even to me, and I'm the one for whom it's of most importance. After all, surely you are unsettled, or you aren't; what need could there be of practice?

Quite a lot, at least for someone with my particular mash of circumstances. In my opinion, settledom is not as easily definable a state as many claim. It's true that in some cases someone can tell which state 'feels right', but to say every person can immediately tell whether they're un or settled, no questions asked, is inaccurate. I know this for certain, because at fifteen years of age I was absolutely, one hundred percent certain I was settled. Three years later, and I kind of want to give that fifteen year old a sharp smack over the back of the head. There is just no way I was settled then, and my little delusion ended up proving somewhat harmful in the long run. At eighteen years old, over halfway to nineteen, I want to be unsettled.

The worst of it is I probably am. The older I get, the older I believe the settling margin to be. It's a continuing debate and I won't go into it here, but the fact of the matter is there is still a great deal left for me to experience, and my personality is likely still forming itself into the more or less stable entity it will be for my adulthood. But because I believed myself to be settled for so long, and because I was enough of a lucky bastard to actually find the form that seriously seems to be my final one, we're finding it nearly impossible to enjoy the true fluidity that unsettledom is supposed to bring. We've already found coyote, identified it as us, and held the form for nearly three years. It's so hard to change.

And yes, I mean that literally. Killy has no real incentive to change, though he does try to humour me on occasion. Not only that, but it often feels forced, awkward, incomplete. Some would say this indicates I'm settled - I say it's an indication of habit that we probably won't be able to break before true settledom finds us. Eighteen might be too young, but perhaps not by a whole lot. I already threw away the proper experience of being unsettled, and now when I'm trying to grasp at it, it's not coming.

So we practise. We make an agreement and a conscious attempt to play around with other forms. It's not exactly what you'd call successful. It still feels stilted, and the moment we let our attention drift away from the exercise - game? - he automatically reverts back to the form we're used to. We simply won't ever achieve the wistful goal of being purely unsettled, because we're not. We already know about coyote. We already have that home base.

We merely have to content ourselves with the occasional dabbling in Neverland.