• thoughts

    Eye for an Eye

    Eye for an eye … I attacked an innocent branch with my face, it returned with a defense in the form of a stabbing in my left eye. Leaves and bark scattered, but the eye suddenly went blind. It will pass, but I can’t strain it too much.

    On the other hand, I will have a longer time to enjoy the beautiful prose of Maja Lidia Kossakowska.

    Anyway, I stare with one eye, like a stereotypical pirate. The only thing missing is a wooden leg, a parrot and a hook …

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  • thoughts


    I feel suddenly an odd urge to look at all those beautiful images of alluring, red-haired Sauron in all his dashing glory. Bonus, if there is a not less glorious shadow of Morgoth behind him.

    Or this is not odd at all.

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  • thoughts


    This parasite never stops eating my flesh, drilling in my brain. One day I think I forgot about its existence, the second, it hurts me even more, reminding me that it will accompany me to the rest of my life.

    “Depression is really a nasty beast” said my friend today.

    “Worthy to have as a trophy” I replied. It’s hard to hunt this worming presence, though. Not impossible… yet harder every year.

    But I have so many trophies on my wall.

    I must believe.

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  • thoughts

    Night of Heat

    And how to exist here? The vampire cooks in a forest sauce mixed with mushrooms. 36 of burning Celsius degrees, the sun peels the skin like a red-hot iron glove.

    Is this a medieval torture? No, it’s summer in my beloved town. And I, cold-blooded, snow-loving beast¬† (true daughter of the north) and worshipper of the rusty colors of autumn, curse what the world stands on. My feline familiar does long cat and chills the belly on tiles, dog doesn’t even ask for a walk (amazing thing).

    And I… I drink lemonade after lemonade and pray to all pagan gods for a storm.

    The probability that the storm will come to my town, which her brothers and sisters avoid at all costs, is somewhere like… 20 percent. I still have some hope…

    Even my vampiric urge to drink blood ceased, after realising that blood is actually very sticky and mineral water is much more refreshing.

    Curse the sun.

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  • thoughts

    Strange brew

    I drift away from internet, slowly putting down the mouse and keyboard. Alestorm once or twice sang about thirst for rum. My thirst is for books.

    I beat my own life record, reading six books in a week. And I enjoyed all so much, that my wings batted behind me in utter joy. Reading gives me worlds that make me feel less depressed, less pained and less sick. I don’t think about bad that drifts in my life like waste in the sea. I just dive into an odd mix of fantasy, danger, angels, ancient gods and dark magic.

    And this is my life since I last checked. I will be making brew with witches and setting up Ragnarok with Loki. Do not search for me – I am fine. Better than before.

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  • thoughts

    About names

    When I was a teenager and first time entered the internet world, I thought names can define us in many ways, that they are like clothes which can be changed when we feel the need. Change is good. Change makes us evolve.

    And then came the bashing, biting and torment. I was dragged like a wet mouse for changing my nickname every year/half a year. It became a sport to bash people who change the names. Especially me, because I did do that many times.

    When I left this toxic gathering, I understood, that names aren’t stick to us like a pin buried deep into our skin, forever. They are not our eternal graves where we rot. We all change every few years and names can change with us – if we want it, if we need it.

    And with names, there goes the aura. Atmosphere. And persona we feel at the moment.

    Let there be light. Or eternal darkness. Darkness filled with glowing names, each like a fresh fruit, ready to be picked.

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  • thoughts

    Egypt remembered

    I was dusting off the wardrobe, trying to find something that I forgot I had since I was ten. Didn’t find it – but found something that made me terribly nostalgic and broke me into remembering times of my schoolyears.

    When I was a teen, I loved Christian Jacq books. He was writing exclusively about ancient Egypt and his writing was immensely simple. But at the same time dwelled so much into common life of egyptian people, into tiny bits about their customs and religion and social structure. Actually, it read like a fairytale, the simple style seemed to flow like a myth by the fire.

    I didn’t try to read these books again. I am so afraid to destroy the magic of memories. I know my taste in books changed a lot. Let the egyptian judge and Ramses stay in fondly remembered youth.

    Now, I will write second chapter of my new egyptian gods novel. How good is to be inspired.

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  • thoughts

    Incitatus Jig

    My country crawls into black hole, where gravity crashes people and grinds them between moons and swallowed planets. Still not embracing why people want to be mashed like potatoes, squeezed like oranges. Because only some masochistic rush to destruction can explain supporting the money-eating, thieving government.

    To be completely honest, my cat would be better prime minister, and my dog a better president. One doesn’t need to be batshit insane to bring horse to a senate. Maybe I should name my cat Incitatus. And open before him door to political career.

    Books will burn. Human rights too. Everything will fall apart in this rotting sickness that drills Poland alive.

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  • writings

    Darkness My Bride

    The blood dust surrounds me, like a promise of fever. I embrace my heritage, I embrace my vile nature. Blood; sweet like dark honey, creature of copper autumn, crimson like wine and fallen leaves. Blood, which changes my eyes into rubies. Blood – a sibling of all sins, delicious sister of Lust and Greed.

    When my fangs open your vein, the beating of your pulse fills me like a sound of drums; heavy, dull and dark; like night filled with horrors. Your body opens before me – receptive and sublime. It’s never enough. It’s never enough for me.

    Humans. They exist to feed the hand that tamed them, to oblige the lords and ladies of twilight, dusk and midnight. And when moon swallows the sun forever, the night eats our fears, the night gives us wings to reach the bleeding stars.

    Your desire still not quenched, your willingness to offer me yourself still not sated. Lose yourself in my arms and change the wine in my cup into the richest essence of life, fill my eternal hunger.

    I feel like thorns trace a trail on my backbone, the passion boils in me. Tearing the veil from your innocence. With kisses sharp as crystalline edges, blinding you with excellence of the deepest darkness.

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  • thoughts


    I feel sometimes like a forest creature; attracted by huge trees which weave the pattern of branches over the sky. In love in places filled with overgrowth, where other people are more than unlikely.

    And even if I never hunted on animals, I feel a hunter – of solitude among woods, of paths that only I tread.

    I have chosen a Hunter as my name and wherever I go, I see how fitting it is. I hunt for myself in the mushroom circles and old ruins. Talons deep in my prey, not letting it go. Ever.

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