Threads of starlight in my hair,

midnight on my left shoulder,

dusk on the right.

Under the moon and in eternal night’s embrace.
The Hunt Never Ends
Mal's blog

Message posté par skekMal le 27 Jul 2020

The skeksis rule my life. There is no hope for me anymore.

Yup. You heard right, you old bastard. I love you all.

Message posté par skekMal le 25 Jul 2020

The urge to write, the long forgotten feeling, which blooms suddenly in mind, ready to spread petals wide and reach with roots to other people with ideas and imagination.

I love it. It happens. IT HAPPENS.

Message posté par skekMal le 23 Jul 2020

When I first listened to the opening music to Shadow of the Vampire, I thought I touched heaven and hell at the same time.

This was music not only nostalgic, not only dark and brooding.

This was the last melody of something passing, disappearing. Of something that will never happen again and it’s absence – maybe unnoticed by the world – will be painful, by mere not existing.

The last vampire, knowing it’s not his time, that the time of the hunt’s over. The world goes forth and there is no place for the likes of him.

The melody touched the ancient parts of my soul, that still remember, by some miracle, things, that passed and disappeared.

Memories frozen in time, forever, Akasha, the relic of the past, and her stillness on her throne.

I love Shadow of the Vampire. But that music… is something that is both painful and extremely beautiful.

Message posté par skekMal le 22 Jul 2020

Visiting an abandoned place is like letting the ghost touch you. The thick cobweb-covered drapes, the broken windows, and sills. Time made them still, while the world moved on.

It’s a past enchanted into dirt and dust. Past that will never come alive again and it lays in stagnation, filled with unfulfilled dreams and hopes.

My gothic soul breathes in those lone places, where the only footsteps are mine.

Message posté par skekMal le 21 Jul 2020

the dog silhouette

surrounded by the green light

after you, he walks

chosen prey of the hunter

among the moors

through the music of the sorrowful symphony

his howl moans your name

the ghastly sound of the undoing

the barghest

bound to you, pain-filled inamorata

the air thick with pain

the fog choking your throat

the hound

his gleam like hellbound light

in the past, hidden secrets

the ancestors’ redemption

through your sacrifice

through your blood

Message posté par skekMal le 16 Jul 2020

morn faded in the mists of the fog

joyful silhouettes spin in the dim light

mockery on their lips, wilderness in their hearts…

… as the fairies circle around the old willow

radiant, luminous

spear of brilliance, fireflies of the olden days

magic, spells, and freedom

the gleam in the mirror of the past

an solas timpeall na gcrann

Message posté par skekMal le 11 Jul 2020

We all deal with our demons in the closets, but they can’t leave them, if we close the door.

Message posté par skekMal le 10 Jul 2020

Chased by the inquisition, hounded by people from the town, accused of witchcraft. Flipped books on black magic, items that indicate that I could dance with the devil himself. The pieces of evidence were undeniable, the only thing wrong with them was that they were untrue.

A lonely woman with a glow in the hair and the stars in her eyes, was the perfect victim when people began accusing the bolder townswomen of witchcraft.

It’s been four years since I was marked with the witch’s mark. But here, in the farthest corner of the mountains, no one was looking for me, no one was bothered by me anymore. I became nobody, I became a shadow and a ghost. Living in the middle of the forest, not standing out, now with a ranger husband, with a daughter who always runs away somewhere, deep into the woods.

And she always comes back with an inspired expression on her face and a strange glow in her hair.

Now, looking at the setting sun from behind the branches of the trees, I sigh, sucking in the smell of pines. I feel safe here. I feel that I am bound to be a forest apparition. They call it a witch. I call it freedom.

The glow in my hair gleams slowly, singing a silent light song, as I look into the soothing dusk.

Message posté par skekMal le 09 Jul 2020

The fire descending from the sky, the scorched mind, begging for the ethereal water. All thoughts closed in a small burning casket, where no air seems to be allowed. The deserted brain yells for relief, the body shivers under gusts of heat.

I loathe hot weather. Give me a cold beer, please. Otherwise, I will change into a dry scarecrow. I miss the winter, the beautiful snowy landscape of forest behind my window. Now even trees beg for a solace.

How many months? Only a few. I count the days until the first frozen pattern painted by frost on my pane…

Message posté par skekMal le 06 Jul 2020

the falling walls hide my heart
deep in the ground, under bed of thorned flowers
finding it equals death
as the poison injects into your veins

the walls fell
and buried my body underneath
the lonely bird sings over the brick grave
his button cotton eyes lurk beneath

buttons and cotton
the bird is made of, he
guards my tombstone made of walls