The Sea

The low, almost caressing breath of a cat, curled up in my lap. The cold day outside and the small feline is a ray of warmth breaking through the slight groan of the wind behind my window.

My own storm, my own thoughts. I drift like a lost ship, amid dream islands, waves of ideas and broken masts of doubt. I take the path, not really knowing the direction, a navigator among rough gale, with narrow visibility.

My own storm, my own thoughts.

The cat joined the boatswain’s whistle with his soothing purr…

State of Things

When I was 20 yo, I loved Tomb Raider.

Now, my game of choice is Bayonetta.

Nothing changed in the case of sexy ladies in tight clothes. Only the methods 😀

Lara was good with pistols, Bayonetta heads higher, and summons torture devices and shoots from her heals.

The Sting

When tired, when sad, when desperate, I keep remembering myself that between the pages of the books, on screen and in my own mind – there are friends, who wait for me to open the mindgate and let them in.

And that among many people in the world wide web, I found persons whose presence is more than pleasant to have. And who understand me sometimes better than myself.

But some words still sting like a wasp. Maybe because losing friendship is hard, and hardest is to lose a friendship of a mother. Anger, and limitations killing what once was good. Little grave for feelings that once were important. And for memories that hurt more than soothe.

Where I Belong

The threads of mist enveloping the branches, the morning fog, concealing all shapes, as he was in the center of a dream, the dream that Thra dreams, and he is one with it, bathing in it, in its scent and its touch.

He didn’t even had to hunt to feel it. It was song of Thra, his own song of Thra. Silent, embracing him like a invisible arms of a tender lover.

Forest is where I belong.

And he knew this will never end, everything may pass, the skeksis reign, the empire, gelfling clans, but this – never.

It was his own song.

Engraved in his wild heart, whispering at unison with his soul.

A Wolven Tale

the wolf, the snow under his paws

and the twilight in his heart

restlesss and lost, fighting own shadow

raising moon, the blood on its face

the frozen branches, hanging in garlands

the willlows bowing before him

the stagnant droplets, enchanted in time

he never sees the spring

as it runs away, every time one step before him

to catch the summer, to catch the sun

the winter jails his limbs, breathing chill

blacking the eyes, the dying soul

the night covering him in starless embrace

he was frozen for years

until the spring came, touched his face

and became one with him

… howling into the sky, the moon again bloodied

he runs over grass

his tears green and mossy

his heart tangled by vines

his spirit free


I was astonished and astounded.

The beauty of the music speaks, no matter who we are, when and where we are. When the joyful tune of Víðförla hit my world, I wanted to dance barefoot on the grass, like Rapunzel to her town tarantella. And when my nostalgic sound heard the dim autumn in misty Nýr, I almost bursted with deeply hidden feelings.

Listen to Vikings Memories, by Skáld. It’s worth every minute from your life you want to spend on it.

Autumn Solace

Today I felt the touch of autumn, a delicate caress of sun in the morning, peeking shyly from between the tree tops. The gossamer drifting on the wind, dry leaves falling from the branches, the rusting sound of my dog playing in them, like a pup.

I live for such moments, moments of peace and being one with nature.

When no human being awakened yet, a little world of my own, an autumn solace, my place in this wilderness called life.


The silence of the endless wasteland, where the human foot has never stood before.

The silence of a forgotten temple buried by time. The silence of ancient events and memories that disappeared with the wind.

The rustle of material right next to me. The silence when I turn my head to enjoy the softness of my cat…

The clock is ticking slowly, measuring irrelevant time. My eyes glitter with a strange glow in the grey darkness, separating themselves from the fading, night.

Silence. How wonderful is to achieve peace. One hunter, dancing in the shadows. One hunter pursuing happiness.


Finding a friend is deligthful.

Keeping a friend is a gift.

I am so grateful for my family I found in The Dark Crystal fandom. You brighten my day with your sense of humor, light talks and fan share. Some of you know that since almost 15 years I battle depression. You are part of healing force.

Skeksis friendship is eternal.


Kathe dressed in mist, Kathe dancing near the bonefire

her hair touched by the crimson dew

her eyes black and hollow

long forgotten Kathe

the dweller of the forest, the dancer of the wind

feet buried in the grass

Kathe filled with freedom, she is tossing the beads of laughter

the lover of the forest god

wild soul, untamed