Wonderment

Rocks and logs can bite like dogs, but words will never hurt me!

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Relocating

I'll be moving over accounts - but I won't be openly linking it. So if anyone at all is interested, write me in, and I'll gladly give you the new. A fresh new start never hurts, yeah?

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Oh, and what fine details have surpassed even my own vision - something of the More, than What Was. No matter watch architecture my eyes may run down upon, a mechanical regard deducing it into so little - but to see what stone it was made out of, the simplest of concretes or the knowledge of what made a building brick from brick. The air - the altitude, the corrections and the most basic of understandings, presented and using them as tools of war. Never was there that depth, as we ran down these splintered paths, you feeling, swift - cunning, and so full of hope. I, forgetful - my gears breaking down of a previous concept of what I was, a hollow shell - brainwashed, loss of memory and plagued with the lack of you.

But I look back now, and see you. Dogs among the swine, and our stature so awkward - our hands formed not from the same material to make us stand out among these men, be spat at and called rejects. Myself, I bear these words - bastard, devil, demon with righteousness of what I have done. To you, and others - so ravaging, so brutal. A corrosive part of the decay, that you were not part of. You never were. You look at me, you grin - you say you are there, and that you will not leave - that you will always be there. Oh, and that stirs something from me, awkward canine giving some gesture, ears pulled back to suggest some emotion, and some feeling.

You and I, of the same soul. You say you will not leave me, and you will follow me constantly - and never again shall we part.

Silently, I promise you, that I will be there, too. No matter how scarred, torn apart, we both may be.

You promise.

... And I believe you.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Let us not manipulate ourselves into a false stupor, serpentine maggot - who doth hide himself behind a million faces, a million skins and stools. Tell me, do they compensate for the many lives on worlds, you have reaped? Only to be justified upon a sudden epiphany? But nay! That is not quite so - nor will it ever be. You and I know both of this lingering evil - so a terrible gloom that plagues the sky of a world not our own. I reckon you need assistance? ...No? Well, you are arrogant - and even in your pride, truth eats at your very soul. Prodding at the gluttonous thing you are. I, bleeding, dripping menace who skull cannot stop grinning remain - while your time runs out. Our lives - no, their lives are such precious little tokens aren't they? But corroded, rotten. Tick tock, you may be able to save them - but you are wasting precious resources to save their world. Hiss at me, snap and poison me you malevolent beast! I am the neutral party - and yet I can help you.

Tear my pelt, see, who's side is the true. Yes, I am here. Speak to me, and follow - and we will then dictate if you are rotted maggot or some glorified hero."

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Lovely contemplation of sketches by mothbane.

Thank you very much and despite what you may think, none of these actually fail - even if you are a lazy butt and can't even upload this yourself. I love these too much I really really doo~

More spam to follow for you, sir, more spam to follow!

[smokkfiskur-blog]

A thief on the prowess, that very hound lost from my grasp. Once so ensnared - but so fleeting, you left me - you left them. Only to invoke such chaos, bitterness - that fills me to the brink of destruction, decay. That voice echoing so clearly - how could I ever let you get away. A missing ship, tracked, and so dully recollected, that puny mutt exiting once more. I hated you (emotion is insignificant, it does not exist), but I could not strike you there. Beat you to the ground - make you whimper, no. My body, broken - and that weapon rusted with the stain of defeat. One glance, past the lanterns - you saw. You followed, as if a lost puppy. (Yes, yes, come closer.). But no, you could not near me - dangerous, violent, but yet welcoming. Air lingering in toxicity, one move could be the end of you and I. Down the streets, into the mouth of the city before us. Sharp towers, sharp shapes - jutting out and threatening to cut. Still, you followed, whimpering dog, and so tense, cautious. There was something (but still, you, and everyone felt like nothing). And then, a barking voice, a single signal - I had left you, ragged dog. Pitiful mutt on the streets - how dare you steal my face, blue eye. Such resentment, should I be able to feel, would be there. You earned his favour, his interests - but you were nothing but a rebel. Maybe then, I was nothing but a slave. .... Oh, but that face - single wag of the tail. Perhaps there was more. ... No. Impossible. You are the enemy. You are the decay. Pursue me no further. It will get you nowhere.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

The White Dragon - of eyes so blue, an innocent mockery of past. Hvaða fortíð? Memory - I have none, fleeting and leaving me solidified. Þegar ég flyt, brjóta ég. Gears, málm - merkið mig svo. You circle, you are intoxicating. How you provoke my envy - oh, my hate. En ég er vél? Tilfinning er ekki til. Straight lines - curve in, enclose me, ensnare me. It is you, at every turn that I see. It is you, of whom triggers these petty responses. To serve the King - I would. En þú sýndi mér meira, svo miklu meira. ... I am lost. I am prisoner - but I am not. That light, at the end of the road, I struggle toward. Faltering, gears against metal - the awkward wiring of my brain. Take me, then - serpent. Show me what it is, this King of ours gawks over. En að lokum, ég get ekki andað án þín. Lifandi. Dafna. Tilgangslaust án þín.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

The dog - the essence of myself, the human part of me so vague - chased out, ruined with the conquest of the swine. Torn apart, in death and chaos. The loss, the decay - but only to be combated with wholeness and awe. Every wound, every strike taken, to lead to something new in means of redemption. Loyalty, without question, it borrows its way through my skull. The dog's skull - that same face, barking, snarling, panting, smiling. It is my skin, it is my soul - I am its flesh and blood, and every crevice of that bone. Although this flesh, these awkward steps anchor me so - I am that dog. Hunting, howling, watching into the night. I tracked you down, oh yes. I can track many more - what blood will be shed in my name, and yours. Brother, the hounds of justice, we are. Let it course through our veins. They will then see, what it means to be struck down by the dog. To fear its growl, our growl. Power, glory, incarnate just in skin and bone.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

The salty air that stained my breath, the simple sand that would quickly retreat after each step in its silken earth. Every cry of the gull that come to past - every wave that struck the rock, I knew. I knew that this was my home, bound and anchored to this glorious thing that was the sea. What was nothing, but was everything. The tales of beasts would not warrant a retreat, for no. You all, so foolish - fail to recognise the true beasts are on land. They are yourselves. The march of progression, the killing of lands riches. Its life - and only does the serpent's eye see. Coiling around death, to witness the decay, baring not his fangs. For patience is to be had, when deaths are in vain, in cold blood. Not his own, but many more. Had it not been for you, my awkward brother, I would have set sail long ago. Feel at home once at the seas - even if before my death. A serpent's soul, where many of his kin had long sense been. Those monsters, simple homage and nothing more. Tell me, had I gone - and the serpent's eye had turned, nevermore watchful, what had it done? It was your home, your cause - I followed. Never my own. Cocky eagle, I could have clashed with you, many times before. Fangs buried, while your beak tear through scales. But not so, these two sides of me. Acceptance, you offered, and as a whole, so reluctantly I stayed.

-

Slightly inspired by this.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

His Thousand Eyes, watching him. As if but a hawk - but not, and those eyes, so precise - not just his own! Something of mechanical wonders, of desire and gleam. Reminding him that he too, was his little machine. But no - he was not, that dog, uncollared but so awkwardly bound. He snapped and turned, struck at his half, but never his master. Never the taint that had corrupted him, but at his soul. The pigs? Not this dog's worry, but the one. There was hope for the metal arm - but yet! Just before the swine had aimed to snap his little pet. Break him in two - as if that robot waltzed free from his grasp, none can have. None can have, but the aggressor. The Blue Eyed beast that the King would too, have dead.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

The night was clouded once more with ash - the air dead and ringing with an all too familiar sound of marching footsteps against the broken ground. The humming of their ships, so noticeable, so aggravating with its constant, rhythmical harmony of gears and flame tossing and churning inside those wretched machines. Those machines, to us - looking like monsters instead of just plain ships. What was simply a machine to us, was destructive and so toxic. To be feared, ran from. Oh, but lie beneath them was the true terror. Those hollow masks, in representation of what that lightening tower had drawn forth from the earth. More flames, scorching terror and death - but this time, in the form of our own flesh. Buried beneath armour, and uniforms. An incarnate of what we were, and contorted into a more nightmarish frame. Where we did not have faces, nor rational thought. We were monsters, marching on feverishly so - us, our brother and blood, turned cold and bitter. The only pure would be in rebellion, or the masses that have long sense fled from this city of ruin, but where many were just the same! Little refuge, under the reign of the Swine King. Perhaps it was a blessing - this old Commander of the King. Callous, seeming - but with more remorse and more calculation than the man so easily seen before these hollowed souls. Red eyes, two as opposed to one, standing in their own terror. Mechanical insanity, something both delightful and corrupting - so evident in his gaze! The lapdog, the shock collar, as if too, an emissary of that electric tower. If not its incarnate itself. His power unstable, and his own demons having their lives on their line in his presense. Quick to make them suffer, as much as us and our blessed cities. Our architecture, our lives. The screaming of his manic voice, barking out orders or laughing - soon followed by more destruction, explosions. A removal of his helmet, showed the terror had a face, much alike us. Something human, in a monster. Something that can easily be seen in us all. Something I have seen countless times, and will continuously to this day. I will act as if I was innocent in my days, and that I was an ordinary civilian, but no. I am more, but less than my fellows. An infiltrator, an instigator. This very terror, I may too, have to serve for, and in such an act, once more I will plead for my forgiveness. Claus, Lucas, Donovich -- and the list goes on! Those who oppose to this march. Another battle, will soon commence. We know, our lives are in danger, countless times as we watch our own kin be butchered like the pigs that rule. I, the serpent will say this now - that we, just as much as they always take part in that walk. Constantly, endlessly. The March. -Thomas Montgomery, The Serpent's Eye

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Replacement, you say? Torn away from your little soldier boy, take in a wild beast to replace the dog. Oh, I can bark, and I can snap. At what you want? Why not the swine instead? A shock to the hide - the nerves - and there goes the fun! But the pile of bodies beside me, oh King. That is something to live for. To relish in their blood. All the blood. C'mon, make me a killer - you know you already have. Make it worse? We all can play that game too! One dead soul at a time, is all it takes.

[kurapiked]

Visit Original Link

.flow remix - Momento Mori

[smokkfiskur-blog]

And what are we, my dear? Birds of the feather - never fully plucked clean. Never us, nor our hatchlings. Driven from the wood, we were. What happened to that peace, I wonder? Delicate songs, what had made us feel so whole. So alive. But no, our feathers - our crests held high, my dear, but there is more. We may not be plucked, but the darkness will plunder and take as he wants. War will ravage, and destroy - and why must you be taken away, too? To carry out its ravenous duties - but against your own will. Your pain, is my own, but you are much stronger than I. So go now, Great Eagle - soar the skies. Do as you must, and know at home, here we are. The family of birds, predatory, but pure. Welcome you in our wings, our talons. For we are birds of a feather, forced out into the street. But so boldly do we stand yet!

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Shock Collar

And so it was, the sad little boy - a plaything to the big, rampant beast (no forgive me, I do not mean to call you a monster, friend!), but not killed - no, not fully. Torn away at the last second, but you, Pig King, had him think I was dead. Oh, and did I have the scars to prove it! So much, I became weak willed and so much easier for you (no, your cronies you fat fuck) to manipulate me, assault my senses and turn me into one of your machines - hybrids. What did you call them? Ah, yes yes - how could I ever forget, the chimeras. What was I, then? Something lesser than what my buddy ol' pal had been when I took a fang to my hide - or skin - what? Two, three, four, a million times? Over-exaggeration, but it had happened again, and again. Suffocated by this twisted creature, only just a fragment of what your comrade had been. Blood-thirsty (now now, I know you didn't mean it), crazed, insane, just wanting another fucking meal to feed its frenzy. To cull its anger. Induced by what, you may ask? Well, what other than the swine! Filthy pigs, you all are - swine and nothing more, but yet because of you, oh majesty I was created to serve out my own little duty as your experiment. No, I wasn't your brainwashed little boy who did everything you asked and told, the loyal dog who would bring some dead bird and ask for your praise - I was the destructive tyrant who would slaughter anything in his way. His own men, and how he's long for the chance to get at you, too. In a heartbeat, oh yes, feel your blood on my blade - my gun, anything I am able to use on you! Butcher the pig, lalala! Good ol' song, just between me and you. (Remember a time I wasn't this insane? How we laughed, we sang and it was happy, between you and I, I helped you search for your other half. How happy, the two of you must be.) Oh, but the leash was cut short and you had prized me, if only due to your fond memory and hate of the one who bested you, but still had never stunted your power, you damned pig. Collar, some elaborate restraint, and it shocked. What would you do when I was out of line? Press a button, and shock me - near to death if you wanted to. But death was satisfactory, was it not? The King took my eyes - replaced it with these throbbing, aching, things - more handy? Certainly! I was like a hawk - some predatory bird, sharp talons and ready to strike, with hardly anything standing in my way! (But it throbbed, it throbbed, I tell you - and I can hardly think straight, no, he ruined that too.) My hand - no longer flesh, no longer feeling, some material claw - not quite metal, but some experiment you had, some alloy to be stronger than just that. But was it? Well, I was the lackey to test it out! Muscles strained, a leg nearly torn off salvaged enough just to feel every nerve and ounce of pain scream out at one wrong movement, have the dog limp, but endure the pain for he must march on. Follow the swine - be that replaced, brainwashed puppy that I was not. Bite the hand that feeds? I wish I could, oh, how I wish I could. But I could not. Það er engin samúð fyrir mig. Not a single ounce of love will combat that insanity - and even if I had escaped, I am still plagued, I am still choked with this collar, as if but a part of me. What sanity I had, will plead, I am sorry. (Svo leitt.) But I am plagued with too much sin, to be forgiven now. Þú tvo eru ánægðir. Er þetta ekki það sem skiptir máli? Let the swine, have his choke-hold over me until I die, plagued to servitude forevermore. Run fast, you two dogs - I'll listen for your howls, linger in my melancholy. Knowing what little I had of a friend (just an illusion), is now, so far out of reach.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

And there are times, we do not choose what we are. Who we are. Old frail, battered and bruised - but once a thief who gallivanted on the night! Not fox, nor man - but in memory, perhaps both. Skulking, lingering past demons and what you once had called home. Torn away from it, but to find another. Gone, you sad old creature. Sad old creature that I call, Fox.

[smokkfiskur-blog]

Don't worry. We'll always be watching you.

[daytripping]

Oh, I’m a panther. I shall slip unnoticed through the darkness… like a dark, unnoticeable slippy thing.

Valentine, Mirrormask (via snuast)