http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/en-EUhttp://backend.userland.com/rss092http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/ba/e97e295f251aac1fe2c95644b1d99d_160x200.jpg <p>My demons have gathered around me, I can feel them, I can see their shadows, I can smell their stench, it is the smell of death.<br> My head falls further towards my chest, eyes half-closed and red. I am slipping as the hours pass on this longest of nights.<br> My body is limp, I have no use for it now, the skeleton inside will soon be exposed as my flesh and muscle decays.<br> My brain works of a sort, but reason and logic are things of the past, replaced by the cold resignation of nothingness to come.</p> <p>This is my darkest hour, and this is my darkest night.<br> If sleep ever comes, will I ever wake up.<br> My brain says no, my body says no, and my demons hiss loudly in assent.<br> I am just sat here waiting, waiting, waiting.</p> <p>My demons claw at my body, enter my body, invade me, as my defence submits to their will. They're coming to take me.<br> I can feel them inside me, filled with hate despite their victory, demons cannot be euphoric only satisfied, briefly.<br> I am no longer here, my mind and body have passed into another realm, defeated, torn, ripped from my being.<br> But my spirit remains. It is a tiny flicker of light in the darkest corner of the darkest recess of my soul.</p> <p>And I'm waiting, waiting, waiting.<br> Waiting for this last chink of light to dim.<br> My demons are gathered around trying to extinguish my light.<br> My being is empty there is a cold wind blowing through it, but still the light persists.<br> And I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, must I be here for eternity?<br> Take me now, you know I am yours, I have lost, take your ill gotten gains, but still I wait.</p> <p>Then you came.<br> Magnificent.<br> A glorious being bathed in a soft warm glow.<br> And you were smiling as you wrapped your arms around me.<br> And you were crying as you caressed me, and your tears fell upon me like drops of pure love.<br> And hope entered this desolate place, and my tiny spark of flame flickered and brightened.<br> My demons cowered from you and retreated into the dark.<br> At the very last my angel came, and love was everywhere.</p> <p>Oh my sweet, I came close tonight, so so close.<br> And when I was rescued it could only have been you, and you'll never know just what you did here tonight, and I may never quite know either.<br> Life, you still have me. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/12/22/if_sleep_ever_comes_will_i_ever_wake_up~3478644/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/12/22/if_sleep_ever_comes_will_i_ever_wake_up~3478644/Sat, 22 Dec 2007 15:14:12 +0100 <p>Sometimes I like to shine, just like one of the stars high up above in outer space. My glow can be seen from far away across time, twinkling away, the bringer of dreams. If you close your eyes real tight you can see me shine. Go on try it, cover your closed eyes with your hands so that everything is dark and black, and then you'll see me. There I am, that faintest of glow that sparkles dimly, but then you realise that there is light in even the darkest of corners. That from the deepest black of the furthest void, a little light will always emerge. That light is me, for I go into all these dark spaces that have never seen any light, and my mind takes a glimmer of understanding with it, and that glimmer illuminates even the pitchest of blacks. These dark voids have nothing to diffuse or disperse my glow, and so, on and on and on and on my beam can be seen by those who know where to look. Many people can see the dark whilst they are bathed in light, but only a few can feel, smell, touch, and glory in the light whilst they are surrounded by the cold dark void. I am there, and I can see you are too. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/07/06/from_within_the_dark~2586587/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/07/06/from_within_the_dark~2586587/Fri, 06 Jul 2007 18:22:46 +0200 <p>At the end of the day when all my energy has gone and it's a struggle to keep one eye open.<br> That's when the world changes around and I stand out from the crowd and choose reality above hoping.<br> Then my eye flickers closed and I think briefly of all those, the people who have shaped my world.<br> Now when the R.E.M. begins and my brain begins to sing I softly leave this shell behind.<br> To nowhere I will go and from nowhere did I come, but everywhere is where I am.<br> And the ghosts of my future are behind me in my past and it is now that I have my answer.<br> But one query still, shall keep nagging at my mind as I slowly drift further from me.<br> If this is my freedom and the other is my cage, then why must I always awaken? </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/07/03/sleep~2567849/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/07/03/sleep~2567849/Tue, 03 Jul 2007 20:42:35 +0200 <p>...and then sometimes, you just wake up in the morning and the day does not feel special at all. There's no particular reason, the sun may be shining, the postwoman has already called, and you didn't receive any unexpected bills, and the fridge is well stocked with potential breakfast items. But somehow, you just know, things are not right. So my particular way of dealing with such feelings is to rub my eyes, stretch my arms out, have a yawn, and then lay back down, pull the duvet over my head, and ride out the storm by doing nothing. Whatever is going to happen on this day, can happen without my involvement, I feel no particular need to be an eye witness to the disaster of my life. I have no macabre yearning to prove my intuition is working just fine as my car plunges off the cliff face. I would receive very little self-satisfaction from being struck by lightening at the greengrocers. Indeed, short of the ceiling to my bedroom caving in and crushing me, I feel the act of snuggling up warm back under the covers to be my safest option.<br> So with the speed and agility of a gazelle, my fingers dance across the keyboard of my phone. But this is not to call, no! For in this brave new world, I have no need to risk harm to my ears on this fateful day by putting an electronic device near to them, for this is the age of the text. 'Hello, I won't be in 2 work 2day as it's not a good day, I have done a risk assessment, and the danger is very high, my intuition suggests 2morrow will be ok, ta :0)'. That should do it, now just to be safe I'll switch this mobile phone off, unplug the 20th Century version from the wall, and settle back into slumber, maybe I'll even get back into that dream about the princess and the dragon who went to........zzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!<br> Hmmmm! Now I'm in the bathroom. Funny, I'm sure I just walked through the door to get here? One way to find out, try it again....wow! I can walk though doors, let's try the walls. Yep, walls too, this is cool, into the bathroom, into the bedroom, through into the next bedroom, and into the hallway, and back to the bathroom. Hmmm, it does get a bit boring quickly, maybe if I try an outer wall. Ah! No go on the outer wall, and it seems that I can't go downstairs either, so just the two bedrooms, the hallway and the bathroom then. To be honest, it really was no inconvenience opening the doors and walking between these rooms, it seems a little bit of an anti-climax to have the ability to walk through doors and walls but then be restricted to four rooms, I may as well go back to bed.<br> It was a stroke of genius dressing in this green dress with the green boots. I mean, whenever I'm being chased through the woods by the wicked worlocks of Winchester, the ability to blend in with the background is always useful. These worlocks, always try and keep the best spells for themselves, but they have no right to come to my woods and use my trees for their magical experiments. I know all these trees personally, and frankly, if they wanted to up roots and walk they would've mentioned it by now. Furthermore, if anyone is going to give the trees the ability to move it will bloody well be me. Shh, they are close.....don't breathe....don't even think about breathing....don't even think.<br> That Samantha is such a bitch, I can't believe that she has been going around telling everyone that I have a mental disorder, and have to be put in a hospital. It was just a small nevous breakdown, that's all it was, no really. I was a bit stressed at the time, my job, my family, my relationships, the whole works really, but I was OK, I was dealing with it, really I was, but just in my own way. Fair enough, the increasing frequency of the panic attacks was becoming a bit worrying, and the forgetfulness was, well, inconvenient more than anything. But I still say that if those scissors had not been conveniently placed on the table nearby, then it would never have happened. Besides which, her hair will grow back eventually, I can't see why I have to be sedated again.<br> The four o'clock train was my favourite because all the most interesting people got on at the various stops along the way to oblivion. There was the tall man who wore extremely long black pointed shoes, and a bowler hat. He made me laugh because he would always sit down then go through the hand movements neccessary for reading a broadsheet newspaper, but there was never any newspaper there. He would furrow his brow as he read increasingly interesting articles, and occassionally turn the imaginary pages, and he was oblivious to the world around him pointing and giggling. Then there was the two schoolgirls who looked very different but acted as if they were identical twins. They both had two platts in their hair, they both had the same turquoise and blue school bags, and they would both sit with their right leg crossed over the left, and lean forwards onto their hands, watching the world through furtive eyes looking out from heads that stayed still. I called them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, but I don't think it was their real names. But my favourite carachter on the four o'clock train was the 'Diva'. She would always wait until everyone had got on, and then sweep on in a rustle of skirts as if she was entering the stage at the opera house. She would then stand in the centre of the carriage until she had everyones attention, then she would look away dismissive of one and all, but turn back just in time to keep our gazes before we looked away, then she would allow herself the briefest of smiles before she burst into song. Oh! how her song would take fill the carriage, lulling all of us into her web of words, her magic of melody, and her rituals of rhythm. I would sit there unable to move, transfixed by her spell.<br> But the worlocks can't find me here? I'm not in the enchanted wood, I'm on the four o'clock to oblivion, they can't have just got on. And where has the Diva gone? Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb? Oh no, even the newspaper man has gone, this isn't a real train, it's all just some worlock magic to make me reveal myself. Maybe I can still run. No, I can't move, I'm trapped, and they know I've stolen their spell, and they look really angry, and they're coming towards me, and if I close my eyes, and...and...<br> ...and then sometimes, you just wake up in the morning and the day does not feel special at all.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/06/29/a_morning_in_the_life~2541951/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/06/29/a_morning_in_the_life~2541951/Fri, 29 Jun 2007 13:10:08 +0200 <p>I've been 'tagged' by 'Sallyontour'<br> So I have to give seven facts, here's the copied blurb!!!</p> <p>"Each person tagged gives 7 random facts about themselves. Those tagged need to write in their blogs the 7 facts, as well as the rules of the game. You need to tag seven others and list their names on your blog. You have to leave those you plan on tagging a note in their comments so they know that they have been tagged and to read your blog."</p> <p>So.<br> 1. I'm a DJ, although I'm not a professional anymore, I used to have residencies in the North West before moving away for a quieter life.<br> 2. I'm deeply personal, I don't let many people in. (So don't expect any great revelations in this list).<br> 3. I am a self-confessed tree-hugger.<br> 4. I love watching films, but hate the cinema.<br> 5. I am my own worst critic, which I think has been detrimental to my life.<br> 6. I have moments of enlightenment that are breath-taking, but find the humdrum of normal life disipates them too quickly.<br> 7. I'd rather have 5 great friends than be popular in a crowd. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/7_facts~2354228/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/7_facts~2354228/Tue, 29 May 2007 13:17:45 +0200 <p>Just as life is stuttering to an unwelcome halt, a bolt from the blue hits me right between the eyes and the surge of adrenaline sends me 50 feet into the air, riding the crest of my own exhaled breath. I surf along this tide of optimism and confidence. From up here I can see everything, from up here I can imagine anything, and up here I am safe from myself.</p> <p>So what was I thinking? Why do I seek out all these imaginary barriers to place in front of my feet, forcing my life to be a costant stream of side-steps, hops, skips, jumps, and falls. I should be running headlong through this self-made incapacity, and coming out the other side in the fresh air of accomplishment.</p> <p>I fool myself into thinking that it's good to be an also ran, to live with the herd, be indistinguishable from those around me. Ha ha ha, I stand out like the sorest of thumbs even when I'm doing the least of all. I'm kidding noone except occassionally myself. I'm loved and loathed, I'm admired and pitied, I'm sought after, and hid from, but I am never ever unnoticed.</p> <p>So I'm managing to grasp mediocrity from the jaws of brilliance, and those barriers, those endless barriers of my own creation serve only to mask the truth for a little while, my own anti-depressant that I need more and more of each day just to stay alive. But from up here I see everything, from up here I see my life of deception, and from up here, I most importantly, don't care.</p> <p>Ground zero, fallen angel, earthbound and broken, here is where I need to be. My battles will be won with my feet on the ground. I have to earn the right to fly, and the mind, body, and soul must be as one before they can depart this gravitational pull once and for always. And so, camped on the shores of the sea of uncertainty, my armies amass for the battle at sunrise, for sure it is a good day to live.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/26/up_here_is_nowhere_to_be~2336919/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/26/up_here_is_nowhere_to_be~2336919/Sat, 26 May 2007 11:28:05 +0200 <p>I'm swinging upside down on a trapeze, very very high up, the spotlights are on me, I can feel the anxiousness of the crowd as they collectively strain their necks upwards to see me. So I let go, I'm expected to fall, and I do, there is no saftey net, no second chance, but I chose to let go. The ground comes up fast and swallows me with a gulp and I am sent spinning and tumbling down the throat of the earth itself. I pass others falling, and like me, none of them look too concerned, rather, we fallers are enjoying the sensation of taking in the sites of the underground. It becomes apparant that I can control my fall, and use this new found knowledge to sometimes speed up, and sometimes slow down, smiling and waving at people as I pass them or they pass me. Then I notice a tunnel to one side, a sort of branch line, and I drawn towards it, and even though it seems that I am the only one making for this tunnel, I feel it is where I want to go, and with a great slurping sound I am suddenly sucked into the branch line tunnel, it's sides are narrow, and everything is black, and I feel myself decelerating rapidly. I am at a virtual stop now, and the walls of what was once a tunnel have enveloped me completely, I find it hard to breathe, I can't move, I can't see, or hear or taste anything, but I can feel the walls closing, closing. I am not scared, I know this is the end of something or everything, but it does not frighten me. The walls penetrate through me, they become me, or I become part of the walls, and I feel my body stretching in every way imaginable, what was closing in on me has done it's job, and now is stretching out again, only I am now part of this bigger, higher, greater mass. Strange, but I just had a thought that wasn't my own, but was my own, then another and another and another and more and more all the time, my thoughts are endless, and my ability to think is endless, and I am endless, and it seems that I know everything, no indeed, I don't know everything, I am everything and it is all beauty. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/07/dream_away~2226892/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/07/dream_away~2226892/Mon, 07 May 2007 16:17:19 +0200 <p>The winds of change blew through my mind and turned me into what I was not before. Out with the old and in with the new, out with the guilt and in with the in-crowd of enlightened souls. Not a second too soon, and long overdue, but good things come to those who are good. I will only re-visit the future in the future, whilst my past will only be all that has taught me to be me.</p> <p>The winds of change blew through my heart and turned it into what it had not been before. Out with the cold, hard stone, and in with the warmth of a beautiful spring day. No longer to bleed slowly in the dark recesses of frustration, but to beat with passion and joy in the bright light of hope. I will love all and everything, and gratefully accept all the love I receive in return.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/04/the_winds_of_change~2209883/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/05/04/the_winds_of_change~2209883/Fri, 04 May 2007 15:48:41 +0200 <p>...and the rain continued to pound down. Here on the forest floor, pools of water were rapidly growing into small ponds. Those animals that can wade or swim were enjoying their brief time higher up the food chain than the scavangers hid away from these conditions. The wet undergrowth and mud seemed to quieten all sound, as if someone had switched the woodland mute button, yet somehow it suddenly got quieter still. Life paused, then it dawned slowly on everything, the rain, it had stopped. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing broke the spell. Then there it was, the wonderous sounds of the first birdsong, then another and another, and suddenly the trees were awash with a beautiful melody of angelic singing. And then, in answer to this call, through the tapestry of naked winter branches, came the first glints of fabulous sunlight, and the only thing left for me to do was cry. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/03/22/very_short_one~1954519/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/03/22/very_short_one~1954519/Thu, 22 Mar 2007 17:22:37 +0100 <p>These city streets seem endless sometimes, though I'm far from on my own. But get back to my own patch and I know I've made it home. The bars and clubs and faces now seem more familiar, but the company following me only wants to kill her. She says what she says and she writes what she writes, but it don't make her no friends, be they left or they right. Freedom of speech means nothing if you say the wrong thing, and I'm leading them straight to her, forgive me this thing.<br> I relax a little now I'm on streets I know well, stop and light a cigarette, a welcoming smell. I pause outside the B.A. bar and have a look around, the rhythm of the violin washes through me, there's no other sound. Inside the place is jumping, I could call friends for aid. But I need to do this alone, and I feel so afraid. I have thugs at my back and they're ready to crack down, I have to linger only a little longer in this old part of town.<br> She stands for truth and justice, and will always choose to. She speaks for the many who oppose the select few. But safety in numbers is never what it seems, the power is with them and their political machine. And the migrants are migrating, they're all headed south, and the worst thing is to stay around and open your mouth. She can stay in the shadows, but only for so long, before she has to burst forth to shout out what's right and what's wrong.<br> And my part in this, is that I know of their plan. They'll kidnap and kill her the next chance they can. I've got to try and warn her before it's too late, but I'm being followed around and they know I can't wait. A rock and a hard place, between them I lie, and I have to keep going or someone's going to die.<br> It's time to go back to my apartment block, the doors off it's hinges, so much for the lock. And inside it's chaos and everythings a mess, and whatever they found here is anybody's guess. But the simplest things are the easiest to miss, and right where I hid it, I find her last list. The times and the places where she will go to meet, and the next one is an hour away, I'll have to be quick on my feet.<br> So with my tail still behind me, I leave my own place, and begin the last scene of this life or death race. And with my heart pounding and my lungs screaming no, I run to that place where I have to go. I arrive seconds before them and my warning I scream, then chaos and death arrive on the scene. Gunshots ring out and I feel myself go down, covered in dirt and blood on the wrong side of town. But I lift my head up and see her get away, she looks back for a second and smiles softly my way. My mission is over, I've nothing left to do, but lay down and die like I've chosen to. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/15/choose~1746739/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/15/choose~1746739/Thu, 15 Feb 2007 18:18:31 +0100 <p>On a silvery night, out here on the moor, something is cooking, of what I'm not sure. In the valley below me, I see figures come together, their movements are slow as if they follow a leader. They seem to be swaying, or is it a dance, bodies moving in rhythm as if in a trance. </p> <p>And the trees seem wary and the grass starts to shiver, and my bones turn to cold and I wish I hadn't hid here. Did the moon just get brighter? Did a siren just sound? Now the figures are glowing as they open the mouths. </p> <p>At first so quiet that I strain to hear, then the sound invades me and I put my hands over my ears. And the seventeen souls of seventeen songs rips through the night, and the figures burn red as the moon freezes white. And the trees run away as a new sound is heard, and up on this ridge I'm alone and I'm scared. </p> <p>A grumble of drumming and the rocks dive for cover, and a piercing tune that sounds like no other. My whole body shakes as ground itself moves, and it's from the earth itself, that I feel this groove. The seventeen songs have awoken the souls, of hellish musicians and upwards they rose. </p> <p>And the moon is extinguished, but the songs carry on, and in the dark I don't know where the singers have gone. In my blind state I feel every note and every beat, until I am just the songs and I rise to my feet. My senses have gone, I am only this tune, and I sway and I dance and I know it will be soon. </p> <p>My mouth starts to open and I'm desperate to sing, go down to the valley and join in this thing. But the words are not in me and I fall to my knees, the tune leaves my body and I well up with tears. And I cry and cry until it is light, and everything looks normal no trace of the night. </p> <p> I walk to the valley and feel nothing at all, except a humming in my brain of a song half recalled. And two years have passed and I've searched and I've looked, but found few answers and had no good luck. But today could be different as my sources have found, word of seventeen women moving around.</p> <p> They've boarded a ferry and head for the isle, and they're all dressed in white and have fearsome smiles. If I run and I race and use all my might, I may just make it before day turns to night. And if I do, I won't be hiding away, I'll be dressed in white and ready to play. </p> <p> And when the moon turns me silver I'll open my mouth, the eighteenth soul of the eigtheenth song will come out. And as I glow red I'll know that watching the scene, will be the next voice with eyes wide with fear. But that's for the future for this is my time, and the ground starts shaking to the rhythm and rhyme. </p> <p>From beneath the depths all the musicians will come, and me and the others will sing now as one, and the answers to all questions now come to me, truth only found in our strange harmony. Why are we here, and what it's all for, on a silvery night, out here on the moor.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/12/17~1727376/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/12/17~1727376/Mon, 12 Feb 2007 15:41:53 +0100 <p>It's frantic tonight in the bleak house at the back of beyond. Preperarations are being prepared for a game that's afoot. And the starry windswept sky seems to blink at all this industry, and the moon's nowhere to be seen on a night like this. There's a scent of blood on the wind and a taste of violence on the tip of every tongue. </p> <p>Somewhere, in another part of nowhere, they're shakin' in their boots, waiting for that deadliest of snakes to strike. Revenge is always expected, but long overdue, so she frequently catches even the most alert by surprise. Tonight she will be here, everyone can feel her, but noone is talking, safety in silence and solitude reigns.</p> <p>Footsteps are muffled by the swirl of the wind, but beating hearts can be heard in beating brains as nerves become frayed. Dry mouths and churning stomachs give way to equal measures of fear and excitement mirroring the equal measures of earlier dutch courage. The mob is outside and it wants to come in.</p> <p>Inside a fever of anxiety has gripped all and sundry, all this waiting, all this waiting, let them come and let it be done, anything but this waiting. And in answer to this prayer, hell fire pours in through the doors and windows and it won't be leaving until everything is burnt. And the world becomes a cacophony of squeals and shrieks and profanities and blood.</p> <p>Early morning sees the beaten and wounded stumbling towards dreams of sanctuary. Prices have been paid, scores settled, eyes for eyes, teeth for broken teeth, and like every other time, everybody has lost. And the spirit of revenge leaves this sullen land and only fear knows of her return.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/02/revenge~1667689/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2007/02/02/revenge~1667689/Fri, 02 Feb 2007 12:42:03 +0100 <p>....and from up on the plateau, above the plain, not only could I see the stones stretching out into the distance, but I could also see the weather approaching, rapidly. The bright spring sunshine stopped abruptly, the dark cloud not only covered the sun, but almost seemed to extinguish it. The darkness came in, the heat of the day was transformed into a cold biting wind, and then the rain started.</p> <p>I had only wanted to walk up onto the rise to get closer to the circular mound of trees, not to enter this otherworldly place. It seemed as if someone had other ideas, however, as the rain started to come down stronger, soaking and chilling me. The only source of shelter as far as the eye could see was in those trees, and it felt like I was being herded towards them. I remained resolute though, my thoughts were that if I could only make it down to the stones, then this storm would cease. It was as if my thoughts had been heard, however, as by my third step down the slope, the rain had been replaced by sleet, and then hailstones. The hail hit my head, my face, my arms, my legs, pounding me into turning around. I took two more agonising steps down, then relented, and with tears in my eyes, turned, and bolted for the trees. I seemed to fly along, pushed by the wind, and pursued by the hailstones. I subconsciously remember losing my sandals in the flight, but it seemed unimportant as my feet didn't seem to be touching the ground. Then suddenly I was passing the first of the trees, I remember thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, then falling to the floor in the middle of the circle. The canopy was thick here, yet surely not so thick as to not be penetrated by the wind and hail. Yet, I raised myself onto my knees and looked around, outside of the trees the air was dark, I could see hailstones the size of strawberries batter against the ground, some of the outer branches of the trees were being whipped to and fro in the wind. But here, in the circle I couldn't even feel a breeze, no raindrops penetrated the circle, there was only the trees and the silence for company.</p> <p>I stood up, and although no longer in the elements I was still wet and cold. I wrapped my arms about myself in a vain effort to get warm, but somehow felt all the colder for the effort. The summer dress and cardigan I wore were soaking wet, my hair was dripping, and my hands and feet were blue from the cold. I had come out on a warm spring day and been caught up in winters' swansong. I looked around me, it was dark in the trees, and there was little to make out in the circle. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a rose on the ground, but it was nowhere to be seen once i'd turned my head. And the silence, complete silence, no rain or wind could be heard. I stumbled towards the nearest tree, reached out and stroked its' bark. It felt right but something was missing, there was a lack of smell, the texture was fine but I should be smelling this tree. Quickly, I put two hands on the tree, controlled my ragged breathing, and gently placed my forehead against the bark and closed my eyes. Nothing. Complete and absolute nothing. I realised that I was not embracing a tree at the same time as I heard a key turn and a bolt slam shut. My eyes shot open but saw nothing but blackness, the air was thick and still, my capture was complete. But whose prisoner had I become?</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/28/the_storm~1486332/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/28/the_storm~1486332/Thu, 28 Dec 2006 10:51:30 +0100 <p>And the mists of Avalon swelled, the thin layer of low cloud across the plains grew plump and rounded, a size 16 fog, curvy, enticing, and with long plumes of swirling whiteness for arms, welcoming.</p> <p>The fog called to me, reached for me, wanted me, and I wanted her. I wanted to have those soft arms embrace me, to pull me firmly but gently into that milky white bosom close to her heart. Hold me in that cold embrace, envelop me in the grip of approaching winter.</p> <p>For death lies in the heart of this Avalonian beast. Her veins of pure white mist are fed by the spilt red blood of her victims. She is a wicked mistress, and her ghostly wolves are out this evening hunting for their kill and her prey. </p> <p>Be you weak and feeble minded, or be you strong, stout, and resolute, you should all fear this maiden of the cold muffled silent end. For she is the true queen of equality, all victims welcomed, no questions asked, endless sleep always guaranteed.</p> <p>My hill top is now an island surrounded by an endless sea of encroaching white foam. I am on the last outcrop of land waiting to be swallowed up by the swirling rising misty depths. She has come for me at the last, making me wait for my slow and painless release, a tease 'til the very end.</p> <p>The first damp tendrills of smokey white breath are tickling at my toes now.................</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/23/mists_of_greater_avalonia~1473547/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/23/mists_of_greater_avalonia~1473547/Sat, 23 Dec 2006 23:17:41 +0100 <p>The predator entered the city by night, the cover of darkness allowing it to slip unnoticed into these overly familiar surroundings. Moving rapidly, close to the shop frontages and away from the glare of the street lights, eyes darting this way and that, searching, feeling, yearning for it's prey.</p> <p>A smell wafting on the cold night air grabbed the predator's attention. A hot dog stand and a vendor, squeezing overcooked onions onto an undercooked piece of meat inside yesterdays fresh bread. A crowd gathered around the stall, unaware inebriated youths risking poisoning as they stuffed the unpalatable offerings into gaping mouths, greasy juices running down their fingers and chins. The predator smiled inwardly, there would be easy pickings here tonight.</p> <p>A sound, violent, angry. Young males involved in ritualistic posturing, verbally jousting in forlorn attempts to impress one another. Each blissfully unaware that they are all too self-obsessed to notice. The group come closer, trashing a trash can along the way, last nights detritus escaping for another unexpected evening of fun on the city slabs. As the group swagger on by, one of them staggers on by, something which does not go unnoticed by the now following predator, silently stalking the noisy crowd, eyes peeled, senses heightened, it would be soon.</p> <p>The group of young men find their destniation, a run down office building pretending to be a down town bar. One by one they enter, handing over notes and coins for the privilidge of being ripped-off by watered-down over-priced drinks served by bored students in tight t-shirts dreaming of far-away places. The staggerer, is now a straggler, still outside as he finds his briefly lost wallet brimming with a weeks wages of dreams. This does not escape the notice of the predator, this will be the one.</p> <p>She steps out from the shadows and unfastens her long leather coat, the first time to be seen on this fateful night in all her glory. Illuminated by the glow of an orange light she checks herself briefly in a shop window. Long legs, sleek and lean sandwiched between too tall stilettos and the too high hemline of a faded ripped denim skirt. Breasts, improbably large, barely covered by the flimsiests of polyester animals catch the attention under a shock of peroxide hair and over-done sexless black eyes. She moves determinedly towards the staggering straggling victim as he enters the bar. His card is marked, tomorrow he will have his life, this predator is strictly cash and cards only.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/18/the_predator~1452032/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/18/the_predator~1452032/Mon, 18 Dec 2006 13:46:34 +0100 <p>Just bang the side of my head once more, "hello, anyone at home?" Gosh, did I really just hear something rattle in there? Yesterday I was a human being but I'm not so sure anymore. Was that sleep last night? I guess it was rest, of a sorts, but surely not sleep. And the air was thick, the same air as always, yet it had substance, and it was pervading my outer and inner space, scrambling my already scrambled brain, until the remaining mush was like a primordial soup, capable of anything. Then the rush of thoughts, ideas, hopes, dreams, magick, lusts, and needs. Yet as each one was being born into this brave new world, primordial hands would shoot forth throttling creativity in the foetal stage of wonderous existance. Human hands, my hands, strangling the life out of my own crude attempts at recycling the recycled thoughts of the herd.</p> <p>Re-enlightenment comes slowly sometimes, and at quite an emotional cost, as I writhe sleeplessly gripping with fingers and toes and teeth to this two dimensional plane of fuctionality encased in a three dimensional illusionary hologram. Screaming "no!" I sit bolt upright surrounded by the aura of darkness, listening to the thump thump thumping of my heart, something is here as well as me.</p> <p>And so, slowly, I let go. Human I am not, but it has been so long, so very very long that I had forgotten. It's a mixed blessing being free of this existance of imaginary needs formulated by the gravitational pull of the mind. Stop expanding your mind and start expanding your soul, and the click is heard in the lock, as the gates of the world are thrown open and nothing you want, but everything you really need is now yours to enjoy in your new found endless beautiful existance.</p> <p>Hmm, yes, it was definatley a rattle that I heard.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/18/everything~1452021/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/18/everything~1452021/Mon, 18 Dec 2006 13:42:53 +0100 <p><strong>A grey cold mist hangs around dark skeleton trees, the air is wet and heavy today, it is not a delight to breathe, or exhale. Movements in the dank undergrowth betray birds that refuse to fly in cold wet thick skies. This place, that normally feels like the centre of a vast beautiful garden, today seems like the last piece of land before the air all ran out. Life is holding on, but with each forced breath, the inevitable end draws nearer. </p> <p>The walk to the village normally leaves me full of joy as I run and skip through the abundance of earthly delights. Today I walk solemnly with no clear destination. The faintest ghostly outline of the village can just be seen, but there is no promise of substance over the next brow, today the village may evaporate into the moist atmosphere, leaving me here completely and utterly alone.</p> <p>Despite the days' best attempts, I feel hot, feverish, the cold damp air clammy on my warm skin. My arms and legs move in slow motion in a world that has stopped. My brain keeps ticking to remind me that I'm here, but where? Despite the familiarity, I am a stranger here, this is not my place, these are not my arms and legs, this is not me. I drop to unfamiliar knees, and someone elses' hands bury themselves in the long dripping lifeless grass.</p> <p>There is not even the outline of the village left, the grass is all consuming, cooling me, calming me. I can feel the fever run away from my rapidly chilling being. Down here the lights are low, down here you can be invisible, down here I can be free. I wriggle a bit through the grass, and stop. I taste the air with my tongue and stay silent. All is quiet, I wriggle again, and then once more, and then happily, quietly, I slither away into the long grass and freedom.</p> <p>Some skins are harder to shed than others!</strong></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/16/freedom~1444674/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/16/freedom~1444674/Sat, 16 Dec 2006 12:51:46 +0100 <p>the words come out smarter, better sometimes, you know what it is, it's inspiration, that's what it is, yeah, sweet inspiration, the kind that lifts you up and takes you into the dreamland, where everything glows, because everything is gold, and i'm dancing there, madly, my arms flailing, my head shaking, my breath is coming in short bursts, my heart is pounding pounding pounding, the rhythm of my heart is pounding the beat, and i'm dancing, and this feels good, it feels reeeaaallll good, and i want to stay here forever, i want to live in here, this is so much better than out there, out there where the people come and go, but they never know, out there where cars are cool, ha ha the fool, out there where everyone is having a shit time but pretending that it's really all they ever wanted, everyone's pretending, it's the biggest conspiracy, nobodies telling, shush keep it quiet, don't shatter that illusion, what will be left, don't tell cos they will all want to come in here, all of them will want to come in here, and that won't be good, no no, that would be bad, yes very bad, coming in here with their false truths and their false gods and their false drugs, and their false lives, out there i have a false life too, but i check it in at the cloakroom before i come in here, in here i am me<br> and i smoke another cigarette as i think of what might have been, of places never seen, of the magic that has occurred and that which is yet to happen, running with the pack, the adrenaline kicks in, there's a scent on the wind, is it the scent of hope, or is that too much to hope for, blind faith is what i need, but faith in me is all i have right now, if only i can find it, it's somewhere, waiting to break out, and in here it has broken in, take it with me, go out there, go outside, with faith in myself, pure in my heart, if not my mind, pure in my knowledge, if not my deeds, and all this supercedes my needs, ha ha but i am me<br> the dancing has stopped, and now i am slow, this heavy weight that i carry around is weighing me down, how can i run with the pack when this burden makes me slow, i am running in drifted snow, with lead boots on my feet, and fear for company, and guilt for a companion, and myself for a friend, and i need to lose all three of them, but they are swift and i am slow, i will need more than speed to free myself from my chains, and with every moment they grow tighter, bounding me to myself, making me believe that i am not me, but who i am supposed to be, the figament of the imagination of everybody i have ever known, imagine yourselves, leave me alone, for alone i am, and alone i shall be, and alone i will be me<br> outside the birds are singing, now that is fantastic, inside my computer hums, it's fan sporadically kicking in, whilst occassionally i hear the whirring sound of electrodes working as they keep up with me asking it to work, surely this should be silent, it's 2005 and still i have no silence, in here it should be silent, so my thoughts can fluorish, but no, clickety rickety is what i here, i wanna go out and hear the birdsong, but i need to be me, not your imagination, so the birds will not have me as an audience today, except covertly, from behind the walls of my fortress, as i listen to their songs of freedom, whilst inside i have my freedom, and never the two do meet, i have no birdsong, but i am me<br> i've missed you ever so much, your breath, your laughter, your touch, the hand that rocks the cradle, the sweet sweet lullabye, it makes me cry, but now you have returned and i am one again, i can achieve anything, i am reborn this day to you, i am reborn this day to me, now i can see, and i will go outside, and i will be me </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/15/i_am_me~1442577/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/15/i_am_me~1442577/Fri, 15 Dec 2006 19:48:13 +0100 <p>And the wind picked up, whipping through the trees snaking along on it's never-ending course from nowhere to everywhere and back again. The twilight was nearly over, it was dark now here in the wood, but the last of the witches purple pervaded through the branches, a sign of the magic to come.</p> <p>I sat in the circle of 13 elms and drank from the flask i had carried up the hill with me. Hallowed wine on this hallowed night, spiced with the autumnal fruits of the field, it would not be long now.</p> <p>A sound? </p> <p>Music, of a sort, pipes, a flute like no other flute I had heard winding away through the trees on the increasingly freshening wind. The elms were breathing around me, I could see their protective trunks heave outwards and inwards whilst their limbs swayed and danced to the rhythm of the unseen player.</p> <p>The wood was illuminated now by the large blackness of my ever expanding pupils that were mirrored by the eyes of the watchers all around. An item of curiosity in a cage of elm, come to the zoo for the strange one has returned with her raven eyes, dangerous eyes full of images from the nightmares of the faerie folk.</p> <p>Oh rescue me, not from these trees but from the land beyond the trees that you cannot quite see. That land that you glimpse at the edge of your vision is my daymare of reality dragging me down into a world of pain and heartbreak and lies and death.</p> <p>My inner being erupts out of this earthbound shell and rises high above the elms, above the wood, into the beautiful deep black night sky where it bursts open illuminating everything in a brilliant silver light, and the trees are mine, the wood is mine, this beautiful earth is mine and I am theirs.</p> <p>Play on, oh beautiful musician of my soul, play on and make this night last forever more so I can be saved from the cruelty of dawn, play on so I can be free, outside from my world of trepidations and limitations, play on, play on, play on.</p> <p>The music has ended, and my weary time wracked body crawls out from its' leafy bed and climbs up to the summit of the wood just in time to see the sun appear on the horizon. And as I watch this most wonderous event, the rays illuminate me in the cold gold light of despair, if only you had played on!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/15/a_haloween_night~1442567/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://intothedark.blog.co.uk/2006/12/15/a_haloween_night~1442567/Fri, 15 Dec 2006 19:46:30 +0100