Fermín Moreno, the dark bard, has come... Do sit down and pay heed to his poems of death, predation, parasitism, macabre love, sinister cults and abyssal creatures, crowded sepulchers and massive impalements. Beware... don´t attract his attention... or perhaps you´ll become one of his verses...
Into a carved stony dome like a smirky evilish gnome lo! the lonely man bends down dressed in his frayed gown over bookwormed scrolls before which no other bows, soaking up his mysteries, gloating in each word he sees, with veil´d eyes ajar by nights, no more light than candlelight, waxing moon yearning delight, and a grim aloof black might, which rises him beyond the stars from his dwelling´s rusty bars to salaam forgotten gods, supernal deities whom he nods in a perennial prostration of one soul´s lonely damnation in quest of whatever mind kinder-faced than mankind. Therein he is the lone master of feelings turn´d alabaster by aeons of mournful delving into cryptic scrolls unending which reveal all the unseen except nature in human being.
Today I´m going to give you a gift. A dark one. But a precious gift nevertheless. Keep reading. There are books to be read just once. Most of them aren´t even worthwhile doing so. Then there are some other -fewer- books you´ll read severaltimes and enjoy. It´s
not the case of “Tidal Purgatory”: surely you´ll read it four or five
times at least before you die. Only you won´t enjoy it. Not at all. But
you´ll keep on reading it nonetheless, as time... and love go by. You´ll need to read it, in fact. When alone again. Then you´ll remember there´s something almost forgotten that can share your loneliness. My book. “Tidal Purgatory”. We all want love to last forever. Only you know it was only a daydream. Once again. That´s
why I wrote this book. For all those who, like you, feel anger,
sadness, solitude. For all those who mourn for a lost love now. Once.
Tomorrow. “Tidal Purgatory” will be there, waiting patiently for your
call everytime you need it. For just $ 0.99. A mere nothing compared
with the prize of a torn heart, isn´t it?