Diaries of the Hermit

Hello. Welcome to my woods. What do you need to know? My pen name is Kwesi. I'm in my late 20s. I'm mostly Black, like a quarter Jewish and I got a sprinkling of Celt and Saxon in me. I’m a wizard by trade and I make hip-hop for the magically inclined. Sometimes I post the twisting, explosive thoughts that dwell in my mind and thus release them into the void of the internet. Well, that’s about that. If you want to know more, you’re gonna have to ask. Websites: soundcloud.com/kwesi-the-hermit & denoftherhermit.com

[the-wolf-and-moon]

NGC 6960, Witch's Broom

[vonsalomonii]

Tibeto-mongolian organized crime following the collapse of USSR in the 90’s.

[diariesofthehermit]

[diariesofthehermit]

I absolutely feel like completely giving up on life today and there’s no one I can tell.

[diariesofthehermit]

What Happened to Johnny Walker

by the Hermit

Johnny Walker was a travelling man

Who didn’t own nearly a thing, 

‘Cept for a little old banjo and a voice that could sing. 

He was walking through the park 

In the hour ‘fore the rising sun, 

Neath the trees and the shadowy dark, 

His spirit blue and draped in glum- 

For Johnny was a travelling man 

Without a cent to his name, 

Want was his only companion, 

His hunger was matched only by his shame. 

So he sat down on a great gray stone, 

And strummed his round wooden heart, 

And sang himself a bluesy tune, 

And waited for the day to start. 

And as he sang, and as he played, 

And as the night gathered to listen close, 

A woman in black appeared 

Though he saw her not approach, 

She was tall, and she was lovely, and she was strange; 

And more than all else did he long to know her name: 

Her face was young, her eyes were red, her skin a pallid gray, 

His hands froze on his round wooden heart and his voice slipped all away, 

Her curling hair was black as night, 

Her feet graced the earth bare, 

From beneath her dress flicked an ox’s tail, 

His soul her soft lips did ensnare: 

His name she called out, voice sweet as a harp, 

His feet could not move, his lips could not part, 

And as she smiled he saw how white were her teeth, and how sharp-

“Johnny, Johnny Walker, 

Who’s great grandparents were sharecroppers, 

Blood of Oyo, Ife and Dahomey, 

Johnny, Johnny Walker, 

Does your voice not ring true and holy? 

The gods of old you make me recall; 

Twas fate that led you to my hollowed halls, 

From the day of your birth in hot blooded July, 

From the day your good mother first heard you cry, 

From far in Harlem with its walls of stone, 

To the high stone roofs of your coming home.” 

She beckoned, her each nail like an owl’s claw, 

And Johnny trembled but did not walk, his soul yet in awe- 

He started and stuttered and started again, 

And, summoning strength beyond all current men, 

With a voice, like the gods, holy and true, 

Stammered:  “Please, ma’am, but who- who are you?”

And she sang sweet as nectar 

With a voice like the strings of a lyre, 

A voice that set Johnny’s soul on blazing black fire: 

“Older than the oldest, wiser than the wisest, 

Greater than all the great, 

I am the weaver of dreams and the singer of the fates, 

I am the bright morning star and I am the pale white moon, 

I am the hidden haunt that lurks within the cold gray tomb, 

I am kin to root and branch and deep black earth, 

I am the keeper of treasures beyond all mortal measures of worth. 

I am she who speaks the raven’s tongue, 

And who wanders, unharmed, through the hells, 

I am she who eats the burning sun, 

And who knows well the old spells: 

With a word I let loose the thunderous storm, 

With two, I make it abate, 

With three, I transform into any form, 

With four, I open any gate, 

With five, I fling ill-health and death, 

With six, I make the corpse-folk speak, 

With seven, I return life’s breath, 

With eight, I weave the dreams of sleep, 

With nine, to any realm, I traverse, 

With ten, I pierce the veils of time, 

With eleven, I level kingdoms to earth, 

With twelve I grant a gift sublime. 

Yes, man, 

I am she whose hands crush men's heads, 

I am she whose teeth grinds their bones, 

She who fills their hearts with dread, 

And makes them lust and thrust and moan…

So come mortal, to my bed, 

My bed down below, alone, 

Come mortal, let your soul be fed, 

And follow the she-troll home. 

But be quick my love! The sun is coming, 

And from its cold rays I must go running.” 

“But, where beneath the dark-blue sky

Would live a pair like you and I?” 

“In hollowed earth where is my home, 

Beneath the roofs of earth and stone, 

With towers of gold and soft beds for rest, 

Sweet lips to kiss and my arms to caress. 

But be quick my love! The sun is coming, 

And from it’s cold rays I must go running.” 

“I crave, my queen, all that you have thus claimed, 

But how, with you, shall my life be sustained?” 

“With the sweetest of wines, the purest of waters, 

And the most delightful of victuals for feasts, 

Of that which I promise you, Mister Walker,

this for certain is the least! 

But be quick my love! The sun is coming,

And from it’s cold rays I must go running.” 

“But, my goddess, still I cannot see-

What would you want with the likes of me?” 

“Dear fool, who now knows you better than I?

Not you, for certain, if I may speak the truth-

Your soul is betrayed by your every sigh,

Your voice rings out like the skalds of my youth. 

Your lips pour forth the songs of gods long gone,

And I spy spirits here whose feet dance along, 

For I am wise, wiser than any mortal, woman or man, 

And my love more true than of any who may walk atop the land! 

But be quick my love! The time is now near,

I shan’t last long if the sun should appear!"

And with that, Johnny stepped forward, 

For no longer could he resist, 

And in that very instant she grabbed ahold of his wrist, 

And that same moment, at the first light of dawn, 

Johnny, and the woman, vanished and were gone. 

[diariesofthehermit]

The hermit is dead. Long live the hermit.

I say goodbye to fear. I say goodbye to shame. I say goodbye to self-pity. I say goodbye to the demons which haunt my life. They are all no more.

I can live no more in misery. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, however long or short that may be.

Gods make their own path.

[jramseyi]

Traveling mushroom and his trusted cat

[eyanin]

[johannaforster]

A whole bunch of adorable veggie friends for you! Don’t worry about not being able to eat healthy anymore, my Grunlings aren’t actual food!

They are gentle spirits of nature and if someone is lucky enough to see or even befriend a Grunling, they can become incredibly supportive with gardening. ;) 🌱

[saltmalkin]

my cat lily

[enchantedbook]

‘Mountain Master’ from 'Tales of Pavel Bazhov’ illustrated by Vyacheslav Nazaruk

[diariesofthehermit]

[OC]

As the holiday season picks up, I find myself reminded of sweet little nuggets of wisdom I heard as a child, such as "let's kill sandy clause" and "know the power of the dark side." I just wanted to share some holiday cheer.

[diariesofthehermit]

Rougish Hip Hop for summoning the spirits, brewing potions of power or merely casting hexes upon thine enemies...IT’S THE WITCHING HOUR

[beddoart]

illmatic #57 by Beddo (classic comicbook cover remix of Avengers #57).  @beddoart

“Time is illmatic, keep static like wool fabric…”  - Nas.

[beddoart]

Biggie #50 by Beddo (classic comic book cover remix of Spider-Man #50).  @beddoart

“Glocks and tecs are expected when I wreck sh#t, Respect is collected, so check it…” - Biggie Smalls.

[thekimonogallery]

Klimt cat obi, by Gofukuyasan

[thekimonogallery]

By Japanese illustrator Midori Yamada