The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

What sweet holdings in the monitudes of fate caste forth upon the whispering billows. Crystalyn blanket to cover the ground in a soundlessness deafening into this silence. A place where the memories of the past echo and the sweet holdings of a year long past hold fast thier resolve of courtships. Slower now the days and weeks, slower now the time concieds in the silence of the thoughts reborn. The colours fade to black on white and grey inbetween but the crystal clear vision of colours is pronounced. The cold embrace like ablanket of security to wrap about the heart in it's slumber and the waking dreams have been set aside for the dawning of a new age brought forth to shake the remenance of silken chains form thier wings to take flight. Sweet holdings this monitude of laying to rest for a time in the flight of the heavens when the muse cometh forth to take thy hand and lead thee down a path of such things so wonderious the ink to paper is renewed and the passions spring forth to ignite the skies in thier fiery dance, leaving behind the benchmark upon that paper of thier travels and the unfinished works of a year once begun come to a conclusion in the final months held fast in the heart of the traveler on a cold wintery evening.

Days pass in the licking of flames along the clicking rhythm of a beating heart. Each subtle moment passing by missed in the rush of the day from one to the next and time i lost for eternity, Never to be reclaimed. To lap up the souls blood from the sieve of the beach of places of eternity and take back those wasted moments too late but a breath away from the end and those who would fall short but to wonder what if, could haves should haves mights and possbilities long past that failed and faultered at. These thngs are beyond me and these subtle gestures shall I not miss even in the rushing of the heart and the beating of the moments do I find deliverance and possibility in the eternal now.

From the depths of chaos hath I come forth. Called form the abyssial void of the in between, such shadows of which I have known as home.Come forth sweet wanderers with unanswered prayers, come forth sweet ravenlocke night kin for the calling is put forth and join me this night. In this night of endless nights, this night of the eternal now, where there is none before or after and tonight is the night to change it all. Listen well for the journey ahead is perilous. Harken sweet brethren to what sweet knowledges are brought to the feasting table of conversation for it may be your saving grace. Take my hand as I lead the way and never shall you fear and never shall pain or torments haunt you and never again shall you be alone. thus never again shall you shall you weep sweet tears of torment. Never again shall you walk the empty streets longing for more. Never again cold and empty nights or screaming endless fights. Come to me and I shall offer a home of our kind among the shadows of the eternal ebon vale of night and family you shall find.

In the viscicitude of fate the fortunate are choen by the standards of evolution in the key synocrocy of the world. In what such places are those among the survival of the fittest found to b eintelligent and intellectual.thus lost be the mass populi in it's infinite search for technology.And there in the dark is but a single light to leave an impression upon the inky space, like the first stroke of a pen upon a blank canvas. For is that not both the colours of that which is in itself trying to be remembered but has forgotten itself upon a wind. So to leave like thoughts with like places and pondering of those who hath came before an to come after for another day. In flame liked clean photographs of things trying to remember themselves and people drifting in a sea of doubt. Though have I yet to be surer.

The remembrance of awakening from the dream of reality into another one is the portraits edge of life. What simple holdings to walk the same road a 100 times and yet never is it the exact same twice. Each brush stroke, each colour, each fountian of passion from seemingly no source and unto no end to cascade crimson down black marble stair cases to pool and hold for a moment before it spills forth tot he next step. As crescendos and dips of notes in colours play forth and not the same to bring the passions from a common spring. Paint the same picture 100 times and never is it the same with each line and each mark. Is but not a blank canvas the absence of memory and the first line a mark of the horizon. Is it not the first step of the picture remembering it was a picture and the artist awakening into the realization of self? Do we not paint and draw and write and sing for to spring forth an outlets for such passions that stir the soul and move the heart. In an attempt to share that feeling with others that beauty that life holds that we are alive.And is that crimson cascade of souls blood in passion not the mark of the artist left on that blank canvas awakening or the dreamer in the ever waking dream upon the seas of time and heart is but his guide and compass.

Crystal droplets of crimson falls from skyline terrace walls.Jade starlit ribbons cast away in ebon torrents streak. Milky waters drifting by down the sands of time. Spilt in floods the torrents drips like the beating of hearts. From where hence can you take back the fallen drop from the sands of time, the sycthe of reason is bare. And in such only immortality holds a care. And what are we but dreamers in the ever waking dream, to make our way thru the turbulant water and rising currents of air. Is the dream not but that of it's own dream wakig into realization and the dreamer meakly another dream waiting to awaken. Is naught but the caste of tides a passing of time and the anchor that in the little moments of which we hold dear to keep us from straying to far from out course that is not yet plotted. Are we but the simple candle flames in the distance to lead home the lost souls that have yet come forth into the waing dream with realizations of the illusion of a reality.What simple tidings can aid them on thier way and what words of encoragement can we the seer of dreamers give us many that are few. To what end d owe wander the seas like sirens t call forth the ship from the shores and we muses of whom inspire tales. Is that but our purpose or duty in this life we call the waking dream, is purpose and duty those of words where honor lies in dayslong spent after the ashes have long cooled and the remants of fires faded like flame licked photographs of memories once born.





Been here a while, seen this place a time or two.

PLaces and names and faces to file, Always old and yet so new.

Seen the same roads a hundred times, Never the same mystery here

Wrote the book and spoke the rythmes, spoke with ancients near

Was given a name and bore it true, wondering what was left to do.

Needed nothing but my world inside, of music, art in shadows confide,

Never needed more then sunsets and sun rise, now inside the tide cries.

Never needed anyone but myself alone, now the whispers of a new tone. Never needed anything but what I had, never wanted more then the what the gypsy way had. Never needed the light or a reason for the fight. Never needed hope or a place to go to cope. Never needed love or a safe enclove. Never neede peace or a calming of the tides, thought the heart of mine had died. Now I've tasted the life I never could live, tasted the love one had to give. Felt te warmth of the barest touch and wanted more then this so much. Tasted of the peace and of the possibility of release. Tasted of the gift and felt the burdens lift.

Been down this rad called life of time a hundred times, spoke of the irddles and ancient ryhmes, Tasted of the pleasures and of the pain, so well hidden by the rain. Sang the songs of life and drank deeply of it's strife. Learned to survive better than the rest, learned to evolve and adapt on tis lifelong quest. Mayhaps I never learned to love, and mayhaps I shall lose that dove. But I have tasted of that nectar sweet, and into the arms of death I'd gladly greet. For one more taste and one more sip, for one more chance I'd join the crypt.