T‚was the eve of Bartholomew the bone breaker.
The fourth Temple of the world was filled with silence.Walls made from skin and man,grew silent as he passed.His cloak was made of desire un-fulfiled and clang with a silence even greater.Around his neck a necklace made in the shadow of King Albion‘s cor*pse,while stil on the batlefield,with wolfs death cries,was changing its never present shape to mark the fears of the suroinding walls.
Even walls are afraid,when someone gives them a reason.And he did.
Around every finger a ring,unmade of gold or metal,but of many things indeed.
One was the hush of men over a reaking dead man,found on the ground before a kindergarden.
One was the silence,witch rules a hospital,when refering to the inevitable to the hoping arrivals.
One was the silence of an asylum,a filthy silence of prayers unspoken,sent upon beings that are if no one‚s imagination to picture and that,despite all sanity and logic,truly do exist and are as real as you and I and maybe even more.
As he passed yet another gate,he viewed the decaying of evrything,witch was to come upon this perfectnes.(He had no eyes,yet that did not mean he could not see)
And then a living came forward to the arival.As the living saw the newcomer,he cried with desperation and ran away,And he,that had now ruled within theese walls,had smiled,when he hapened to the boy.The soldiers guns were grand and their swords sharp.He eyed the soldiers,his children,as they made him happen to many a man within here.And then,when he found he had done all he could,he turned around and left,but for a while.
Six days later the Grandmaster returned,with an army of fanatical locals,each wearing iron made to kill and each being ready to fullfill its purpose.The vice-commander of the soldiers had opened the gate and let them pas to undo his faithfull comrades but for a handull of grain,as had done the monk,who had let the men of arms herein.
And,as sword sang with sword,as scythe sang with skul,he walked amongst them again and happened here and happened there.
He was the end and for many that day indeed.
That was a milion days ago.And stil mankind is the same.
The warrior sat besides the road and clutched his gain.A sword of old,
stolen from a temple nearby.
He did not heed the priests warnings.He did not cry out to the heavens for his soul.He did not beg for that,witch he may not recieve.He had plainly wished the sword.
The sword….….…a masterpiece of Iron,wielded in times,when God and the Devil were one.He had seen as a child and since then wished to posses it.Not the pre-aranged marriage,that united their two fueding houses,not all the work made for the duke,not all the killing in the Kings army,could fill the space within his soul he discovered,when he looked upon that sword.
And now he had it.And although he had heard the marching army of the Thundergod,he refused to pitty and spent his last moment within the happines of the sword.HIS sword.
And that was all that mattered.
And then came the end.It was much more painfull,then he thought it would be.
The last priest died.That was a long time ago now.
Through the sands of the deserts of New York he had saled.He felt food.Not long away.He had smeled….….…fire and iron,He hurried like long ago,in hopes of highest.
He met no one of his race in fifty years and it was asumed,that he was the last.This made him smile.
He had reached the air briefly through a dune and light had long faded away.He did not see the sun in four centuries,since it went out.It was not cold though.And generaly one could stil see.No one knew why,and no one bothered.It was.
And he knew he was close.He prepared his pose and leaped upwards,breaking concrete with his head.And quickly he moved forwards,through all the objects to his meal and with a bite delivered the end upon the last man.
Another sea of wine,surounded by beautiful angels,their singing choir more pleasent,then the smoothest word.Another chest of diadems as grand as a mans head.Another kingdom,where they wished him King.Another Goddess of Infinite Beauty,that wished him her husband.
He had created a programme long ago,to deliver salvation within a single ilusion,in a virtual world of endless joy.
And now,after eight centuries,he wanted not but to leave,but could not,for he did not make a return possible,for he thought,in all his ignorance,that he would be happy forever.
And now all he longed for was to be free,yet never could be.His Hell was Heaven.
He had averted it.Once again.He had defied another apocalypse,breaking another death angels wings,choking another hound of doom upon it‘s leashe.A*nother day was to pass.
And he in heaven looked pleased and eyed his people and masacre here and genocide there,and when he woke from extasy with blood on his lips,he paussed and once more became aware.Aware of what he had done,of what his lust had made him do.It was uncontrolable from the wery begining.
(But one day,the apocalypse will come and they will judge Him for His sins and his lust shal stand there and herself acuse him)
He waits a while and then remembers the begining of His Crime.
At first he had began to let himself loose upon his angels,yet non could portray such ignorance and guilt,as he wanted.And so he created love.
And neither could die like he wanted.And so he created the electric chair.
And so many had fallen,that all the rest flead his creation.And so he created Earth.
When all was young,they made him,for they needed entertainment.
And they watched as he had toiled,and thought and loved and died and they laughted aloud for all time,for that was the nature of things.
But one day,whe all began to age,they have grown bored of him.No more could his hard toil be a source of comment,no more could his love and hatred amuse them,no more could his death make them laugh.They began to watch him with less joy and then with none at all.
And then one of them came and talked and spoke and it was understood and one day man was made.
And he had been diferent,as he had a body and face,and none looked alike.And he began to toil,to think,to love,to die and they had laughted and laughted.
And him,who they made at first,they left behind and he had left them as well and ceased to be.
And one day,when all had aged,man had bored them as well.
A rose one day had grown in the desert.And the Greater of the sands had disliked this and sent his urges to the heavens.And all the Gods had answered,that that rose should and shal be.And the Greater feared,for one flower was not an enemy,yet it was life.Wihin his kingdom,that even daemons avoided,was a thing that lived,that had breathed the un-breathable air of the deserts,witch had hovered over the burning sands over sixty thousands mileniae.
And yet,though the water he had stolen long ago,though all but tears remained within his kingdom, stil the flower grew.And he sent his firstborn to destroy that flower.And the first born went away and never was seen again.And so did the second-born and third-born.And when fate had repeated itself a a fourth time,the Greater called his last son before himself and urged the mission,for a prophet had secretly told him,that only „the last“ may kill the flower.And so he had sent all four to secure the fifth‚s success.
And the fifth never returned as well.
And the Greater had grown furious and sent all his soldiers one by one to perish to that flower,numbering twelve thousand three hundred and forty three.
And then he sent all his people (for all respected and feared him,regardless of an army) one by one, numbering a total of twelve milion three hundred thousand.
And he called within his palace and no-one answered.
Sudenly,he realised what that meant and cried with fear.He ran through his palace and he ran from house to house and from burge to burge and all was the same.
He was all alone.The last within his kingdom.
And he went forward,crown and al,to the rose.He fell before her and with one mighty pull took her from the ground.And the Greater did not see his work,for his soul was draged away,to the world of spirits,for the love of the God‘s to that rose.
But the body,soaked with the great hatred of it‚s soul went and completed his Greatest work and fell downward dead.It was taked away by things of the sand,while next morning,of that rose only a pile of dust remained.
Love of the People
Witch King of Kings may say,that his kingdom is truly his,that all his people love him and forever shal?
He that threatens with pain eternal,with fire endless,with suffering forever.
This King does so and many bow to his emisars with fear.He takes their love,that is false and delicates upon it,for him,he had never bothered with purity,or truth.
Look upon the world,he alegedly made.All the suffering,all the pain.One wonders,if he did not die and already is damned.
But this world was once free,before He came and when HE stil reigned.Then men lived in peace eternal,glory endless,joy forever.And then He arrived from far away,hungry for a world,and Killed HE that made it.Yet no one apealed to him,wished from him,killed for him.And so he turned back the clock and invented that witch is the oposite of good and all the years of happines ceased to be,as their creator.
So what shal you do,when one of his emisars shal wish from you loyalty eternal?
Mindragos was upon his dying bed and made many sins to God,but was not in fear,for he was beyond his reach.All his life,he heard but cries and screams that were not holly words,but yeling out fire in the name of the light.
He took of his helmet and fell in the welcoming arms of the moon,his resting place,and no hell he burned in,no purgatory he suffered in,he had silence and peace,not like from God.For he loved him not.
For a sight
The towers of Babylon towered high above the world.Through their endless halls the wind blew as he had blown for a time immemorable.The old fasets were faceles though those ages,old faces,
masterworks,at witch many a people marveled for their complexity,were long gone,their shapes barely concievable.
Not that any had watched them in the past thousand ages.
And now….….…..a sound!An ever beating choir not heard for so long.Step.Step.It was there,the walls WERE NOT mad,as they as first thought.
A tired figure passing below a pair of lions made of stone,bigger then ten men each.Through doors of such making that,even now,one could,through un-thinkable age and fall,that turned many a detail inton dust,see it‘s greatnes.But he that passed them did not notice them,for he knew them all too well, from better times,when all was new and grand,and the sight witch would he now see would make him weep,although to another it would not make sense to do else,but to admire.
And passed he did all the wonderous chamber after chamber,through the gate of the sixteen thousand serpents,past the grand torso of a bull the size of a house and bellow the wounderous shapes and carvings of the seeling in the hall without walls.And he,after a journey of a year,had finaly reached an outer balcony,that looked outside.
He took a deep breath and then walked towards it.
An endless cavalcade of Towers,of wonderous endings and monuments beyond number from one horizon to the other.But nothing else.
He stood there in the arctic of the winds and now knew,that his fear was reasoned,when he realised he built ever so endlesly and without hindering,that he forgot.And now,when he looked greatly,he could see a minor opening,un-builded on,before another complex that stretched endlesly,and far away,where one wall ended,another began.He stood in cold,yet did not feel it.He sank to his knees and a tear was snatched from him by the wind,the first such in all ages.He was alone.
It was long ago.Five worlds of peace,of harmony,of joy.They were of the trol King,but were far older,of the oldest making.And they showed what the World could never have.Peace.And the trol King watched them,before he went to slaughter,for such was the nature of the trol King.
And when his palace,his jewels and concubines turned into dust,young king Albion walked within the ashes.And amongst all the death,he found the worlds.Each was unto him but a smal globe and at first he wished to crush them,but then his eyes looked upon them,,and he saw.
From that day the worlds were his.He did not share with none of the giants what they were,but treated them most respectivly.
And as he passed away,at his final batle,the final war of the giant‚s before the Ragnarök,they took all his things and wished to burn them,so as he could use them further stil.
And one giant was given this task.He was young and firesome.He looked upon the gathered things, before the fire was to began,so as nothing would be missed.And then he saw the worlds.And he did not wish to smythe them and did not know what to do.So he sat down and cried,and then the worlds spoke to him.Their is only one way that we may live,they said.And he listened,as they spoke,and when they finished,he took them and went.
A door that was made long ago and lead into darknes,they found.And he took the worlds,looked upon his own and left upon a path,witch may not be abandonded,once begun.
And through darknes he went and through darknes shal go,for the path is long and leads far away.
But he does not regret.He shal cary the worlds forth upon that path,where all the shadow‘s shater his hopes and dreams,until he shal reach the end of Eternity.And then he shal lay the worlds in the places from witch they came and finaly shal lay to rest beside them,to guard them ever stil.
Who,of you,would act so?
Of Holy Akropolis
Ghazi,who was once King sat upon the bench and before him lay the Holy City of Akropolis, the dream of the defenders of the Kingdom of Jerusalem at Acre.The great Temple of God,made of Silver,stood there and shone upon the spheres of sleep,surounding all around.Ghazi had then stood up and decided to leave.
He had been siting on that bench for over forty years and the man,who had said he would come there never came.So he had no great reason to stay,did he?
He walked in the city and was amused,as he saw old priests,in their sleep,wandering and half-awake citing scripture and calling holy names.There were of all beliefs and they believed this cite to be THEIR holy city,when in truth,it was the holy city of itself,not subjected to any of the Heavenly ones.One man he had recognised.An old holly man whom he met in Baghdad,when he was a child.
The holy man taught him numerous wise things and Ghazi had always wondered,how wise this man is and how blessed is he to be his student.
Here,he saw him,writing down wisdoms from an old book.It was not for the paper,the re-writing would fix it in memory,when he would awake.Ghazi smiled.
Then he decided to follow the man.The holly man closed the book and went away,eyes stil fixed on the paper,he held in his hand.He walked through the streets,almost runing into Plato and Averroes.
Ghazi watched him,pasing under the Great Golden Head of the lion,witch spat water,witch disapeared before it hit the ground.Around it numerous philosophers were self-discusing Henotheism and Kathenotheism and the Omnipotence paradox,but this paradox they did not even see.One man did and was lying on the ground,his face underneath and wating.He had a simple philosophy……wait until a drop lands and it is exposed,or stay there forever.It did not seem so ilogical,when you were here.
Ghazi folowed the holly man over streets made out of mist and others made out of desire and others made of tobaco.But the most holly streets,the ones who‚s paths were made of wisdom itself,witch demonstrated all in its complete forms,he ignored.All of them he had passed without a second thought.
And so they came before a building.It was as high as a stalion for a giants horse.It had many sides, far too many to count.It was made of dark stone,decorated with lines of shining gold.
The doorway was obstructed with bars and chains.The holy man instinctivly went to a nearby statue of a lion and when he touched it,he disapeared.Ghazi folowed him.
Within the library (for that was,what the building was) was another such statue,as to help searchers of knowledge,false or true,within the Gods forbiden storage.
Here were milions of shelves and on each a milion books.Not one was the same.And there the holly man returned the book to a shelve and left,unnoticing Socrates,screaming in the corner.He was being tortured for delivering a cut to the pages.(The libraries caretaker loved his books beyond imagination).And Ghazi returned to his bench and waited and in just a thousand years and one day the man did arive.
In Baghdad,a few decades ago a man awoke.And as he did he tried with all his might to remember what he had seen and then walked away,as to catch Prince Ghazi,to deliver some words of wisdom and gain his admiration.
He was pious.All his life he rejected joy and acted only to please his Lord,so that he may one day walk with him in paradise.
And hsi greatest hour,when it came upon him,was to be his last and he was happy ebyond anything else,that he may finaly see HIS face and walk within his realm.Tears were many,when he left,but he did not hear them fall,for him eternity had now begun.
And he could not surely say when he left this world,as a sleeping man may not say when he fell asleep.And it was a while before he noticed that he is no more.And he was happy indeed and waited for the Celestial Kingdom to open it‘s gates before him.Yet all was….……not.
He looked and looked,yet he did not see,for there was naught to.
An he that wished for death more sooner so,had now seen it‚s realm and understood,that death he should have feared.He raised his head and screamed,yet not a word came out.He yelled and yelled and yelled.He wanted God to tell him,why he is damned.
And he was not,for if he would cease to think that he himself was,then he would be not and all worries would be gone.
But religion‘s saving hand had smythen his hopes,for when he needed a God to come and give him judgment,in all his knowledge (and a wise man he was),he was a fool.
And so he waited:
when India was taken,
and when the great beast of the east had fallen,
and when the sun went out,
He smiled,whe he gave him his realm.He did not know why then.Now he did.
In his life as a man he had went to the sea when troubles grew beyond limits.He would add his sorrow to the boundless depths of the sea and the majesty of the clif,on witch he sat.
He would thank and praise this place in times of plenty and once again be here in times of need.
And he wondered how eternity must be,for surely this place is eternal.And he dreaded the day of his death,for he knew that he would no longer be able to watch the sea and the clif.And prayed for one more day,everyday.
And then,in his last hour,to his bedside came a man.And he had an offer.He (that lay stricken on the bed) would be forever and feel time as do the God‚s and be granted the cliff as his own Kingdom.
All he was asked to do was drown but a man every ten years or so.
And he said yes.
And so he sat upon his cliff,un-touched by now or then.
And his first man came forward and he was respectfull to the sea,so he let him live.And then another came and had no respect at all.So he threw him in the waves,realising too late,that it was his own son.,aged in the last decade.Too late he was,too late and slow to know.
And in sometime he had drowned another man and saw,that it did not feel bad at all.And so he drowned a third and fourth and fifth….….….
And one day he had drowned his sixtieth.He was pleased and then he looked with joy to his cliff……
and saw it gone.Six centuries had passed,for him but an eye blink,and his beloved cliffs were gone.
He wished to leave,but could not,for the man,with whom he bargained came forth and said that he must stay where he must,so long as there is the sea and drown men until it is not.
And so one day his sixth hundredth met his fate.For that he bargained so long ago,for he thought his cliff eternal and did not even look upon it twice,before it had left forever,for he felt as the gods,and they cannot differ seconds from centuries.But now it was too late.One day the sea shal begone,but until then he shal murder his former kind,for a lost glimpse of a former eternal place.
The Cliffs of Go-Past
There are many mountains.Many indeed.Yet there is one special that no one can see,but the survivors of the troll folk.And they are not many.
Once there were many,but that was long ago.Their King was evil,all knew.And all knew that he would bring them to their end,yet none hindered him on his way to the throne,when his father died,
for the right divine could not be broken,nor be shatered.
And all ocured as a prophet said,when the King was born.The peace between the king of Albion and that of Semperi was broken and many wars had followed.And in the end,Albion had died as their own king(though the first shall rise,when the fate of the god‘s shall come,while the second shal remain deceased for all eternity),disacreter of Semperi‚s house,but it were the giants who have won, for they were more,because,whenever a giant met a troll,it was the giant to walk away.
And at this night every hundreth journey of the sun,the survivors of the troll kin came and watched as all flew past this cliff,without noticing it.They knew of it,for it was the places of Semperi‘s martyrdom and for that they could apologise at least by noticing,as Semperi did (and so his murderors).
And every time they that arrived were fewer and fewer and soon near none have apeared.And those who did laughted,as what monsters history presents them,for it needed and evil banished and it did them.
History is written by the victors,and those they were not.
A Haitian Christmas
The eve before christmas and all through the land numerous presents and glorious decorations were bought and made and all through the Imperial palace echoed alcoholic laughter.Noble after noble,sons of fisherman elevated,came and swore their endless loyalty.And many a baron became a Prince and many a Prince a Duke.All drank heavily into the night on the health of Faustin III.,by the Grace of God Emperor of Haiti.And the Emperor then rose and apologised,for he needed to leave the room, because he had some urgent papers that waited for his imperial seal.And as the generous monarch left the hall,his epaulets shining as bright as his countless medals,in the farthest corner of that Imperial Hall a heart began to fill itself with hatred.
Imperial Chancellor De Sutho was going through the countless halls and rooms of the Imperial palace.He had a thing to report to the Emperor.
He found His Imperial Majesty at a table in The Grand Hall of Elevation, where raising the status of men was taken care of.Numerous candless were lit,so one would normaly fear a flood of hot wax.
And the Emperor sat within his chair of finest dark wood and wrote.
He did not notice his trusted asistant in the ways of ruling,until when the Chamberlain let loose a silent cough.
„Ah,Piere,I was just going through the Elevation of Baron……“.
„A terrible thing,my lord!“.
„Your Daughter,the Exalted Imperial Princess Matylde….…..“.
„She was seen with plain man from the Imperial gardens!“.
„….….….…And what is his name?“.
„Alexandre de Beur.“.
The Emperor took a piece of parchment,but instead of a death sentence,he began to write an Elevation into the Grand-Ducal Rank.The Chamberlain wished to object to this „blasphemous“ idea,but was interupted by the sound of fall.
The Emperor walked slowly to the window,from witch this was heard and the Chamberlain followed him with a lantern.When it was lit,they saw that in the place,where the Imperial Garbage Containers stood alone,as the sole messengers of the truth,that the apocalypse must come,did lie the mangled and disfigured bodies of Her Imperial Highness,Princes Matylde and gardener Alexandre de Beur.
And throught the halls came not one but many of men in arms not the Emperors loyal and firstly plundered the Imperial Hall and killed all and every,but for one,whom they did not slay,but gave their oaths to.
And this man,who was Baron Pierre De Courté,had grown to hate the Emperor not of his politics,nor his ideas,but plainly that his neighbour had become a Prince and he but a Baron.
And it was himself,who lead fifty soldiers to the place,where the Emperor and his Chamberlain were alone and unarmed and slew them with numerous works or iron.
But the Emperor,giving devine resistence,finaly fell when De Courté himself looped of his head from behind,and the remains of the Monarch and the monarchy fell on the ground and began to turn a piece of parchment ir-readable wih blood,the one on witch was ordered the turning of „The son of Pierre De Courté the Elder,Master Fisherman“ into „The Most Exalted Princely Style“.
And so came the Republic of Haiti upon the day of christmas,and all through Haiti were made many murders and spread many pain and men who were nobles denounced their loyalty and still were slain.
This was the gift to the people of Haiti.