#caacrinolaas

[jackrabbitomniscient]

President Caacrinolaas!

[wildernessofstanthony]

Glasya Labolas. 25th Goetic Spirit. Teaches all arts and sciences instantly. Inspires murder and bloodshed. Teaches the Black Arts. Illustrated by Joel Innes

[spookyskelekat]

“Glasya Labolas, alias Caacrinolaas, or Caassimolar, is a great president, who commeth foorth like a dog, and hath wings like a griffen, he giveth the knowledge of arts, and is the captaine of all mansleiers: he understandeth things present and to come, he gaineth the minds and love of freends and foes, he maketh a man go invisible, and hath the rule of six and thirtie legions.”

[aafsohb]

Caacrinolaas as depicted in the “Dictionnaire Infernal” (1863).

[homer1homer2-blog]

500words Finish chapter. So desperately want to write more. But The Forlorn Ballad wont come out. Not because I don’t know what’s going to happen next. (That’s easy) Not because I just don’t want to.

But because I am sorry too. Mostly because I can’t help, but how much I want to.

I find myself unfairly preoccupied with the notion of what could be.

Maddening, to find something you’ve been looking for, only to realize it’s not yours. Like picking up a dropped ring out of the mud to have the owner put it back in their pocket without cleaning it. I want to polish the metal, clean the stone and bring out the firey shine of the brilliant cut diamond within. One should elevate the things they love.

But there it is again…that word, what is ‘love’?

I remember it as a child, as a adolescent, a young adult…but then, love faded, and faded, and faded…into...oblivion, the love that I had with M faded into a obligatory love. A commitment to love. Which, just wasn’t there. Partly my fault, partly the fault of M…end of day, I have seen it before, I have lived it, been torn apart by it, ripped to shreds, flayed, and broken at 3am staring into space, naked on the shower floor, to exit to my partner only to be lonely, but not alone. Desperate for that certain type of attention, that they wouldn't even know how to give

I see the cracks happening, fissures really.

I can’t help. I could. I want to. I must not.

I am sorry. For appearing. For shining bright.

My hope is that my light will make a love re-blossom and grow wild! I would be happy to watch!

My fear is that my light has illuminated the festering wounds, and they are now plain for all to see.

…

There. Now off to Adult, then on return, perhaps my mind will be clear enough to write Novel.

Blergha

[weinerdogz-blog]