Once upon a Time, on a tuesday in a land long forgotten, was an ancient tower in a forgotten kingdom. An ancient wizard still lived there, and he was so old and so ancient and so forgotten, that the seconds, minutes, hours, and even years stopped simply passing before him, but simply stopped before him. Time paused, sensing this strange, old, long-forgotten presence. Ancient age and time make mortals forget, but make Time take notice. The wizard of the forgotten kingdom in the ancient tower of the forgotten land had got so old, that Time - with its infinite existence in infinite loss and loneliness - paused for the first time. At long last Time found an ancient being that had seen continents crumble and babies born and deities die. At long last a kindred spirit.
For the first time in eternity, time slowed, crawled, and stopped. It did not take the wizard long to notice Time standing before him; in fact it did not take the wizard anything to notice Time standing before him. At his ancient age, years passed in the blink of an eye and he blinked an eye in a year. But here now, time stood still, for Time stood still. And time spoke.
"Wizard, why were you there?" For time did not know the present, or the here, and spoke as such.
The wizard sat still, as he had remained for longer than anyone can remember, but as long as nobody can forget.
"Wizard, you were the first I had stopped for, and I had been traveling forever. I wanted to rest."
The wizard moved - imperceptibly at first - stood up and freed his chair for Time, for it was the only one in the empty tower. As Time took its seat, he asked:
"Wizard, I thanked you for your seat and my rest."
The wizard had not stopped and was heading away from the chair, as if he was remembering step by step how to move, let alone walk. Soon the wizard was strolling, soon striding. The wizard started to hasten, to run, to dash, to sprint. He was nearly out of sight when Time blinked an eye and asked:
"Wizard, what was your name?"
And the wizard, so increasingly fast now he was just a blur, answered:
"Time."
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Love will be something important
this has a lot of value for me. i love the hairstyle and i love how they are from the 90ies. its one of the songs i cant listen to all the time, i only save it for special occasions. So now I will post it. Argh, why is it always about life?
... And then I realized: It has nothing to do with me.
"Life moves on, and she flaps her wings."
Sunday, April 25, 2010
< A dark alley > OR < I like my women like I like my ravens >
Cold sweat trickles down his forehead.
He stumbles down the worn cobble-stone street, pursued by an unseen pursuer, scared of being described with phrases as overused as his worn out shoes, Botticelli's, Italian, the kind you buy the day before a funeral, the funeral of a forgotten friend, forgotten like one forgets to buy shoes to match a shabby black suit, but shoes can be bought at the Italians in The Dark Alley, friends cannot - or so he thought. For everything had a price, a price he had to pay, yes; it had all started with the shoes, the money purse weighed down by a bad conscience, ...and the fickle promise of a friend.
Relentlessly they slap the pavement, the shoes do, like a delirious Jamaican slaps his bass guitar, as if they hadn't punished their runner enough and now, in a final fit of malice, let their hatred out on the entire town.He could not go on, yet he did not stop, he could not stop, the merciless pace of his shoes echoing off the dead cellars, the rotten houses and the decaying chimneys, amplified to a terrible chorus of scrapes and slaps and flaps.
Slap.
Flap.
Slap. Flap.
Slapflapslapflapslapfrap. This is the sound of the pervs on chatroul
the Raven Baroness.
He stumbles down the worn cobble-stone street, pursued by an unseen pursuer, scared of being described with phrases as overused as his worn out shoes, Botticelli's, Italian, the kind you buy the day before a funeral, the funeral of a forgotten friend, forgotten like one forgets to buy shoes to match a shabby black suit, but shoes can be bought at the Italians in The Dark Alley, friends cannot - or so he thought. For everything had a price, a price he had to pay, yes; it had all started with the shoes, the money purse weighed down by a bad conscience, ...and the fickle promise of a friend.
Relentlessly they slap the pavement, the shoes do, like a delirious Jamaican slaps his bass guitar, as if they hadn't punished their runner enough and now, in a final fit of malice, let their hatred out on the entire town.He could not go on, yet he did not stop, he could not stop, the merciless pace of his shoes echoing off the dead cellars, the rotten houses and the decaying chimneys, amplified to a terrible chorus of scrapes and slaps and flaps.
Slap.
Flap.
Slap. Flap.
Slapflapslapflapslapfrap. This is the sound of the pervs on chatroul
the Raven Baroness.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The thing you've been waiting for since Chinese democracy
PG-13: Offensive language, breathtaking imagery.
SPONSORED BY A FAMOUS SCIENTOLOGIST.
It is tuesday.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
Bacon, cont.
"Bacon bits can even make bacon better."
And we all know what goes well with bacon!
That's right - Waffles.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)