(via fantasticfiction dot co dot uk)


Talk to this lost soul without using your god-word. Show him why you kill, told not to. Show him your I-can-do-it pass, your god-sign fucking blood warrant.


Fat Whit* Vampir* Blu*s.


   "Rat Pack Christmas"

casting through murky Xanadu
murrainwind · final shadows · pyx
wall fix smooth Samhain find chair
down girasol rasorial
wombat atrophy; gold Saturn
trophy bruff Cthulhu coil

wain trim, or cargo ransom
a slag long


I saw a bruff not long ago, moon-rainbow, its chill profound. My cargo cult of singular waiting. Slag into which tors fall. Trim your arbor scaffold, and carol.