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And there's no hiding from the tears
May. 26th, 2011 09:47 pmIn my subterranean tower...- yes, it was "love" that has brought me here, there are no numbers, but one and eleven, and an uncertain feeling about the presence of three.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
While I am dressed in the monster's skin,"behold the cruellest mockery!": erection, fur(s) and a cloak of shame my beauty is too disgusting...- please, don't look at me.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
Like Cronos I rigidly serve an illusion...- I attempted to unman Uranus last night; swallowing handfuls of my prophetic children, in terror I'm fearing the passing of time.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
...And in the silence that followed I learned to speak the secret language of denial and fear; seemingly gentle for its absence of voices, yet, it's merely a shroud for a deafening scream.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
- "Do You Know About the Water of Life?" by Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
While I am dressed in the monster's skin,"behold the cruellest mockery!": erection, fur(s) and a cloak of shame my beauty is too disgusting...- please, don't look at me.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
Like Cronos I rigidly serve an illusion...- I attempted to unman Uranus last night; swallowing handfuls of my prophetic children, in terror I'm fearing the passing of time.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
...And in the silence that followed I learned to speak the secret language of denial and fear; seemingly gentle for its absence of voices, yet, it's merely a shroud for a deafening scream.
Built brick by brick and fear by fear...- Oh, everything's inverted here. These walls have eyes, these vaults have ears and there's no hiding from the tears...
- "Do You Know About the Water of Life?" by Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows
He ate my heart and then he ate my brains
May. 26th, 2011 09:11 pmAwesome book: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. Why? Because it made me cry. I like books that do that.
Seriously, that book is gruesome and twisted, but beautiful and true and heartwarming.
Seriously, that book is gruesome and twisted, but beautiful and true and heartwarming.
Blinding- Florence and the Machine
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:35 pmSeems that I have been held, in some dreaming state
A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake
No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber
Until I realise that it was you who held me under
Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids
Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs
No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world
And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack
All around the world was waking, I never could go back
Cos all the walls of dreaming, they were torn right open
And finally it seemed that the spell was broken
And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open
And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open
No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world
Snow White's stitching up the circuitboards
Synapse slipping through the hidden door
Snow White's stitching up the circuitboard
No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love
No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world
Snow White's stitching up the circuitboards
Synapse slipping through the hidden door
Snow White's stitching up the circuitboard
Synapse slipping through the hidden door
Waiting to be Liberated
Sep. 12th, 2010 07:00 pmFrom Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury, "How To Keep and Feed a Muse":
The Muse must have shape. You will write a thousand words a day for ten or twenty years in order to try to give it shape, to learn enough about grammar and story construction so that these become part of the Subconscious, without restraining or distorting the Muse.
By living well, by observing as you live, by reading well, and observing as you read, you have fed Your Most Original Self. By training yourself in writing, by repetitious exercise, imitation, good example, you have made a clean, well-lighted place to keep the Muse. You have given her [...] room to turn around in. And through training, you have relaxed yourself enough not to stare discourteously when inspiration comes into the room.
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Answers. I has them.
The Muse must have shape. You will write a thousand words a day for ten or twenty years in order to try to give it shape, to learn enough about grammar and story construction so that these become part of the Subconscious, without restraining or distorting the Muse.
By living well, by observing as you live, by reading well, and observing as you read, you have fed Your Most Original Self. By training yourself in writing, by repetitious exercise, imitation, good example, you have made a clean, well-lighted place to keep the Muse. You have given her [...] room to turn around in. And through training, you have relaxed yourself enough not to stare discourteously when inspiration comes into the room.
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Answers. I has them.
