Thor's Dream III

If this should meet the eye of the gentleman who favoured me with these disclosures, I trust he will excuse my confessing that the sight of the rising sun, and the contemplation of the magnificent Order of the vast Universe, made me impatient of them. In a word, I was so impatient of them, that I was mightily glad to get out at the next station, and to exchange these clouds and vapours for the free air of Heaven.
By that time it was a beautiful morning. As I walked away among such leaves as had already fallen from the golden, brown, and russet trees; and as I looked around me on the wonders of Creation, and thought of the steady, unchanging, and harmonious laws by which they are sustained; the gentleman's spiritual intercourse seemed to me as poor a piece of journey-work as ever this world saw. In which heathen state of mind, I came within view of the house, and stopped to examine it attentively.
It was a solitary house, standing in a sadly neglected garden: a pretty even square of some two acres. It was a house of about the time of George the Second; as stiff, as cold, as formal, and in as bad taste, as could possibly be desired by the most loyal admirer of the whole quartet of Georges. It was uninhabited, but had, within a year or two, been cheaply repaired to render it habitable; I say cheaply, because the work had been done in a surface manner, and was already decaying as to the paint and plaster, though the colours were fresh. A lop-sided board drooped over the garden wall, announcing that it was "to let on very reasonable terms, well furnished." It was much too closely and heavily shadowed by trees, and, in particular, there were six tall poplars before the front windows, which were excessively melancholy, and the site of which had been extremely ill chosen.
It was easy to see that it was an avoided house -- a house that was shunned by the village, to which my eye was guided by a church spire some half a mile off -- a house that nobody would take. And the natural inference was, that it had the reputation of being a haunted house.
No period within the four-and-twenty hours of day and night is so solemn to me, as the early morning. In the summer-time, I often rise very early, and repair to my room to do a day's work before breakfast, and I am always on those occasions deeply impressed by the stillness and solitude around me. Besides that there is something awful in the being surrounded by familiar faces asleep -- in the knowledge that those who are dearest to us and to whom we are dearest, are profoundly unconscious of us, in an impassive state, anticipative of that mysterious condition to which we are all tending -- the stopped life, the broken threads of yesterday, the deserted seat, the closed book, the unfinished but abandoned occupation, all are images of Death. The tranquillity of the hour is the tranquillity of Death. The colour and the chill have the same association. Even a certain air that familiar household objects take upon them when they first emerge from the shadows of the night into the morning, of being newer, and as they used to be long ago, has its counterpart in the subsidence of the worn face of maturity or age, in death, into the old youthful look. Moreover, I once saw the apparition of my father, at this hour. He was alive and well, and nothing ever came of it, but I saw him in the daylight, sitting with his back towards me, on a seat that stood beside my bed. His head was resting on his hand, and whether he was slumbering or grieving, I could not discern. Amazed to see him there, I sat up, moved my position, leaned out of bed, and watched him. As he did not move, I spoke to him more than once. As he did not move then, I became alarmed and laid my hand upon his shoulder, as I thought -- and there was no such thing.

Thor's dream II The mortals that Linger in the house

It was a cold, dead morning (the sun not being up yet), and when I had out-watched the paling light of the fires of the iron country, and the curtain of heavy smoke that hung at once between me and the stars and between me and the day, I turned to my fellow-traveller and said:
"I BEG your pardon, sir, but do you observe anything particular in me"? For, really, he appeared to be taking down, either my travelling-cap or my hair, with a minuteness that was a liberty.
The goggle-eyed gentleman withdrew his eyes from behind me, as if the back of the carriage were a hundred miles off, and said, with a lofty look of compassion for my insignificance:
"In you, sir? -- B."
"B, sir?" said I, growing warm.
"I have nothing to do with you, sir," returned the gentleman; "pray let me listen -- O."
He enunciated this vowel after a pause, and noted it down.
At first I was alarmed, for an Express lunatic and no communication with the guard, is a serious position. The thought came to my relief that the gentleman might be what is popularly called a Rapper: one of a sect for (some of) whom I have the highest respect, but whom I don't believe in. I was going to ask him the question, when he took the bread out of my mouth.
"You will excuse me," said the gentleman contemptuously, "if I am too much in advance of common humanity to trouble myself at all about it. I have passed the night -- as indeed I pass the whole of my time now -- in spiritual intercourse."
"O!" said I, somewhat snappishly.
"The conferences of the night began," continued the gentleman, turning several leaves of his note-book, "with this message: 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.'"
"Sound," said I; "but, absolutely new?"
"New from spirits," returned the gentleman.
I could only repeat my rather snappish "O!" and ask if I might be favoured with the last communication.
"'A bird in the hand,'" said the gentleman, reading his last entry with great solemnity, "'is worth two in the Bosh.'"
"Truly I am of the same opinion," said I; "but shouldn't it be Bush?"
"It came to me, Bosh," returned the gentleman.
The gentleman then informed me that the spirit of Socrates had delivered this special revelation in the course of the night. "My friend, I hope you are pretty well. There are two in this railway carriage. How do you do? There are seventeen thousand four hundred and seventy-nine spirits here, but you cannot see them. Pythagoras is here. He is not at liberty to mention it, but hopes you like travelling." Galileo likewise had dropped in, with this scientific intelligence. "I am glad to see you, AMICO. COME STA? Water will freeze when it is cold enough. ADDIO!" In the course of the night, also, the following phenomena had occurred. Bishop Butler had insisted on spelling his name, "Bubler," for which offence against orthography and good manners he had been dismissed as out of temper. John Milton (suspected of wilful mystification) had repudiated the authorship of Paradise Lost, and had introduced, as joint authors of that poem, two Unknown gentlemen, respectively named Grungers and Scadgingtone. And Prince Arthur, nephew of King John of England, had described himself as tolerably comfortable in the seventh circle, where he was learning to paint on velvet, under the direction of Mrs. Trimmer and Mary Queen of Scots.

Thor's dream I the haunted house

Dream I - THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE

Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece. I saw it in the daylight, with the sun upon it. There was no wind, no rain, no lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted circumstance, of any kind, to heighten its effect. More than that: I had come to it direct from a railway station: it was not more than a mile distant from the railway station; and, as I stood outside the house, looking back upon the way I had come, I could see the goods train running smoothly along the embankment in the valley. I will not say that everything was utterly commonplace, because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly commonplace people- -and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take it on myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it, any fine autumn morning.
The manner of my lighting on it was this.
I was travelling towards London out of the North, intending to stop by the way, to look at the house. My health required a temporary residence in the country; and a friend of mine who knew that, and who had happened to drive past the house, had written to me to suggest it as a likely place. I had got into the train at midnight, and had fallen asleep, and had woke up and had sat looking out of window at the brilliant Northern Lights in the sky, and had fallen asleep again, and had woke up again to find the night gone, with the usual discontented conviction on me that I hadn't been to sleep at all; -- upon which question, in the first imbecility of that condition, I am ashamed to believe that I would have done wager by battle with the man who sat opposite me. That opposite man had had, through the night -- as that opposite man always has -- several legs too many, and all of them too long. In addition to this unreasonable conduct (which was only to be expected of him), he had had a pencil and a pocket-book, and had been perpetually listening and taking notes. It had appeared to me that these aggravating notes related to the jolts and bumps of the carriage, and I should have resigned myself to his taking them, under a general supposition that he was in the civil-engineering way of life, if he had not sat staring straight over my head whenever he listened. He was a goggle-eyed gentleman of a perplexed aspect, and his demeanour became unbearable.

Shinigami Thought XXIII Suffering

My deepest fear has come true my pain has trascended in to constant suffering I walk down a path no one can follow

Like the moon

you are changeable,

ever waxing

and waning;

hateful life

first oppresses

and then soothes

as fancy takes it;

poverty

and power

it melts them like ice.

Fate – monstrous

and empty,

you whirling wheel,

you are malevolent,

well-being is vain

and always fades to nothing,

shadowed

and veiled

you plague me too;

now through the game

I bring my bare back

to your villainy.

Fate is against me

in health

and virtue,

driven on

and weighted down,

always enslaved.

So at this hour

without delay

pluck the vibrating strings;

since Fate

strikes down the string man,

everyone weep with me!

Shinigami Thought XXII Pain

Commending my thoughts in hatred
“There is one pain I often feel, which you will never know. It is caused by the absence of you.”
(hate leads to pain pain leads to suffering this is my down fall im found in the edge of the abyss)


[Agony] I am pain
I am real. I'm not a dream
I'm the chain around your neck as you scream

Surrender now
You can't beat death at his ruthless game
Make your bow
Hang your head in shame

[Me] I can't believe there is no way out...
[Agony] You'll find you are wrong
[Me] You fill me with doubt...
[Agony] You were never that strong

[Agony] I am pain
I am the wound that never heals
It's all in vain
No compromise, no deals...

[Me] I can't believe this is the end
[Agony] It's written in stone
[Me] Where are my friends?
[Agony] You have always been alone!

[Rage] (Pain!) We lead
We hide as the pain leaves the rage inside
(Motion personified alpha)
Being here, welcomed by...a sane mind
A travelled lie

[Agony] I am pain
I am the end, I am your wraith
Nothing remains
I'm the loss of hope and faith

[Me] I can't believe there is no way out...
[Agony] You'll I find you are wrong
[Me] You fill me with doubt...
[Agony] You were never that strong

[Rage] We lead, we hide as the pain leaves the rage inside
(Motion personified alpha)
Being here, welcomed by...a sane mind
A travelled lie
All the time, I had waited with rage
All the time, I was promised my salvation

[Love] I can't accept this, we will find a way
Out of this cesspool of doom and dismay
Beyond this dejection there's beauty and grace
A glorious future we long to embrace

[Rage] (Pain!) All the time, I have waited with rage
(Motion personified alpha)
All the time, I was promised my salvation

Shinigami-thought XXI HATE

As hate fills up a this lone spirit here is my version of hate the hate of her of them of...life....(aware of my feelings i am i understand this path leads to the dark side)

Hate has burned a gaping hole -
The rancid reek of charring flesh
Is dancing on my very soul.
And as the rising fumes enmesh
My crumpled heart, I play the role
Of crabby fart, gassing off
A diatribe; bleeding out a
Bitter part: an ugly twisted man.

hate the way you dress
I hate that you are a mess
I hate your eyes
I hate your lies.

I hate it when you talk
I hate the way you walk
I hate your smile
I hate your style.

I hate your arms
I hate your charms
I hate your face
I hate your place.

I hate your hands
I hate your plans
I hate the way you think
I hate it when you drink.

I hate when you call
I hate it all
I hate it that you are true
I hate you when I’m blue.

I hate you when you sleep
I hate you very deep
I hate the way you kiss
I hate to be like this.

I hate your touch
I hate you much
I hate myself more

I hate how I loved you
I hate how I felt
I hate everything you said
That made my heart melt

I hate what you did
I hate how I hurt
I hate how you left me
Alone to die in the dirt

I hate how I let you in
And watched you steal my heart
I hate how much you put me through
I hate how much I cried

I hate how I try to hate you
I hate it that I can't
I hate it that I miss you
Even though you don't

I hate how I still love you
I hate how I still care
But most of all I hate it
That you are no longer here

Shinigami Thought XX whispers

My Dearest,

I have heard by whispers in the dark that you have been invaded by the same kind of sounds in the night that have miss lead you far form the truth my dear I tresure you like the winter sun treasures the spring flower whe it misses its beuty and has nothing but cold white to shine its care upon. I assure you my dearest epiphany that in this words there are no lies there are no miss leading words no intempt to confuse you just a solemn desire for your understanding hoping you could use your insght to see what is there but no one wishes to see hoping youd understand that those lone whispers at night bring nothing but double-dealing attempts to lead you far fom me.


Hope you listen my words not just whispers

The rustling of leaves
A stirring of the wind
Those things that I hear
grows fainter
and fainter
and fainter
until nothing but silence
is left to me. I hear nothing
but my thoughts and fears.

Shinigami thought XIX (don't ask 4 # XVIII it will never come out)

El silencio, compañero de la noche, que solo lo interrumpe los suspiros de recuerdos que a duras penas emite el alma, mientras agoniza tu ausencia, y se pregunta ¿Porque no estas aquí?

Mientras tanto te pienso, linda, dulce y alegre; de piel aterciopelada, impregnada por ese sutil aroma que se obtiene en los campos de alcatraces.

Será que tanto te extraño, que pienso en aquel día que te vi y que se paralizaron mis sentidos al ver tu silueta, ese sentimiento que me envolvía e invadía solo al verte, un fuerte palpitar dentro de mi capaz de mover montañas y de hacer cosas imposibles e inimaginables.

Desde que te alejaste solo me consuela la luna, que alumbra mi rostro humedecido, por las lágrimas que llevan tú nombre. A la cual pregunto por ti y el porque de no merecerme tu cariño; pero ni ella ni nadie me da la respuesta, que habré hecho mal, a caso seré merecedor de esta gran pena.

Será que no oyes mi llanto, será que no ves mi anhelo. Tal vez mi cariño nunca te convenció, tal vez nunca merecí quererte; quisiera cerrar el libro del recuerdo, dejando paso al presente, Encontrando a alguien que pueda estar con migo de la misma forma que tu lo pidiste haber estado.

Thor Secret II

Si pudiera deslizarme por el cielo
una estrella brillante te traería,
y para adornar tu cabellera
de diadema el arco iris te daría.

Si tu fueras mi reina
tu esclavo fiel sería
y postrado a tus pies,
yo mil besos te daría.

Si yo pudiera pasearte por el cielo
entre mis brazos yo te llevaría,
formaría un lecho de luceros
y allí te imploraría fueras mía.

Si tú fueras mía
sería linda fantasía
y en coro las estrellas
una canción de amor entonarían.

Si un día sucediera, reina mía
que mi sueño fuera realidad,
lucharía con todita mi alma
para darte toda la felicidad.

Si algún día fueras mía,
mi corazón yo te daría
y entre risas de alegría
tú serías mi linda fantasía.