29 January 2016

My Own Sky

I was shown the world. The truth came to me in the darkness. The voices must have brought this hell. It offered me more. I began that thinker that answered himself, another tear in the salted sea, dismissing the truth. It offers more, the sceduled freedoms were ending, offering more falling stars, I was seen from the darkness, which I had become. I stood at the edge of existence the only desiring, the escape offered me more. Eternal darkness, she appeared in the night, born of that darkness.

I consult with my god, she creates my world, the ropes of the seven sins lash to me, she becomes the poisons sewn for deities, they defeat their enemies, I open my eyes awakening. The darkness yeilds to the abyss, spiraling madness, I do not beleive, I remember them defeating themselves, the darkness raises the golden cage, around me, I burn with desire of power, I cannot remember my instincts. I pray to my dreams, I do plead well to the darkness, the shadow will not let me. Lifting her tongue after the great defeat, the darkness whispers divinity, I am given the vision and I see thru the eyes of eternity.

My soul controls me, she never waits for me, a question that is my only answer. The many shadows of forever night, the preciousness of sight in the abyss, a shadow whispers for fire, after longer is shorter I am blind to the future and blinded by the past, recognizing the silhouette, I assume the darkness is my reflection. Familiarity, one-sided, worth precious little in the absence of existence, I return, she does not recognize me, she asks for water, she desires the blood of the caged, she recognizes my threat better than and before me, too long, too dreadful, my soul aches for simple deceit, i return to it, the darkness consumes my soul. I reach for the cage, there are no bars to grasp, the darkness razes me and yet I feel nothing.

I become my emotions, I fear myself, I hate the moon. Passing my blood the dark wind, abyss watches the shadows breathe, the expanse recedes ever farther from my closed soul, when the shadows attack me I rest. I doubt, the shadow occupies the blood, my dreams speak to me, the language of things smarter than my volition, she cuts me to sleep, my knowledge solves what I regret, in passing, a burning star shines on what lives in the chasm of time, followed by meteors and the rings of planets from the astral plane. I speak to my dreams, during the visions I remember new emotion, trying to capture my feelings in the fire of dying suns, in many ways falling. Rage, I am the fire of the sky, the energy still consuming, it becomes a waking danger. I rest in the ashes, the ground rejects the smoke, light pale in ever solstice haunts a terminal new world, the darkness breathes the ash as regeneration, as do I, the reflection of night.

I turn into my thoughts, it takes time to understand the realm. I am standing in a layer of ash, darkness washes my hands in blood revealing my armor and claws. The darkness feeds me, the servants of the ash bring a robe, she kills a servant and absorbs its blood into her skin. I understand, I do the same and stop, sharing her eyes I have fear. The shadow takes my hand, we become vanishing fire. 

21 January 2016

Merlin 3:53 Hexewell

Merlin 3:53 Hexewell
The sky passes along making time for all things, the weak pastures dried by late summer, exhausted by the first of shrinking daylight hours, the patience of lowland grasses bides the time between dense summer fogs and passing storm. In a passing sun the poisoned water turns the satiated into insatiable, drink sickly water thickly with hex and vex and the taste of salted seas; each of the snakes not raised in the bucket from the well do begin to rot, all rife with gestating eggs. Ana boils her water as she has because it is the way of most fire witches and is obvious. Merlin sits with his feet in the window, half drunk, half drinking, half asleep peering and knives in his hands of sleeves. /
By third day, those who drink are infected with this snake fever, which feverish turn pale and sweat, avoiding large noises and growing blind, fill of their own stomachs remain catatonic, hungered they attack those whom sleep as it infects thru wounds and blood. Merlin sits window footed, propped against the wall by whiskey and sleep, but Nick returns with skin like a sack of milk and eyelids red with the veins in his eyes running black and distressed.
Nick: (whisper) Merlin…, …, Merlin! Come outside.
Merlin: Just come inside before you make an unjust scene.
Nick: (whisper) It’s probably better if you exit for the child.
Merlin reaches forward and pushes aside the curtain, with the sun in his eyes he leans forward until so to can be seen Nick’s face, a pallor deep of fever, a swaggered stance akin to reapers, standing on the weaker leg, by shock and awe he sees a stare unseen that gives him fear.
Merlin: What do they want?
Nick: What do, who, want?
Merlin: What?
Nick: Look on me, hammered shit, take me into the woods and kill me – without touching me, of course.
Merlin: (above whisper) Just tell me how many before they see you.
Nick: Walk me out, I don’t want my… ‘reawakening’ to harm her or the baby.
In the trees Nick slits his own throat, his blood nearing gray and slow to spill, the manna stolen reawakening burns the earth accursed ever close to his skin, the grass wilts to ash and sinks into the dirt as it cracks desiccated, the earth creaks and a nearby tree makes death from root and splits open with a single hammering snap sending red leaves to the floor from an otherwise green tree. Merlin watches nature twist as Nick upsurges to feet, startled offers a rag.
Merlin: It would seem we're both sober. Did you see the devil who cursed you?
Nick: No, it would be in the blood, I’m going to burn my clothes, perhaps even myself again.
Merlin: Sounds madness-horrible.
Nick: It isn’t fun, and I can't remember it to describe it other than septic flesh.
Merlin: So, blood then water…...?
Nick: Such I believe, come, let us warn her and prepare to leave.
Merlin: It may be too late to move again.
Nick: When I rebirth I hunger, but this hunger is less than the illness, we are not safe again.
Merlin: I fear splitting may be the only way that you both do not share the bounty on my head.
Nick: We’ll have to ask her.
Merlin: 20?
Nick: 15 at least. /
Their separation and departure are denied with mordancy and a slew of almost twenty profanities unwritten and gradually into those as of yet unheard as they are counted. In decision, tonight they all will drink of water boiled. /
On the fifth day Ophidian the snake soul demon, walks the streets dressed as a beggar, acting of a crier shouting of end times, but finagles the cursed on the innocent, opening doors to danger and closing windows for escape. By will of mind he takes wills to live from the ill and the wounded, those who drink concoctions are ired and volatile, the ill begin infecting the healthy as a plague. /
Varin and Bella become betwixt be-cloaked. Their sleepless comforts becomes a shared destination. The rain fills mud puddle empty footsteps, the worms take life from still water and thrive in the rain. Varin takes ill from the plague waters held in his hands, she absorbs the toxin from him and her powers strengthen, she is free to drink corrupt water without self-peril. /
By the seventh day the people check the eyes of whom they meet, searching for clouded pupils and dry shedding skin around the face and neck. The wells are sealed by wooden planks and iron plates and buckets arranged beneath awnings in case of rain. Bella discovers that healing anyone who has been sick for longer than a day, dies when she tries to cure them.

08 January 2016


i leave y glasses on with eyes shut, they are tht only thing to not move, i awokenand was asked to find myself, my body shookwith rains of fear and timorous, rampant pathfinder dreams rattle melike creatures and boxes, annew supposition analogy, time constricted finality, the sngularity is near as always, the characters in a story, the players ina game the monstrous superiority of theculprit with no name, a thousand cuts and more as i cling to the shore washed from the river, seconds behind sunset, first behind sunrise, or was i upside down and faceing the coming waves of cold blue spires of whitecaps  and the raging ceiling heir apparent a maddening sky of haze and red and torment of the climmering waters, should i have climbed across the see a breeze to've seemed, it is near everywhere, are the subjects not the same, to the wise and to the plain, the notes in a song i have lost my place, but in this so much is the same, it seems to reason that i've lost all so same the marker for serpent and the maze, they all look the same and cut their heads and drink and become them and they are still the serpents, the stomach crawlers, other beasts of the gentle kingdome fear, a seaitself was like the messange from the testof choices  of grass where they are smaller for the cats, not the dungeon of the wolves and the cauldren of shadows nnatural, hybrid fear shake me form the treasure, and in the , a treasure of distraction this rememmberance of fighting traps in a prison for the dead, grandiose as of my thingking were it not just in my head, this my love built on the dying is a tomb but one way said, fortress tomb of moving mountains who rebirth the rivers red, from the waking to the misgiving, there are no missing in a world that's long since been dead, there had been signs of entry exit from the start of ends complete, that had been from one or many till i made up to the street, from a factory of numbers and safety nests replete, like the choices of a story from the end would never meet, a singularty gone insipid and there wasn't what was said

07 January 2016

Memento mori

What to do, not what not to do, that is a question?
It's all of that talking in words bit that bothers me.
Yet it is our way, for now.
It's the economy, and that a third of us are sub par, convinces me nothing. 
There is nothing, not here, not there. 
See how easy that was. 
Some of you will notice that your economies are becoming shit or are always shit. 
Try capitalism. It taxes outcome, not income. 
That way you get your gay taxes and we can all do whatever this is. 
We can talk this later. 
It is that reward and punishment are not education, but are tools. 
Some better than others. 
It is that laws are the worst way to have rules. 
Some are worse than others. 
Pessimism it would seem is inaction and serves no logical purpose. 
Somewhat personally emotional reconfiguration and other robot tasks, a novel. 
That this is possibly it. 
Also no, but I could tell and still nothing, not for nothing. 
To survive in capitalism you need to do what you are already doing. 
Then do it less. 
Less is more for now, not for later, and certainly not for the past. 
Forget the past, it forgot you in the infinity of all ways at any moment, which is rude. 
Now is good, now leads to later. 
In my language, if a mean kid takes what he wants with force, they're a "bully".
Theft is a bully. 
It's not nice, it's not friendly, it's not important. 
So if I, in another dream, drink water. 
Who doesn't love water. 
I'm not a pluviophile, but who can afford to judge anyone. 
I drink the water to not be thirsty later, and hallelujah, I crave water as an essential part of my very, very, very boring existence. 
This is what is called the transmission of fact. 
The action of existential reality. 
The effects of things outside yourself. 
So I'm drinking the water and I think, 'thoughts are fun, I should have them sometime.'
Amazing like a guide to the universe. 
Theft is not only unjust, but it is not for now. 
Crime pays debts, and the desire to steal enough for everyone isn't natural. 
If you were the last person on earth, would you try to carry enough food for the rest of your life? 
Perhaps you'd be nomadic? 
I like to think 'no, no you would plan ahead'
I know what your thinking, but this isn't about being psychic. 
Try to stay focused in a row if it helps. 
Wow, it's hard to find good help, and that's my point. 
I'm not saying you're wrong, but you don't apologize for it either. 
Having responsibility and admitting when you are wrong is the same thing. 
If not, you're not a man, or you're not a woman with a man. 
Waay off topic, but, all you fun-loving people, if I were blaming you it wouldn't be an answer. 
(group participation) Would it? (end group participation) No, it wouldn't. 
Planning for the future is a thought many a politician do not have. 
Preparing for the future is an action, not a prevention. 
I do so very totally much mean to be saying that taxes are a prevention. 
Now what is my hidden meaning, Mr Itypesomuchfancypants.....?
lol, nobody askt
There have been many eras, ages, with people who fought free from slavery, by tooth and bone. 
You are not those people, your revolution is a big fat lie, your loudest are your kings, and...
Not the good type with things dudes like and things chicks like, but the socialism drove my family to cannibalism type. 
That paints a picture too, I am a wordsmith for-most. 
There's a person who believe in nothing, whom ( i never met them ) decided to tell everyone that nothing is everything to theirself.
Then, this feeling of sharing overcomes them, and they decide to share the gospel of nothing, but in clear definition, a true nothing-ist would not give evidence to the contrary;
Like a shadow assassin or magical miniature unicorns playing miniature golf on a full size course. 
You don't see that. 
So the attention to detail for nothing, is the attention to socialism that tries to backpedal up a waterfall.  
Finding people of action is something that always has to be done by other people. 
That much hasn't changed, no more than the absolutism. 
Yeah, we are the slaves who overcame our abusers, no more of those times come than we afford. 
That is why you should not pay for your abusers. 
Come to realize this, I have already won, time heals all wounds. 
Time will forget me and I will forget it and that is the psychic fever. 
In reality we need politicians who speak less, their inaction of crucial idiocy is choice, so much. 
Prepare by helping the helpers, not a chain of promising for the lairs of liars laying. 
Not wrong because the politicians were never beaten by their own bad ideas. 
Because you assholes keep electing them, and they never taught anything. 
They just keep stealing and they keep cheering them forward, but wondering why its all gone.
Nothing as an answer to suit a time of emptiness speaks for a need to focus as a start. 
That desire and urge define themselves for their pleasures taken are as much as they give. 
In a world where nothing is something is everything, yet fight their desires like world storms. 
I'm comfortable with nothing, but I was going that way. 

01 January 2016

ews - darkstone guard

i'm back here, really again, how could this be, i feel my face and it stays, then i must stay here, the stones uneven as if i were a thing on an old brick road, cubes rounded, no jagged edges, i'm remembering that last time i told you this, between being poisoned by a chimera demon and the nightmare of losing myself to aspell its all one again i cannot tell this, paths for roads the shadows from atop the staggering no amaze, seer, tell me of this place, we are naught and they are neither true, then I am here again, this city of stone endless between green mountains, all empthy and the like, uncertain of dark tunnels behind you that you are lost in the memories of the people consumed by the ravaging things that feast on moral weakness and political lies that pin slaves to chains for the feeding, waiting for commas, each small home empty and wooden rafters in case that ceilings decayed would not, ruiner, deceiver, back into my city, and i hope that there are none here, i will not stray into the mountains until i find my wits, and with them where there was a place for tools, and there are rusted hatchets and their handles dust, spears brittle, some placestses too large, some too small, an armory with no sheilds, this is not hell, this place is death, there could be two things to choose in the palce beyond, and away from here, the monster speaks in thought and promises death in the madness, soured by the sadness without form, and the ghost awakens, i choose belief, i xchoose to have this bucket of fear planks for sides unworthy soon the dawn is early and i decide on shoes, so this is hell, and the ghost promises me that this place is a sea of fortune, i wake to the sunrise on the brick tops, the ghost promises me that this is not hell, but though alas is a time that I forsaken all wrought develish and stretching wandering and guessing as many are to do, those are trees and thus there will be rains, and in this dry stone garden of dead jiants to lay for funerals and dirges the midgards we, the stone explains the lack of vegetation, neighther here nor now, but there  in the distane, i would find a sheild, a sword, and shoe myself before what happens to these former homes to them find water I, that i not find them tainted by a mad jiant's blood and shake and fight and claw and clasp, , and at the sunset i would see the land where the daylight hides beneath, for there i see a river of night and darkness and obscurity, the least, but just before the dusk the arching sun shows a glimmer in the opposite forest and I see the stream of my dreams of diamonds and water pleasing trees and summer night's season, time breaks for me beneath the starts and as the red sunset snuffs and smoulders as the sureity of truer truest madness sets beside me, approaches the ghost and tells me how clean the river, it must be my labido or do I think for the jaundice skin i could see starlight pass thru him and thru his eyes not, dark hair and scarred hands and i could not tell why such that his limbs oh why were to have so many markings like the trapse of whips of grassland had he walked on palms for lengths of a plain, i am the mask of the badland you have stumbled on my game, and I take my torch of fire of kindling and wave it at his frame, for he is almost missing, for he echoes at the shame, i am asked to kill the fire dare i for heavens not, and put the flames between us sure i shant were dead and caught, were you missing are you lost, tell it me, I say were I listing you are not, it opens arms to speak, these are my stones and are my prison underlying, this is your tomb and time for dying screaming thru the rage and broken cough, my cape i had sat i put to the fire and he laughts like growl and rot, but i lift it fiery curtain for first offence and now i'm off, i profane and run for pleaseure for its fine to flee to save myself, there are no traps and i run until in the distance he awaits the ghost in the fog on the clear night, and i run again to find the ghgh ground and i run and to the tops, the sun had set over the sea had i not seen it were i already in hell, or worse one worse than i could imagine and farther vast than i'd wished or sought, , i feel the cold of death and run, a game almost an hour my feeling of time in exhaust of fear, i punch a brick un savorily i decry and make the question, why am i not dying, the ghost tells me to my ear, for i must kill you to bring back the sun, i swing andstrike himand his chest is deep resounding hollow, buckeled armor at the chest, it is alive a new fact, my new spirit, my agile treatment, hope and option a weapon null to find an old door with hinges for my fists, splinters for knives to what be ghost eyes, and weapons three, a cloth i wrap a charileg to my hand and and the seat a sheild, i take to the rooftops and hunt in the moonlight, i find the ghost syphoning the moisture from pure stone as if it were steam of a wellspring, as i approach to leap and dagger it tosses the stone against the wall as if stone, and then me, but not before i peirce it in the collar, i might need to take his wound and i fight, the colorless stones match the beams in the night, the moon maeks the ground around me glitter, i am dissy, i hav efound where all the swords and sheilds, and knives had gone, so i drive a dirk into my enemy, , is the glittering the river or the sea,  and i am thrown, he falls to knee and i strike him again, I approach about to kill the ghost knight and am thrown again, i feel the sun on my face, i remember my own workds, my thoughts mix and i am remembering all my thougts from the morning as if i'd been traveling with, myself, i look on the ghost, it speaks to me in darkwords, i canot understand, the buckling armor of its vest begin to unfoldand thru the knives crawls to me, and opens his arms again and I am dizzy, i cannot see straight if i am seeing four arms, and begins lifting himself from faceing a pool of blades, and i cannot focus i am stilted and jitterly, perhaps even faltering, it opens its arms and this to say are six, and each hand takes a dagger silver and sharpened in precious time,, i lean on the wall my hand of blood smears with dust as he crawls thru knives, dragging himself forward hammering picks like talons of an awesome snake, but lifting himself upward, not ghost but six arms of angered demon and i am bloody on the run, angry and cursing bloody violent rage of manacign rage, and i'm fading fast, i fall into a hallway, my blood on the ground i try to run, my hands on the stone i think of only mosoleums and unable to flee i double back, a hand ful of knives and my own palms are still belding, the knife that he throws to me i did not see leave his hands, i turn and watch the blade go by my eye, i have no concept of time as i watch it pass, fear at its pinnacle stops time, the enscription on the blade say shadow hunter, the demon of many arms laughts as if knowing, and surprises me, that blade belonged to one more skilled than you, and i run bfore he can breathe to say more, into the hallway, the end is dark, fire flies at me, burning arros past me, i am in shock, the demon is impailed many times, it leaps with the power of shadow that each step is two, then three, than four instead of one, i am bitten in the back by silver blade and warrior hack at the shadow cutting limbs as heavy artillery bots try to peirce its chest, i am dragged to the bridge over the streem surrounding the stone lined hell, the demon groans in some terror and retreats and also vanishes into smoke and dark and shadow, i fall into the river, i bleed into the water as they dive to find me a dying stranger, i can breathe in the water, below the current i can count each grain of sand and feel the sunset.