Friday, January 13, 2012

HELLo, dead pleased to meet you.


HELLo, dead pleased to meet you.

As an introduction, herein I chose the written word. This is the first part, to be followed by the middle bits and last but not least the closure or end. Witch is not nearly as final sounding as one might muse. As epistles such as this tend to propagate additional discourse.

About the spectral gloom of my room I wrestle with words and vie for a better position. Preferring the top although the bottom can also be enticing. On occasion (as with this evening) a dialogue with a lost spirit or II, non compos mentis and relatively unscathed 'neath a halo of flies. Regaling those rough beasts with Poe-tic nightmares, possibly an ode or dirge of chillful horror. As such to rival one hundred ravens in their dreams.

The currents of my soul (abysmally obvious) flow dark and deep with works of words. Spheres of somber shadow regretfully bound to earthly thought and of all to human mould. Still I vow with gloom to woo. Lest the worlds from within and out, forget me not. This then is my lot.

Ad loc and hoc and quid pro quo, so little time so much to know. If I spoke prose you'd all find out, I know not what I talk about.





Je suis sain d'Esprit.

Je suis saint-Esprit.



Here howls by night the winds in lonely eaves,

words in lurid lustre, hollow hallows to rotting heaven.

The uni9verse upon my soul.

Soft somnus sweet, I dream.



This is the picture, can you picture this?

Gloom and doom from womb to tomb.

I'm bats you know, I know you do.



SINcerely,

    Adrian Alexis



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