Monterey Bay Aquarium
ojovivo

Janaina Medeiros
$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Andulka
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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almost home

Product Placement
todays bird
hello vonnie
DEAR READER
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Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
AnasAbdin
wallacepolsom
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@yrrhrafn
King Harald before ceremony
Bjørn Ironside and King Harald Finehair: "Don't you ever dream..."
@lichqueenv4 Fingers Crossed 🤞This Is For You 🇳🇴 Words Of Wisdom Well Received From The King Of All Norway
King Harald ånd Astrid; "...My kingdom is up here..." 🤔
“You sleep a lot, you know what black is, its force is your force.”
— Eugène Guillevic, tr. by Denise Levertov, from “A Hammer,” c. August 1936 (via violentwavesofemotion)
“I have a pain inside me, and I don’t feel very well.”
— W. H. Auden, from The Selected Poems; “Miss Gee,” written c. August 1953 (via violentwavesofemotion)
“There was a black wood, like a soul, all shadow and dream.”
— Grégoire Le Roy, from “Legendary and Melancholic Themes,” wr. c. 1922 (via violentwavesofemotion)
Walt Whitman, ‘Song of Myself’, Leaves of Grass
[Text ID: “I stop somewhere waiting for you.”]
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
[Text ID: “Alone, I often fall down into nothingness.”]
Rainer Marie Rilke, tr. by Edwin Morgan, from Modern European Poetry; “Parting,”
Aurora borealis captured by Matt Robinson, on Senja island, Norway (22/11/2020)
No matter what I do, ever since he left, I cannot sleep. The absence of him is everywhere I look. Alas inside of myself, some awful creation has been brewing; another half of a whole. Because no matter what ever happens, nothing stemming from inside of me is complete.
"King Harald will return, your grace. Alas, you gain nothing from running yourself into a mound." Some kinsmen is at my flank whispering words of counsel I can scarcely hear under my current condition. "Then you refuse drink, you refuse food . . ." My personal guard is droning on and on. Ruling was not my strong suit; it was his greatest ambition not mine. Halfdan The Black had said it best. "The Champion of Norway is all my brother dreams of becoming . . . How could either one of us be enough? More importantly, where is it his heart lies?"
For years all I wanted was nothing. Now I can’t imagine creation without Harald Finehair. And he is gone. He had been gone for months, off chasing whatever it is raiders are after, because let’s face it, it stopped being about revenge a while ago. It starts with a dull ache and gradually progresses until I wake up running and my blood is pumping raging acid. My muscles burned and around me all I could see was a headliner hanging in shreds, waving at me from far off and distant corners. It reads; Harald Finehair has conquered Wessex. The King of all Norway is our reigning champion.
"My lady", his grace calls out; he does not know it, but he seeks a crippled creature, and manically I shift around searching for him. Before I can blink, nearly matching speed of sound, I find myself facing his assault of supressed affections. There are other creatures you can hear singing songs of his return; familiar sounds of horns blaring are piercing my fragile senses and with each kiss he plants I can feel full unhindered pockets of air filling my lungs. "I return and hear you have vanished from existence. But if you were no longer of Midgard, surely, I would know for certain. The absence of you would be all I could feel. The world would make no sense." Carefully he brought a hand up and began stroking one of my cheeks just before he carried me up in his arms. "Did I not promise you a sacred spear?" he goaded as our march under silken moonbeams began. This is what love feels like; or it must be. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. The Gods keep you from dreaming or you’re done for.
For all it’s worth, I can’t remember precisely when I left our Great Hall and strayed from Tamdrup’s shoreline before I found myself lost and confused among greying forestlands. Either way, it’s no matter. This is not a rare occurrence. Nor is it a final one. What matters is he has made a red waste of England. What matters is Loðbrók and sons are no more. Thus, one more prophecy has been fulfilled. This is how it is being a Volva; after a certain point, everything becomes a copy, of a copy, of a copy. The distance from reality is so vast none could dream of reaching me and I could scarcely claw my way back from within. The only meaningful difference is his grace; my personal beacon, guiding us across black seas.