Between my shadow and my soul

Our causes and passions and families and loves

I'd wager we all
Horcrux our souls

Searching for an immortal mould
That elusive pot of gold

Like narcissus we adore precious hues,
That sometimes obstruct our View


As a historian and one no less commissioned by one of the most respected notaries in a somewhat multi-kingdom radius, it has always sat better with me to reflect more on the less spirited side of what has occurred in the time since my endeavours began. As the rhythm of the cosmos would have it, however, one cannot disregard what is also an integral part of the complete narrative. So in the past few curvatures of our northern moon visibility there has much to record of jubilation. And I must admit despite my pessimistic enjoyment of the signs we cannot deny, these are signs our hearts embrace lightly and with as much gratitude as a mother hearing her child's first cry after nine months of much trepidation. It began with the long-forsaken eastern armies making a very unexpected entrance into a lazy noon, a little haggard and sparser, yet saturated with tales that carried the strong tea pouring well beyond the twilight cricket song. They had encountered some difficulty finding an enemy that had been corroborated on assumputous information and in their zest had ventured beyond unkown borders and unseasonable terrain into a kingdom long left to our neighbours' vantage. This had blessed them with four foreign brides, one already with child and a more precious military and yet not as envious in terms of beauty, armament technique. These demonstrations and the women's welcome lasted well beyond the sun's welcome and for the next week or so frantic relations were once again reconnected and much new knowledge was gained over what we had once dismissed as a land too alien to understand. Once again I must admit my pessimism over the initial forecasts and yet again I was to realise that openness is the sign of a heralding revolution and yet that is for someone other than me to document, Iam sure of it. Despite my sterling reputation regarding certain literary achievements my heart feels it is perhaps the victory of another space to express and I will respect such instincts from where they arise.


Having a baby is the most selfish thing, and
Yet raising one, the most selfless

Gratuitious Insults

His flightful fancy at flirtation was as elegant as a duck tapdancing

You wanted to know why

Its like strolling across a minefield that you actualy believe is a grassy meadow with calves and mares and hay and all that. And it all explodes into a bloody and painful mess and you cover your face and your fingers are blown off and part of your face is damaged. And you walk around like that until one day some insensitive sod asks what happened to your hands. And you wish you could make a proper fist to break his nose. Its not his fault. But its not your fault. So you blame people for having eyes to notice. And you blame him for asking. Because there's no answer that makes sense to you.