#secondarily with spirits

[residentialhomeowner]

a lot of people are using nex as a queer talking point without even mentioning they were choctaw and 2S. without even mentioning that this - harassment, assault, murder, disappearances, lies/indifference/denial about the circumstances of our death - is typical of the violence we face. not once have i seen non-native people address that we, as natives, face this same treatment within queer communities. that queer institutions use our land while declining to offer native-inclusive and -sensitive care. we suffer at the hands of white lgbt+ people just as much as we do at the hands of people outside the community.

nex is not your NB pariah. nex was a 2S, NB, choctaw child. thousands of native people go missing and are killed and no one cares. many are two-spirit. many are LGBTQIA+. many are "queer" in ways only defined and recognised by our closed cultures, that you may never hear of and may never understand.

if you are going to flock to nex, you are not going to take them from us post-mortem. they were choctaw. they were native. their tribal affiliation has already been falsely reported on. if you are talking about nex, you will talk about how unwelcoming and dangerous your communities are for us, too. you will talk about how natives face this violence constantly, everywhere. you will not remove nex from the context of them being choctaw, ever - or you won't say their name at all.

even when we die, you don't care about us. i am telling you to care about us if you want us to stop dying.

[catboxcoffin]

Battler/Kinzo/Projection

Battler’s narrative assault & sexualization is pretty interesting to me as an inversion of sexed roles, so I’ve decided to refine and paste some of my thoughts on it, beginning with Yasu-trice. Battler repeatedly has Kinzo’s (amatory) role projected onto him, both by Piece-Beatrice directly and Yasu’s authorial insinuations. (I won’t incorporate Meta-Beatrice into this analysis for a few reasons, the main being that I don’t think she is Yasu in the same sense as the others; secondarily that she is so gratuitous in her assaults and references that it would be nonsensical to lend any nuance to it. Plus, her indiscriminate performance in the earlier episodes is what sets up such a divergence later on)

I. Episode 4

Gameboard events are a requisite to understanding the skeleton of the stories that we’re actually being shown. Given the nebulous nature of the Meta and what it represents, a tale created and decorated in-universe in an attempt to communicate is generally more useful in viewing its subjects. On that note, the end of Episode 4 is a scarce instance where we are given a physical interaction between Piece-Beatrice and Battler. As Battler stands before the balcony denying her riddles and threatening her, Beatrice doubles down on her stern insistence regarding ‘testing’ him as the Successor, yet engages in innuendo the second he attempts to physically approach her. This presents a noticeable incongruence between Beatrice’s projected mythos and Piece-Beatrice as played by Yasu. She is physically distant, reading as almost shy. She’s stepped down from being an active harasser, instead functioning passively and reactively, ungracefully shifting between goals for the conversation. She is clearly very alienated from an autonomous sense of eroticism, which is why she instead endeavors to lure it out of him (despite her performative disdain). Her drunken sexuality is framed in relation to what she thinks hides ‘within’ Battler; her musings are based on the assumptions regarding <The Head>. She arrogantly asserts that her superficial form is his type, making sure to paint it as a shallow preference she’s pinpointed. (However even this is something she already knows as a fact, erasing any chance of the ‘unpredictable roulette’ she seems to exalt. She has little real confidence in her desirability, and even less in her ability to make him remember his sin)

She continues her attempt at testing his resolve, presenting herself for her ‘new master’ to own her flesh and soul as furniture, victimize her into surrender, and, crucially, remind her of Kinzo. Because that’s what Battler is to her: a reincarnation of Kinzo, carrying his spirit and blood most strongly. And how could he be anything else? Yasu is ‘Beatrice’ incarnate, her predecessors being both swept away and brutally betrayed by Kinzo, and by virtue of Battler’s failed promise, he has done the same. Her conflict arises here: her love for Battler meshing with her repulsion towards Kinzo, and her inability to reconcile them as full people. The same assumptions about Kinzo’s relationship to preceding Beatrices that traumatize her into hatred are simultaneously twisted into a romanticized ideal, and she is continually unable to conceive of her relationships without paralleling these identities and dynamics she’s latched onto. She is an ancestral fatalist, resigning not only autonomy within her own life but puppeting her relatives’ souls as her own. They cannot sleep peacefully as themselves, and neither can an unadulterated Battler. Beatrice indirectly castigates Battler (or her idea of him blurred into Kinzo) through her earlier ramblings on the nature of love-as-lust and the cage of flesh, but later turns around and flirts with the ideas, even going as far as writing her piece to romance Kinzo directly, despite knowing she’s caricaturing her own mother’s harrowing circumstances.

II. Message-Bottle Furniture

Lovelessly—or, perhaps, in a twisted abundance of love—Yasu’s message bottles distort Battler’s entire character into something alien in his six-year absence. This is what it means for new truths to triumph over old truths. Battler, the boy who left his own family due to his indignation over infidelity and who sought the heart in every story, is suddenly a perverted beast. He is a vapid womanizer like his father and an exploiter of status and naïveté like his grandfather. Beyond his will, parodied projections of his profanity are exposed within the message bottles, existing to cement his sin as irredeemable. I believe this is both a semi-conscious self-justification on Yasu’s part (cutting out the moral ambiguity of him simply forgetting) and a way to cope with her own undesirability (by manufacturing a more ‘active’ sin, one that would require Battler to care in the first place).

(…Side Note: I like how the attempted grope of Shannon in EP1 encompasses both this hostile projection and a dance around the desire to be discovered… [Fake breasts]. It adds another layer of selfish assumption to her narrative: he was always a piece. He doesn’t solve the epitaph and he doesn’t remember her because he never had the chance.)

To reiterate, his character is degraded and he is manipulated as a plot device within the message bottles. The narrative hinges on his existence, yet he has little room to move—In fact, his actual presence is hardly necessary. He committed a sin that permanently scarred someone, and he cannot apologize. The victim no longer exists. Battler, as a concept, constitutes a motive for murder. In his absence, he is a myth.

Remind you of anyone else?

III. Kuwatrice-Kinzo / Chick Beatrice-BATTLER

This parallel creates an interesting issue. The line of descendant/reincarnation is blurred and there’s an explicitly incestuous tone, but it quickly becomes more of a foil than a mirror. Kinzo’s idea of reincarnation is pure delusion, Battler rejects it despite it being true; Kinzo is affectionately dominating, Battler is cold; Kinzo rejects his status as a father, Battler grows to accept it.

So, Kinzo’s role is subverted. This should be a good thing, right?

It isn’t. At least, not to the judge of sin.

Chick-Beatrice is not a new creation; this is a glimpse of the Beatrice that first adopted Shannon’s bud of love for Battler six years prior. At this point, ‘Beatrice’ was still individuated. She wasn’t yet mutated by the legend of the witch, the solving of the epitaph, or, arguably, her Battler-desirability complex. This, I assert, is the closest we see to a pure ‘Yasu’ in later years, as the remainder of her true self that resided in Shannon had already been compartmentalized by that point. This is why Dawn is so tragic. Battler has allegedly solved her heart, yet even in his ‘enlightenment’ he is dismissive of her. To the first-time viewer, this rejection is bittersweet: he is waiting for the ‘real’ her to return. Issue is, that is the real her. This is the ‘Shannon’ he knew, before she was twisted into a sadistic amalgam of escapist fantasies dressed up with his desires. By all rights, Chick should align much more with the ‘Shannon’ that loved Battler. The dutiful “blindness of a girl in love,” willing to wait a century to be noticed. But he doesn’t understand that, bemoaning being too late while literally being thrusted another chance to do it right. Of course this chance doesn’t apply to reality, but it never did. He was already facing a postmortem trial for his failure in life, and the end of Meta-Beatrice marks his failure in death.

Battler is fated to only ever have a paternalistic, sympathetic affection towards Chick. Even after learning the truth, it will always be Beatrice that he loves. As much is clear in his Twilight gameboard. He recognizes Yasu as a vessel, but she’s virtually indistinguishable from Piece-Beato, an actor serving as the means for the illusion and providing a sympathetic backstory. Ange was right—there’s no point in having someone love in your place.

Regardless, Battler is himself. If he’d only inherited enough of Kinzo’s blood, maybe he could have loved all ‘iterations’ passionately and indiscriminately. Kinzo fabricated connections out of nothing, he ‘understood’ the reincarnated soul, and he was willing to die before he let her escape. His overbearing, cloying affection had a certainty that I believe Yasu envied, in a way. To be kidnapped and caged forever would be morbidly romantic, to her at least. How tragically ironic that the fatalist who desired to be carried away ended up having to orchestrate the game of love&communication herself…

IV. The Head

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, Yasu has a final, strikingly obvious reason to project Kinzo onto Battler: deflection.

Yasu is a disastrous parallel to Kinzo. They share the disturbing quality of willpower exceeding their body, a flippancy regarding life and death, living in spite of frailty. They are born with and die with nothing. She too dances with the magic of the roulette, staking fate on a miracle. She too ‘met’ Beatrice as an attempt at severing her regrets in life; she too summoned the Golden Witch and received a fortune at the cost of her soul; she too felt blessed and mocked by the myth of Beatrice, after wandering half-dead in a life that was not her own. A life in which she had been suddenly given power as a prank of fate, with the included (mis)fortune of polydactyly. They were each forced to endure Endlessness, awaiting the revival of love that may never come, desperately discarding their dignity for the sake of resurrection. The epitaph chooses both Kinzo’s and Beatrice’s successor. To ‘see’ is to answer the riddle. Just as Kinzo did to ‘Beatrice,’ Yasu has sewn the Ushiromiyas’ souls onto the island with magic, allowing them neither power nor form. Both are vulnerable kings protected by their own castles, refusing to speak the truth. Their massive wealth will be distributed, but the secret tales die with them.

Yasu was afforded unbelievable power by solving the epitaph, but it ended up destroying her with knowledge she did not want. She was given the reasoning that kills love. Upon the horrific discovery that her romantic feelings not only couldn’t be consummated but were incestuous as well, it is almost certain that she would feel the same repulsion towards herself as Kinzo. From that moment, she too was lying about the true nature of her relationships with the ones she loved. She too could not curb her affection or fear in time to tell the truth. There is no path she can make for herself, as she cannot live independently of projected roles. Incapable of individuating herself from Kinzo with self-identity, the logical conclusion is to invert the roles and make herself Beatrice, and more importantly, Battler Kinzo. Then, she must pray for the miracle that someone would come and solve the epitaph, taking back the role she was so haunted by and carrying her to a better life…

[cryptid-called-ash]

The spirit stone

Part of the spirit sage link au

the spirit stone, instead of being set in mineru’s large zonaite collar, is set on a leather cord with some hylian beads, reflective of Link’s more naturalistic style.

Using the stone has several effects based on situation. The main effect allows Link to create an exact duplicate of himself with identical armour and weapons. Secondarily he can separate his spirit from his body, like mineru, thus allowing him to access special rooms and areas (more on those coming soon). And finally, using the stone on the dragon’s tears let’s link interact with the visions, as detailed in a previous post.

The spirit temple boss is not the corrupted construct, but Dark Link (referred to as ‘Champion’s Shadow, Spirit Temple Guardian’). He wields the master sword and hylian shield and wears a red colour swap of the champion’s leathers. DL is the only opponent that can also use flurry rush (because it makes no sense for ganondorf to be able to do that, but palette swapped link? That makes sense).

[songsofbloodandwater]

Rowan and Hazel for the pagan ask game!

Rowan: Is there a particular place in the outdoors that feels entirely sacred to you? Describe it!

The beach. Just being present and engaging all the senses. Watching the ripples and the waves, the glimmering of the sun in the surface. The sound of the water and the birds and the wind. Breathing in the salty air. The warmth of the sand and the coolness of the water. It's my favorite place to be because it just makes me feel so grounded, connected with everything around me, alive.

Hazel: Do you make offerings for land spirits or fair folk? If so, what do you offer, or would want to offer?

To both, for similar but slightly different reasons. Fair folk and Land Spirits are not necessarily the same thing to me. They're two distinct categories of spirits that have some overlap, but are still distinct. Both can be propitiated but for different reasons and some fae could qualify as land spirits but only secondarily, and certainly not all of them are. Thus, because their origin is different, their offerings are different.

Land Spirits get local offerings, according to local folklore and the local indigenous culture. Some of the ways to give offerings and payment to the Land overlap with my own Nation's way to do offerings and that's what I tend to focus on: burying offerings out in certain sacred places. Preferably, native offerings are used although there's some exceptions.

On the other hand, Fair Folk get very different offerings, most of the time, domestic, and mostly introduced species. I tend to give these offerings at my home altar. Save for special occasions, or when I lay out offerings to specific Gods and Goddesses who may be considered fairy. I think my offerings to fairy are the same most fairy faith practitioners would do: milk, honey, butter, bread, flowers, sacred waters and prayers.

Thanks for asking ♡

[wecanbeperfect]

THE BODY OF CHRIST

1 Corinthians 12:12 For as the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ.

1 Corinthians 12:13 For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.

JESUS' PRAYER FOR BELIEVERS

John 17:23 I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me.

THE BODY OF CHRIST

1 Corinthians 12:28 And God hath set some in the Church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then the gifts of healing, governments, diversities of tongues.

[orthodoxadventure]

The meaning and spiritual beauty of icons

The word icon is a transliteration of the Greek word eikon and is found throughout the New Testament, particularly in the letters of the apostle Paul. For example, St. Paul calls the Lord Jesus "the icon of the invisible God" (Colossians 1:15) and "the icon of God" (2 Corinthians 4:4). While most Roman Catholic and Protestant Christians are familiar with the biblical theme of Jesus as the Word of God made flesh (John 1:1-14), Orthodox Christians also celebrate the biblical theme of Jesus as the Icon or Image of God. The icons found in Orthodox Churches are a celebration of the fact that Jesus Christ is indeed the Word of God made flesh and that anyone who has seen Jesus has seen the Father (John 12:45 and 14:8-12). As the 7th Ecumenical Council held in the city of Nicea in 787 AD proclaimed, icons are in color what the Scriptures are in words: witnesses to the incarnation, the fact that God has come among us as a person whom we can see, touch and hear. Christianity is, therefore, the revelation not only of the Word of God but also the Image of God in the face of Christ.

Icons are a uniquely liturgical art form; their most proper setting is the Church. Icons are meant to inspire prayer. The icon is a door through which we enter Reality. The purpose of an icon is to take us into the realm of the Spirit. In this sense, the icon is not merely art. It is a work of Christian witness. It offers us Truth as a vision. An icon is therefore an image of the invisible, a reflection of the Beyond. It is an expression of spiritual experience, of mystical life, of worship and surrender. It is a reflection of divine Beauty. It points us beyond itself and is a window upon eternity, a point at which the present world intersects with the Kingdom that is to come. Every icon is intended to be a marriage between the terrestrial and the celestial. And, through this window, not only do we look from this world into the Kingdom: our gaze is met by the eyes of another who looks out from the Kingdom and holds us in his or her gaze. To gaze at an icon in the correct attitude of devotion is to acquire the proper orientation of our vision, thought, desire and will: the face of God in the face of Christ, the splendor of the Kingdom, the divine destiny that is the vocation of every living soul. An icon radiates joy and peace. First and foremost, icons are an expression of the Church's faith and only secondarily of the artist's 'talent' and abilities as a painter.

Metropolitan Kallistos Ware has written: "Because the icon is a part of Tradition, the icon painter is not free to adapt or innovate as he pleases; for his work must reflect, not his own aesthetic sentiments, but the mind of the Church. Artistic inspiration is not excluded, but it is exercised within certain prescribed limits. It is important than an icon painter should be a good artist, but it is even more important that he should be a sincere Christian, living within the spirit of the Tradition, preparing himself for his work by means of Confession and Holy Communion." An icon is dogma and theology in colors. It is a celebration of God's victory over sin and death.

[Source of text: The Divine Liturgy of our Father among the Saints John Chrysostom (with Commentary and Notes)]

[cipheramnesia]

There's lots of xmas themed horror movies or horror taking place on xmas, and much of it is good. However, I have yet to see xmas horror that really nails it and I think one reason, for me a major reason, is that xmas horror is from within the holiday.

For the most part these movies feature characters who celebrate xmas, who are acclimated to it as a holiday, and come from the perspective of xmas having in some way an element of universality between the movie, the audience, and the characters. The horror is an element that exists, in essence, secondarily to xmas, within the larger idea of a holiday.

My feeling is that a horror movie about xmas should come from the position of someone who is an outsider to xmas. Part of the real underlying horror that escapes these other films is wanting not to be mired in this inescapable holiday, but not in the sense of the embedded trope of the "humbug" but rather as a person who isn't part of xian tradition. The holiday is for many people not bad but deeply, deeply alienating - a massive loud and constant reminder of not belonging to a majority group. Celebrated or not, with friends or alone, there always remains an element of othering when it's not your own holiday.

For me, that would be my approach to this kind of holiday horror. It's not about the killer Santa, Krampus, gremlins, or family arguments. Instead the focus is on how all of these elements are innately uncanny and disturbing. It's a movie where the protagonists are isolated not just by some good old fashioned evil killer elves, but by being surrounded by people who think xmas elves are in some way part of the season.

I'm not yet completely sure what overall plot I'd go into this with. I think something with an unreal vibe, something where it's initially difficult for the audience to determine if the protagonist is experiencing some kind of supernatural element of horror, or simply their own exaggerated feelings of isolation. The mounting sense of paranoia, coupled with the constant gaslighting of them by everyone from well meaning friends who swear it's "just a time of giving" to capitalist orgies in shoppinh malls to people who insist it's the most important holiday, all come together to create a second act of intense terror over the certainty of something being wrong while unable to express it or even get anyone else to see.

This would well serve a climax where the particular macguffin is revealed as genuine, the protagonist is vindicated, and the tension and action intensify. Something like We Are Still Here but the evil ghost is the holiday spirit.

[primewritessmut]

hey i'm someone other than punch-love! 12, 13, 14

Hi! Although now I know that we are all distracting each other from writing and I somehow think that's worse...?

12. How Many Different Fandoms Have You Written For?

Oh, yikes. I'm going to just count posted works because if I tried to calculate all the fanfics that have flitted across my brain I'd probably die before I managed it.

I think I've posted fic for 8 fandoms: harlivy, good omens (crowley/aziraphale obs), malevolent (john/arthur), venom/symbrock, spideypool, harry potter (drarry), carry on (simon/baz mostly), and my current hyperfixation which is, as you know, lokius.

SOME of that work has since been deleted, for reasons, so there's only 6 fandoms on my AO3 dashboard.

13. What's Your Goal For Your Writing In The Future?

It's two-fold!

I want to finish an original novel. I usually stall out around 40k and then start something else. I actually got into fanfic just to see if I could finish something (surprise, I can) so that's still my goal in the future.

Keep writing! I went through a long, dark period of my life where I wrote next to nothing except what was required of my job. Which was just enough to keep the embers glowing, but that's it really. I genuinely plan to never let that happen again.

14. Favorite Works From A Fellow Writer?

The horrible secret is that I write a lot more fanfic than I read. I wish I could shout out a million fanfic authors here but I'm just not that widely read. Secondarily, a lot of my bookmarks are in a fandom that I just cannot participate in anymore so it's hard to say, "Oh yeah, these are great" because they give me hives now.

HOWEVER

THAT BEING SAID

Here's what I've got:

Black Ace by @punch-love (yes, spideypool makes me want to scream nowadays but 10/10 would come back for this space opera)

spirit box by @punch-love (another one that feels like it was specifically written FOR ME)

Both of your advent fics. (It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like %@$&*mas and The Time of Miracles again, 10/10 would return to Spideypool to see how the Die Hard fic ends)

Among the Stars by @mirilyawrites (super creative, cosmic monsterfucker vibes)

I wish I read more (and had a better memory) so I could shout out more authors but... alas.

x

[questionsonislam]

What is the importance of Ahl-i Bayt affection in Islam?

Having affection to Ahl-i Bayt (Family of the Prophet) in the name of Allah is an obligation {vacip (duty secondarily incumbent on a Muslim)} in our religion. {It is farz (necessary religious duty required for all Muslims) according to Imam-i Shafee} Allah presents a decree in the Surah (Quranic Chapter) Ash-Shura,

Say: I ask of you no wage for it (for conveying Gods Religion to you which will bring you this favor), but (I ask of you for) love for my near relatives (Ahl-i Bayt) (on account of my mission). (Ash-Shura Surah, 42:23)

Our Prophet (pbuh), in one of his hadiths, announced:

Love Allah due to the blessings He has given to you; and love me because of Allah; and love my family because of me. This hadith clearly signifies the importance of Ahl-i Bayt Affection in our religion.

In another hadith, our Prophet (pbuh) announced:

I leave you two things; if you adhere to those you will find the salvation: one is Allahs Book (Quran), the other is my family (Ahl-i Bayt). In this hadith, having made mention of those all together, it has been thought us this true lesson:

Any Muslim who obeys to the commands of Allahs Book should love Ahl-i Bayt; any Muslim who loves Ahl-i Bayt should act according to Allahs Book.

As it is true for everything, Affection for the Family of Prophet (pbuh) should also be moderate. In addition, this moderation requires living our lives with sunnah (practices of our Prophet) completely. Bediuzzaman (Author of the most influential books on religion today: Risale-i Nur Collection) explains this matter as follows:

The practices of the Prophet were required from the Family of Prophet in respect of the function of prophethood. Just as someone who abandoned the Prophets Practices could not truly be a member of his Family, so too such a person could not be a true friend to them. According to this truth, a Muslim who follows these practices completely loves the Family of Prophet in true meaning.

As required by the rule: The cause is like the doer, a share of all the benefactions and the good deeds which are the results of prayers of a Muslim pass to our Prophet, to his Family and to the Sahaba (Companions). By this way there arise a functional relationship between the spirits of the Family of Prophet and the believer, moreover, it passes good works to them and they become happy and glad indeed.

We should also point out that if it is hold only an abstract form of affection to Ahl-i Bayt in that case it would reduce our Prophets (pbuh) having been sent to humanity to a simpler state which is just to teach us loving Ahl-i Bayt. Whereas our Prophet (pbuh) has been sent for humanity to introduce, to teach loving Allah, and to urge them coming before Allah with the opportunity of prayer.

This kind of understanding is to put the purpose of creation down only to affection, whereas; Ahl-i Bayt included, all of the humans were created to know and to pray to Mighty and Sublime Allah.

In a Hadith in Mashareq, Hazrath Mohammad (pbuh) addresses Hazrath Fatima: My daughter Fatima-i Zahra, try to seek refuge from the torment of the Hell-fire because Im not capable of canceling your torments and punishments which you could possibly suffer from in the Akhirat (Life after Death) for not doing your religious necessities and obligations and doing forbidden.

Our affection to Ahl-i Bayt is not just because of their distinct personalities, it is because of their distinct services for Quran, their extreme devotion for spreading the Religion of Islam and their service for science and enlightenment.

Any believer who has affection to Ahl-i Bayt, by fulfilling his/her prayers should follow their example and try to look and be like them. Loving Ahl-i Bayt in the literal sense can only become real (haqiqat) by this way.

[kharrneth]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

Khornates, who are the most regimented of the armies of the gods, fall broadly into five Categories.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐒

The vast majority of Khornates are warriors, simple as a consequences of worshipping the god of warriors. For some, it is an addition to other parts of their profession and for others it is the only thing they offer the Blood God: their bodies and blades. Vanishingly few followers of Khorne do not claim to warriors in some capacity.

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Hunting is a less aspect of the Blood God, as he is primarily known as a God of Warriors, War, and Battle. But before man made the first axe and wielded it against his fellow man, the most common reason blood was spilled was in the hunting of beasts. Khorne is called the Hunter of Souls and stalks the heavens with his wolves Garmr and Gormr. Hunters personify this aspect of him; they track and defeat worthy foes among beasts and mortals. Of the legions, they keep and breed Daemonic and Chaotic Hounds more commonly and with more finesse than others, strategically crossing Bloodlines. Hounds are not the only thing they breed; Khorne's Hunters are responsible for the creation of the Gorebeasts.

𝐃𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

Duelists are those Champions of Khorne who specialize in the hunting and killing of other champions and lords, be they Southerners or fellow worshippers of Chaos. They do not trouble themselves with the masses and are interested only in the skulls of the elite warriors of a given host, namely the host leader. They are set apart from the typical warrior in that they retain a finesse and coherency about them.

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

Ritualists are relatively rare in a Khornate Legion. The average Khorne worshipper is a battle-hungry, blood crazed berserker or else a brutal warrior looking for the next glorious fight and skill to the tithe to the King of Skulls. The Ritualists has other priorities and is tasked with all matters of spirit and ceremony. These are the cultists of Khorne who stalk southern cities just as much as the northern frostlands and wastelands. These are the men and women who are learned in the fell rites of the Blood God, who can call forth daemons from the Otherworld into reality itself for myriad foul purposes. Many are former wizards and sorcerers, sworn off magic forever, and choosing to commune with the Bloody God instead. They keep the written sagas and rituals of whatever tribe or clan they are aligned with.

More than any other type of Khornate, Ritualists are particularly at risks for Slaaneshi predations.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

In Khornate society, armour and weapons are sacred and the tools of the holy crucible of war. A mortal or daemon may win Khorne's favor in battle, but they may also win it through supreme craftsmanship. These are the Khornates who furnish the legions with plate, shields and weapons, who bind daemon souls into blades. These Warsmiths reside in Forge-Tempters and Armory-Lairs, which are sacred places to the legions of Khorne. Only the Chaos Dwarfs, children of the Forge-God Hashut, rival them for level of craft.

The Smiths do not only make weapons and armor: many legendary artefacts of Khorne are made at their talons. Considered secondarily holy by their fellows, Warsmiths too are at risk for Slaaneshi predations as it is in the nature of the Pleasure spawn to defile anything considered sacred, especially their enemies.

[brown-little-robin]

OC asks:

Merx: 🐺 - How does this oc deal with solitude? AND 🌈 - Do you associate any colors with them?

Hestia: 🔅 - How does this oc deal with physical pain? AND 💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

Rhea: ❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

Malware: 🌕 - If this oc was an animal, what kind would they be?

Eve: 💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward?

Shiva: 🐸 - What’s this oc’s sense of humor like? AND 🐰 - How huggable is this oc?

Grief: 🌨️ - If this oc had a day free from all their responsibilities, how would they spend it? AND 📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

hiiii thanks!! good questions!

Merx: 🐺 - How does this oc deal with solitude? AND 🌈 - Do you associate any colors with them?

Solitude? In the short term, fairly well. As long as there's a set time when he can look forward to being with Hestia, he's okay. He needs time alone to recharge anyway. Dealing well with alone time is a requirement for becoming a spaceship! AND 🌈 I associate red-and-black with Merx, specifically because that's the color combination which on koi fish symbolizes feminine AND masculine qualities. Also I associate him with dark blue, but that's about his spaceship body.

Hestia: 🔅 - How does this oc deal with physical pain? AND 💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

🔅 Hestia doesn't like physical pain. It sucks. She holds it together when she's doing anything public or she's in front of strangers, but once she's in private she pampers herself about it. Hestia rarely whines or complains, but Merx (and her bodyguards and friends) can tell when she's in pain because she starts, like, carrying around heat packs and taking long baths and drinking specialty tea and taking medication EXACTLY as often as recommended. AND 💭 Hestia's mental health is pretty good overall. Taking care of Merx does take its toll on her—his depressive episodes can be difficult. But she's got a lot of resilience! And she doesn't really have any issues with guilt or shame. She has done nothing wrong in her life <3 (this is not true, she just chooses not to dwell on her failings <3)

Rhea: ❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

Empress Rhea's highest priority, in her old age, is to think of herself as a good person. Her first priority is to provide for her friends and family, and secondarily she cares for managing the empire in a way that keeps it running without breakdowns. She believes that goodness can only be achieved at an individual level, so she spends a lot of energy trying to be a good person rather than a good empress.

Malware: 🌕 - If this oc was an animal, what kind would they be?

Hmmm, maybe a weasel!! Too smart for its own good, random quick movements all the time, thievery, competitiveness, and an affectionate but sharp-toothed nature? YESSS okay that's Malware. A digital weasel. <333

Eve: 💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward?

Mmm, the old-woman version of Eve who's with the spaceship crew is good with children! The other version of Eve, who is a disembodied mind in control of 1/4 of the military's robots, cringes away from children because she hardly has any positive interactions with ANYONE and if she sees a child that's probably bad. For the child.

Shiva: 🐸 - What’s this oc’s sense of humor like? AND 🐰 - How huggable is this oc?

Shiva will laugh at anything. His attitude toward life is one of humor; he doesn't take too many things seriously. He's easily impressed by puns and jokes. You can get a real belly laugh out of him for really good witticisms. He doesn't like mean-spirited humor, though :((( AND 🐰 hmmmmmm. in spirit, Shiva is the MOST huggable. however, in practice, he's constantly shapeshifting himself into spiky metal and back again, so it would be a big risk. and it gets worse when people touch him, so the most you can probably do is hold his hand for a while before his concentration slips and you get lightly stabbed.

Grief: 🌨️ - If this oc had a day free from all their responsibilities, how would they spend it? AND 📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

He'd probably find something very relaxing and alone to do for the morning, like hanging out in a garden if he's on a planet. And then he'd hang out with his (mostly long-distance) friends in the afternoon/evening! He misses them so badly. AND 📓 yeah! "There's change coming once and for all / you makes the front page and then you is major news / tomorrow they'll see what we are / and sure as a star / we ain't come this far / to lose", the first lines of Once and for All, a song from Newsies! the Broadway Musical!

[skyeventide]

[...] The function attributed to the vampire is however more important than that of a nightmare. First of all, it represents, within the limits and disapproval exerted by Christian dogma, a source for the summoning of the dead, on probation. Without the vampire, an abscess of fixations that permits to control it, the summoning would risk degenerating into necrophilia. Christianity could never triumph against the summoning of the dead, prohibited since the times of Moses. It limited itself to confine its manifestations, to organise them, when it couldn't abolish them. Once, by neutralising the vampire with the burn of the crucifix and the threat of a stake through the heart; yesterday, with reticence, through the cult born from the apparitions of the Virgin and the saints, embarrassing like the miracles. And today with spiritism...

Secondarily, vampirism renews, from the human perspective, Lucifer's rebellion. It embodies the refusal of the laws of creation. It's the corpse that cheats death, matter that refuses to perish to let only the spirit persist, submitted to God's planned project. It's the dust that refuses to return to dust.

It isn't certain that this second function has been recognised in the vampire. It's more probable that Christianity gave up, allowing the belief that, contrary to divine laws and to the benefit of a couple of heretical criminals protected in the depths of the tomb, blood can win over death. Sliding furtively between the angels, saints, demons, and spirits, the vampire is a clandestine passenger of Christian mythology.

— Francis Lacassin, preface to Vampires de Paris (1981), translated by yours truly

[m-r-levine]

On Interruptions of Flow

Blocks used to be just part of the normal cycles of work and rest and refilling the well, the rhythms of moving between projects. (I won’t deny the good feelings and brain juices from feedback on the work, but it was never the driving force. I treasure comments like a dragon treasures their hoarde, but the urge to write and the pleasure of storytelling are not primarily or even secondarily grounded in the reception of the work.)

In the last few years, that changed. I don’t know if this was a true cause or if it was just one little part of a whole system of events that led to my creative process breaking down, but.

In 2019, I dropped all my other projects to meet an absurd deadline for a zine piece, and then for various reasons, a month later I took that story to pieces to see if an actual novel length concept might be hidden in there**.

Meanwhile, some fairly major things were going on in my personal life, and the tremors were getting markedly worse.

Suddenly I didn’t have blocks of time or steadiness of hand to paint either, except for pushing through for a couple of excruciating outstanding commissions, and struggling to wrap up the second volume of the graphic novel. Yet even with a few of those deadlines dealt with I could no longer make words go on any other project. I tried everything in the toolbox to get the brain going again, especially after a side effect of quarantine gave back my former 3+ hours daily commute time.

Finishing the renovations on the old house ate almost everything I had to give, and my partner’s mental health struggles took the rest. I cannot begin to explain to you just how few spoons I have had between the boring job (which became much more intense with the effects of the pandemic) and Life™️.

Previously, writing and sketching helped me unwind and ground after a shift, or even during breaks. In the last few years though…

Words came slowly for La Mala Suerte, but opening any other story filled my brain with static noises. I could not string basic sentences together. I could not outline plot, I had no fragments of dialogue or vignettes fall into my head like before. When I ran out of backlog to post… Suddenly I had nothing.

Short stretches being dry like that are familiar enough, but days and weeks turned into months and years of desperately wanting to tell the stories and in the few moments of quiet I could steal away? Nothing. It’s an eerie feeling, having the vivid and even visceral scenes that are already written and outlined still looping in my head, screaming to get out, but the moment I try to write connective tissue? Right back to tv snow.

Unlike painting, my writing is accessible everywhere I go, even when it hurts to hold a pen - being able to get ‘lost’ in stories helped me through some incredibly hard times in the past, and losing that ability was devastating. The disappointment and yes, the shame of being adrift and wordless has been wretched. I have longed for the elation I used to find on the other side of a hard passage, the joy of solving the puzzle and freeing the spirit from the proverbial stone.

I still don’t entirely understand what happened in my brain that autumn of 2019… I just know that something changed, and we’re still not… entirely back from it. I am suspecting that Long Covid is now part of it - that was summer of ‘21 though, and I was already firmly lodged in The Block by then.

Maybe it was just one a longer but still normal drought and needing recovery time from intensely brain-heavy Life Events™️ until that extra layer was added? I truly don’t know. I don’t know if it matters either, except in that I am deeply afraid I will lose it again.

Anyway, that’s the ramble for the afternoon on the writing side. Hopefully the Boring Job leaves me some braincells to work on asks and stuff later.

* caveat: Except for the fact some truly wretched negative/judgy feedback can entirely poison the affected work for me and make it impossible to get forward motion(Obsidian Slipper is one such victim, I may talk about it more later.)

** hola Teca. 😒

[darwinquark]

Hi!! I love your writing! And I was wondering how you set a scene like the actual setting. I feel like my setting is always lacking and that the readers won’t understand the atmosphere i’m setting or wont know where the setting is taking place. Sorry if this makes no sense.

hey man, thank you so much, and so honored you're coming to me for writing advice 😂 tbh I also feel like I'm bad at setting a scene, so I suspect there's an element of underestimation on our parts in terms how much detail the reader's capable of filling in on their own. I tend to start a lot my scenes with a bunch of dialogue or an action/thought, which doesn't always comment on when/where something's taking place, so I definitely feel your pain - there have for sure been times where I have to actively pick a place to insert that info as organically as I can. I will say I typically only spend a sentence or so on it, and if there's anything else I want to sneak in (what time of day it is, the lighting in the room, etc), I'll just keep weaving in bits as the scene goes on so it flows better. I'm also a fan of revealing the setting kind of secondarily while making the point of the sentence something else, like an action, so I'll put some examples of what I mean under the cut:

so this is the opening of a TKOF chapter and an example of a place where I've kind of folded the setting into something more exciting:

"Jughead was toweling off his hair, fresh out of what his trailer's abysmal water pressure rendered more a drizzle than a shower, when he heard the knock on the door.

He stiffened, arm suspended over his head. His eyes flicked to the reflection of his alarm clock in the mirror.

'1:47 AM' glowed back in a foreboding red.

Betty would've called. His dad was out of town for the weekend. None of the Serpents would've knocked that primly—there'd be yells if it was urgent or jeers if it wasn't. He swapped the towel in his hand for the baseball bat propped against his dresser and maneuvered his way to the door, taking care to move in the shadows."

so by the end of that you know he's at home in his trailer, it's late at night, the atmosphere is kind of tense, and the lighting is dark, but all of that is wrapped into an action (this mysterious knock) which makes it a little more dynamic, you know? I don't know if that makes any sense, but it's basically how I avoid a block of words that exists purely to describe a setting because I'm nowhere near interesting enough of a writer to make that engaging.

as for the other kind I'm describing where you have a bunch of dialogue followed by one dedicated setting sentence and then keep fleshing out the scene as you go, I have a few examples:

"Alright, so everyone's clear on the patrol schedule for the next few days?"

"Yep."

"Got it."

"Sweet Pea?"

"What?"

"You good on the schedule?"

"Why are you singling me out?"

"You know why."

"I was late like once!"

"You were late to this meeting."

"You're such a grinch, Topaz—where's your Christmas spirit?"

"About five seconds away from getting shoved up your ass."

"I could be into that."

"Be into punctuality instead."

"Lame."

"Byrdie, you're cool with covering transport for the weekend?"

"You know it."

"Great—Slash, Fangs, any questions about Sunday?"

"Nope."

"All set, T."

"Awesome, well, that's everything I had to go over. Jones?"

Jughead blinked, chin caught in the sling of his hands, dark stare dragging up from the spot it'd been fixed on for the past five minutes. A ring of faces stared back at him, uncertain and expectant, gathered around their token table at the White Wyrm for their weekly Serpents meeting, and Toni gave a tentative tilt of her head.

so you can see it takes forever to finally tell you where this is happening, but that quick little clause is enough context for a reader to start out with. a little later:

"Alright, you heard the man—meeting adjourned, get out of my face," she announced, waving a scattering hand at everyone. "Go enjoy the holidays."

The surrounding Serpents drew to their feet in a scuffle of chairs, breaking off into easy laughter and side conversations, the whimsical anticipation of Christmas Eve glittering like magic in the air, and Jughead's gaze slid right back to the same wall it'd been affixed to earlier.

now you know it's Christmas Eve. a few paragraphs down:

"He spun his bottle slowly against the table, the silence between them scored by the boozy din of the White Wyrm—billiard balls knocking into each other, raspy 60s protest rock, the velcro laugh of pack-a-day smokers."

so just adding a little more atmosphere - you can hear the room now, know it's an older crowd. then this way later:

"I still think it's worth looking into Penny Peabody," Toni ventured as if reading his mind, her musing voice luring him back to the smoky den of the White Wyrm. She took a swig of her beer as some scuffle over a bar tab kicked up in the background."

so now you know it's rowdy in there. later on I also have another character comment that all the Christmas decorations look cozy, so all this to say that you don't have to put a giant block of text telling the reader everything you want them to see in your space - it's okay to weave it in over time.

another example of this is the very first chapter, which I re-read the other day and realized I don't really set the scene until pretty far in. it starts like this:

"Ow."

"Sorry."

A silent beat.

"Ow."

"Jughead, you need to—"

"Ow!"

Veronica drew back with a sharp sigh, stare flicking ceilingward. "You need. To hold. Still."

"You need. To back. Off," Jughead countered, meeting her gaze with a harassed one of his own. He lifted a hand to swat away the needle hovering over his face and her brows snapped up in that cool, patronizing way of hers—the one that soundlessly carried a Hepburnian, 'Oh, do I?'

After a beat, she offered a simple shrug. "Okay."

He eyed her skeptically in the fluorescent light of the diner. It was never just 'okay' with Veronica. It was 'okay' and 'but also this is why you're going to do it my way'.

only a brief, indirect mention of the diner, which seems super thin/lazy but at that point is all I think you really need as a reader to be oriented. a few sentences later:

His jaw tightened a bit, stare averting a fraction to the window behind her. The inky nightscape of the Pop's parking lot was the same color as her eyes. He glanced at a neon pink sign for milkshakes instead, annoyed.

now you know it's nighttime.

a few paragraphs later:

"Some buried imagery, maybe? Metatextual acknowledgment of the fact that it's the middle of the night and I just finished a double shift and I don't actually have to do this for you?"

now you know it's really late. then even later:

"I—sorry," he offered after a beat, glancing down at his hands. He was sitting on a bar stool with the diner bar to his back, bent knees separating her upright frame from his. The position adjusted their comically lopsided heights so that for once, they were even. "What I meant was: can you please finish stitching me up?"

so now you know exactly where they are/how they're positioned relative to each other in the room. and personally I don't think it takes anything away by waiting till a beat that felt natural to sneak that in as opposed to doing it immediately.

now when I do have a specific setting that requires a little more detailed/traditional of a description, I usually try to give it an angle, like someone's seeing it for the first time and coming to a conclusion about it and all the details they're describing further their point. this is from another fic I wrote where a character walks into a lunatic neighbor's Christmas party and is totally shocked by how cozy it is:

"To be honest, Damon had expected pretty much anything from Kai's apartment.

Shaved baby doll heads on the walls. An exotic bird emporium. Furniture made out of human bones. A framed collage of Missing Children ads. An entire room of blinking furbies. Aliens. Dinosaurs. Whatever. What he hadn't expected was to walk into a friggin' HGTV Christmas special.

The place was decked the fuck out. Garland hung all over the living room, gold and glittering, accented with large, loopy red bows. A roaring fire was burning behind a string of brightly colored stockings, casting a warm glow over all the wool throws and cozy holiday pillows. A giant tree twinkled by the snowy bay window. Mistletoe winked from the doorways. Frank Sinatra was crooning about having a merry little Christmas.

And somehow, it was a hundred times more unsettling than the shaved baby doll heads would've been."

so rather than just saying he walked in and that's what he saw, it's framed by him being totally thrown by his surroundings, which makes all the details more intentional since they are fleshing out why he's thrown, nah mean?

SO ALL OF THIS TO SAY, I'm far from an expert on any of this but if I had to try and conceptualize my process, I guess this is it? for what it's worth? again, exposition/scenery is not my strength so take this with a grain of salt 😬 thanks for asking, though!

[mageofspacemultiverse]

okay imagine deified Sathna though <3

<3333

Sathna I could see being an entity defining two aspects - primarily of freedom, and secondarily associated with both solar and lunar eclipses. They are a god that does not strive for power or recognition, merely a force of nature, watching and loving with many eyes and arms.

A known maternal protector of children and a subject of some dances, the deity Sathna is a new-age, neutral and kindred spirit forged from the souls of two fallen gods, to make something anew, more vibrant and stronger and beautiful. Some even say that when imprisoned, a prayer to Sathna has made their doors open and shackles unlock, though this may simply be embellishment.

At dawn or dusk, you can offer Sathna written offerings, origami, salads, wines, and even some pastries. But be warned - if you wish to please them, do not interact with them near a large body of water, as it will not reach them.

[weyldlife-blog]

Refracting lights in the hour glass behind vision

Chaotic movements of the body amid its reflections

The light again in so many partial births through out

With no one law of motion to declare what it's about.

Tongue half, and half a flower, then a stout,

See through that latter half in lateness,

So much for order to the strain of playfulness.

Interiors of our lives, the only blossom a spray of hydrangeas

It beckons from inside, from inside

It sidles to the doorstep of being, to hang drop gentle pedal,

The visions themselves of creative amorphous beginning,

Taking up with, the reflections of re-assemblage,

These pure manifestations of the process of reasoning.

Human, drag yourself out of the mud,

Human, flag yourself down by the road-side lights,

The pure creative flower of your opening

That up which around you, you are in your transformation.

Your chaotic origins in the synchronicity of thought

As passages of your subjectivity,

As passage of your mildness and meal,

The requisite parish of your interest in yourself

Which blossoms into dream like chrysanthemum,

In the head of the aster, blackens into pointed coals

Of internal flame.

Growing up into the face of the light source

Which reflects and plays off the surfaces of life

While some of life comes in in pairs.

Watching you the watching of you in one's love for one's

Love of one, refractions of the chaotic surface of the same

Splintering into guiding beings, like Christ or Buddah.

The cracked drink-hub carried across throttled deserts,

Where wind stops at the brink of creativity,

If given the right voice, that of the poet.

If jaw-bone waivers with the light inward of self, what of that, It is divined inspired, creative utterance.

Prelude of the self in traditions of its formal contrivance,

It shades the girlish charm of a wizened morning projection

Of the sun, sometimes referred to as the aster.

Had one fear of such amorphousness until naught

Strove in the pattern with one's reflection,

The waves of heat above the pond in which stood one's reflection.

Rippling with that which wove the frame of reference

In which there was self hood in secondarily

That self bloomed in the rhythmic interference of its fringes,

The poem in which that was brought to light.

In the face of a desert wind, utterance to thrust a hand

Towards energy, it propels one on,

It interjects the pen, it retorts the lyrical wantonness of prelude.

In winds of chafe, then exposure, the isle of exposed internal tendency all alight

And the beacon of a chalice which hummed with air's passage, like a boat's horn,

Tolled the bourgeoning interior, the wakefulness to autumn's naught, yes,

But the fragrance of a trans-temporal plant like the surface of one's lost leaf,

The interior all withstood of those reasoned negotiations,

It swung open a gate of creativity in the vortex of one's entreating the wind oneself,

As something less than solid, an earthen dryness in the chasm,

That of metaphor, in place of plain speech the gentle fragrance of becoming.

To thwart the stink of reconfiguration amid destitution and of destitute reasons-

For-being, like the sight of chaos as its traces of name may scatter amid

Dented volumes unopened, where the swinging ones emerge with a guidance,

The guide, the beloved husbandry of a winged spirit in the eve of revelation.

That interiority of its mantle, the bud, and subsequent, interest of one's face,

As blossom, jaw falling with awe. Jaw fallen with the souls of the guider's

Complicity. It stings one like sweat of the day in which sight grooms one,

As it is wont to.

It listlessly graces one's interior workings to appraise the chord and mixture,

The verse extends into a broadness of feeling which it has for rhetoric.

The lace of a day's worth of scent which one awaits an evening

Of one's own sweat where to absorb it is one's focused longing in

Late hours of dis-abilitude and longing for the internal being

Where what one wants is a fixate interval of the energy in

A sun-shielding hand which covers what one occupies.

That is why,

In love, all is grief and bones of chickens, along which teeth

Run in the cold uncommon to the grease of pink-fingered dawn, lay out, bemoaned

By a fervid evening in love in which the acquaintance is of chaos at that pique

Of the interpersonal sense in which one even is at that point

For which at any rate

The language dries of one's wind tunnel in that fixture,

There is the most earthen alcaloid in all of brain chemistry,

The one which is most terrestrial of any astronomy known or unknown,

As the posture of a ghostly planet can for certain guard the temporal.

There is the precedence of sight, it is rather the elipsis in self-creative

Interlude when one takes on the energetic probabilities...

...Which darken into fear, interior of one's losses, that alone one

Suffers the onslaught of the sun's belly-up tergiversate intellect.

Where it guides, in Guinea or else-wise the light-being arises,

Torn holes off where of living guardian in the flesh who move

Amid his legion, as beings of light themselves are named

Of no internal step in its reasoning, in actuality

Light adorns the essence of the apostasies that are

Wholesomeness in one's expression of longing,

For one would die without one,

That floral companion of a late-evening appeal of the brow

To tighten in one's arms, a thought might protect it's communist platform,

Or it's social impetus in material reality, for that degree of metaphor

Is negligible to the sound of its issue-forth whom is ubiquitous Internally, and bloomed fully of that issue: touch.

It spirited off in haste around the sight of unity, dualism

It hinted for in the outcome of the wind and one's metaphoric pregnancy

Hung fat with child are the caldrons of awaking and chaos from the other

And parentally triad, its nature, thus a blindness that is origin of antithesis

So much so by chance or fate, the ratio it yields

So much that it stands to rend

So much from the direction sunward of a stalk

Yielding before it the guidance of the word,

God's son, who crept In shielded proclivity from deluge on towards judgment day.

Prayer in her heart who awaits my return, it is not known otherwise than

As repair, backward turning emotion, or as withstanding, henceforth

Nowise of that ripening one-sided energy an ability of the lover

Whom one awaits.

Working in changes of tense amid the grammatical precision of a subject clause

That oneself is in chaotic thrown in question-ness for otherwise it is elementary

To call oneself aged in the moment of birth, but such sun's of the interior,

Are the dayspring of God's will and well-being.

Yield the revelations of Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John.

It is a magnetic un-relinquishment of the taxidermy in which teeth break

With the hum of the proverbial tunnel, that renders interiority its fast

In the spirit of desert prophets, in the spirit of the frog who elates with

The sound of its own stifled limbs, in otherness, liken to the life of

Amphibian stigma alone, that passionate of interiors,

To christen inside of one's church the chastity of embrace.

Magnetically chaos hangs together with the lost soul,

Magnus rule decides the proliferation of the voice towards corners like tradition,

The point subsides but where it aligns itself, Orobyrus,

Like utterance the reflection from off a dried leaf of waxen meal like necessity

It takes its pattern from there and winds up within itself, observed like the line

Of verse, to the tendency of need.

It can be written to the tendency of many different energies,

Roaming for home...

...Fearing God

In person to fear and to withhold, that which is learning for one, is often

That which reverses the vision upon one's wishing it so, reverses

The vision upon one's most nearness to vision of mental

Reflection, that point called to stop at nothing.

Thus render one's self to one's beloved, and be one's own guarantee of success,

Like the thing itself, fall of petal onto one's place of rest,

Interior as a tongue is to the jaw, vibe along

The surface of pointillist render, where in between,

Of that artistry, deify one's ancestry.