Manichean is someone from manchester

[Sepia]

We fell into hell, we fell down the well into hell. Somewhere was echoing and turning, a love life left cascaded inside the mirror of our dreams. We fell into hell, not like we'd fallen into other unforeseen consequences, we never fell behind like we did any other time, we fell into hell because we deserved it, we earned it. It was ours, it was where we were supposed to end up and thinking back it made sense, it was the only place we could have gone when we saw everything collapsing into itself, into our life. We saw only this shape and form at the end of it all, we understood then as our worldly possessions didn't pass with us to this afterlife. We understood why we fell because we'd been falling, every step another step backwards as we tumbled down the well, this point of light above us the only thing we ever saw as we finally broke the wall and came home.

I keep having dreams but they aren't mine. They belong to a young man who have still not become himself, the dreams are the conflicts of his own mind, the struggle on what choice to make. He is fragile, a brittle flower in the midst of worlds built from steel and concrete. He is a chosen one, his insight will give other men and women his insight. I have the dreams of a messiah in the making, a king for our land of blind men. Every night I dream of him I feel euphoric and filled when I wake up but there is a relapse like those found in the junkies and lovers as reality is so bleak next to these visions. He will grow older and he will make it, leaving me with a taste of zinc in my mouth. The looming shadow is what I lack in my living life, the burden or the gift, following every footstep of mine.

We never did learn. We fell down the well into hell. We fell well into hell.

There are always words we'd wish to say, gestures we should have shown. We thought we'd have the time to set things right after we'd done what we needed to do. What was important for us. We were always doing it for ourselves but we always kept you in mind as we moved on through the shadows and the light, we remembered you from photographs but the photos never remembered more than what was there, what was always there in front of us. Life kept streaming into our islands, remote as they were, it found us. We sat by the pond there, in the middle of the island. One lonely peak stretching upwards behind our backs, the air filled with the calm noise of water falling. We sat there and thought about it, the first words we would say when we returned and everything we thought became a parody, became something none of us would ever want to utter and we kept talking out loud and saying these things to eachother but the words would ring out hollow and we were frightened for we had lost something along our journey, we had gained as much as we could but at the end, this end we realized what went lost as we fell into hell.

[Cramulus]

I love it!

I keep having dreams but they aren't mine. They belong to a young man who have still not become himself, the dreams are the conflicts of his own mind, the struggle on what choice to make. He is fragile, a brittle flower in the midst of worlds built from steel and concrete. He is a chosen one, his insight will give other men and women his insight. I have the dreams of a messiah in the making, a king for our land of blind men. Every night I dream of him I feel euphoric and filled when I wake up but there is a relapse like those found in the junkies and lovers as reality is so bleak next to these visions. He will grow older and he will make it, leaving me with a taste of zinc in my mouth. The looming shadow is what I lack in my living life, the burden or the gift, following every footstep of mine.

I devour it!



wasted potential is the unkindest cut, eh?

[Dimocritus]

I'm always afraid to look at Sepia's topics. It makes me want to stop writing because I'll never be this good...

The section Cram quoted gave me tingles. I don't think I can give people tingles. Well, not with my writing, anyhow...

[P3nT4gR4m]

I'm always afraid to look at Sepia's topics. It makes me want to stop writing because I'll never be this good...

The section Cram quoted gave me tingles. I don't think I can give people tingles. Well, not with my writing, anyhow...

I hear ya man. I keep trying cos now and again I'll put two words together as well as Sepia manages to do for three whole paragraphs and that's enough - I've raised my game. Just because I'll never be Vai doesn't mean I can't play guitar.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Sepia has a particular style, and if it's not your style there is no sense in wishing you had it. You both have your own styles, your own voices. The more you write, the better you get.

This is a lovely piece, Sepia.