Saturday, 14 July 2018

Ebony and Ice (2)



On the other side of the abrupt mountain there lay Minartee, the pagan´s city, its golden carved spires and marble veined domes rising lofty in the chilly morn´s overclouded sky.  He lurked behind the mossy crags beside the North path coming from the Last Sea until he managed to rob a lonely pilgrim heading for the unwholesome city.  He put on the man´s coarse wool clothes and so he entered Minartee´s stony enclosure without being noticed.  Once into the city he headed toward the heretic´s temple.  It was said their impious priests eager exchanged their advice in return for some blood.  So he did it, passing himself off as a pilgrim.  No answer was handed over to him.
            Presently he left Minartee due North, across the marshy lands.  If both toads and fauns actually croaked the answer smirkingly, he did not understand it.  The Last Sea reached, he talked a water wrinkled seamen´s group into going on board in a lustrum journey all around the known lands coast.  He met and asked many people.  None of them could tell him.
            Eventually he went back home, saddened and old-looking, his eyes forever lost in the distance, still searching for an answer.  He went to the palace, and entered the princess´ chamber without being announced.  She was sitting in her royal throne.  As remembrance came to her on seeing him she just smiled briefly and stared at him.  Then he knew it.
            Both ebony and ice were lying there, throbbing upon an ivory throne.

Thursday, 12 July 2018

Ebony and Ice (I)



Once upon a time a haughty Shahir princess challenged whimsically her trusty devoted lover on asking him a riddle which the selfsame fennec God had whispered to her during her solitary worship beyond the Mystery´s Gate.
“Wherein lie both ebony and ice?” the tall grey-eyed princess asked.
Her lover´s name is not remembered.  A thick wall of oblivion was cast into since, although his sad journey still remains.
He was not a knowledgeable man and neither the age-old litanies nor the arcane cult the princess was keen on said aught to him.  He couldn´t see through the book-lore.  He could only go by his sweetheart´s shining pupils.  So he moved away in quest of an answer.
He rode along the Valley of the Damned mumbling the question, as if afraid of forgetting it.  Loneliness was his companion among the dead warriors´ olde-worlde undecayed bones.  He had to hand over his well-beloved stallion to its hovering spirits to get away with it in the ends of the valley.  The skulls did not answer him.
Then he faced the grim Sacrifice´s Cliff which teemed with fearful inhuman dwellers full of charnel longing for whatsoever they find.  He could scarcely avoid them while climbing up.  He was never going to know the answer hither.

Sunday, 14 January 2018

One Thousand Visitors to -Darkly- Celebrate...

It took five years to reach the milestone, but it was all the time worthwhile nonetheless. Thanks be given to all of you who came here to read the dark rantings of this humble scribe of yours.
To celebrate that, the first visitor to make a comment in whatever post of this blog will receive a free copy of my ebook "Tidal Purgatory".
Only comments in English, of course :).

Tuesday, 26 December 2017

Some Would-be Titles

A few days ago, while I was forced to sit and waste my time watching how much people love hearing themselves, my mind drifted away and came back with these would-be titles. Perhaps they will become a poem or a short story, and perhaps they will fall into oblivion. Time will tell...


The darkest love there is
The dungeon within
Tortured daydreams
Labyrinth of mine
Lone throng
Devious innocence
Defiled morn
Cherished punishment
Exposed innards
Dominated djinn
Pristine bowels
Eternal quietus
The patient stalker
Haunting you
Darkly gifted
Son of the omen
Digging into the pit
The welcome maggot
Enjoying the fall
Parasiting the worm
Obstreperous leviathan
Bed knell
Blood toll
Crystalline filth

(Artwork taken from carts.)

Saturday, 6 February 2016

WORM´S FEELING



I penetrate.
An intestinal and viscous world.
A warm and sweet one.
Wrapped in another´s flesh.
Trench wherefrom I´ll unchain my dark attack.
Soon.
I´m not in a hurry.
I´m not born yet.

Time is my midwife.
I can feel it
loosening my carapace softly.
The cradle is broken,
and I swim free into a sea of acids,
fondled by its sensuous streams.
I plunge into the fleshy caverns,
and in the depth,
I anchor my hooks and my mouth
to its palpitating walls.
I relish his unawareness.
I relish his blood and digestions.
We are one.


Now I must grow.
Carefully.
May he doesn´t feel me, may he doesn´t feel me,
and my body will dwell his more secret chasms,
and even return to me, to come back to there.
I ripen, evil and gluttonously,
and a promise of doom does it with me.
A promise of offspring.
Filiform and greedy.
My being inflates brutally
with the weight of this promise.

I expel my roe.
It goes through my domains.
Time will guide it towards the exit.
If I´m not noticed before, thousands of my sons
have to find a groundbait wherein to seal themselves off.
Maybe I´ll meet them again
and I´ll have to kill them.
I do not want company.

Neither do they.

I´m alone.
Me and my hidden delight.
Parasite´s delight.

I do not forget you.
You are my host.
I´m your guest.
We are one.

Monday, 27 July 2015

CANTICLES OF THE ABYSS



Where the light is either prey or predator,
Where male parasitizes female,
Where it is raining a manna of carrion,
Where death is waiting for you in the slime,
It is the abyssal lords’ kingdom.

Where blood mingles with darkness,
Where to live is to stalk and flee,
Where one dies but to pieces,
Where there is naught but a miry nothingness,
It is the abyssal lords’ kingdom.

Some wide open jaws,
Some yearning fangs,
And an appalling and grinding agony.

Scream, intruder, your bones smashed,
More and more as you descend,
While a thousand mouths tear thee,
Gulping thy pieces,
                                                                                        For no-one knows the bottom of the chasm.

Monday, 13 April 2015

Unpunished





No one knows actually what Father Christmas did to Mother Christmas.