#1
The cold brings death and the dirt brings disease
And into our bodies we accept them as nature would have us so.
We see the paths with our mind but our eyes can not vision them.
Site matured through cultures guidance yet its fingers cannot dig
Deep enough into the grave of our mind.
With these strengths we can accept the truth, blind our eyes,
Mark our skin, begin the Giving so that not one may live for the
Death of them all.
As a single seed may sprout a hundred we will take into our breast
Those that give out theres and nurture those that will nurture Her.
Barrow of Mist
rough has always been a place of firm religion and despite this its one of the most tolerable little towns I have ever been in within the bleak lands. Its historical name, Gandenrough, is often one so overlooked which makes me feel fortunate to have been born there.
I saw it through many different eyes and experienced it in many different ways. I cant say I ever felt hate towards it, despite what has happened to me, but I do feel detached, more so now that Ive found stability within my own mentality. Thats probably why I write this and more so why I share it. I am still at odds at what exactly I
Please DONT read this if you have a strict opinion on religion, I have no wish to debate it.
Of The Mist
Im not sure how much of this I can express, mainly because so much of it is a haze, yet I will try to share my experience the best I can and you, hopefully, can help me figure it out.
I grew up in a small town where you cant play in the water thanks to pollution and the rain eroded cars and stone at a surprising speed. The population dwindled when the factory was shut down to help the surrounding area regain some of its nature and since that day only the those loyal
#1
The cold brings death and the dirt brings disease
And into our bodies we accept them as nature would have us so.
We see the paths with our mind but our eyes can not vision them.
Site matured through cultures guidance yet its fingers cannot dig
Deep enough into the grave of our mind.
With these strengths we can accept the truth, blind our eyes,
Mark our skin, begin the Giving so that not one may live for the
Death of them all.
As a single seed may sprout a hundred we will take into our breast
Those that give out theres and nurture those that will nurture Her.
At first I thought it was my
eyes
and then I saw it was
really moving...
Drifting 'cross my ceiling
The light swirling like a microwave... whee...
Slowly, slowly, spinning, spinning...
The rocks on the ceiling, or bumps,
'Who puts rocks on a ceiling, anyhow?'
Suck in, wiggle out, like waves, like a sand trap.
And it's all gonna fall and crumble on me...
whee... Bubbling in, it's gonna cover me.
The walls, the white, white, white walls...
They're gonna do a reverse-cave in, and spread,
And my windows will shatter! and
They'll swirl like clear, sharp fairies,
And melt away into dust, over to Never Neverland,
'But it is I who
Funny, last journal I had was banging on about people down my street dying, now my dogs gone and kicked the bucket.
Anyway, he was a good'n'. Only dog I know that could out fart me and paint the walls in his own shit.
R.I.P Britchy
Funny, last journal I had was banging on about people down my street dying, now my dogs gone and kicked the bucket.
Anyway, he was a good'n'. Only dog I know that could out fart me and paint the walls in his own shit.
R.I.P Britchy
Lots of people have died down my street in these last few months, the youngest was in his twenties, the oldest was in her 80s (I think, she looked it ether way).
Can't help but feel like I'm next.