#hisspun

[chelseawolfeonly]

Chelsea Wolfe  performing “Spun,” at KXP c. 2018

[mournfulroses]

No turning back. Only God knows what we're headed for. The flowers bloom, the sun rises

[mournfulroses]

Dead eyes, I only call you when you’re in my dreams. Died too young, the culling then, it was obscene

[mournfulroses]

The kettle is wheeling, my love, riding on the back of a hell they caused

[onsand]

@hisspun said  :    i am not whining.

     IT’S COLD ENOUGH THAT WILL CAN SEE HIS BREATH.    it plumes out,  translucent,  from his nose,  his lips,  steams in rhythmic puffs from his dogs’ open mouths.    another addition of white to a world already blanketed in it  —  snow wraps its hands around the tree branches,  spreads itself over the forest floor to hide the decaying leaves that give like sponge beneath their feet once their boots break the subtle crust of ice.    even the sky has been bled of color,  thick with grey and strains of purer white.    will has always found a kind of beauty in it,  the sharpness of lack of color,  the bite of the cold.    he can feel it in his cheeks now,  which are cold-warmed and surely tinged red.

     the polar explorers had seen it,  he thinks.    something of the sublime in the austerity of the frozen,  unforgiving land  —  icy halls of cold sublimity,  lofty peaks perfectly covered with eternal snow.    a kind of death that isn’t decay,  a suspension of time.    an impersonality,  or maybe a liminality,  that both attracts and repels.    the eternal round of the universe and its eternal death

      murphy doesn’t appear to recognize it  —  or,  if he does,  his appreciation is worn thin by the elements,  stretched like a membrane,  a gluten window pulled between lightly-floured thumbs.    he had hidden his irritation well,  at first,  but the half-life of his tolerance is short,  and will can see his patience being ground down by time like grain in a millstone.    it’s been rude of him,  perhaps,  to feign ignorance,  to continue on without offering some alternative or reprieve.    but murphy has been good-natured about it,  thus far,  and they are not close enough for will to feel the tug of pity,  or responsibility.    murphy had agreed to this,  after all,  and the day is not that sharp.

     will glances at him,  an acquiescence in the moment of eye contact that is shared like communion between them,  and raises an eyebrow in silent disagreement.    his lips twitch into a form like that of a wry smile,  and he returns his gaze to the sparkling,  hardened snow.    it’s marred by pawprints of various sizes,  a random pattern cut through occasionally by the appearance of hooves.

     he doesn’t offer murphy any platitudes  —  they’re almost back at the house now,  and will’s amusement is softer when not sharpened by words  —  but he considers the whiskey sitting out on the kitchen table,  the lemons in his refrigerator and the honey in the pantry,  and thinks a warm drink will be as adequate an apology as any.

                       MEME      /      ACCEPTING

[wednesdeus-blog]

❝ do you remember when we were young ? ❞

HEAD FULL OF SNOW : OPEN

          ❝  If my memory does not fail me, you were young far before I ever got to smell my first rainstorm, Morpheus.  ❞    A smile spread across his face. The spoon stirring his black coffee clicked against the sides of his cup. Wednesday would need plenty of caffeine if he wished to stay awake and not slip and fall under the promises of THE AMERICAN DREAM. So many lives had been lost because of it, so many talents wasted, so many traditions erased ... Morpheus looked like one of them : A Whole Foods worshipping , sunglasses wearing, poetic sounding fuck that thought life to be made up of songs and fresh fruits ! He fit right into that modern American society. And the old god couldn’t imagine anything more HORRIFYING than that. Odin’s one good eye examined Murphy from head to toe. He pursed his lips together while shaking his head looking exaggeratedly solemn.           ❝ And yet , I see only one of us got to keep their beauty intact.  ❞    He placed his small spoon down and raised the coffee to his lips. But before he could sip on it, Grimnir made sure to give his friend a reassuring look.    ❝   I can only imagine how hard it must be, but do try not to be too jealous.  ❞