Seeking the Dark Tower

On the path that eventually leads to the clearing in the woods, the Charyou Tree. Fraught with danger, fear and loss, and yet, fulfillment. Welcome.

Monday, July 28, 2008

for the rose, for your life

As the hoary cripple looks at me, lies in his eyes, tis what he did mutter -


Walker, you ever walk on, but truth changes and life moves on, aye, so does the world! And your world has moved on, he but titters

Yet, bit by bit, all lies silent now,
the great circuits once bustled with life, now bled to ruin.
Be that these ruins, once held life, once held light (once held in your arms)
Now winding down, now emptied out.
The world's a-moved on, the path's far a-wry (say sorry!)
all now silent in these halls of the dead.

Silent enough, to hear thy own trembled breath
nothing else, save heart's beat (thump thump!)

But deeper down, in the core,
What would have been seen (the rose!)
what held true
Tis the rose! Tis the rose!
It beats for me! It feels for me!
Nor would there be rest, nor neglect
till I see it again, beauty wrap'd upon petals.

Tis but a dim glammer, he titters, of what you hear
when lovers whisper, when sinners hunker.
Tis a sham, tis a glammer! First the smiles, then the lies!

O, Discordia!

So while glow'd it be, dim as thee (Weak as thee!)
the rose calls for attention (It needs your protection!)
Across gulf and narrow corridor, aeons away
Too far to reach, too distant to see
Still the rose weeps (for whom, i say!)
and sigh'd whisper to thee (in no certain terms)

I love thee

(lies!)

(all that you loved, all that you love, titters he,
washed away, washes away!)

Yet dauntless to destiny, (lies, lies, terrible rosy lies!)
Forth to the rose he strove (after the rose comes the darkness of hel)
To the fields of red, (blood of your suffering)
where the great stoneblack tower holds sway (demon inside you like a bottomless well)
To lips parched and broken (nothing is safe everything is a lie)
Once more his voice will sing (lovers don't last no matter how hard they try)

O Discordia!

For the rose, for thy life, I love thee!



Monday, July 21, 2008

These past few ... cycles in time ... I'm not even sure I could call them days or weeks, have been so much confusion and painful purgatory. The only solace I can get right now is when I can forget; a good book, some blissful woolgathering moments, or if I am lucky, a few hours of restive sleep. At least when I don't dream so much. But insomnia sees to that quite properly.

It is like I'm lost and gliding through a dark forest, and people and things are just coming and going like trees in the thick mist.

You think I have a knack for the dramatics, baby, then you make me want to see your teeth and my fist at the back of your head.

Oh help, how am I going to find the sun, my purpose, my focus again?

Where am I walking?

WHERE AM I GOING?

Thursday, July 17, 2008

It feels as if the gossamer threads of thoughts in my head, now fraying, now unravelling, are slowly sagging under the weight. I try to be strong.

But

she wept, and sigh'd full sore,

while the rest of them, pale faces all

murmured and whispered;

la belle Dame sans Merci hath thee in thrall.

I am slowly losing my mind

Friday, July 04, 2008

The gunslinger walks west.

The blistering sand was too hot, even for igpaws; and its claws were already peeling with the heat. It had wandered out of its home territory, still seeking her scent, and now the dunes were ready to cover another victim under their shifting sands. It would die here.

The ig finally stumbled and slid down a dune valley, leeside of the wind. It sighed. It was very tired, very hungry, and the bunny was still no where to be seen. Tracking her was made even harder by the swamp-ig's cloying scent, which masked her tones and confused the ig. Maybe that was why it started to get lost. It was too hot. The ig couldn't think. It wouldn't die, but it was dying all the same. It had been tracking the bunny for too long. It wanted to close its eyes from the sun and sleep. Maybe rest a little while. It remembered so much fun it had with the bunny in the forest. If anything, igs are focused. Now it was focused on the bunny. Ig smiled. Mentally it started to muster its strength, to get up again. Ig can do it!

And suddenly a shadow befell it. A silhouette of a flapping coat, mildly tattered, topped with a broad brimmed hat. The silhouette shrunk as it knelt down and lifted up the ighead.
Ig regarded the dark, stubbly face that shielded it from the sun.

[Painful.]

I know, ig

[No more bunny scent...]

Its alright. Rest now

Painfully the ig tried to get up on its six tired limbs.

[No, bunny's still around!]

Lie down, ig. Rest

It shook its head and tried to wriggle away from this dark man. Six limbs, now useless with strengthlessness, thrashed about. The man maintained his grip.

Hush now, ig. Hush now.

The ig continued thrashing, weaker by the second, while the man tightened his grip.

[No! No! No! The bunny!]

Still the man held on.

[Why? Let me go!]

Still the man held on.

The ig's eyes were starting to cloud over, it could barely see the man now. It could still discern dark from light, and one claw finally slashed out at the face of the man. It could see the top of the silhouette break and fall away. Ig hoped it would be the man's head.

The man's broad brimmed hat fell to his left, while his cheek split to show his teeth underneath, like a garish image of the dragon of avarice. Blood spurted. Still he held on.

[Ig loves the bunny.]

Hush now, i know

The ig stopped struggling. It tried to gasp but could not, not with the man's vice grip on its throat.

[Ig loves the bunny.]

I know, ig. Rest now

[It loves the bunny]

The creature in his hands finally stopped moving. It was dribbled in blood from his cheek wound. That would heal over time. The wound in his chest, made so long ago by a girl with a gun, would not. It had started bleeding again.

I loved her too.

One solitary drop of blood made away from his torn shirt, and it fell on the now glassy ig-eye.



It was hours before the man got up and laid the ig down. There was no need to dig a grave. Soon the desert sands would cover it, and all traces of it, from the world.

The Gunslinger walked on in the wasteland that was the apotheosis of all deserts. He walked on steadily, head bowed from the sun, not hurrying, not tarrying. The whispers of all his ghosts played lightly in his ear. Somewhere over the horizon, to the west, or even beyond this world-without-end, was the Dark Tower. He walked towards it.

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