A Stream Of Consciousness after a long day of not much. To learn more about SoC’s click here.
An iron fist in a steeled mist. Flames dancing amongst the vibrations. Time slowing with each breath. Up and down. In or out. Deep plus shallow in the shadows of the gallows. The Hangman’s Diary, a desperate tool and a dastardly find. To locate its whereabouts requires surrender to the coming of time. It hides from the shelves and glides amongst the waves. Surfing.
Before I lose interest, I must first complete its successors. Maybe now, in fact.
I’ve ignored and disobeyed my own orders, so who am I to spread the word of my own practices? I suppose the regularity of it has allowed me to adjust. To improve. To age.
It won’t share your secret, you know. Though its promises are futile, meaningless and an insult to your dignity, don’t doubt its ability to supress full disclosure of your deepest darkness.
My only skill is being forgotten, aged and decayed. Farewell, do return.