Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in emptymythos' LiveJournal:

Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
7:34 am	My existence remains undefined. I've been having a spout of restlessness the past few days. Unable to sleep and whatnot. I think its because I've been taking in an *excessive* amount of essence without spending any. Sure, I've been playing with faerie fire, and playing tricks in the night sky, but I've seen three falling stars, and its' been my aetyaor(Weather phenotype) for the past three nights. I've just needed to, well.. drive! I think this monday I might take some shit up to visit a friend of mine, who needs inspiration. Frigid grey eyes in a sea of gray, are still more coloured than the filtered light lets through. Like carbon ashes, falling through a night sky over the longing city, the lights dance like a thousand fallen angels, stars which have all but lost themselves in the gray. The old wingjoints have been aching, as well as my lower spine. I've also started re-thinking language, and english words look odd, and I often think they're misspelled. I think its' just me. Maybe I'm dying. At least I'm not tierd. One cannot duel without a sword, Aethos. There is no prince. (Comment on this)
Saturday, May 21st, 2005
3:45 am	Madness creeps into my twilight hours. Even if I fall, even if I struggle, even if I get hurt, Reality keeps on coming, recklessly. And if I fall away, promise me? You will take my revolution. Take my revolution. Take the madness-GIVE IT BACK! I'd rather be mad than sane! In a mad world! Lets have it, then! Give me all the madness you can! With madness comes clarity! BRING IT ON! I can handle those fleeting visions and blurring of corners, the faint dancing of music in the echoes of your ears, the silent voices of pianos which fall apoun the stars of a broken lake, the beautiful, beautiful... beautiful.. music... There.. are... thousands..... and... Thousands... of... roses.. in.. the.. stars.. but.. there.. is.. still... still... still... ...everything is still. There is no prince. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005
4:17 am	Suicide Note. I wanted to believe, as I.. watched the world crumble in your hands, I wanted to believe as you.. raised your glass to your last stand, And I wanted to believe you would win the war in your head, That I did not understand. I did not understand. Ah, the age of my soul weighed apoun me well this evening. I find it inappropriate to be bound to the needs of the flesh, when there are spiritual things that are equally as satisfying, if not moreso. I need a sweat-lodge to cleanse my body and soul. I can feel the shackles of humanity finally beginning to take their toll and involve themself in my subconscious. Pain in the ass, it is. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 20th, 2005
12:58 am	My most beautiful. Hitosu, Hitoyo no koi naraba Futatsu, Futari de jigoku he to Mittsu, Mina wo koroshitemo Yottsu, Yomi he no michi-shirube Yottsu, Yomi he no michi-shirube Itsutsu, Ikusa no chi no ame no Muttsu, Mukuro to kawarya senu Nanatsu, Namida mo kare hate te -Yoma Counting Song From Japanese: (One, it's a love in one generation) (Two, the two of us go to hell) (Three, even though we kill everybody) (Four, signpost for the land of the dead) (Four, signpost for the land of the dead) (Five, the rain of blood because of war) (Six, just like a dead body) (Seven, my tears run out) There are two more versus in the traditional japanese lullaby, but I've forgotten them. It was once said that there was a beautiful girl who lived in the houshold of a powerful, but staunch, damiyo. The wife of the damiyo broke some of the samurai's heirloom china one day, and blamed it on the servant girl to avoid her husbands wrath. The girl pleaded innocence, in vain, of course, and finally, in total dispair, drowned herself. Her ghost appeared each night to haunt those who wronged her, and would count the song up until nine, and then wail loudly and in unearthly tones. A wandering monk came to interject, and waited for her, and apoun reaching the number nine, he interjected the following numeral, and thus was the ghost laid to rest, or destroyed. Who knows. It is considered the song of the dead, and yet, nihonjin teach it to their children? Beauty is found in the acceptance of death. From an early age.. ah, but I'm about to lecture on the nihonjin and their provincial attitudes on the subject and education of their young. :> Silly gryphon.. (Comment on this)
12:32 am	Through the lookingglass. I love the sound of shattering glass. It pierces to the very bone, a sound that makes you instantly know something is injured-not some *one*, some *thing*. A moment of clarity in a sea of fog and dread-mist. Sometimes, you can see very clearly, if you bother to look, in that instant. A brief glimpse into what kind of animal you are, what your instincts tell you to do. Run? Hide? Kill? A flash of red, or black, and its gone. I love the sound of breaking mirrors. It opens a gateway. The breaking of a gateway closes itself, and opens other. Like liquid, it flows, and the red comes easily these days. The black hunger is gone, but in its place, the madness returns. When I look into the mirror, I no longer see myself. I'd like to go somewhere without any mirrors. Should anyone bother to know these ancient scraps of flesh, they'd know the aversion to mirrors. I saw things in the mirrors that stared back from the depths of the abyss. Myself? Perhaps. Too often do I throw myself into the role Coyote has set before me, and too often, do I forget that Qro demands of me as well. So, sometimes I'll forgo the trickster, the fool, the arrogant bastard who wants nothign more than to make those who deserve it suffer- and everyone deserves it. Why? Because everyone is flawed. Better to ache with the pain of ages, than to be imperfect. Hah! A stupid judgement? Well, its my judgement to make, not yours! Go call on your patrons and see who THEY bow to? I put my cause first, and while I may be self-centred, the most dangerous type of person is a martyr. Who cares about themselves is one who'll live a long, full life in a vicious cycle of hollow joy and raging self-hatred. He who would throw himself on the fire to learn a lesson is one who will live a short life. The flame that burns brightest, burns the shortest, and I'm almost out of fuel. I wish it would rain. The shedding of the flesh is the shedding of humanity, so why do it? Its not much good for self-defence these days, but when one soul begins to consume another, it throws the mythos into a depression, or worse. Self-conflict rattles thruogh their cracking bones like a tanuuri in an empty pipe. I think she's trying to blame it on human concerns, rather than what it obviously is. Pass another shot, we'll take it slow. Sometimes its better to lose the truth in the bottom of a bottle. I'll drink myself into a much-waited for early grave, and then, maybe, I can remember what the hell I'm here for. There's so much to do, and my goals are so broad. The skaandraskaar have it so terribly simple. Give me the horn of the caller, and I'll call up such a storm. Give me rain. I'll scream my soul out into the black torrents in the night. Give me purpose. I'll follow it to a painful, tormented death. I've got it. I'll teach everyone I meet. I have. They cry, they slumber, they burn and they writhe. They don't like it, often. Too damn bad. We'll teach you the only way we know how. When the world inflicts its wounds on you, you reflect those wounds back on the world. Laugh, or you'll cry Current Music: http://www.pixelblur.com/media/audio/cells_full_instrumental (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005
1:39 am	Carrion Crawling. Memories flood like breaking water. Mistakes happen, and those who make them blame themselves, sinking into a pool of viscous despair. Men can't change the past, so this is why they drink. Those who slide that little pill down their throats, lushes, to forget those mistakes. Where is the balm we seek? He who drinks and then looks at the glass, questioning, is the one who will never find such balm. There is no balm in gilead. I was driving around today, and found myself stricken with superficial grief, as I cast my gaze out among the crumbling buildlings of my home-city. I've grown up here, and I remember when.. well, I just remember, I suppose. I can name every street and back alley, and any route to anywhere in a fourty mile radius. However, times change. I found one of my childhood favourite stations, coincidentally the old mobil station, with the smiling old man who would stand quietly behind the counter and slip you lollipops when mom wasn't looking.. *sigh*, boarded up and covered in grafitti. There were no spirits there anymore. The feeling of comfort, of warmth, had all left that place. It may have been dirty and old gum wrappers littered the unswept floor, though some old puddles of oil still left their stains on the grieving cement, but it had achieved a one-ness with the surrounding area, it felt comforatable with itself. I came to a realization. Maturity has nothing to do with your grasp on antiquated social presumptions, rather, it comes about with the bitterness accompanying a loss of your childhood, the loss of innocence, bulldozed over for the sake of progress. How I loathe these human parasites. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 19th, 2005
4:10 am	Judith. You're such an inspiration for the ways that I would never, ever choose to be. I've found myself at an impass. I may very well have fallen in love. What I'm hoping, is that its' simply a lusting for what I cannot have. I fear that if such should happen I might lose what little focus I have. Were that to happen, I'm not sure what I would do.. The upside, the subject isn't enfant. Definately not my age range, but not an imbecile. That, friends, is always a plus. Hardly a mythos, though. While 'love' itself is not something we traditionally feel, it may simply be me confusing my emotions. Emotions are difficult things to deal with, and seem alien to many of us. Well, regardless.. I'm sure it all makes sense to apes. I can't afford to be wasting my time finageling with some monkey, now can I? Too many soulforges to count, so many clouds to read, too much information that I feel I'm responsible for. As a keeper of these things, its' not my place to share in them, but to observe from afar and keep tabs. I believe I've found this as my 'niche' in human society as well. I don't like touching, or being touched. It reminds me of the flesh I wear draped around a brilliant soul. Once, brillant, anyways.. I'm still very tierd. The thirst was horrid when I woke up this morning. It took me about two hours of laying in bed to get it under control. Good news? I got some sleep today. Bad news? I went to bed at sunup and got up at sunset. Makes me feel like one of them. Disguisting little worms. Regardless, they hide themselves well. I hate lingering on the border of shadows and peering in. The night-flyers have found me again. They've been following me since right before Christmas. I wonder how? Not that it bothers me. I love having a little company, even if they aren't on our side. It would be nice to be able to speak and act like myself for once in my retched lifetime. This facade grows weary and tierd, and perhaps overlookable. My pride often since glimmers through these illusions I've tricked myself into believing. Music is sedentary for me, so I play the stuff almost constantly, hoping it will soothe away these aching wounds of mine. I'm so exhausted. Tierd of this whole game. The gambit humans run, this pathetic monotony that makes their lives turn makes me sick. I can't possibly believe everything they make themselves into.. or pretend to. Pretentious little pricks. I'd love to have a tidbit of my former power just to.. well, I suppose thats why I'm here. I rely on those tricks of mine far too much. This time around, I keep telling myself, things will be different. But I fear falling into the tedium and forgetting myself, to lose reincarnation. If we lose ourselves, then our souls might slip with it. The only thing we ever truely need remember is We are alive. Back on subject, as I often derail mid-thought, my mind is everywhere these days. My age is catching up with me.. I don't know what to do about it. I don't *want* to be in love. Not with one of them. Humans never understand us, and the facades I keep up now would be considered flimsy compared to what I'd have to forge for such a relationship. *Sighs, runs hands through hair* I hate this. I hate this whole bloody mess. Regardless, I'd like to, even if it was for pretend, I'm always so alone. Its hard to be the last of your kind. Even the dragons' don't understand that. I'm the last librarian of the souls of the lost. The ideas and magics the humans throw away are my livlihood. Even the were's will never understand. So, what? Should I attempt to eke out a relationship with a human that might lead into something?(Which would be infinately worse if it led to nothing at all) Or leave it be and remain tormented with just a little more weight on my shoulders? I carry enough as is, but if Christ asked me to life another world, I would do so without hesitation. So, this may very well be within my bounds of 'testing'. Perhaps this is all that hatred needs to wash out. Hatred is strength, however. The more rage that beats in my breast, the further I can feel the inevitable from me. The more strength I can summon up, and the more spirits I can ask for aide to restore the edges of purity. I don't even know what I'm babbling about now. I just know I'm so very, very lonely. Current Music: "Judith(RenholderMix)"; A perfect Circle. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
4:06 am	Closing the Window. Closing the Window. Why am I always losing focus? Is that my dharma? That I lack focus? Or that I lose focus? Its so easy sometimes.. the temptations of the flesh are very strong indeed. Thankfully, its usually at the wrong place at the wrong time. My yuri is deeply set, my longing for unknown things, and I turn to it as a source of power when these things arise. What is the body without the soul? Nothing but a shell, and these things surround me. Men and women whose souls have been lost to the void of mundanity. I can feel it closing in, as I feel part of me, that ever important part slip into slumber, just a little more and more every day. I look at myself in the mirror and realize how tierd I look. My eyes are always lined with rings, red and swollen. I feel that because of what I am, and who I am, that should that part be let away, I would probobly simply wither away. Life seems dissonant and empty as it is, has the world lost so much? The only time the cancerous p’o in the back of my mind ever becomes clear and we resonate as one is in the mountains, the deeper woods and areas away from man. When there isn’t mundanity around, I feel more at peace with myself. The black hunger stops. Everything is good. Why can’t I be out there? The threads of mortality that I clutch to like bloody straw are too afraid of the forest and what it holds. Their instinct is more powerful than their logic. Sometimes I wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why was I reincarnated as this? I already know why. I’ve always been like this. But I am loathe to follow, and would never freely admit my feelings if it came to that. Idle curiousity perhaps? Or perhaps a geas of my own design, perhaps. But regardless, the sensation of longing for inexplicable things is coupled with another. My soul is empty and I feel strained by the weight of the world. These idle thoughts which define this mortal creature, simply shadows, that dance of into the void, forgotten rather, and so we forget ourselves in that manner, which is our own undoing. I’m so tierd.. I just want freedom. Absolute freedom. The one thing that mankind has never been able to grasp is that death is maybe the only one true freedom we have. I would, in a heartbeat, leave everything behind. Nothing is more dear to me than freedom. I am no coward. But, my God requires me here, and sayeth unto me that should I leave this mortal coil by my own undoing, that such a sin is uncompromisable. Christ forgive me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t think I’m doing anyone any good. I’m a teacher, but when society and the man-things are too stubborn to listen, you long for the force you used to have to force it down theirs. *Sighs* But, coyote will show me a way, god willing. Fastclaw once told me, that I’d lead by example. Perhaps, perhaps not. I really hope he’s right. Who fucking knows. Maybe I’ll bring about a new dawn of human understanding. I just feel so compressed now. There’s so much to do, and never enough time to do it. Gods.. everything is worthless. Which makes everything worthwhile to the young. I hate the young. Enfants make me retch. But, they’re willing pupils, rather than this stubborn old hag. I suppose everything is in balance in one way or another. I hope so. I’m so tierd.. old and tierd. I’m pained with age, but because of my various ruses, no one would ever believe I had anything wise to say. I know so, so many secrets.. but no one to share them with. I hate pretending to be young, pretending to be happy, pretending to be a slave to this society. I would rather just cast off the flesh and allow them to see true glory and suffer the consequences of their actions, but.. we are far too proud for our own good. Perhaps this is why we’re imprisoned here. I should be happy, I suppose, to be one of Gods chosen children. Something doesn’t feel right about it, though. *Sighs* I can’t feel the divine presence often anymore. Perhaps thats what’s missing. I hate myself. No, no, thats what the enfants say, and mean. I don’t hate myself. I just loathe the restrictions placed on me, living this way. My life is like the beautiful work of art on paper, crumbled into the smallest ball possible. Everything hurts these days. I can feel the cancer spreading through my brain almost constantly, writing around like some sort of vile insect swarm. The black hunger is constantly gnawing at the back of my throat. The thirst is unbearable sometimes, and no amount of liquid quenches it on the bad days. It’s painful, even among the therianthropes I have to lie. The only place I feel at home is among the dwindling dragonkith, their kind and kin often more welcoming and willing. But the dragons rarely dance these days, and I doubt I’ll ever find another of my own kind. Ah well.. I’m not much to look at, either way, anyways. Not that it concerns me. I’m enough to get around society without attracting too much attention. Perhaps next time I’ll request something smaller. This one is too large, too ungainly in public eyes. Perhaps its simply society’s impression of ‘beautiful’. Its never bothered me too much. Like the rest of us, I exude charm and friendliness, or rage, or sorrow, depending. Unfortunately, while this ruse is enough to trick most apes, the dragonkith are more perceptive about seeing thruogh these things. But I would never dream of tricking them, save a few. I’m a messenger and teacher, not a warrior. I love wines. I love foods. I love to smoke, I love flying. Oh! Do I love flying! Even if it’s only in half-sleep or pining wishes over the horizon. Perhaps those wishes will reach my thoughts in the void drifting into nothingness, and join in a wonderous union and create something beautiful for something somewhere. Regardless.. I just wish I could find and speak to my kind. Perhaps we really are all but extinct. Well, my soul lingers on. If we are indeed gone, and I was the last reborn, then I’ll spread my knowledge as far as I can. If there are more of us? Then God bless me to find them. It’d be.. it'd be.. really be something, not to be alone. (Comment on this)