They held the flames in their outstretched hands
As the yellowing sun turned its head once more
And their wailing was heard throughout the lands
With carnage and waste came the hungry brigands
And their hot, dry tears could not sate the gore
While they held the flames in their outstretched hands
So the blood was spilt across the gurgling sands
As the heroes watched behind locked, painted doors
And their grief was felt throughout the lands
Though their freedom could be bought for twenty meager rands
The festering sky would not stop the war
Yet they still held the flames in their outstretched hands
For days upon days they felt the s
there are deserts between
deserts of nothing
save doubt and imagined fortitude
(the firey expanse of our burdens)
and i can still hear your name
echoed across those burning sands
sands of fortitude
still.
Florid, sensuous, overbearing…The African heat envelops the night. The stars throb in their lodgings, indifferent (or perhaps unaware) of the goings on beneath.
A young girl stands among the soot and rubble of her home, holding an indiscernible object her cheek. Rather than lost, she looks thoughtful, as though pondering her predicament. Suddenly she kneels, rubbing the molten ash, searching.
"Mattaniah?" she murmurs. A tear escapes, silent, regal. "Mattaniah… Mattaniah... Mattaniah …"
***
They find her amongst the ruins, still whispering, barely crying. Her voice is pure, her language harsh and exotic, her body taut and young. They whis
They never knew true love.
They sang of it, and preached of it,
And deluded the world to it's long suffering and kindness,
But they never felt it.
Fiery tendrils creeping along their skin in the night,
Awakening the senses to darkness.
Blinded, did they stumble in vain,
Murmuring sweet nothings that meant the world and more?
Nay, they never had a clue.
Fire, then is it?
Perhaps,
More like to drown,
Floundering in his everything,
Gasping for nothing but his breath,
Seething beneath his truth and taint and touch.
To lay spread eagled to the bed,
Chest rended open from navel to neck,
His name scorching your veins,
Holy water dr
Across the Line-tentative by rogue-tzigane, literature
Literature
Across the Line-tentative
In May 1493, Pope Alexander VI unrolled a parchment map on a large marble-topped table. Dipping his pen into a jeweled inkwell, he leaned over and drew a line from pole to pole approximately three hundred miles west of the Azores and the Cape Verde Islands. All non-Christian lands east of this "Line of Demarcation" belonged to Portugal, declared the Holy Father, and all to the west belonged to Spain…Make no mistake about it: you took your life into your hands by venturing in to the Spanish domain. Foreigners had no rights whatsoever in the New World. Not only did the government bar outsiders from colonial ports, it forbade their ships to cros
sand, water, and the night by rogue-tzigane, literature
Literature
sand, water, and the night
A stark breath at midnight
And I lie in bed,
Swathed in heavy solitude
And remembering a touch
I've never felt.
A half-forgotten dream,
Sweet as water,
Dances on my lips,
Mocking my pain.
Yet the pain is beautiful.
It lays
Deep in my belly,
A comfort in the piercing dark.
His scent lingers on my tongue,
And yet has never been.
My skin tingles,
Sand rough against the sheets.
And then
His breath crackles in the distance.
His longing,
His pain,
Let loose to the air.
Or perhaps it was just the wind.
Current Residence: Toronto Favourite genre of music: hard rock/alternative Favourite photographer: Viggo Mortensen, Gregory Colbert, Irving Penn Personal Quote: Only within ourselves are we truly free...
Favourite Movies
Gladiator
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Breaking Benjamin, Finger Eleven, and Thornley
Favourite Writers
Guy Gavriel Kay
Tools of the Trade
My ridiculously crappy digital camera, my dad´s 30 year old SLR, pencil, photoshop
Ok, so seriously, I don't really have many valid excuses for why I haven't posted anything. It's mostly laziness and procratination and inaccess to computers/internet/scanners. But really, someone should slap me.
That being said, I'm thinking it's time for a fresh start. So I've made a new acocunt. I won't start using it immediately, but I will make absolutely sure that anyone who has watched me dedicatedly through this dead time will be notified when I do start posting on it.
In the meantime, I need to post some poetry. Blame Nick, he made me do it *points finger*.
In other news, I am sick. It sucks. I hate being sick. I always go into de
I'm going to be uploading very soon! I've located a scanner here at the school (it's fairly crap, but it's better than nothing.) So I can promise tons and tons of submissions in the weeks to come, if somewhat on the pixelated side, of all my misadventures from this summer, my latest black and white photography, and several of my new sketches.
I'm even working on a short story, and not to worry for any fans of my novel. The improved prologue and chapter is coming soon.
And I'll soon get to commenting on all the crazy-good pieces people hae been submitting. Free candies for all!!!
In other news, I have a new puppy and 2 new parrots. I will s
I´m sure you all know that feeling.
Those sleepless nights,
that ache in the pit of your stomache,
the way you begin to doubt your doubt,
those all consuming thoughts...
Everyone has felt that, right? Now take that feeling and insert it in a foreign country with a mother and brothers you haven´t seen in 6 years.
I´m trying like hell to ignore these feelingsbecause I´MINFREAKINGPORTUGAL!!!!!
It´s absolutely gorgeous here, and the weather is beyond anything imaginable. And hanging with my family is so great, there´s so many things I never knew about them before. I´ve been taking some great pictures (lol