Eural's blog

Great Wind of Peace upon the
Face of earth,
Known by mind and sought by
Heart, yet not seen
By eyes nor felt flowing through
Man's fingers,
My ear, standing on hope, awaits
Thy sound.

The world has heard your
Whispered words with poor
Resolution, distorted through
The noise
Of stupidity and human
Ignorance.
Sing not softly, but strongly,
Thy lyrics.

Shout and shake the land
With a heavy breath
To make thyself known to Man
And his sons
As thy are known to Woman
And her daughters,
O Wind, enemy of death
Friend of life.

Let war die with hate and
Love live with peace,
For thus will be sung
To the melody
Of the knowledgable and
Of our children.
The music of life is the
Wind of Peace.

Sent from my iPod

How would I know that I am not on the edge about to misstep and fall from what I know to be what is? I can't ever really know if I'm near the bounds of genuine experience or if I have rolled down the cliffs only to awaken at the foothills of consciousness unaware of what happened. I will continue walking through the world with clear sight but I and all I see will be a blurry shadow to others.

 

  

 

Lacus Timoris

Languid?

Perhaps, yes.

I concede.

Though, is my characteristic supine silhouette a sight I enjoy?

No.

Not always.

Not unless the outline of my nose is obscured by the shadow of a book.

What keeps my head pinioned to the pillow?

Will?

My will?

I wish it were that simple.

So then,

What greedy house hoards culpability so well to eschew any patrolling remedy?

Like the air I cannot see in front of me, I cannot see what it is I am to blame.

Yet I can hear it whispering to me--taunting me.

I can hear it perambulating the fleshy fluid-filled ventricles of my brain.

I can taste the offending molecules that arouse Anxiety and Apathy--the two solicitous sisters who remain the jailers of my happiness.

I can smell the minxes’ mephitic breath. They blow their insidious kisses towards me.

They transmogrify my mind into an incompatible key to the lock of reality.

I can feel the weight of that house of hazy concentrated culpability.

It crushes me as the stentorian sounds of breaking bones booms in my ear.  

Now the dense nebula of fear fills my faint room and threatens to suffocate me.

My cold compressed room turns the stifling cloud of gas into a chilly noisome liquid.

I turn sallow and look for a diversion.

Hours pass as I degenerate into a capernoited cucumber, drunk on digital daiquiris.

A whirlpool forms unnoticed.

The toxic surf of trepidation now breaks on the shores of my bed.

I am a thrall on my own sinking island.

Those miscreant sisters offer me no solace from the inevitable.

The sensation of that seamy solution surging through my fingers and crashing against my body is more than I can suffer.

I must uproot my limbs and destroy this edifice upon my chest.

With all of my strength, I manage to deracinate my arms and heave the structure into the maelstrom.

It descends into the chthonic world from which it came to be punished by Pristiq.  

 

Now I am waiting for morning to come.

I am waiting for the chlorinated crepuscular light from my window to suffuse my room and puncture the bloated pool of fear and save me from drowning.

I am waiting to jettison myself out of my window towards the warm light, away from Anxiety and Apathy.