I would never claim that my life is difficult, if anything every day I survive I make each moment my own. Any hardships encountered floating from place to place are the makings of no one but myself, keeping afloat as a drifting starving artist on coastal boardwalks. And I do admit, less an artist then a drifter as I’m more then content to make or barter just long enough to experience a setting or profession before moving on. Honestly I can’t seem to bring myself to remain anywhere for any length of time, nowhere quite seems like home to my restless soul.
Once while traveling an odd off-beaten rout out of Santa Carla towards Sacramento a band of Gypsies wandered past offering bedding and a warm meal for the night. They were the pseudo-traditional and mystical types, full of stories and superstitions that chill and intrigue anyone who gets caught within their vibrant web of tales and mysticisms. An elder woman of the caravan approached with some interest, she told me that my heart and spirit was that of a Gypsy’s and all who sat around the fire wholeheartedly agreed. She said as she took my hand into hers solemnly as if to read my palm that I was descended of the Roma and the wolves; that one day I would be kissed by my wild cousins and if ever I needed allies it was with them I would find the help I needed…But she warned: Beware those who walk in the shadows, shrouded in darkness. Fear the monsters who pose as spirits of nature for they wrought true destruction and pain.
Turnskin - Out of Print
The Midnight People - Out of Print
The New Kingdom - Out of Cookies
666 West End Avenue
An Empire Divided: The Fall of Het-Uart - Out of Print
The Midnight People
A lovely, tender moment, and a bittersweet memorial
Nov 16, 2012 11:23 pmBeautifully written!
Nov 12, 2012 07:53 am