My thanks to those of you in the gaming, art, and writing-interest communities who come to view my content: the Excerpts, the Artwork, the Lyrics and, the Music of Others.
I've already had my New Year's Eve, but I hope that those of you who hold to this one, have a grand time in reflection and celebration, and I hope that our common year of 2024 be better and more beautiful than even 2023 had been.
Best to you all,
-Kyrinn
Babe,
The photo of you I am adoring today, is where you, in white blousey-blouse, have your arm raised, and right hand behind your head, hair lifted and a strand down your beautiful cheek, I think you know the 1.
You look so much like me and my sister combined, but all of our best features in you them outshine.
I look forward to seeing those eyes of brown every day,
My Love,
-K
As I was looking at your lyrics, I again noticed Terrorbird, and I saw Dark Dark Dark, which reminded me of their song, Daydreaming. I would hear that, in Jacksonville, and just ache with memories of Israel.
The train ride from Tel Aviv to J'lem was filled with such marvels I can scarcely describe, and a gloss would neither do them justice, nor convey their impact upon me, but the two which most stand out are:
The old Ottoman rail system which hugged the cliffs round; unimaginably difficult terrain, and what it took to build it then, and,
The ancient -- truly Ancient terraces built on the hillsides, for miles. The lyrics and music of Daydreaming give but a gentle hint of my deep love for that land of my forefathers.
Well, Love, I just thought I would share that with you.
Missing you terribly,
Kiss,
-K
Green Ruins & Shallow Blues
Book II: FRUITFUL
(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved Worldwide
Ayrqthon saw all this hewn from oily black, stone as dark as moonsless night and out of it the times He had spent, here, in other whens -- and henceforth sights beyond the ken of the horizon line -- His incarnation of His Father through un-light enmeshed in bone and sinews silver tendons and blood aflight through veins, a webwork of red in his pierc'ed sight -- this... mystery, this blessed life. Ayrqthon turned and gazed with love anew upon his maiden fair, now wife, through and through; her girlish eyes, seen so much more than years had lived and in them saw her soul-crushed silent awe and wondrous delight as chips of stone in fall to floor in the same moment he had this, thick as blood and black as night, time had begun to explore -- he breathed again between heart beats, and whispered thanks to Whom? A Name he could not speak, and through it all, a shadow of the taller soul, His Father like a Shade to cover infinite Light, beside that beauteous Tyrant of comedic plight and bemus'ed sorrows -- whose unequalled quill did every story write -- this... his Father eternal, humbled more than angel-fellow from man's burnt bones could tell tales no one could hear, for in their hearing souls would flee -- the blasted magnum opus 'bless'ed be in knowing not', He'd say, and yet do live and laugh and play, ...for that thing to which all must pay visits each one ...in some ill-fashioned way.
Guess what, it's raining.
Here's where my mind went...
Sequins Alight
(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
Rainy evening thinking of you
Its crazy we can't spend the night
Together we are suffering alone
We'll get through this alright
Rivulets
Wending down
Eyes open
Fighting off a frown
The rain tonight
Your eyes shining bright
Like sequins in my sight
Your eyes, your eyes
Alight
Rainy evening thinking of you
It's crazy we can't spend the night
Together we are suffering alone
We'll get through this alright
We'll get through this long night
Alright
From Their Ashes
(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
Stranger, isn't it, love?
You, glittering there in the dark,
and I, the Black Flame.
Those soot marks
like paws
scattered about you,
like remains...
I heard you calling,
saw your scintillations bright;
Your coruscations falling
like raindrops in the night.
They were just passengers on a
train ride
through the night.
We saw them come and go,
dusty plains,
While Our destinations,
were the Same.
Dark orbits
Flying,
Pole position
trying
to end up in
the same place.
Stranger, isn't it, love?
You, glittering there in the dark,
and I, the Black Flame.
Those soot marks
like paws
on all fours
insane.
They're just strangers now,
and We
-- We are just the Same.
I published this one first on Facebook, and thought to share it here.
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| Goddess (c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved Worldwide |
Babe,
I went into work yesterday, the lights were off, and the Detex wand was lying there, so i settled in; I still had about an three-quarters of an hour until clock-in. I was fairly certain it hadn't been unmanned prior to my shift, but until I saw on the monitors A[]n walking around, without the wand, I hadn't been certain of who it was. The interesting thing is that [A] is normally the fellow who relieves me, so this either meant that he had pulled a double and would then relieve me in eight hours, or I couldn't figure it. I relieved him, he handed off the Security Desk mobile (I had already pocketed the Detex wand) and started my shift.
About an hour in, the Customer Service Manager N[]n visited me and was surprised to find me there, mis-remembering which day of the week it was, and had expected G[]e instead; she has visited him on more than one occasion, and this time, she had cookies. :) Home-made peppermint bark, and crispy oatmeal raisin -- a first for me -- tasty. Found out that [A] was getting paid the big money for his many overtime hours, some of which was defrayed by the Office, and the rest by W[]n Security, our employer; [N] was less than thrilled to be paying that, but, what could be done? We chatted a bit, she performed her evaluation, and then had to go and pick-up another Officer near my neighbourhood and take her to a Framingham to fill the holiday slack left by someone else. My hours were whiled away, and I made my tour, ate dinner in the building management company/building owners' office, where I am invited not only to weekly lunch, but to snack each night. I then completed my shift, and found [A] ready to relieve me. If he's there again today, I will be mildly surprised, and wowed by the money that he has made. Hat's off to [A], big-money baller. Go-him!
So, that's how I spent the 25th of December.
What did you do? Looking forward to your reply.
Kisses,
-K
Green Ruins & Shallow Blues
Book II: FRUITFUL
(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved Worldwide
The minimalist beats of the Xemetic music played in surround atmospheric speakers. She had, for a while, used nerve induction 'trodes, but she preferred the acoustics of the irregular air space and the ambient occlusions of her living space; the sound's interplay with surfaces and voids of her possessions. Daisa sat meditatively upright in her chair; her stimulant/relaxant tea blend in a warm-hot mug, and its aromas perfumed in the air, each particle afloat in her perfectly temperature controlled heated room with humidifier. Daisa adjusted her jaw, licked her lips, smiled, and grooved to the repetitive beat and anticipated the changes. There was a rare extra sound; a dull 'click' which seemed random but, like Anethra's, Moons Dance, had a specific and beautifully mathematical periodicity which Daisa found both sensuous and clever, perhaps one-in-the-same. Now, the tempo increased and the tune changed into a sing-song, rainy season emulation, but in an urban environment, or so she imagined. Rainy season in the near jungle environs -- and outskirts city of the Xemet southlands -- her ideal getaway. Daisa opened her eyes to her curated home: her objects all arranged and everything as she liked it, -- save those which her teacher, -- Anethra had picked up, toyed with, and placed elsewhere as a test, as much as anything, of Daisa's flexibility. The two had a bet running that the Uldwnyerna would be able to find a 'chink' in her armour. Daisa had smiled at that, and then the two had kissed.
In truth they kissed that kiss again, perfectly crystallised in time, a crystalline moment insert -- implanted in her neck -- one of the few invasives she had paid for with her own money; top of the line NMC military-intelligence spec gear she had been privy to in her former military career. That was before her return to civil duty.
In that moment, the Khathaq woman's earthy spicy, musk was all that Daisa could had smelled and she, then and now, never wanted it to leave her nostrils. Anethra's lower quarters were increasingly spicier and earthy both; smokey and somehow grey-black-brown scented. Her black labia majora yielded to a pink of almost leathery maroon tint, but pink nonetheless, her, -- Anethra's labia minora were pinker, lighter still, and her clitoral mound was almost ivory, but still touched with a brownness unlike any Daisa had ever before seen. Her scent was clean and unsurprisingly pure, like her sweat. Anethra tasted like rainwater went down one's face, but sweeter, and spicier still. Daisa smiled at that. The pillow of her thighs which clasped Daisa's head like a softly bellowed device as her ministrations brought her instructor such pleasure that she arrived in squirts and was ashamed at how much control she had lost. Once Dasia had inserted her finger in Anethra's --
The intrusion of the alert chime sounded like a terrible insult in Daisa's ears. She rarely got angry, but this was approaching one of those times. Daisa rose, and set down her mug. She walked to the source and keyed her two simultaneous four-digit security strokes and unlocked her personal link to the Zhazonom mainframe:
Babe,
I want you in my life. I want you the way you really are, and I'm not afraid to find out that you are more complex than you think I would want you to be. Part of real love is finding out by being together -- no one is going to get anything out of this without taking some risk.
Of all our dusty yesterdays, I can assure you that your lyrics echo my experiences more than you may believe, maybe even can believe. I don't know all of your lingo, true, but I have caught on to enough of it to know that if only for the honour of sidling up to your mind, I would risk heartbreak. I am already dying a little everyday I'm not with you.
Please, honey, take the plunge, time is awastin' in this one go round. What's the worst that can happen, you get another album out of the photographs? I know that sounds cold, but babe, I'm so sure that we got the chops to make this great. You're killing me here with your fears.
Undoubtedly Yours,
-Kyrinn
Things were so terrible in my life in Jr. High that I had to listen to songs to force myself to school each weekday. My future looked so awfully grim, and in my Father's household we learnt to suffer in silence (and like it!).
With both teacher parents gone already to school as job, I watched the news and ate a few crumbs to maintain my figure, then when I had a bike, not yet stolen, I would ride, but otherwise, walk the 3/tenths a mile and shamble into either first period or homeroom, whichever I made on time.
These were the ones that got me through two years:
Jethro Tull
Nothing is Easy
For a Thousand Mothers
That final bit of joy tinged with anger and hints at future sadness never was lost on me, but, well: I'm not the sort to back down... :)
Anyway, I thought that You should know how I made it through.
Love, always,
-Kyrinn
There was a post-Thanksgiving period, 2022, where things were bleak for me.
This song addresses the positive outcome and cites the 'Second Album' outline which I gave You:
o At the Temple of Set, undead Meritsutekh throws herself into the Black Flame; in her inevitable grace, Meritsutekh emerges, purified and resplendent in Iron Panoply
o The High Priestess of the Temple, and Queen of Vampires, Lady Midnight receives Meritsutekh; Fed and Bled, the two find themselves fortified and still free of domination by the other; the Setankhaten rises bathing the world in Black Light
Here's the song which came from the index of those two:
FED AND BLED
You are to me a source of life
: undead -- to me eternal born
from me receive a form of light
you have from me forlorn'ed torn
On red and black of scars the night
in yellow light
we two have worn sham'ed bright
in yellow light
on red and black of scars the night
We two in twain riven together be
like that tree, Old Hickory
Lightning strik'ed me outside
that night on which I'd come to see
Mend this twaining river's run
In my most dread and dire hour
My head unbloodied life has won
saved myself from arch'ed towers
On red and black of scars the night
in yellow light
we two have worn sham'ed bright
in yellow light
on red and black of scars the night
You are to me a source of pride
: undead, in you eternal born
from me receive a blackened fire
you have from me forlorn'ed torn
you have from me, forlorn'ed torn
(c) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
Untitled Burial is a Net-Label and Promoter of new style artists, including the Witch House genre.
Here is a single-track collaboration between three such artists:
One night, when I was barely conscious, driving through the mountains, to see you, I heard a version of, Desire, in which you finished the song:
I was about to believe
but, I had it all wrong:
-- I was strong,
and I believed in me.
Which, of course completely changes the tenor of the song, into a redemptive one, rather than merely a narrow escape from an imperfect, or settling-for, relationship in which you would had sold-out yourself to be pseudo-happy.
In the one I heard, and baby, -- I have searched through all of hell, in high water, looking for that version in this universe -- I think it was another one from The Other Side, where I'm from -- you see yourself clear of a poisoned note however perfectly played, and not only escape, but thrive -- a real person and one who has so much more to offer than beauty and grace, so much more.
With all my love,
XXX
-Kyrinn
High On A Rocky Ledge (Featuring: Marissa Nadler)
Cover by: Ghost Train Orchestra & Kronos Quartet
Excerpted from, GREEN RUINS & SHALLOW BLUES, Book II: FRUITFUL
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
Antje, little girl that she was, fallen down that icy hole, was sad more than scared. She had already half-resigned to die here in the night. She hoped her pony, Leijona, had the sense to make it home, to survive the frigid cold that would take her. Her cries rang like a bell but she wasn't sure that they ever left for the surface, and if they did, the pile of snow all about the entrance would further muffle them. No, Antje knew she was already dead. She looked about with the strange light which the ice seemed to channel -- it already dim for winter -- there was a sort of sunset pink-lilac, magenta-steel half-light around her. As Antje's fatigue increased, she slid down within her columnar jail, but found that beneath it, the ice didn't reach the floor. It was instead glistered with cinnamon-tangerine melt-water over rust-red rock. Antje had to combine crawling and chipping-away at the ice with her belt-knife. Once able, Antje found enough space to again stand. She was in a cave which looked to continue horizontally for some distance; however, almost immediately away from the cylinder of ice, there was no light at all; rust darkness and then pitch black. Antje looked and found only very small debris, but threw them singly to sound out the distance. Only one clattered. She moved, crouched low, and with her left hand reach out, while her right moved ahead of her feet; she shuffled this way until her left hand touched more rock, her right proved the ground's presence. Antje stood, almost hugged the wall as if it were a rescuer. She then probed ahead with her feet as she used both hands to grip the wall. Off into the darkness, with the daylit world behind her, Antje entered the unknown.
She moved on like this, and felt not colder air, but warmer. She pressed on in her slow exploration. He r mind's eye conjured the strangest images, not her imagination so much as her mind's attempt to make sense of the little flashes of light from her brain she 'saw' with that same brain. She was as detached from herself as always, and this isolation, this opportunity to be both absolutely focused and devoid of stimulation, save that of touch, and the hearing of her own breath and the shuffle of her dragged feet; that was so incredibly calming... Her mind seemed to function better down here, away from distractions of light and colour and voices, music, wood being chopped, fire consuming in crackles that wood, scents of foods being cooked in her parent's cabin... Here was a simplicity which permitted her space to think her own thoughts.
Under pressure, which felt like a lover's embrace; the fire of her body metabolising itself as she held her breath; as she sank further and further beneath the waves. The surface was a dim memory, an image of a dancing mirror where a distorted Antje fled from the light and noise of the surface world into her abyssal sanctuary; her chapel of blessed isolation. The lead sled pulled her deeper, past her first-best depth, past the second, past her most recent... The sounds she heard here, clicks and thin tinny whooshing chirps, sounds like ceramic in controlled cracking break... Her lover's embrace became almost a crush, her head ached, but that drove her out of it, into the darkest teal-steel towards holy blackness below.
She smelled marmalade and barely burnt toast, the heady richness of freshly brewed black chai; she heard the crackle of wood on fire, smelled faint wafts of it in the damp cave air, but all was still dark. Antje hugged the wall and drove each of her feet in a slow drag forward, ever forward. Then she caught it: a broad crescent of palest saffron-kissed tangerine light off in the distance, opposite her wall-friend. Antje wanted to call out, but she didn't want to disturb a cave troll or other denizen of the Underworld in which she now moved.
"You can show yourself, Antje Aino-Airi Miesaarni; I know you are there; don't be afraid... you aren't intruding."
Antje crept round the wall and saw a fireplace and a chair before it, upholstered in a sort of paisley pattern which looked like peacocks on antique gold. The left arm of a smoking jacket was visible, and held a snifter with a multihued liquor within; the glass and contents captured the firelight in a magnificently wondrous fashion.
"come, girl, warm yourself by my fire and dine -- i know you have gone without for so long... so very very long."
Antje came round, still touched her wall and saw in larger and larger slices of angle the man who sat in the jacket in the peacock chair. He looked Turkish, or Afghani, or was it Akkadian? His large nose ruled out the former, his hair made him look more Moghul, but his eyes made him look more ancient, his brow strong, his dark locks thick and curly also danced with firelight. His thick lips were sensuous and curved into a smile which Antje knew held something more than mischievous, but he hadn't yet lunged for her.
"I know, I know, I look the IÅ¡kur. Can't help how one is made, now can we?"
She shook her head, gulped, and found her eyes drawn to a plate with a slice of cake -- the slice of cake she had once seen in a photograph -- of a white cake, with vanilla frosting and strawberries in and atop it. Beside it was a large mug of steaming chai, with a cinnamon stick and an orange slice on the rim -- just as she had seen in another photo. Her stomach grumbled...
"Eat, drink, warm yourself by my fire, Hannah."
Antje looked at him; only her Grandmother had ever called her Hannah:
"This is your secret name, your mother knew it and you now know it too, but forget all about it; your children will be protected by the Covenant -- unbreakable -- writ on the stone itself by His hand, Hannah. Now, sleep my sweet girl... sleep..."
-- "If I'm seeing these, I must be dreaming. These aren't real... are they?"
He smiled, leaned forward then back after he changed his position in the golden chair of peacocks.
"There is a thin line between real and unreal, characters and readers, you... and me, my darling. I have waited a long time to have this very conversation with you, yes you. My love for you is the strongest bond you will ever know, but it is very pain itself, and all pain is mine to bestow. You will better understand as you grow older. Pain is the cosmos' way of letting you know you are alive; that you are present; that in the moment, you are real. I don't expect you to understand this now, or even to remember it, but it happened; trust in that -- on this very page in the book you are reading my dear one; this very page you are reading now."
Antje felt stunned, confused she wondered how any of this could be real; she barely felt real to herself; she felt cold and numb.
"Eat and drink, my love. It will sustain you until your return when next the green is seen to cover the land; my realm is your birthright, your very human birthright."
Antje knew she didn't understand, and that it was alright. She didn't know which to take first, so she grabbed both. She shoved the cake in her mouth -- it was not as sweet as she had thought it would had been; even a little bitter, sour. She held the very hot mug, it almost burned her hand; she drank it -- the spice so strong it almost overpowered her, the heat warmed and continued to build as the spices flowed through her veins. Pomegranate tea, cassia and cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, black pepper, allspice, anise, licorice... she ate more of the cake and curled up on the floor by his feet.
When she revived, Antje heard the adults from the nearby village comment on how Leijona had been so brave, such a good pony; his sacrifice to cover the hole had saved her alive. Antje tried to speak of the cave, of the man and his peacock throne, of the fire and the food, but they would have none of it, and said she was addled by the cold. The snow had melted away and a few trees looked like the tiniest buds had begun to form. The warm blanket and the fireplace of the old woman's hut. The Coltsfoot flower in the one little glass vase the woman owned caught the dawn's early light, and Antje remembered for a moment, and then she felt slumber upon her like the night.
I had another Ethiopian driver yesterday, and heard some great Orthodox hymns and other songs; among which was this one. Shazam to the rescue, again.
I really like the Amharic language' sound, and I find the instrument of this song very interesting for its ancience. I'd love to do a Witch House remix of this one.
Babe,
I was just listening again to that album, I told you that night, had been the one in heavy rotation. I had noticed a sad, surprised, sorrowful look in your eyes, but considering the noise at the Exit, we didn't have a lot of intimacy to discuss things. It wasn't until an interview (you know the one) in which you explained why that album in particular was ...well, anathema may be too strong a word, but -- so disliked by you...
Anyway, after yet another re-listen, I have to tell you that you are just the most wonderful woman I have ever known, and I want all the world to know that -- hence this very public letter, to you, Midnight.
All my love,
-Kyrinn
I'm 98% finished with packing, and the handyman driver is due in about an hour and a half. Move-in prep has been made on the Landlord's side. It's just a 25 minute ride further away from work than my sister's place. But, its so close to the subway. :|
Supervisor informed me that she plans a uniform inspection (me, only, 'cause I'm the one who relieves her shift), and to wear the lady necktie -- but says I, I have no lady necktie, ma'am. Perhaps she will have one to give me to inspect me in. Weird.
Okay, Pumpkin, I'm always thinking of you.
Love you to death do us part.
Growing up, the genre explosion was still decades out, and America was still largely ruled by country/Western music. More than one weekly national TV programme was in this vein, and radio, yes, AM, and then FM, also played this sort of music as pop.
Crystal Gayle, more than any other female artist was the one I thought of if asked back then, likely even into my early teens. Yes, Joni, and others, but it was Crystal in my circle of knowledge.
Here is a video collection I found on YT after a random suggestion sent me down memory lane.
So, yes, its not all Blackness up in here...
