Undeadguy

Too often, it’s said that black cats are wicked. One with the dark magicks. Their croon the last sound heard of someone stuck in the forest in the pitch night, reverberating like the communal howl of devil worshipers.

Too often, these fables forget to mention their less passive, more aggressive counterpart. The black dog, swift shadows, paws scampering, howls and barks that sound like the screams of the sinners... never leaving you, a reminder of where you’ll be soon. When temptation engulfs you too far for you to escape, desperately groping for solace in bible passages and confession as you play pretend that sins aren’t a permanent black stain on the conscious, the howls will be there. Times like this are where black dogs will find you, their sickening penumbra flickering over the light of John 1:9, your most recent turn in desperation…

The howl echoes around you, enough to knock over candles, clawing at your skin, ice against your ears like the centre of Hell itself reached out to scrape your skin and mark you. Now, you are nothing but a target, precious time slipping away akin to sand tap, tap, tapping against the bottom of an hourglass. You can loom over a bible passage all you want (ephesians 1:7, this time) but their snarls will still grow ever closer, shaking you like it’s knocking the last fight out.

It wraps around you and sends you, ironically, to your knees; too close to prayer for your feeble mind to collect that it is your doom. They’re being polite in their own sickening, twisted way, by giving you your final chance to beg for mercy like God will ever listen.

Crows tore against the sky to get away, akin to rips in time on patches of infinite black. Part of you- the lesser sane part, turned mad by fear, but a part none the less- will feel like screaming after them would somehow save you. They are one with death, sin, Satan, they will do nothing but release a caw like laughter- it shoots into the ear like a cross-bolt: sharp, painful, instant.

Nothing like what will happen to you.

Eyes. Eyes everywhere, fighting to meet yours- dark as night but burning with the hellfire they clawed their way out of- trapped behind them as a symbol of home, a symbol of what they fight for, a symbol of where they will return to. They want to see the weakness cowering in your eyes. They want to drag your twitching, bloodied body behind them as their prize.

They’re getting closer.

Further, further inwards.

Feel their iron claws and leather footpads paw you. Slobber and drool soaking your skin, clothes, the tracking device that will never leave you. Smell: ash- burning elder and holly to be specific- hopelessness, Fire.

Fire.

Of course. Feel it lick against your skin- remembering the taste like a starved animal. The warmth of its shockingly gentle caress. For a second, you’ll be convinced it’s like the demons generously welcoming you. In reality, it’s just a precursor for what you’ll soon feel.

Death will be swift… a blessing, ironically. So much different from black cats, dogs just cannot wait for the main event.

Me, Forget Black Cats

Tetractys.

The Tetractys (also known as the Decad) is an equilateral Triangle formed from the sequence of the first ten numbers aligned in four rows. It is both a Mathematical idea and a Metaphysical Symbol that embraces within itself - in Seedlike form - the Principles of the Natural World, the Harmony of the Cosmos, the Ascent to the Divine, and the Mysteries of the Divine Realm. So revered was this Ancient Symbol that it inspired Ancient Philosophers to swear by the name of the one who brought this gift to Humanity - Pythagoras.

what I really like about all these vintage couple’s portraits is that there is a very certain romatic decorum kept up – certain themes and poses – which, while of course being the mainstream preferred view of couples repeated throughout many studios, are just… so nice to look at. 

this staged affection, a mix of theatricality and intimacy, the couple holding still for a couple of moments and now immortalised in a very set sequence of embraces and kisses. there is a charm to it even when I can’t tell whether this was a genuine couple portait or just actors hired by the photographer.

the kiss on the bare shoulder (eyes perfectly averted), the cheek caress, the piano and the violin, the interrupted embrace, the woman tilted back as in a half-stopped dance…

I see the way she looks at me when I parry with my longsword

do i deserve back pain at this age

“I want to decompose in a bog” well you clearly don’t know the first thing about bogs. Clout chaser