Tag Archive: midnight madness

Nights like tonight are not made.

They are born while I plow through with the Chevrolet Darling.

It’s already a few weeks I’m having this sort of melancholy.

Crawling back from a far away place inside the folds of my brain.

Reading novels written for illiterates no doubt.

Stream of thought greys, ocras and dark greens.

Films for depraved made in lead, mud, chalk and diamonds.

Music resembling the shout of a beast slaughtered, warhowler heartbreaker.

I have been forged in darkness, and never feared it.

When you fear, you push away.

You don’t actually see what you fear.

Truth is: bathing in the sun for too long can bruise you.

Sight and sound black as your eyes.

Dead this night.

For I can’t bear them alive.

Music. Sound. Machine running the miles.

I don’t remember anymore the nightbirds, the endless typing, the epic journeys made with fog fanning out.

I know who I am.

I don’t know who I was, who you thought about in the dead of the night when all was said and done.

I feel just the endless road built and destroyed where my children are resting.

For I had many children, wouldn’t you know.

They were the most fair: dark eyes, dark hair, white teeth gleaming in warning for mother sleeps soundly and needs not to be disturbed.

Still my car is running in the dead of the night.

Past gas services, past lives and deaths, past people and creatures made from a faulty deity who forgets and never really forgives me for my sins.

And thus the guitar sounds like the end of a world born in the dark.

And the clear tenor screeches notes of ireFire.

Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true…[…]
Don’t know where you’re goin’
Only know just where you’ve been

Ancient weary eyes looking at you from a youthful face.

As old as you feel, bones creaking and all.

A bed too small to lay on, midnight noon sweltering outside.

Heavy music from static-laden speakers, music so old no-one remembers it.

You don’t even remember when or where you met him, just the look in his eyes.

The too old holey t-shirt, the battered leather jacket and scuffed doctor martens.

Not uttering a word, laying there.

And every year past seems longer than ever watching those eyes dilating.

Future remains beyond, full of things you’ll never know until it’s their time.

The record’s playing, the air is still.

The wolf in your bed hums, as meek as a lamb.

As the sun scorches a thousand licking flames.

“Your eyes are blue, very odd.”

“Still blue? I thought not.”

“Very blue. How come?”

Lick your lips, no sweat over your upper lip, and smile.

“I was born with them.”

Somewhere a hammond is playing and the spirit soars.

Never will you learn how young is he in his old years.

Until you’ll be shown.


Ce la posso fare…
Ho questa notte per mettermi in pari con quel stramaledettissimo trequel e postarne il primo capitolo domani…
Ho trovato un’auto, finalmente e fra pellegrinaggi che non sembrano finire mai ed il primo giorno di sole disponibile (Bici yay!) non ho aperto word manco per fare la lista della spesa.
Perché? Perché Novembre è un mese che si passa fuori dalle mie parti, gli ultimi trenta giorni fra gelo, sole freddo, nebbia e montagne bianche.
Dicembre arriva e con lui uno non ha più nessuna intenzione di uscire fuori dai meandri del piumone (per fare che quando il sole non lo vedi più come minimo fino a Febbraio?), già tanto che uno si alzi al mattino quando sembra ancora notte fonda…@@
Dai che stasera qualcosa partorirò…LoL

Nel mentre vado a fare una sortita al negozio liquori. Il tè corretto fa sempre bene.e poi domani bisogna sempre festeggiare il mio 28esimo compleanno. Crema al whisky e sherry venite dalla Hermes… xD

(This image belongs to catalanwine365.files.wordpress.com/)

A summary of yesterday night…

When plot lines become too many…
I get all kinds of ‘Ohhh, yes, now THIS, Check, that’s done, this one for later’
Then you feel it’s time to close a chapter and…

1.00 AM

2.00 AM

3.00 AM


I think I dropped my brain somewhere between the first 1.000 digits…

…chapter is 6.000+…

And the last update has been almost a month ago…

And then I ask myself the fatidic question when I see the grammar…
Have I been drinking while writing?
Nope, no…whenever?!

“Sometimes I write drunk and revise sober, and sometimes I write sober and revise drunk. But you have to have both elements in creation — the Apollonian and the Dionysian, or spontaneity and restraint, emotion and discipline.”

Dylan Thomas in “Reuben, Reuben” 1964 @ Peter De Vries

Linds with the grin/Alan is so good:

Me, searching for the whiskey stash:

This tale ends with me smashing head first into the keyboard and finding myself with a black eye the morning after…explain that to people who know you without sounding completely out of your mind.


[Little disclaimer: This post is one of my poor comic reliefs, no GIF is mine so don’t flame!]

Potrei o no aver passato buona parte del mio weekend a cavarmi gli occhi davanti Cad, Photoshop e Bodyshop…
Forse ho un nuovo quartiere in TS2…
Immaginate come si chiama? xD

Sometimes I feel really creepy…
(tonight I’m going to get acquainted with ep 25, I fear I’ll need a good stiff drink for this one)

ps: scuse per chi passa da EFP in cerca di notizie o movimento…la Musa è andata in vacanza senza di me temo e mi diverto di più a ridere come una scema all’una di notte ascoltando Cecil e la sua smisurata cotta da schoolgirl per Carlos (non parlando delle sue sfumature psicologiche, ci sarebbe da scriverci una tesi!) che passare la serata a scrivere.
La pagina bianca mi deprime negli ultimi tempi =( ma di questa settimana voglio almeno rispondere ai commenti e recensire un paio di storie quindi prima o poi uscirò dal mio eremitismo self-induced… LoL
Vi faccio ciao con la manina e vado a prepararmi del tè corretto col brandy, Good evening!

Little snippet

“It will come a time, when looking at her.
In her blinded eyes, you will see chess pieces sliding into place on a board filled with debris.
Every move so maddening slow over those panic stricken orbs when nowadays time trickles by so fast.
A war displayed in its most dark scenario and violence, the fear on her face so dense you would like to turn your head away.
Remember, when the gift of the Seers is awaken within someone, the knowledge will rob him or her of word’s freedom with a life’s penalty.
She knows her role for the Greater Good, and I’m most certain she will carry on her mission without complaint amidst the horrors of her visions.
Still, I ask of you, to guard over her for the Gift is a cold and unforgiving burden.
It changes the softest of the lambs into the cruelest of wolves.”

She will be of no interest.

“What makes the Seer a strong point for the party involved is the variable.”

Your babbling is useless.

“Never forget, she’s still a living, breathing being.”

…always so manipulating even in your death.

“For the Greater Good, my boy.
Muted by her gift, she won’t relent to save who she loves the most. Gladly changing fate.”
To this there was no answer, and the man in the portrait smiled with twinkling eyes meeting two black voids repeating softly
“Whom does she love the most?”

I don’t think this information will be useful, Albus. If you would kindly retreat to knitting into your portrait before I get my hands on a bottle of Turpentine…

Still those eyes smiled with sadness, glinted with ever-present curiosity and shined unnaturally omniscient.
Portrait or not he knew, like he was still alive.
But the man standing on the other side of the study chose to ignore his nagging stare, resuming his walking in circles.

Idly chatter will come into nothing when the last bout of the game is still to be played.
The outcome will always be unknown.

@ 2014 Hermes

The old, nasty man.
Sat on the Earth, like a traitor on a throne.
His face a sneer, his eyes little and askew.
Lecherous, yellow and lewd.
There’s no saviour in front of me.
In his boney hands dangle a big set of keys, rattling an infernal racket.
The racket of an universe, dying into silence.
Singing savagely

“Destroy me.
Give me the freedom of things broken in and out.
The new order that will set my bones anew.
Scatter me to the wind like ashes.
Deconstruct my brain.
I will feed the roses’ roots with my memories of destruction,
giving the thorns the sharpness needed
to pierce the insolents and poison the weak who wish to be blind.
Kill me and you will fear no more.”

I want no power, no peace of mind so long gone.
No revenge, I won’t lead an army of reckless judgment.
I have no dreams here in this winter where the sun is but
an outlined circle under an imperfect piece of glass.
Sagely I’m but a walking corpse, talking about freedom but given none.
Still I wish to destroy, damage and break.
Peal every layer of pain between my vision and my heart.
Find a way to put together whatever remains.
So that in my hands there’ll be another world.
Receding into the womb.
Living the lie.
Construct another life.
Stopping my breaths.
Climbing the sands.
Shifting into nothing.

“Pride had been my downfall at every turn in the road.
I do not wish to make that mistake again.”

There’s a river streaming down.

Sound as sin, rowing beneath.

Leaving me wide awake every hour of the night.

Regaining memories I don’t like to unfold,

Cursing every dip, every shallow turn,

running for the sea, so I’ll never be free.

Still tonight is when in the dream I stop to writhe

And I lie down under the river streaming down

Sei a letto che attendi Morfeo e…
…chissà se il mio datato ID su Pottermore funziona ancora?!
*Ricerca file*
*Inserisce dati*
*Passa la notte ad esplorare il fantastico mondo di HP, per la milionesima volta…in mancanza d’altro*
Ecco cosa succede quando non riesco a dormire per l’ansia…^^’
Info di servizio: il capello parlante mi ha smistato in Serpeverde!!! Me ne ero dimenticata completamente!!! xD

O forse a Serpeverde, ragazzi miei,
vi troverete gli amici migliori
quei tipi astuti ed affatto babbei
che qui raggiungono fini ed onori!

Tipo Merlino…xD
Eh…ci sarà un motivo per cui ho un debole per Malfoy ed il Professore…ehhhh…
*fischietta e ritorna su Pottermore*

Virtus est sapientia

ps: Hermes si trattiene…con tutte le proprie forze…ahhhh…no, ho già troppi casini per la testa un’altra no!
*Una piuma di gufo inizia a punzecchiarla, Herm soffre il solletico da morire*
Ho detto di no! Ne ho già una incompleta! Uffa!
*Piuma continua imperterrita*
Ma se sono caduta in oblio e dormo faccia sulla tastiera negli ultimi tempi!!!
*Piuma raggiunge le piante dei piedi*
Oh, accidenti…meglio rispolverare Word o darsi alla fuga?


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