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Jul. 24th, 2008

      The daemon crossed back through the red wood gate -- back home at last...  She had ridden in on the back of the latest great storm, summer storm though it was...  All storms were hers in a way, so it did not really matter.  Winds had pulled her along and rains had washed away her footsteps behind her -- regret nothing -- and, during clearings, the moon -- full once more -- had guided her.
    After passing by the misty lands to leave notice of her return, she found her way to her icy twilight lands, and the Moon Lair half-hidden among black, jagged rocks.  Inside, she shuffled her feet to the bed and fell on it with delight, breathing in the soft incense-soaked pillow and the smell of the dusty books on the shelves around her.  They welcomed her in their ancient voices, comforted her, so did the numerous statues, charms, and other random objects once brought home from her wanderings.  She had more, just recently collected, still stuffed in the bag she had tossed by the entrance on her way in.  These were her familiars, lifeless maybe but loyal nonetheless; they had guarded her home well while she was away and now would watch over her as she slept... but did not dream.  With all her wandering and wondering, this one did not much dream while asleep.
    She took one last look around the room, peering through a dark brown curtain of hair: yep, going to need quite the rearranging now, she thought, but only tomorrow...  And with that she fell asleep, though that all-knowing smile remained on her lips as she did, and the sound of distant thunder still echoed in her ears.
RK. Sekwaya

May. 1st, 2008

 Alas, the further I move away from you
the more I feel a betrayer
yet every time I come back to you
I feel empty all the more

Forget me,
let me live in my own oblivion,
for if I speak now
I will only speak poison.

Some day soon,
I hope,
inspiration will return to me:
on the wind
I will set these stories free.

RK. Sekwaya

old songs still ring true...

"...  Every time I change direction
Every footstep ask the question
Does this take me closer or farther away?

On this long and twisting journey
Every passing moment finds me
Wondering will I find my home someday

Sleepless at daybreak
Somewhere else my restless feet take me
For a while
Wanderin' Child

It's not easy never knowing
Where the road you're on is going
Only resting for a moment
then leaving again..."

(Wanderin' Child, from Susan Aglukark's first album: Artic Rose)

Just a bit of old music I used to listen to.  These days I've been trying to retrace my own steps, remember to who I was before, and this music is one of the things that helped.  The music is a little too light for my present taste (if I had heard it for the first time today I would have thought it too childish, too simple) but the meaning is as true -- truer -- than ever: it's still one of the things that defines me (the whole song makes it even truer for me in particular, but this is the part I thought you guys would relate to the most).

I am the wanderer -- no, We are the Wanderer!
Those of us lost;
Those of us who discover ourselves anew every day;
or who remember different days, that belonged to us...

We are the Wanderer:
the world is our neverending journey,
our eternal struggle...
and if we find a small piece of the answer to it all along the way,
then it's worth it, I think.

RK. Sekwaya


Feb. 10th, 2008

 She sighs and turns her head, looking out the window.  A sad smile once again draws itself on her lips and in her eyes...  "Why am I doing this?" she wonders out loud, "what was I ever expecting?"
The snow serpents outside still whisper their call.  They call her towards a home she cannot return to.  She had decided to stay here, she thought there was a difference to be made... but it seemed like it was not to be.
I see you now all sinking,
I see myself sinking in my own abyss...
Gods!  Were we all just hypocrites to believe it?
I don't know... I don't know if I believe anymore...
I don't know if I ever had a purpose here
because now I'm just confused.
I don't know
I don't know 
I just wish I could go home...
But even there I'd be alone.
The voices from beyond the archway... the voices from the mist, were growing fewer, growing more distant.  She still waited, still called, but there was no answer -- because all the other voices, they were calling too, and could here no reply but their own miserable thoughts, echoing on the walls of their individual worlds, sinking.  She called one last time: "Is anybody even out there!  Where are you, who are you?  Somebody tell me!  You, out there in the mist -- yes you, YOU!  I'm here, SAY SOMETHING TO ME FOR ONCE!"
She let the words float there for a minute, and sent them on their way, hoping -- one last time -- to get an answer from YOU.
RK. Sekwaya
" And Zarathustra stood still and thought a while.  At last he said sadly: 'Everything has become smaller!
'Everywhere I see lower gates: whoever is of my kind can still just manage to get through but -- must stoop so low!
'Oh when shall I come back home again, where I no longer have to stoop -- no longer have to stoop before those who are small!' "
"Yet why am I talking, when no one has my ears!  And so I want to call it out to all the winds:
'You are becoming even smaller, you small people!  You are crumbling away, you who are contented!  I shall yet see you perish --'
-- from your many small virtues, from your many small abstentions, from your many small submissions!
Far too tender, far too yielding: thus is your earth and soil!  But for a tree to become great, it wants to strike hard roots around hard rocks!"
-Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra 3:5.1-3
(believe me, dear misty spirits, I say none of this to spite you... I only wish I knew I wasn't speaking to the wind myself)


I don't understand what any of you say these days.
It seems like we were once in a single universe,
and all our stories parallels growing alongside one another.
But now the vision has fractured
and our worlds rotate on their own axis, slower and colder at every turn.
Was this inevitable, or simply sudden
(I must not have been paying attention)...
I know my world of icy deserts and snow serpents
seems to have drifted away from you all;
no longer accessible to dream ships or winged warriors of night,
to games echoing games.
Or else I've backed away from words altogether.
I know we still breathe, we still live,
but once again life has lost its crisp quality:
I drift through every day, longing to be elsewhere
and with other minds for company than those that fill my days.
Have I forgotten you all?
No, I simply no longer know you all
and I may as well be screaming words to empty winds
when I write them here or elsewhere
(the internet seems to distort or minimize the impact of all I say).
The only one I think I know is seperated from me by oceans,
and yet I would rather dwell on memories of what I thought could be
than try my game here (where worlds once one are divided)
or there (where meaning is lost to levity).
Love has given me wings,
but not to glide through life in joy
only to fly away from life altogether:
wait for me though my mind is not here.
I then apologise if it seems selfish of me,
that I would rather live alone with this strange new pain
than hold on to old joys that are fadding fast.
I'll tell you all what I've become,
when I find myself again,
until then expect nothing of me,
for I have nothing to promise

 Where is all this pain and this hate coming from,
I cannot understand it.
I could never think this of any of you,
but it seems you can so easily think it of each other.
Where does this bickering end?
when will our common purpose begin?
All these years I have watched silently
as you fought each other,
as you teared yourselves appart...
What?  You think I cannot feel as you feel?
You think my fate is different than your own?
There is no heaven for me either;
the only salvation I get is my own,
the only immortality I can gain is the one I make.
I too am bound to live out this life
while my purpose awaits me elsewhere
(and am forbidden ever to stand too tall --
else the gods strike me down).
Your chains scratch your neck until raw,
but not mine?
No, even were my chains made of silk
while yours were of rough iron,
I could still struggle within them until blood is shed.
Or am I stronger, is my skin thicker?
No, I have seen your strength --
as great as, even greater than mine.
This is what I do not understand:
you have each lived with your burden for years,
some have learned to accept it,
others have turned to understand it,
and now that you know its nature,
why not rise above it?
I could be as tragic as any of you
(and indeed often I am)
but I choose to live it all with a smile
(whether sad or mocking)
because none of you seem to do so.
I choose to laugh at my own misery
so that it knows that I am its master
and not the other way around,
so that there will always be a part of me
that can never be made to kneel
that will always stand strong.

I will forever remain -- defiant.
RK. Sekwaya

Dec. 18th, 2007

 "When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you"
-- Nietzsche



Deus Ignotus - Whirlwinds in the Mind