News:

Hand drawn by monkeys in sweat-shop conditions.

Main Menu

17

Started by Sepia, May 17, 2011, 01:42:43 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

Sepia


It marks a day of dread, the coming of the king. In his castle he slumbers, what thoughts go through his mind before he is to meet his people? Is he at peace? Is his sleep solid or does he toss himself around and how many are watching? How many are peering through their looking glasses, their spheres of crystal and tea leaves? Is the king his kingdom, is he the embodiment, our old odin, still in the trees, gaining more ground, an old god is called by young neophytes- is this the kings dream?

His smile will reveal it he thinks as he stands there, above the human larvae crawling past him and he waves, he waves to the people, the king of all tears, the dark ones in the forest, older gods still felt through the gusts of winter, he waves to the sea, he waves to the abyss and the darkness, to the rest of the world we all wave and in all our smiles we smile our lies as we silently hum thank god for oil as we proceed out further into the day or night, always a plastic glass of champagne in our hand and all the vikings are out of their caves and their slaves as well and we remember our last mother who said it was typical of us to be good

«Enige og troe, indtil Dovre falder!».

We are to be united as one until mount Dovre is no more. The symbol of dovre held power once when we had intellectual giants and when we were pretty damn good when we didn't try to rub our backs with the giants, helping them in ways we don't need to, fuck, we don't need a military, what if we rather, as the peace nation we are with our fancy prizes, thank you sweden by the way for supplying us with this back then and as much labour as we can use now, sorry, peace- let's use that budget to build a big fucking thing dedicated to diplomacy, let's evolve and build our own brand instead of piggybacking, let's do some of the shit we talk about or let's just wave back to the king as we crawl forward turning

That old mountain range, that old whore forever imprinted in us and if nature is mother, she is it, she is our eternal babalon. Even if some crafty terrorists blew all of it up it would still be there like the dead indians permeating rushmore, old gods lie in our waters, our lakes and fjords, our forests and in the moors where nature itself lives, a place where stories were once weaved and their fabric changed our texture and among all the heathen graves accumulated in our fair land, the dead gods lie there still. It is not only cthulhu that can sleep, watching, acting through proxy, the old ways are coming back but all will be changed and we see that time is closer to a bubble, a fish than a circle

Ending, we head for the nature with our backs filled with warm clothing, blankets, food and wine, drugs and the day is glorious, it is the sun coming up for something old
Everyone will always be too late

Dysfunctional Cunt

WOW Sepia, I know you hear this all the time but damn that was awesome!

:mittens:

Your writing makes me think, not always good but never bad. I hope that makes sense.

Eve Hill


Sepia

Quote from: Khara on May 17, 2011, 04:34:32 AM
Your writing makes me think, not always good but never bad. I hope that makes sense.

Thank you both for mittens and if I'm able to provoke some kind of emotional or intellectual change/response I'm quite happy because most of the time I'm writing it feels like it is something others than me won't get but I'm glad I'm wrong.
Everyone will always be too late

P3nT4gR4m

Quote from: Sepia on May 17, 2011, 08:30:32 PM
Quote from: Khara on May 17, 2011, 04:34:32 AM
Your writing makes me think, not always good but never bad. I hope that makes sense.

Thank you both for mittens and if I'm able to provoke some kind of emotional or intellectual change/response I'm quite happy because most of the time I'm writing it feels like it is something others than me won't get but I'm glad I'm wrong.

Sometimes I get it, other times I feel like I don't quite but it still hits me like a mood or a state of mind in abstract. I always enjoy, tho

I'm up to my arse in Brexit Numpties, but I want more.  Target-rich environments are the new sexy.
Not actually a meat product.
Ass-Kicking & Foot-Stomping Ancient Master of SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK
Awful and Bent Behemothic Results of Last Night's Painful Squat.
High Altitude Haggis-Filled Sex Bucket From Beyond Time and Space.
Internet Monkey Person of Filthy and Immoral Pygmy-Porn Wart Contagion
Octomom Auxillary Heat Exchanger Repairman
walking the fine line line between genius and batshit fucking crazy

"computation is a pattern in the spacetime arrangement of particles, and it's not the particles but the pattern that really matters! Matter doesn't matter." -- Max Tegmark