nebel

light a candle and listen to classical music.....

Never stray from the path, never eat a windfall apple and never trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle.


I am feeling very dark and yearning...not quite broodingbut like I missed something.


I think that preverbal forest can even become gentrified. It seems like fantasy is no longer as fantastic. I want to exist off my symbolism...or at least breath from it. Like a scuba diver floating in the back of someone's subconscious.



Excuse me while I puke forth something thats been clubbing at me like a baby seal. hapless and just as tasteless.the fur coat can be seen as some sort of pitiful apology.



Im yearning for decrepit forest, alive with the rotting of old trees and new things sprouting from them.and a ghostly castle. a castle should loom, a castle should echo..with murder mysteries, with lust, and revenge, and tea and gossip and deceit and inlaid vanities with secret drawers and a small lap dog. In a place where birds are not birds and children can be fattened up to be eatten. I want to be bathed in milk and wear rose perfume, while carrying a dagger beneath my petticoats while the sea beckons.Gawd, I feel stuck..excuse me whilst I powder my nose and put forth my dance card.I may flutter my eyes at you, but do not consider it a form of flattery.

Im too ridiculous for such things.

Wavy hair never quite right, brushed with misguidance.rude, though not shameful, shed like you to think that shes polite out of respect, but really its from her profound curiosity. Its fall now and today she can do whatever she feels like. Which of course, is no different than any other day. so she walks, or rather picks her way through the day, collecting stones and forgotten trinkets. She comes to a path that is paved with leaves and when the wind blows it looks as though the path is hiccupping. It breaths and winds onward through the trees, which line its sides like dolefully devoted soldiers. There is a hidden sadness there that the wind will try to hide from you. It will take your hair and tickle your nose with it, it will whisper things to you and push you onward. In those trees, onto that path, to wherever it decides to pocket you. Today though, it seems vengeful and less forgiving. She is easily transfixed in her rock/trinket gathering and does not look up for sometime. Crouched on the ground, her dress bent rudely upward, full of treasures, she discovers this path has become a blur of fauna, glowing green and wild wrapping its life into things that have long been forgotten. A house, once magnificent sits, tilted and dead. A smell plants a firm finger into her nostril.ripe with new plant life and fresh dirt, the forgotten still leave a faint stench all their own. Filled with musty intrigue she wipes the accumulating snot off from under her nose with the back of her left hand, letting go of her skirt, dropping all that was in it. And she left the things she had gathered, taking with her the interest that she had lifted them up with. Leaving them behind with out so much as a sigh, they are once again useless rocks and broken door handles. She walks towards the house with a hum reserved for the innocent and finds a man saved for the ages, powdered wig and all. His silhouette is bent, and almost unrecognizable amongst all the rubble. He is muttering something and sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a dead rabbit in his hands. Its blood soaking into his doublets, its neck bent haphazardly to the side, its eyes still wide with the fleeting images of its last moments. There seems to be more blood than could come out of such a small thing. It continues to bubble and emit warmth solely through its vivid color, which steams upwards, and through the whole room, bathing it in red light. The man sits there cradling it, speaking to it as though it were an old friend. I suppose he even told it a joke or two, until the girl found enough courage to say something. Startled the man looked up and assumed a more natural and stately appearance. Dropping the rabbit onto the floor, he glided forward to take her hand. The dull thud of the deceased rabbit, was enough to startle the birds who where gently slumbering on the upper floor. They jostled about in feathery outrage, until finally resettling and forgetting the moment entirely. He did not seem concerned, his eyes were alive and wild, they were the only things left to sparkle in that house. Not that his eyes sparkled, but they at least tried too. His buckle shoes tiptoed as he took her arm in his and opened his home to her, he bowed as frequently as he looked behind his shoulder. She still seemed enthralled in his interest in her and pleased with the growing blood stain on her left arm, as his hand continued to hold her tightly there. Through corridors and sagging hallways, into gapping slack jawed rooms with missing windows that looked like teeth, they waltzed and laughed as though they were expecting company. Which they were, though neither of them knew it yet.......




Little girls, this seems to say / Never stop upon the way / Never trust a stranger friend / No-one knows where it may end / As you're pretty, so be wise / Wolves may lurk in every guise / Now as then, 'tis simple truth / Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth.