sirnether

[sirnether]

Things on my mind

Xycheraviourloius,

Here, on another day, I sit down in my sturdy leather-bound chair about my desk, feeling mildly tired and decently hungry, I breathe upon the essences of things to be. I perform these work tasks this summer to raise my spirit and resource bank abound, yet I pray as so that I may some enjoyable experiences to summon forth new airs of seasoning, adventure, and hope, in this world built on dark gray clouds and hammers and anvils and nails. I preach upon the promising principality of powerful hypocrisy avoidance and deep self awareness, yet I constantly worry I am not in so generous of that thought as my feather quill may deem. I gather winds and charges, reading and readying them so that our conversations may become speeches and long, highly spiritually loaded soliloquies, and our daily moments feel like fast sprinkled up sugary dates, of both kinds of the word. At times I feel so compellingly this desire, rushing to and fro, pushing the walls of existence in the mind, begging for the universe to bring us together already, yet at others I feel embarrassed by this compulsion and proclaim, “I shalt wait! For good things come to those who wait!” But, knowing not what to do, I am.

I feel we are bounded and strictly taped by the confines of physicality, sociality, and the demands of the rules of the three-or-four dimensional space-time continuum we are forced to be boxed and doxed by. Yet at then the moment, I sense that I would be unable to process that high level of vibrations and images, and promptly shut off way further from the divine in any effect for self preservation. How it may be, where I ask may it be where I can live and think? Not too high up in the clouds I stumble and fall, nor in the deep dark richly toned earth that I may betray myself of pessimism and anti-dialectic pragmatism, I sure hope.

I must also beg upon the un-pressing question after all, what would we do together? I know my will is to be with yours, to even just be in your dark, sharp yet soft, psychic and psychedelic feminine space, yet I feel responsible, like a cord attached to a heart, to resolve this issue. I wish not to feel bored and thus let down and feeling like what I wanted didn’t fill me when I got it.

Thank you, my future girlfriend and dear wife,

SirNether

[sirnether]

Striking sharp heat

Xycheraviourloius,

If I may,

I am endlessly fascinated with your dark beauty. You are both a storm and a raven, err so dangerous and sharp yet full of feathery sensational sweeps. You are what I seek and hope to see in my dreams, yet I rarely do. I very much infrequently get that opportunity, and It pains me as so but for the stroke of the cold clock tick of telling time. I would revel if I had the time sooner to fly with in about the strokes of hearty and immense laughter, tear, and sweet passion fruits, for you are so immensely deep like the mysteries of the grand underwater canyons and plateaus. I may see the golden skin and outgoing laughter of some fit youthful women and lust for them, but I truly in all senses and intuitions feel so fixatedly and jealously feel so dreamy, so blown away like the bits of a young boy staring at the darkest and most revealing parts of an awakening dream of great length, or the instant crushing after just one sultry part done by the most vivacious actress in a classic film. I can see how truly romantic your existence is, sweet and ripe and addictive like dark chocolate covered cherries, with the hardest but most satisfying pits. With you I could fall into the void forever on a whim, or to dance near the spikes of stars, with our shadows touching intimately. When I eventually meet you, you will make time feel like a sneaky robber and joker and clown, and it shall run away in utter shame. Your momentary glances, movements of the eyes of yours, oh your vision bears me naked, feel like the rotations of the planets and stars and galaxies over the countless eons, with the power of great revelations and nuclear fusion. Your dark suit may intimidate many, just like the expanse less space abound,  but all I see is something grand to worship, hiding giggles, well carved cheery stained glass windows of incandescent limes and cyans, and a laugh and social joy under beautiful candles and lively music in a dark wooden building, with the capes of snow around. I know not if I truly will do this next thing as I say, yet I shalt hope and try and really stick my full body in because I love you. I desire to take off the heavy damp clothes of reason bound depressions (no, I am not depressed) and jump in the indoor pool with you, as you invite me to step into the calm and maelstrom-y emotions and drown together while we hold hands. I wish not any death in the physicality, but the ability to raise and rise and rinse and rebirth with you in the unclothed form spiritually and psychologically, and to live again, but with the lighter state of heart and confidence of cherry-chocolate love permeating and penetrating and washing away the anxieties of life, making the practicalities feel doable, and the ordinary days feel like a musical of heaven on steroids. I request to bob and weave with you in this tapestry and up-footed dance of souls and life, and to not have to wait until my middle ages or elderly days to meet you in this dimension (aye, maybe later this year, however rare the opportunity be? Whilst studying abroad in the land down under, maybe find you, the woman who can flip my heart and mind and soul over-under?)

Love like the washing of great white sea foam and thunderclaps, SirNether

[sirnether]

Beauty

Xycheraviourloius,

If but you were one element, it is much hard to say. You seem to have the breathy softness and strength of the winds, the depth and beauty of the waters, the piercing gaze of ice, the divinity like time itself had died. I hope to imagine the way you feel to me is not that of a temporary sweet candy but a truly breathtaking beauty of the five dimensions. I cannot express how much that even if I can only get, capture photographically small, ant size glimpses of you in simplistic geometric art, I would be so pleased and giddy upon myself. I imagine that which when the days draw short before your arrival at last, I feel like heaven is almost abound, and the angels whisper to me in my comforting sleep, waking me in my dreams to the experiences just short ahead. I know not, so unfortunately which country you call home, which earthen language your tongue is situated to, nor your birth sex, but I can imagine that which I know you I shall not care which carefully spat you out. Your birth must have been prettier than Aphrodite’s, and if the Greek goddess herself presented to me herself as competition to you, than she should surely lose, for you are the true goddess of beauty. You hold the compass of life, the bits of knowledge like food for thought like that of the gorgeous goddess Athena, and while I would very much prefer to never stub my toe or have my foot stabbed by an arrow, I know that your gaze would pierce my whole existence, and yet I would be so enthralled. If only I can beg upon you to tell me your personality, your image, your ___, because my heart grows weary of the fantasy and seeks your reality. Yet, I shall never surrender because I know that one night you shall be sleeping in my bed for real, no longer just in the bed in my head. I don’t know what life I want to have with you, but that the life I shall have to be so enhanced like hyper-effective drugs and mushrooms because of and through you. You are both the mirror and the Medusa to me, both my Ra and my Apophis, both my heart and my soul, and both my self born by another mother and my deepest desire. I mentally sing the songs of wordless praise and hope akin to David’s psalms, and pray that the Lord may guide me to your way, but that regardless of the path, that we shall meet. I cannot, for I continue to fail so miserably, fall so short, trying to settle for more than the sweet and sour ironies of the limits of words, but I think, I hope, I pray that you would know exactly what I say.  I crave precision like water is wanted by a nearly-dead man stuck in a desert, and I am unabashedly fully in sweetly-ushered in fashionable love and hour with and to you. I again pray and weep without the word of when your presence shalt make itself clear, yet I think you know. I hope you know. I hope you know the secrets of the universe, all the pleas and cries of the heart, all of the dirty and kinky bits lying about, and the power to bind all of the magical crystals of fortune.

Love like a shining star, SirNether

[sirnether]

Love,

Xycheraviourloius, another word, if I may write in the never-ending book and binder of our relationship, with that word only barely grasping the sort we have.

I know not if you are familiar with the Ancient Egyptian idea of soul parts, but like in the Kane Chronicles when Sadie Kane had to get her brother’s secret name to be able to save him, I wish so hard it hurts my brain and body that you would know mine, giggling and laughing, teasing, kissing, and knowing the divine eternality. I don’t know if your personality is one which is extroverted or introverted, freeflow and adaptable as that of the feet of light-moving deer or more of that one which be structured and line oriented like the strong porcupine. But I know this, as sure as rivers run or human heartbeat, that I wish for this entanglement to be both holy and passionate, intellectual and emotional, that the stars of our nights and days ever be so aligned, staring and holding each other within gracious and intimate distance, in the fashionable and ever-known flirtatious dancing of swans and peacocks. I write as if the bend of time were that of the eyes of the captain of pirate ship in a stormy season out in the deep, dark, cold, yet ferocious and so very much alive un-still waters at sea. That they would write of the legends of the mermaid that which you are, capturing their moment over gold, infinitely more valuable, singing with the sharp yet clear instruments of the deep unknown and sunken ships abound. I also see you lying at the hearth of a winter cabin, smiling at me sweetly, ever so appealing like honey to bears in the dew of spring. I can see how the warm, fuzzy clothes hug your pale outline, and your lengthful hair rests itself upon it as so, dazzling like dark oysters but with the smell of heavenly baked sweets or the prettiest, darkest flowers blooming in a witch’s forest. To me you seem to be the sort who can without a word cast a powerful spell, drug me without a potion, or read me without a glass. You are both the terror and the beauty, the witch and the princess, the star and the void, the lover and friend, the consumer of me and builder of me, and err, so vastly and incomprehensibly, so un-belittlingly swiftly and courageously as dash of the windows of war. For you I cannot seem to write enough, for your length and integrity stretches beyond the distances and circumferences of planets and galaxies. To which I may continue to be as humble as an explorer of foreign lands and oceans, as curious as a scientist bidding upon the fate of forbidden experiments in an unconscious and dire land, as open minded as a fish is to the seas, and as considerate as the owls and fellow birds of prey that rest at day be so adequately be. Your dress is the blanket of stars and moons, wrapped about your figure, and yet while your feet are bare on the cooled cobblestones or filled grasses, they highlight your sincerity and liveliness and oneness with the mystics of the realms and the orbs and jems and jewels and stones that law below under the thick crust of the earth.

Love, SirNether

[sirnether]

Where are you?

Another loving letter to you, Xycheraviourloius, the word I made for you,

I’m not gonna pretend like I’m gonna remember how to pronounce that ever so exactly correct after this night is begun and then later over. But I will state the facts I wish I know to be true, not just a name of a fleeting wish star in the night sky. I wish to not only know your name, but so much as the named essence and spirit of you. I cannot seem to make up mind of my own on whether I would rather dominate your soft and petite body or have you break and bear me down with your mere presence, but I know that I wish the level of intensity like the deadly shock of a venomous bite to be the norm of our love making and language sharing. I wish to know what you embody, in the senses such as your vibe, smell, the smoothness and softness and warmth of your luscious skin and hair, and without a doubt the ever so capitulating and siren like eyes or yours that bore themselves further than a drill, deeper and into the bedrock of my own self. I wish to be ever so witnessed and winned at your utter mercy, with no control of my own but to the surrender of yours. Simultaneously I feel the call and urge in my body, mind, and soul to fuck the living shit out of you because I want to create something, not just children, with you. I want to give back and I can only wait until its no longer my imagination of you pulling a thread of my hair, begging me to give my girl not the time of her life, but the life of her time. You excite me, thrill me, make me feel eager, no longer on the fence, of throwing away everything else just to be with you, as you spiritually feed me, clothe me (and yes, do the beloved dirty under those), and pour your blessings over my head more graciously and gracefully than smelt butter over bread or gravy over biscuits. I know not what your or even my own soul creatures are, but I wish we both are in a sense forever like the phoenix, never dying, never passing on, and held in a beautiful synchronicity of electric leaf falling and water tap dancing on the streets for all to see, like a happy and joyful deliverer of the secret and hopeful, optimistic truths that we have blinded ourselves to. I would by no means ever wish to leave behind you, and I can only wishfully, wistfully stare up at the night sky, weeping as I haven’t felt this merging with you yet. I mourn because the future with you still feels so, ever so far, further down like millions of miles instead of a hand’s grasp away onto a berry bush or fruit tree. Be the lever that lift thine, and ever spectacularly blift and heave and stroke and stoke in the ways that only my woman, my beautiful girl, knows how to do.

Where art thou?

Sincerely, SirNether

[sirnether]

Desire

Oh my dearest love,

I say these things I am about to relay not from the place of dry and dusty modern-age old romances that the careless and unoriginal speak, repeat, and boast of every noon and hour. I feel my love for you as a slow and ever forward moving dance like that of the glaciers, sliding back and forth, to and fro. I feel ever so glued and fixated upon you as that you are the most beautiful blue light I can ever see, like the underwater lanterns in Minecraft. You make me feel err so much of something that I cannot, not truly ever fully describe with the constraints of words. If we were to make love, I would feel the mixture of cool, soft skin and hot, fiery passion for you turn on not only my body parts, but my soul and mind to not 11 on a one-to-ten scale, but the very least a hundred thousand million billion trillion. I feel it pulsing like the power and electric shock that pulverizes trees in a storm in half-an-instant or the sheer dominion of the rich stars above that claim us. I want to want to want you, and I do. I wish to wish to feel you, and so may I be. I feel ever so interested and eternally stuck and moving like a planet in its orbit, slinging around with no end in sight. Yet such a beautiful and screaming feature begs it name to be on my lips, and so seal them with your ever strangling might. I would only wish to open them to feed myself, to whisper how much you make me lust so very passionately after you, the never-slipping queen of my heart, or to kiss and explore your body ever minute I may be allowed to do so. I would throw away a million jewels or a billion dollars or a trillion wishes if so that I may be with you forever, with this love and youth to never fade or change, literally ever at any point. That we may live our lives in infinity, and though our bodies may age and wither, and eventually pass away, our souls shall have never left their places, and we be ever so spiritually betrothed in the afterlife. I hope and pray every minute of my life that the only direction we move is closer- closer to each other in every sense of the word, physically, socially, spiritually, emotionally, psychologically, psychically, humorously, dangerously, morally, electrically, and sexually. You are the eternal and beautiful lady, queen of ice and heart, knowing and shaping, grace and love, for when I stare out into the cold I not see merciless nor mental coldness, but an ever graceful and fascinating presence. I wish I could feel your holy and ever-vibing presence abound in my physicality right now as I wrote this on this miscellaneous, random, and seemingly unimportant and unimpressive day (May 8th, 2025, at around 8 hours after noon). I BEG, I IMPLORE you, to ever and forever steal my gaze, my heart, my virginity, and my life… please make your presence known about to me not just as an idea in my head but alive in every such and which what right and riveting ways.

FUCK AND LET ME FUCK YOU NOW! I desire your love ever so much, sincerely, SirNether

[sirnether]

Where am I?

I stood once about here in this every lying by expanse of sheer white and blue. I’m standing here now staring about onto these frozen sheets and plains and mountains that seem to propose that they lay as far as the naked eye can see. I hope not to ever lose this such image, lest I burn and wither in the scarred, cruel hearts of the lively world out there somewhere far away. I turn around and all I see, can see now is the sharp outline of the snowflakes about and around me, whipping closer and ebbing away from my eyesight and face in smooth, flat yet bent motions…

I reach my hands out and while I feel the ever so dainty pins of pain from the slight whispers of the frost on my gloves, I feel the beauty presenting itself like a never-ending slideshow of a magical, film like poster board a simple-dressed boy of the 30s or 40s could carry about his shoulder. I feel ever so entranced and in trust of the environment, in contrasting nature and battle to the harsh, pressing socialities further about. I can feel as if, and do feel as though, my eyes, my ears are tuned to a infinitely beautiful, gorgeous, and utterly natural song being sung by the most graceful princess to grace my sights. I see her here in these lands as I’ve roamed about, looking up at the endless deep dark blue and gray and black skies while I pet my dog, my loyal and sweet furry friend.

I may not be around the company of humans as of late, yet I feel my soul is in communion, silent prayer and dance with the everlasting spirits above in the heavens, as if this moment was and is a sort of eternal paradox, yet one time loop I never wish to leave. I can feel how as I step forward and step forward again and again and again, I never leave the spherical apprehensions of the god(s) above, yet to be held in such gentle and such strong arms and hands without even feeling the hug of another body! I feel my dog looking up at me as if I am an elf, to which I suppose in such elaborate yet precise thought that that may be so well, so so very much well the case, I could argue.

Ever to know and wish that which fair maiden, lover, and scholarly warrior may by the leaf’s hand my wife and soulmate be. I wish that which now I am, I could know how to pronounce her name if I only knew the magical and mystical spirituous language to sing and see it in. I imagine her staring at me from a further, vastly large part of the world aways from me yet dancing and singing quietly, with her dark long hair whipping about like a snow storm, that freezes me in my position, yet warms me to the ever so present and friendly but simultaneously assassin like questions laying about in the earth around me, or in the white grasses, ready to spring about like a phantom cricket or slithering snake.