( me / via )

Zeppelin moment.

"ULFBERHT SWORDS

Where brotherhoods of bluebells flower red,
the feeble bleed to blows of frosted swords
whose lustre hews the world — our future wed
to bellowed woes, the hollow throes of hordes.

We oust the rebel herd. We fell the weeds,
whose tortured souls refuel the howls of hell.
Below our feet, the rotted shrub reseeds
the fortress where our hooded elders dwell.

The flesh we shred restores the forest’s lore.
The blood we shed roulettes the fettered wheel.
Below the trees, where heroes dwelt before,
the Lords of Order bless our lettered steel.

Where seeds of sorrow bud before the rose,
the shroud of Ulfberht robes our oldest foes."

--@Anthony_Etherin

Three sine waves.

"I did not enjoy being made notorious among the semi-illiterate as a purveyor of indecencies and a practitioner of all known initiquities. I disliked, and it may have been a trifle peevishly, the intrusive hordes of idiots and prurient fools, of busy-bodies, of unpublished authors well worthy of that condition, of dabblers in black magic, of catamites and amateur strumpets--all which delinquents and rabble and bobtail, Coolidge then being consul, henceforward, for a full, fretful fifteen years or more, molested me and interfered with my opportunities to write in quiet." --James Branch Cabell, on his Jurgen

Orange dream car.