[faecy]

"Country-song, sing country-song, sweet Muses."

- Theocritus, Idyll I: Thyrsis

I seek an instrument of certain measure.

To perform is to apprehend an absolute uncertainty;
and to sing is to lose oneself in their own nature, and with purpose.

Perfection is the freedom
that improvement will forever exalt,
and will never find;
Where the music within any song blossoms with its imperfections,
and repetitions,
as one may discern between any language and voice.

These are my tools.
Therein lies my craft.
And so,
I require an instrument of certain measure,
and I will seek whatever brings me closer to it and sharing its music,
as exchanged between the sprawling heavens,
and nurturing soil.

[faecy]

“List, good Moon, where I learnt my loving.” 

- Theocritus, Idyll II: The Spell

"Before you, you weren't. And after you, you won't be. Just a... sound, sometimes said. And... what is a musician?"

---

Anything in this world can last,

only for as long as it's taken

I'm not in want, take what I will, 
and I ask for the rest because still,

Anything in this world given, 
gives from eternities forsaken

Nothing's left listening until,
unmoved unless unheard clipped to quill

Nothing's left empty world's inflexions,
I can't hear any affectations.
I can only see the reflections, 
mirrors forgotten in contemplation.
The observer and the observed each stalking the other, 
an eye for an eye, their pupils for your teeth, 
elopes with lamentations gouged from a cold lover,
fares-well for fare-wells, your pupils for their teeth

"Music is when sounds are working together or separately, that we can remember them!

A musician is just one who knows the names of the songs that're being played!"

---

"When a musician plays a song... do they choose the notes to play, or is it the song that chooses?"

---

i'll show you how to leave well enough alone

i'm not this world, this on-cue world

...

It's such a long way down

It's such a long way down, yeah, yeah, yeah

It's such a long way down

-

oh, yeah, yeah, why

ride through the sky of black mist

ride through the sky of black mist

ride through the sky of black mist

ride through the sky of black mist

two, three, four

[faecy]

"She looks, she’s lost, and lost doth leap, into love so dark and deep."

- Theocritus, Idyll III: The Serenade

---

 

What're your thoughts on prayer?

For protection. For guidance. 

For freedom.

For family. For friends. 

For enemies.

 
For our innermost heart's desire.

 
I pray to feel love, and to be carried away by it. I pray to know love, and to live beneath it.  I pray to elevate love, and to sing of it.
 

---

“Technically, everything is Mana to begin with, so.”

 

“Yes, but some ways of drawing it are better than others- and how to… cultivate a vessel or reservoir, seems to be the prime aspect.
 

“...Or stealing it.”

  

“Stealing it?”
 

“Monsters and Spirits are built to only grow stronger by eclipsing other sources of Mana.”
⚜

"...You can reduce anything to a song," "The clashing of blades becomes your percussion. The booming of orders across a catastrophic battle, the bass at the back of your melody. For someone who is trained to, even the most chaotic of sounds can be harnessed and made to serve the creation of something beautiful."

---

"I hope your grief is lasting, if only so you'll remember who you've lost- because nobody else will!

⚜

And I hope that whoever is meant to hear your prayer responds earnestly, because your words are nothing but!"

---

“It is to see each and all of it as it is.”

“How will you handle your death, I wonder?”

“These things are not placed upon your hands like a silver platter.”

⚜
“Oh, were I able to uproot the ground beneath me and turn it into miracle dust… grasp the sky and turn it into… into…” “...a carpet?”

"I-- *hic* --will do that, yes! Yes... a flower picked a day keeps the..." "... sky away." 

 

"The sky and dirts' toil takes time but also produces every flower of their season. How easy it is for us to simply pluck it so, once ripe!" "Something once told me that we all are thieves, stealing from nature."

"But time saved from rest and recovery... well, it's almost like time stolen, isn't it?”

---

 

How do you know when you're in love?
 

My blood boils fervently,

inoculating, and to spill.

 

Is it better to have loved and lost still, when what I love is to lose?

 

I worship an absent God. The name I decided for myself was chosen to be heard and then forgotten.

 

The body and world yet unborn that floods my voice is a drought, and I pray every night to wear this silent prayer that was never meant to be seen, never meant to be, and within my most faithful and unspoken doubts, never meant to-

My hands speak an unknown language, wrought from the knots of aborted branches. Rooted sinister and drowning in pretense, pruned dexterously and curing this secret, I sing every morning to loop this black rope that was always fixed, ever rigged, and within my blinded heart, forever-

My sculpted hands tied, bound, sutured. Look upon my works, ye statues, and marvel with marbled, glazed, unseeing eyes.

 

My blood runs cold,

trembling, and to worship.

 

How will your prayer sound, I wonder?

 

Love hurts.

---

❦

"The pain went straight up my spine, and then back down again. To be honest, that shit felt good.”