Flowers gathered in the morning; Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered by the evening: You can be me when I'm gone.

I have always been fascinated with words. I can't say exactly when it all started but I know that one day, I picked up a book, started reading and found a world of magic, of kings and queens, giants and dwarves, absent friends and lost loves, old gods and the season of mists. I have read words that were mysterious and like that brief glimpse of a hooded rider while staring out the window, I have looked into the heart of the writer, but only for a moment. I have wandered the soft places, the sunny plains of middle earth, run down twisting tunnels on distant worlds and even glanced at the lost kingdom of Atlantis. Words, for ever to captivate me.

So it came to pass that I chanced across the volumes of "The Sandman". It is at this point that I must shed a tear for those of you who will never discover or understand what the imagination is capable of. What it means to dream, even if it be a little dream. For some the gift was never given, for others the wisdom to comprehend denied, but for you, the fear of old gods long since devoid of power cages you. I am truly sorry.

For those who will never know, I will hazard a brief story but alas it is only a trinket of the treasures that lie awaiting in the world of dreams, the realm of the prince of stories, the land of "The Sandman".

They tell a story of Dream of the endless, who is the king of the dreaming, the place you go every time you leave the waking world. Dream has been imprisoned for almost eighty years and he returns to his realm to find that things have gone amiss. He must restore order in his kingdom, but to do so he needs his tools of power; a pouch of golden sand, a mask and a ruby. The sand was last in the possesion of a mortal, John Constantine. To retrieve the mask he must journey to hell and challenge a duke of the eighth circle, as for the ruby, well like I said, it is a brief story that I dare to relay, for there is no better way to know the story than from the prince of stories himself. So maybe one day I will tell you a story of myself, of my unknowing contest with a god and the wisdom gained, if it may be called that. Goodnight to you and the sweetest of dreams.

To absent friends, lost loves, old gods and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.

I happened to read my horoscope(wonder why they call it that) last week and it encouraged me to pen something. Apparently I was in a very creative state because some planet was moving into the sphere of influence of some other planet.So I toyed with the idea of a love letter, hate mail, short story, resignation letter until the impracticality of most of them led me here; to write this garbage for you to read. And here goes nothing...

1. I don't think I love you anymore!
E decided to send me this txt message the other night. I read it and felt the world fall away from under my feet. Drifting in the vast nothingness I tried to see how it had come to this. "So soon" I thought, "how?" and a myriad of other questions all in an attempt to figure out when I had fallen from grace. On the verge of resigning myself to a life less of love, my phone beeped again and she was saying "It's something a lot more stronger than love...."

2. I cried for you.
Recently I came across a song by a one Katie Melua called "I cried for you". It is a beautiful song! It instantly made it onto my playlist entitled "sombse:some of my best songs ever" And it goes

"You're beautiful so silently
It lies beneath a shade of blue
It struck me so violently
When I looked at you

But others pass, they never pause,
To feel that magic in your hand
To me you're like a wild rose
They never understand why

I cried for you
When the sky cried for you
And when you went
I became a hopeless drifter
But this life was not for you
Though I learned from you,
That beauty need only be a whisper

I'll cross the sea for a different world,
With your treasure, a secret for me to hold

In many years they may forget
This love of ours or that we met,
They may not know
how much you meant to me.

I cried for you
And the sky cried for you,
And when you went
I became a hopeless drifter.
But this life was not for you,
Though I learned from you,
That beauty need only be a whisper

Without you now I see,
How fragile the world can be
And I know you've gone away
But in my heart you'll always stay.

I cried for you
And the sky cried for you,
And when you went
I became a hopeless drifter.
But this life was not for you,
Though I learned from you,
That beauty need only be a whisper
That beauty need only be a whisper"

3. The Dead Man's Chest.
I watched Pirates of the Carribean on sunday. It's brilliant. I have to watch it again!


4. The Season of Mists
I found this incredibly good series of comic books called the sandman. It's about the king of the dreamworld and lots of other stuff, but it is good. There was a part where he was going to hell to set some woman free, whom he had incidentally condemed there about 10000 years before. So he goes to his friend "the wandering jew" and they have a toast that goes as follows
"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."

Bloody brilliant.