The Rain Keeps Falling…

It’s spring now, at least according to the calendar.  I’ve spent a lot of time indoors, between the biting cold and the rain and sleet, just sitting and reading, surrounded by stacks of books.  I read until my eyes ache, drinking wine, sometimes listening to music.  The books and music are practically random, not tied to any specific topic or genre any longer – I just pick something up and start reading it; it could be a Harry Dresden book, or a book on birdwatching, or some ancient tome written in Latin or Lemurian – it doesn’t matter any more, I just need something to keep my mind engaged, keep me focused so my thoughts do not wander.  When thoughts wander there have been… negative consequences.

I still need to sleep, however, and when I sleep, I still dream.  I have my evening rituals, my sigils and spells and candles to protect me from the black wings and the madness and the pipers.  I can still have ‘normal’ dreams though – the things in my subconscious can still spill out before my eyes as I drift to sleep, and my own thoughts and twisted memories can still torment me and drive me mad as I embrace that cursed slumber.

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It is as if I am waking from a long and uncomfortable slumber full of half-known dreamscapes full of fragments of long lost knowledge.  I have been in a daze, I don’t know how long – I remember shadows, sounds, disorientation.  I remember sounds, too – normal, everyday sounds of traffic and conversation, but with a strange discordant piping under it, nearly imperceptible but always there, at the corners of the world.


“An Innocent Book”

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