The Lore Singer

Space ''' They say space is quiet but I have a little in my own head and it is deafening. *** Stones ''' 'Sticks and stones may break my bones,' but - I used a rock as a pillow last night. *** Needle ''' It is a small trinket for fabric and thread until it loses [...]

Snakker. Uendelig snakker. Ord. Spørsmål. Hvorerdu og hvaskjer og hvorfor-snakker-du ikke-med-oss -lenger? Har du lyst til å komme til oss i morgen? *Ikke egentlig men* Tusen takk, jeg må gjøre ting hjemme. *sitter på gulvet stirrer på vegger* Gråter skyene svart regn?

A sick-minded slashing churning and fueling your venom of hate - And I have bled for your deceit. You are the enemy loathing your fate - The pierced Hand has crushed you. *** I was going to merely post this liten-linje and be done with it. But, it seemed a bit disappointing to say nothing [...]

Eyes behind which circle many thoughts like wolves - unearthed in harsh dissonance to bitter cry of broken being; thoughts - prowling behind bleeding stares at soft stars - that bruise the cynical darkness. The scarred are the strongest fighters.

Spinning spheres of hollowness, drifting ghosts of neon-washed, white-faced, candle-lit beauties; one hand hesitating, drawing back, from the gentle light; what we long for, we shun, clutching the black with the other. Ach, would that each saw the picture. Sometimes, one only seems to grasp sharp-edged puzzle pieces.

Dear depression, I wish you could see the view from here. It's not so high as it is grand, because, broken mortal that I am, I have not reached the top. It's quite stunning, in a calming, relieving, beautiful way, on the other side of the valley. You hate me, I know, for in some [...]

Is fyre truly, always, orange, amber, red, furious? We think it can only smoulder and rage and roar. We think one can only be seared by its pain. What if, perhaps, I have been burned - am being burned alive - but I am, slowly, ever slowly, beginning to see that the fyre, sometimes, wears [...]

Every one of them smiled but did not mean it. And all the merriment they chased was a storm of angry aches. And after it all every one of them looked back with regret and wished they had not settled for less because they had believed a gilded smile.

Ripped in two these pieces these halves incomplete because tints in the fabric deceived the eyes of onlookers.   This cloth stained clawing at  the threads which hold it together.   This side of the fabric dark as hades noticed and examined and patched but still glints shadow. The threads are red and black.   [...]

An out-of-characteristically-modern train-of-thought. Apologies accepted.    A rabbit ran into the sun; I watched it burn to powder. A raven pulled a dog in two, And still its bark was louder. The moon began to set behind the cloudy ocean-skye. The man inside bit a lemon-rind and watched the raven die.   An elephant in [...]