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Romancing the Philosophers stone-2. Winter in her2. Winter in her heart
The Elves standing in the ring grasped each other's hands. Their golden eyes were wide, their nostrils slightly widened and they shifted their weight anxiously from foot to foot. To be faced with an actual spirit frightened them, yet they bravely held their ground, encouraged by their superior Aliopa, the High Elf. They began to chant, silently first, almost hesitating, then growing in confidence and timbre, swaying gently from side to side. The human outside the circle barely glanced over at them, he seemed almost catatonic by now, having closed up within himself, and Orinian wondered what the young man might really have seen down there in the tunnels on the other side if Orinian's estate.
That was when Aliopa's torch began to flicker. The flame sputtered and went out, only for a second, before the Elf managed to conjure another. The angel was still frozen in the center of the rings, but its hands had shifted. They no longer covered the statue's eyes, but had mo
Romancing the Philosophers stone-1.The weeping angRomancing the Philosopher's stone
Five alchemists from around the world join forces to find the philosopher's stone. But what they finally discover turns out to be quite chocking to them all. And 2000 years later, a sole scholar and his best friend are stumbling on facts which may change both the history and the future of the world.
1. The weeping angel
Everything felt smooth, soft and calm in the orange light of the sinking sun. The Island of Avalon stretched out across the sea like a sea lion sunning itself on the rocks. It was hilly and green with great rounded boulders jutting up through the lush jungles and white sandy beaches. Angelissa was lighting the lamps on the front porch when Lord Orinian walked up the steps, the small sounds of clinking of his armors as a counterpoint to the creaking of the wooden steps. The firelight brought out the strands of reddish gold in his long black hair and the bronze of his skin. He walked up to his wife and wrapped his arm
For Old Time's Sake - 4. SantoriniThe sun was beaming generously over the little village of Oia, tracing gentle warm rays over snow white, cubistic buildings handsomely divergent against the bluest of seas, the yonder islands seen as darker indigo shadows in the distance. It was one of those serene afternoons when nothing really happened save for the ticking of the clock in the tower of the old court house across the street. Even the tourists were sparse this time of the year, when the season had yet to begin in earnest.
So for the men by the small bar the sound of the motorcycle made them all perk up from their glasses of ozou. It was a heavy Yamaha, large as a bull and bright red, but the brawny man riding it was handling it with astonishing affluence as he rode across the square and over to the sole parking lot in a place where the alleys were too narrow for motorized vehicles. As the monstrous machine came to a halt, the rider and his female passenger stepped off with ease and with graceful movements they relieved
For Old Time's Sake - 3. Comes MorningStruggling through a maelstrom of dreams, one more peculiar than the other, Hera was making her way towards awareness again, as if swimming towards the surface of a deep sea, fighting the kaleidoscopic currents with forceful strokes. With a jolt her eyes fluttered up – to a startling view. She was definitely not in her own bedroom in La Casa Dolorada in Venice, Italy. Daylight radiated from the wrong direction and the texture of the bedding felt different, the duvet too thin. Not to mention that the mixture of smells were dissimilar – yet oddly familiar in their lush muskiness, triggering a torrent of remembrances one more bittersweet than the next. Most of all, she was not alone in the bed, there was someone asleep next to her, someone who's warm chest her head was resting next to, the rhythm of his heartbeat in her ear, a strong arm encircled with such an astonishing ease around her waist.
The next millisecond it all came back to her. Zeus. Tokyo. Zeus. Leaving Venice. Ze
For Old Time's Sake - 2. Strangers in the nightStill the same Zeus in several senses he knew that she was still the same Hera in as many. Therefore he took her to another part of Tokyo and a traditional restaurant of the upper-notch kind. One of these locations where every single platter of food was an exquisite piece of art and the flavours and combinations were outlandish yet appealing to Hera. They received their own tiny section, a room more than an alcove, softly lit and secluded by rice-paper screens and sans chairs around the low table but with soft pillows covering the tatami floor. As Zeus was conversing in Japanese with the headwaiter, marvels began happening in a swift and almost unnotably way, two lovely young waitresses in traditional kimonos and hairdos started producing delicacies, lit candles and incense and poured sake and other beverages, everything selected with the cordiality of the greatest care. Hera might be unfamiliar with Japanese culture but she sensed these things in the air more than recognizing them.
For Old Time's Sake - 1. EncounterLong, slender hands with silver-painted nails were holding on to the steam of a glass with white wine, large and almond-shaped dark-brown eyes shadowed by thick lashes regarding how the light bounced off the liquid as she slowly spun the flute around with gentle hands. The inertia of the wine was causing intricate effects of light and shadows on the dark wood of the bar desk and upon her pale, slightly olive-skinned hands. She had been looking at that glass now for a while, with melancholy tainting the beauty of her eyes, but hardly taken a sip of the wine. Looking at it but not quite seeing since her mind was wandering, plowing through tons of remembrance. What was she searching for, what was she trying to recall? Honestly, she didn't know other than that she sought something to banish the boredom and the forlorn loneliness that was grating at her old soul.
She didn't know what was worse, what she regretted the most, the things she had done, or those she never did. There was just one
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
the certainty of imminencei.
tomorrow spills over
inevitability-rapt and enveloping,
as wakefulness startles,
i'm caught up in past-time
i forge(t) myself in oblivion
midnight so hollow,
we all stop
with the clocks.
nothing looks the way it did
and i guess it seems
i'm blinkered, brevity-bound
in century footsteps forever stumbling,
always being blindsided
by the passing
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
Blue BlanketsIt rains tonight
Life is a black and white movie
The gutters are wet, reflecting the neon
Red letters and below them some blue
marketing a brand of beer which tastes like pee
One letter missing
If fizzes and spatter static
And the stray cat hails the sound
Beleiving it an enemy
But there's no enemies here
And old memories
Stored away dreams in a cupboard
Crashed sagas like trojans on a harddrive
Allahs prison is that old computer in the closet
A PC from 96 with the plug pulled
And the hull yellowed by time
The dustworms live there now
Checking their email
Cuddling up for the night
Borrowing our memories
And giving them back
Retold like fan fiction
of outgrown old religions
and gossip of yesterdays stars
those lies which were our blue blankets
in that childhood we don't want to return to
It rains tonight
Life is a black and white movie
Michael Jackson is dead
And so is Marilyn and Elvis
The Loch Ness Monster has gone missing
The Alien returned with his saucer
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