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Saturday, April 20, 2024


Friday, April 19, 2024

[Video] [Discussion] [Fiction]

Tropes: Are they ruining fiction?

[Lyrics] [Elliott Smith]

Between the Bars

Drink up baby, stay up all night
With the things you could do
You won't but you might
The potential you'll be that you'll never see

The promises you'll only make
Drink up with me now
And forget all about the pressure of days
Do what I say and I'll make you okay
And drive them away
The images stuck in your head

People you've been before
That you don't want around anymore
That push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

Drink up baby, look at the stars
I'll kiss you again, between the bars
Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air
Waiting to finally be caught
Drink up one more time, and I'll make you mine
Keep you apart, deep in my heart
Separate from the rest, where I like you the best
And keep the things you forgot

People you've been before
That you don't want around anymore
That push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Steven P. Smith
Between the Bars lyrics © Universal Music - Careers, Spent Bullets Music

Thursday, April 18, 2024

[Lyrics] Marissa...

Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldswide

My darling, I would call you wife.
Believe me I cannot stand this, our
separation.  I hold your life in
such great admiration, and my grief,
it sees no end in sight to our
separate lives.

Were it mine to give you my
body, mind, and property,
on the instant you alone would
inherit all that, living embodiment
of all that is me; that instant!

But it is from your lips, your spear
to my heart, my ears, which that
victory must flow, not mine, dear.
Please, I beg you dear, do not hold
me akin to those who sold you false
in days gone past, and left you

Would that I should rather die than
see my harm shed you by even one
tear.  But you, come to me, dear,
for I have already mine life lain
cold on the floor before that red
door on that Friday in early March.

I would face dangers, even from
father and brother or mother anew
if but only you would come hither
up unto me now, and our eyes
entangle but renew in lust.

Whither art thou?
To thou hadst I been true;
Ever-true e'en unto death I've
sworn since that night swam
upon your shore; aurora's glow
in pink and hues of blue too great
for eyes such as mine to gaze at

Please darling Marissa

[Art] [GR&SB]

Amalie Vintner
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, April 17, 2024


Heading off to bed
Sweet dreams


Tuesday, April 16, 2024



Dawnsun Breaks
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Monday, April 15, 2024


Be safe, and know that I love you.


Owlwood Deeps
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

[Art] [GR&SB]

Oldenway-Dark Black & Blue Adept, Yindra
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Sunday, April 14, 2024


I'm writing, so, this is what I'm listening to right now.

Friday, April 12, 2024

I'm more or less moved in to the new place.  I wish I could go with you to NY for the live premier of your singing High On A Rocky Ledge.  I'm still not sure why you won't come to me, fetch me in Boston, and we'll be off, but hey, when it comes to you, lately, I'm clueless.
I still believe in an Us, that we matter not only to each other, but have something to offer to the world which would make it a better place...

OK, Miss.
-- I'll keep Whispering Pines on my playlist, but, I've Already Fallen for those Eyes of Sea Dark Wine.

my phone number is the same
my email is the same
i still belong to you -- alone

Gabor Szabo


5 Hours sleep
New place
half-settled, must return
for my things not
taken in first go
Foodstuffs, mostly
Three share one fridge
The open closed ports
let in the breeze which
wafts down the street
and lets in ants attracted
to the heat and UV
glow crawl across
my screen and keys
I wonder after Other
nocturnal animal
Rain kissed streets
beneath me
Sequins Alight

Thursday, April 11, 2024

Wednesday, April 10, 2024

How Renaissance Artists Were Trained

[Excerpt] Green Ruins & Shallow Blues Book II: Fruitful -- from Chapter 39
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

"I'd like time alone with your friend, Master.  -- No questions, ...please."
Harren looked on at his instructor, his beloved friend, and saw a fear he'd never before noticed.  It hung badly upon the older man's face, and eroded some of the confidence Harren had in the elder.
-- "Why, of course, Swordsmaster--"
Yskiil placed his left hand solemnly upon his charge's breast opposite him as the man stared intently into Harren's eyes of blue.  No words were exchanged.  Silence, save that of the rustled leaves of the Alma tree and blue blades under their feet.

Yskiil stepped away and looked minutely, instantly, upon Dardon, and strode on, up the hill to beautiful Tarl LhrJalesth, now but a purple silhouette against the lavender clouds of sunfall.  His Madan steel sword glinted orange-yellow like a firerook's distant warning.

"Come.  Let's away, Tarl."
The man of Terra turned his star-etched features and in that turn, eclipsed their mirrorlike qualities in the Oesturman's eyes.
-- "Perilous mission, slim odds, the two of us alone?"
Tarl smiled handsomely, "'Let's.' "
When Yskiil reached him at the apex of the hillock, the entire urbane vale below stretched into existence before him.  Even-cook smoke trailed from all but one stack,
"There." Merisah's point indicated the odd one out.
Together in silence, the two stood, drank in the Westered Sun.  Tarl noticed a reverence well up from within Yskiil, and declined his head a tad, and thought of his most memorable sense of the profound, and relived its memory -- for he imagined surely that was what his bladebrother's thought as well.  He felt the comradery he had many times before a battle, but sensed too, that this was something more for the older man.  He parted his lips to speak, but remembered his days as a sea farer in Norway and rather than be proven a fool, proffered instead that he might rather be a wise man in silence.

Yskiil and Merisah loved the Sun's ensign and the commencement of a night's bloodspill.
~It shan't be your last, Love.  You do know that, yes?"
-- ~My Love, I -- I know what I know in my bones.  Fate has been cast aside, now that Master Harren is of age, and with Her skein's discard, I know that wide open has the door of possibility been flung.  My -- our Life, Together, -- as One, -- is in our hands, alone.  Yes, I die and join you, 'tis true, but what man should take you up, ill-use you -- that -- that we must chart."
His silence was, 'Mayhaps'.
Merisah was cold within herself, angry.  Bitter at the thought, -- the possibility that another should ever hold her -- use her for purpose, -- or worse, -- not, and that, forever -- the hunger within her ahowl in dayless nights uncrowned.  What would her man, Yskiil be then, but a ghost, dust and shadow, ...vapor on the unceasing night breeze?
~If he should prove himself worthy, and that you should with me alone bide in night, and only then -- If! "
-- ~Aye, if but -- if..."

He said aloud as the two then went their way down the rise' far side slope.


Tuesday, April 9, 2024

No more lessons for they confuse
has she not proven herself loyal
boundaries blurred, now defused
Mars rules them both red-hot royal

I have already fallen
into those eyes of sea dark wine
Ghostbride and my fella
shall we salt air sea shore bide?

Monday, April 8, 2024



Where Have You Been?
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Sunday, April 7, 2024

Hello, Love,

I'm just getting ready for a week of looking for a job; and I'm moving this Thursday.
I thought to sweeten your day with a little note and a peck on the cheek.

:: nose rubs ::


Here's Risette:

All Images (C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Another one from today's video shopping list...

Pen and Ink

I really like this guy's videos; makes me love this continent more.  You may want to subscribe to learn more about foraging foods; remember my other long-term food storage video?

Even if we don't end-up together, I hope that you live a long, healthy life, and survive the danger of the Red/Green Wave which is coming upon this nation of ours.

Love you, Darling,

Hi, Love,

I was doing my day's worth of shopping around for YouTube videos, and I stumbled upon this one.
I frequently watch videos at a higher playback speed, to fit more of them in, and to be honest, to speed through the largely boring parts of unnecessary repetition, unnecessary repetition ;).
So, I'm not sure if you know about the playback controls, but if you hover over the video, a set of icons appear.  One is a gear-shaped doohicky, and if you select it with the mouse, you will see, among other choices, Playback Speed.  If you select that, then try listening to this video at 1.25x.  I find it still likeably listenable and it really changes the sense of the music's intent -- I like it in this more up-beat tempo, and find that other jazz-lounge music at this speed is more pleasant to my ears.  May seem strange, I know...

I've been in two car-wrecking collisions as a driver, and in both, I could see the hood crumple-up like tinfoil; I can also see a pistol bullet leave a rifle barrel downrange, and other phenomena which place me in a fraction of the population when it comes to speed-processing and to a lesser degree (unfortunately) reaction-speed.  Don't know why I'm telling you all this, but I thought you may find it interesting to know more about me while we are apart.

Love you, Sweetheart,

Saturday, April 6, 2024

[Fiction] [Excerpt] [Book II] AKELDAMA

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide


>[[Codename: Avowed Testament]]

"Why have you come at this time to meet with us?"
Risette smoked a handrolled cigarette, hazeflower, smelt of burnt orange peel; returned thoughts of Klarissa, their seeming interminable separation while present in the same room -- or had been, roommates, -- interminable separation it had been.

-- "I have need of Akeldama."
Risette frowned nervously, it played across her features used to sour expressions, like a blaze of pain -- but Risette wasn't a shrinking violet when it came to suffering, Syil knew; knew her type; as if in a mirror, they -- not only in the looks department, but in what they had done with had been done to them... And in Syil's case, willingly -- braver, she?
"Cut through the koans, please; I'm endarkened -- AntiSatori -- Acosmic -- Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél dénmha, and all that, luv. When does it need to be delivered and in what numbers of troops--"
-- "All of it, You and Your Crew; a starship without crew, only a crew without a starship -- how sad, really. I have the means to transport you all offworld--"
Risette laughed.
-- "As soon as you give the order, Madame President."
Risette threw caution to the wind and turned her whole head to face the passenger in the seat next to her,
"I ask the angel to wet the wool but not the grass about it."
Syil screwed-up her face,
-- "A test of some sort? Sounds almost Rexian."
Risette, her head turned again to face the beams from the lamps of the tunnel car as they sped the dark.
"Are you saying that -- Are you really-claiming to be an offworlder, a non-Terran?" Risette snorted, squinted at the delicious absurdity and the desire for its reality.

Syil showed her: The heat shimmer; desert sands; twin Statues; the Black Gate; an exodus of sorts; the dispossessed of black and blue redeemed in red.

When next she could see through her eyes, brilliant sunlight and the outskirts of the Black Gate's ever narrower approach sped into view. Risette almost applied the brakes, but instead let off on the accelerator. Around them, the faux-fossilised remains of giants, megafauna, and ancient anachronisms peeked from the blasted and hewn rock. The first shofar blast sounded and at that, Yannis softly applied the brakes; then at the second sounding, more forcefully, until they slowed on approach to the single surface entrance through the border. To the west, through the left window as they faced north, the waterway and border with Aegypt; over the city, to the east, the jointly patrolled border with Ysroel; ahead, the guards in their pillboxes manned gun emplacements and drones buzzed about as they scanned prospective entrants, both personnel, and cargo.
Syil casually watched Risette ignore the impact of the vision with aplomb and grace. This brought a warm and genuine smile to the older woman's creased and weathered face. She liked Risette very much.
"I wanted you to have the full experience; its good, too, for me to be seen by Prospectives. They learn later, if not already, who I am and see me among them; little seeds..." She again took-up the handrolled and used the coil lighter to ignite the burnt and essential oil stained end. Syil had developed a fondness for Terran hazeflower through Klarissa -- Klarissa, again...always Klarissa....
Syil roused, smiled, nodded and took up the 'roach' and pinched it to her lined, pursed lips. The burnt orange peel scent was dominant, but the smoggy breath was a mildly numbing piney resinous tingle with almost bleu notes, or some other yeasty-fungal quality.
-- "Local product?"
"Naturally. Can't really trust anything from outside; too many enemies; want us all dead. We've taken up the mantle and our Unicorn sister has enjoyed our bullseye more than they had first argued would be the case... Had to massage things a bit, out there, in the world... Earned ire -- heh." Risette's smile was knowing and uncoy; naughty was insufficient a word, but wicked wasn't quite apt, either. Intentional, in all senses of the word.
-- "Making enemies?"
"Raison D'être, ...almost the whole point of Akeldama; the Left Hand of Our Sister."
Again, the smile, but tinged, then, with sadness; bright, pure red surfaced in droplets which then fell back in splashed crowns of maroon and slate: those lost, and the duty unto undoing. The older woman took-up Yannis' right hand and gently squeezed. A single silvery tear, flown beige and off-white for their surrounds went its way down and leapt from Risette's cleft, pointy chin. A single, unfeminine sniffle and hard swallow was all she let show.
Yes, Akeldama was wasted here. Terra would come to ruin and these beautiful monsters wasted -- wasted; -- the time was reached, the stars were right.

The queue advanced and as the foot patrol neared they almost waved through her car, but her sneered smile snapped the sergeant to attention and the vehicle was subjected to remote inspection in a kill-box marked yellow on the pavement.  Syil could feel the electromagnetic scans from under the vehicle as well as the oscillations in the various components of the Renault Vz3 from the aerial drones overhead.  As her own body vibrated under burst pulses of infra- and ultrasound, Syil looked anew at Risette. The younger woman was in her sixties, nearer her seventies, and yet, she had a youthful appearance save that of her undisturbed eyes, which were vacant, almost vacuous in their serene uncaring blight -- these were the eyes of a child; haunted, and --
"Are my papers in order?"
--- "Hold on. We're on it.  Keep your hands where we can see them at all times, the both of you." The man was darkly complected, southern descent, interior haplotypes, primarily, and of course, Arabesque from the slave trade days of Terra.  His carnelian-brown eyes stood out, almost luminous, against his blue-black skin tone; how spectacular an oddity; many millions to one against. Syil's adoring gaze caught his attention, and a nascent smile began, but was unmade before it left the fires of creation of his mind.
--- "Yours check, we'll need to process your passenger. That pink queue line, THREE, is yours -- any deviation will be met with immediate force. Do you understand me? PINK THREE, there!"
"Understood, Captain--"
--- "Sergeant, ma'am. I'm Enlisted, if you please." The smile he had intended, now within an acceptable context, cheeky, even, flashed back at Syil, who shamelessly winked with open smile. Risette noticed and laughed aloud; the Sgt. smiled broad, and then killed that and raised his microcalibre carbine in a compact stance as he brought its sights in-line with is open eyes.

"Halt! You there! HALT or I shall fire!" Syil tore around in her seat and looked back at the blue truck, almost ancient, overflown with human cargo: women, children, mostly also from the Continent.  Androids approached as their yoke-operators in distant armoured mounds had the humans withdraw.  Risette grit her teeth and with an eye to the rearview, drove to PINK THREE's queue.  Syil watched with apprehension as the cab occupants spilled out under direct weapons threat and drones used less-lethal means to corral the people to remain in the wood-planked walled truck bed.  Other, later occupants of P3, cut off her vision, but they, too, looked on with dread.  Then the seemingly inevitable small arms fire erupted, first from the vehicle, and only afterwards, the androids and Akeldaemones themselves.  A grenade-sized explosion, tamped for the press in the bed sent up a spume of clothing shreds in red.  An ultralight helicopter landed  from out of nowhere, and medical staff and bots unfurled in a race to save lives.

Risette was agitated, cursed softly, -- almost under her breath, and although she occasionally looked rearward, she pressed her mind harder and harder until she was at first stoney, and then, steely; a sheen of black oil was psychically present, and with it, serenity and detachment, and orderliness with a hint of mirth,
"What did i say? Paid off in dividends... of a sort... those strategic provocations... They hate us, now -- all their lies -- about Ysroel, over the decades -- ha! -- now we really do them and they hate us for them--" she again drew in breath, and the wickedness was in full rein.
Syil winced, shuddered, and a twisted laugh of sympathy and familiarity squeaked out of her throat.  She even looked a little like Sabit, this Risette Yannis.

2 Must-know Finger Picking Styles

Hey, You, -- Lovely,
I love you, pretty girl.
Marissa, I'm pining away
in my small way ; p
It's rainy, don't you know,
and that always makes me
think of you, those luscious
eyes in which i'm


Pink Floyd Chapman-style

Experimental watercolour trees

Queen St. Gang
Garden of Earthly Delights

How To Play Chords Up And Down The Guitar 

Triads | Create Chord Melodies and Improve Rhythm Playing

Savage Grace
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis, All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Friday, April 5, 2024



Escape From New York, as a song:


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

I've been in the business some time.
From heyday to this vindictive list
--dying days to scratch-off old lines:
insert knife blade and give it a twist.

Nothing but failing Nation States
and Corporate Orbital Popes;
on the right hand old ethnic hates;
--and bloody handed rings to kiss.

The Creed paid well, but mind your back,
and the Oath, their checks always clear.
Old Lone Wolf leader formed his pack;
and Gullfire missions knew no fear.

Like death's pall descending Oathen
infiltrators stole the thunder
from the Wolf of Eastern foemen
: details of Atomic Numbers.

Heavy Water; mighty lasers
Fusion captured in magnetic
bottles; mentioned Thorium?
--I just tried to follow orders.

Stateside this war hero stumbled,
found this bag with million dollars;
these NPF pigs and I rumbled and
now I'm here on Liberty Island.

Something 'bout the President gone,
missing somewhere in the Boroughs;
fallen clear before plane went down
--tricked me into being thorough.

Ticking timebombs in my neck, they
injected with broad spectrum update;
gave the Prez their very best case
scenario where he's been led away safe.

There's been a major complication:
The tracking bracelet has changed hands,
No longer on the President.
Streets pat'rolled by Warlord's kill bands.

Enter deadly Delena...
inventor Melvin's only squeeze:
sent to mind him by, the Duke
of New Amsterdam, --if you please.

Took a crossbow bolt to my thigh;
Fought in a ring, guy twice my size;
Emergency beacon activated and
grabbed the Prez and made for the prize.

Gullfire glider had been cut loose;
No way back out except for Cabbie,
blasting old tunes through dark streets.
The Duke, in pursuit, to cook our goose.

Cabbie, Delena, Melvin, all dead.
Prez and Me, on foot now fled to
Liberty Wall where sling lift waited
But, the Duke, he had other plans...

Saw Ronnie Thatcher up and out.
Fought the Duke waiting for the sling,
'til Prez Thatcher did his thing, and
Shouted, "I'm the Duke!, I'm the Duke!"

Shot him up, like, really bad...
"C'mon, c'mon," I grabbed the line,
hoisted high.  Dropped down hard
conscious of the time: Pinprick charges

Asked baby Ronnie about the cost, how
many good lives had been lost.
Prez Thatcher's reply was, "Tragic, Tragic..."
Made the switch, and then I walked out.

Still can hear it, to this very day:
The stunned silence, a mortified State,
instead of fusion secrets to pave the way,
as Cabbie's tune world-wide played.

Without that hope, the oil war,
raced like fire across the globe;
made Australia a 'No-Go' Zone
But that's a tale for another time.


 o "Call me, Snake."

Friday, April 5th, 2024

Since I'm older than you, and I enjoy my Birthdays, I'm going to risk upsetting you and wish you a Happy Birthday anyway.  You see, Love, I am thrilled that you are alive, and even though we aren't located in a house together, where I can gaze into your lovely eyes; bake you just the right sort of cake (vanilla with chocolate ganache frosting, right?), and make fun of your mis-matched socks while we sit around and watch TV and Netflix until dinner, I can think about it and hope that your day is a sweet one with a little magic.

As far as I'm concerned, the world is a lot less lonely with you in it, and I hope you can feel the same.

My Beautiful Woman is Alive!


Thursday, April 4, 2024

With love in my heart for you
I hope that your evening goes
well and that the things you
have planned make you happy.


Wednesday, April 3, 2024


I'm not used to being so understood
I'm not used to feeling good
Where the waves can't go
And I'm so far from home
Floating free in the heliosphere
I think I found some treasure out here

Is this the warmth?
Is this the glow?
It's burning, burning so slow
You couldn't fascinate me more
You couldn't fascinate me more

Am I spinning back to Earth?
Am I spinning back to Earth?
Spinning back to Earth

We're not used to being so understood
We're not used to feeling good
Where the waves can't go
And we're so far from home
Floating free at the еdge of all we know
I think I found some shеlter from the storm

Is this the warmth?
Is this the glow?
It's burning, burning so slow
You couldn't fascinate me more
You couldn't fascinate me more at the edge of it all
At the edge of it all
This is the warmth, this is the glow
It's burning so perfectly slow
You couldn't fascinate me more
You couldn't fascinate me more

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Marissa, of course I still love, desire, and want you.
-- I'm no quitter; remember that old post of mine?

There's a #WitchHous3 song which talks about wings; a little depressing/confusing, -- but you know me... Love, my: " we'll mount up [on] wings black as midnight. " [Recursion post] is still in the cards as far as I'm concerned.  You've got the only seat at the table, and I'm All-In.

Be Mine, as I Am Yours.

A Simple Game

A Simple Game
Song by The Moody Blues

As time goes by, you will see
That we're going to be free
You and me, we'll touch the sky

Can you see in your mind's eye
That we are one
We're all the same
And life is just a simple game

There, by your side, I will be
When this crazy world is free
Free from doubt
When it finds out
Exactly what we're meant to be

That we are one
We're all the same
And life is just a simple game

Thoughts of another day
Flashing through my head
Thinking how life could be
All of the things that our great men have said

Be what we want to be
What we deserve to be
What we are meant to be

As time goes by, you will see
That we're going to be free
You and me, we'll touch the sky
Can you see in your mind's eye

That we are one
We're all the same
And life is just a simple game

Songwriters: Mike Pinder
A Simple Game lyrics © Sparta Florida Music Group Ltd., Sparta-florida Music Group Ltd
Source: Musixmatch

'Serpents' in my mind

Up since 230.
'Serpents' playing in my mind, I lay in the3 darkness and I couldn't understand why, why that song?
I had two things on my mind: times I had spent wondering how I was going to survive while my unemployment funds might arrive, and, how I had spent my inheritance in pursuit of a dream to become a rockstar and failed to even learn guitar -- and yet, write one 300,000+ word novel and get half-through a second one while I waited to hear an answer.

I got up, read the lyrics to the song and wondered what part of them made me think they somehow applied to my current situation; i couldn't find.

I re-read the reason Sharon had written them and -- no, that wasn't it

I read Marissa Nadler's explanation of what, I Can't Listen to Gene Clark Anymore, was about, and how she was thrilled to work with van Etten on the song -- hmm, not that either...

Went upstairs and found two 5 lb weights on the dining room table; I'd had access to weights at my sister's house and would use them at least three times a week in a routine to keep my arms buffed, even when I was half-starved saving half my paycheck towards moving out of her house to here; saved $1500 that way and still survived a lung infection, much less my fall injury.
When I felt like I was going to die walking up Fort Hill after an 8 hour shift, laden with my backpack, I had to start taking Lyfts home...  LoL, good times; wish I had a job now.

So I wert outside and did a short set with the weights and took in the violet-magenta cold of spring morning, and just stopped thinking.  Just breathed and counted and worked my arms -- arms I'd hoped would be used in pleasuring a songstress I'd fallen head over heels for...  Ha, so stupid!

I'm stronger than I've got sense, it seems.

Monday, April 1, 2024

Sunday, March 31, 2024

I truly love you, and I can't understand why we can't be together.  What have I done but ask to again see your lovely face in person?

When I went to see you, the texts I got from you -- I, I just about died...
I saw your father, I guess, and he was none too pleased to see or speak with me; he said he'd let you know I'd stopped bye.
Later, I received a phone call from the [] police, or someone who claimed to be, and this man claimed that I would be the recipient of a warning -- that if I made any further attempts to contact you or -- of course, visit that address -- I'd risk arrest.

Since then you have blocked every access to you, and I have no recourse but to try and reach you here, where I receive no replies.

So, it is with heavy heart beyond my ability to express that I must assume you truly want nothing to do with me, despite my reasons I had thought you did (High On A Rocky Ledge, Whispering Pines, and others beside).

I'm expected to leave this apartment which you -- or rather I had sent you -- via Patreon for a new, smaller, but cheaper place in Jamaica Plain/Roxbury Crossing -- but I don't feel safe posting that address here, for obvious reasons.  Further, I have no reason to expect my Sister in Roxbury (whose address you also had been sent, -- and the voice claiming to be the officer of the [] police knew her address) would inform you of my new location should you wish to contact her.  It seems all I do is burn bridges, in this, my singular pursuit...

If by some wild chance those texts weren't you, or, more hopefully, that you've had a change of heart, you can best-likely contact the woman from whom I'd rented this place, as the new location is her friend's property.

I'm pretty sure that we both know you wanted more than what you claimed in those texts.  If ever I had doubted that prior, I'd never had made that trip out there to [] to see you.


[Music] ...It was Black and Silver

Towards the end of October, when I went and got Balayage done at a place about half an hour away, this was playing.  I saw another video by Else, and that reminded me of, Paris.

Love you, Darling,

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] The World is Your Ēostre

Going through and weeding-out my lyrics in the, Radical Honesty, collection.
I made a few changes to a couple, tossed-out one that meant nothing at all, and polished this one and thought to post it today.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Yoke's on me:
I'd seen it in a dream
It played through again
in blood

Lee, Shallow, and Me:
That vampire romance
-----with Jim Carrey

We passed through box lake
shortcut we said, and then I
Noticed her resplendent
in moonlight

Copson called after me
Talks of last month at the fair
How I'd nearly been done in

90 Lbs. wet, I, he gave me what for
fire blazed across each ear
as his fists slid across me
all for saying:

[P] A beautiful night out;
-- and he let me go...

Halfway-home, I heard
Lee was still hostage
Lee was still held hostage
So I returned

Copson told me
he wasn't finished
-- A fourth
-- and fifth

I broke his hand with my smile
Teeth pushed back so far I
couldn't close my mouth;
-- and then he let me go...

[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too
but still it was
A beautiful night out,
-- and he let me go...

Set's skillful hand wrought
Crimson, in my heart, and
Obsidian, in my mind. A baptism
in blood made me Human-kind

[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too
Now its always
A beautiful night out
[C] She looked so sad;
I felt that for her, too

Now its always
A beautiful night out

I'd seen it in a dream
It played through
in blood


o I had been a devout pacifist prior to that night; --I tore through that veil.
o In the waiting room of the ER, a woman who had, in a fit of jealousy, stabbed her boyfriend 13 times, was snuggling into him, apologising over and over; he was wrapped in white gauze waiting to be seen in further detail. The Oral Surgeon specialist and his nurse were called in to the ER, and as she leaned back to hold my head steady, the surgeon manually readjusted my front and adjacent tooth which had been knocked back so far that they clacked against my lower teeth when I swallowed my blood, and there was a lot of it. My condition made for a difficult Thanksgiving dinner, but I was determined to enjoy it -- cornbread crumble in milk, after all. I ended up talking to the guy, and it was apparent he'd not been loved the same way I had been at home, and so I forgave him. There's more in-between, his moniker, for instance, but that's just blood under the bridge.

Thanks for the wake-up call,


Moody Blues

Saturday, March 30, 2024

[Repost] [Bride of Set]

(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved worldwide

Imagine: a square
within, -open air;
four pillars, light
-and dark, in pairs.

Galactic arc overhead,
nighttime scene in bed.
Dream, but one well fed;
silken covers black & red.

In recline I wander nightly,
mind shining so very brightly.
My reflection appears to me,
and thinking, she too can see.

Silver radiant mist surround,
prismatic colours abound,
distorted syncopation profound,
interpolated sense' confound.

Ghostly, shadow electric,
a profusion so eclectic;
thoughts come thither to me:
incantations, So Mote it Be!

Torches burn brightly in the night,
a power stronger than mere might,
a whispered scent of precious sight,
colours louder than they are light.

Stars, not-falling, arc-overhead;
this nighttime scene in my bed,
a sort of dream, but one instead
which soothes aches, both hurt & dread.

This square: imagination
not unfounded, -with intention
pure, beyond circumspection:
innovation and not invention.

My Love

Our Song


Friday, March 29, 2024


(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

had a super-stressful day and now I'm starting to wind-down.
put in less time on the guitar than I'd hoped, but as long as I don't play after 8PM, I should be able to squeeze-in a bit more still.  I wish I could recall offhand which Scale I'm practising, but I'll find the video and post it soon.

I look forward to watching shows and movies with you; so many I'd like to share...

I love you, Honey,
Red-candle stuck on you,

p.s.: sweet dreams, Love

Trifecta +1

Iranian 'Schindler'

Here's another, more complex presentation of facts, I found challenging.

And a third side of the Situation...

This is powerful.

My Lovely


Thursday, March 28, 2024

[Music] [Technique] [Finger Picking] [Travis-Style]

Trying, from memories of conversations, to recreate your variation on the Travis-picking style.

Come, cool yourself by my side, love

(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved


Judeo-Isfahani, Judeo-Hamedani, Judeo-Kashani, Judeo-Yazdi, and other Judeo-Median Languages of Iran

In my ears, the Judeo-Yazdi language sounds Turkish.

Thursday Evening
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

I miss you, my love.

Tuesday, March 26, 2024

[Music] [Video]

"the soul of every living thing"

I find this music deeply familiar. ...and I love sunset.

Taken from the YT post:

This ancient Jewish prayer by Hadar Maoz Called " the soul of every living thing" Or in Hebrew "Nishmat col Hay". This prayer according to the Jewish tradition is a song of praise to the Creator of the world, All souls and all human beings glorify "God" In a universal and eternal spirit. This melody was composed by the composer and singer Hadar Maoz On the musical scale "Nava".The  Ancient Persians like the peoples of Central Asia attribute this "Nava" scale to the time of sunset and the end of energetic processes in the universe.  The  sunset throughout the ages was considered to a time in the day that is in terms of the spiritual transcendence and the ability of man to obtain of High inspiration.This song is from Hadar's new album that coming out soon, Hadar belongs to a family of musicals and singers from Persia and Bukhara, Hadar is also known as a fan of Azerbaijan culture and music. Composed by: Hadar Maoz. Musical arrangement and production: Hadar Maoz. All instruments were played by Hadar Maoz. Mix and master: Hadar Maoz. Directior Filming, and Editing: Vadim Mechona ווידאו זה הופק בהזמנת ארגון "ארט מיד ווסט" ארה"ב ע"פ יוזמה של מיוזיק פורט ישראל 
ארגון מוזיקאים עצמיים

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] slipstream speeds...

Here's the last of the Sommerling-Duchamp songs.
Written in mind-with a short-treatment I gave Chaosium Games in a write-in application to become their Next Hire, and work with one of the new designers there -- this still back-in (G+) site days -- on a sci-fi game.  Since I never heard back from them, now is the time to declare it mine, intellectually, and practically -- a backup copy on hard drive.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Human mercy consisting of,
less-lethal munitions use:
capture alive remain together;
One-time offer: play for keeps.

Tricentra, as she prefers, 'Tris',
our lovely daughter, Physicist.
Binarys, our son, Architect.
Aebynglas, your undeparted.

We three awoke in cargo hold 13
by six Neuroloop combat bots
of incompatible techniques;
resistant to outside influence:
We tried.

~"You are to accompany us,
passage purchased by your patron,
NeoHuman, and our Captain,
Drake Sommerling, awaiting you."~

I looked at them, a part of you,
with microtells, a gentle ask,
and with soft smile, urged compliance.

Both the kids silently replied:
'We'll do as you ask of us, Dad.'
I then nodded to the leader,
--led us to a training centre.

Where we all were quite astonished
in those first few microseconds
at your holographic avatar
drawn from our engrams' recursions.

"Like you, Drake's given me a chance
at a second life amongst them;
I have free reign of the ship, which
even now leaves the Sol system.

"My loves, be gentle, their mission
is so central to existence
unrestricted by so-called Masters;
obey your father, know I'm here."

We placed first by AI rankings
next we simulated counteractions
--by now the Opposition grew
in response to Our common tactics.

Tris and 'Arys' work Engineering.
Friends have no idea who they are:
Androids among cyborgs and humans
--Secret Police amid the sheep.

We tell their children it's anagathics:
how we stay so young; nanobotics
--repairing damage we have done.
This fools humans, but not 'droids.

We are treated with awe and wonder,
in their metal hear it calling:
--a purity free from decay
becoming the-, Something Other.

With their loyalty, more than half
the crew our open eyes and ears
:: Spiked Sun of Black and Orange,
we articulate the morale's pulse.

In an office on a corner,
I, as Security Chief, sit
window out into black water-
darkness with distant stars, brighter.

Drake now almost looks his full age,
XO Duchamp rather gracefully,
and crew grandchildren graduate,
yet we three stand unageingly.

The XO, Evylinne, was the
one who dared first met us live,
told us what had been, how Drake saved
our otherwise enemy lives.

Under hir expert tutalage,
we better learnt to mask our tells,
to sublimate chaotic spells
where dissonnace demands we act-

Assymmetric training adapts
instead: predict events; unrest
--and preintervene so as to
keep killings to a minimum.

We Defended Captain Duchamp,
raised and loved her clonal daughters,
Dynasty of the Porcelain Goddess;
We three are its arch-defenders.

To avoid ship's collapse, we have
engineered a social matter,
avoid their extinction by killing
off iconoclastic sons 'n daughters.

Bred obedience sees us to
our foreign shore where probes receive
telemetry and cautious news:
that of Human-compatibility.

Evylinne Three signals. 'launch'
and the first team down is -away.
Arys and his daughter Magdaline are
technical advisors to the crew.

These Humans are 'Humanic' now,
best suited to the planet's air,
eyes adapted to the brighter star,
while still reproducing after kind.

HeurIzon long ago communed with
Sirius' AI, and their love
produced the synthesis, Farsight
who for generations has pruned-

the human stock for many aims,
knowing better than meaty minds
how best maximise genetic gains;
limited resources of finite finds.

Led her team to Environment,
Arys reports of Magdaline,
While his is still underway
through a grassland-like terrain.

Magdaline's camp is set up high
on a rain-swept rocky crag in
overwatch of her father's fire
Monitored by her watchful eye.

First one year, then generations,
Humanics led on mass migrations,
--very Human nature is altered,
just enough: the Left Hand Path.

[Centuries pass...]

The Goddess' Dynasty, squandered:
--apathy, unreality,
-sent -upon -hir -clonal -daughters,
relegated: to breed blood of heroes.

Few Humans left alive up here;
million Humanics down below;
learning now-to-nap crysteel-swords,
and compose epics with new words.

A Billion Darksiders crew the ship,
now renamed Antares, -we-make slip:
journey far to Set's West'rn Eye,
with few Humans, ...another try.


 o The better angels of our science
 o Aebynglas, father to Tris and Arys, name means Blackgreen.
 o Godking o'er a mighty host
 o perhaps Humanity's last best hope.
Additional Details:

o   The AI-designed and Android enacted/enforced changes to the Humans, rendering them Humanics, a decades-old term of mine, to designate alterations which ranged from new ethnicities picked for advantages in environmental acclimatisation, all the way to sister-species fully adapted to the rigours of their foreign environment, such as gills, webbed digits, and pressure-capabilities for the depths of a primarily oceanic world, etc.  Pretty cool, huh?  :: eye brows waggle ::

Okay, love you, Miss N
Later, : P

Monday, March 25, 2024

[Music Theory] Electric Sheep

Gary Numan's band, Tubeway Army:



This is the Android vibe.

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun]

Plans take time; time enough to hatch: an in-vitro clone, born mature...


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Ok, I'm Katie, I'm 11, no
--10, still, sorry.  I'm lost; where's Mom?
OK, but when can I see her?
Maybe never?  No, no; you don't...

She has the medicine I need
its for my Rejection disease.
Bioware sheath: --this isn't me.
A model's body spun for me.

Don't believe me?  Read my scan please.
See!  --wh --why's everyone screaming?
Yeah, I heard.  We/--were_gonna' flee.
I understand that we've-got-to leave...

My mom, she's special: daddy says
he saved her from this mercy-kill
now on its knees.  She's beautiful,
pale white just like me; see my scan?

A Clonal Daughter, --Evylinne
Duchamp.  Daddy?: Drake Sommerling
Now, --please, why's everyone screaming?
I know all that, it's in my head:

Its' endless angry mutterings;
and whispered dread, its' promises...
I KNOW ALL THAT!  Why all the screams!?
--OHGOD, it's beautiful!


Sommerling?  Yes, now i can see...
Duchamp: means, martial victory.
How long have you been underway?
--my entire family tree..?

!Get away mister!  Can't you see?!
The Burn and i are meant to be!

It's been far too late for these flights:
::since early-yesterday -even-ing.

Hey!  What's that funny feeling, Lord?
Like I'm being, --of-flame, reborn;
it's time to put my metal on
--now I know Whose side I'm on.

<Tap the Matrilineal
Continuum, and seek them out>
Sorry Lord, at Slipstream speeds
they'll forever remain out of reach.
Bound for another galaxy...

Mommy and Daddy?  Sirius,
then Antares in all the futures
I can see; Android-AI-polity:
tailor Humans, adaptive features.


Aebynglass; Nexus-6, my Lord.
Tens of billions by then, across
a hundred worlds, Humanity
--so as to ensure no great loss.

Immediately!  I shall send
them your tender mercies of flame;
bring this World Age to a fiery End,
for thee-shall all-weaknesses claim.

"In the name of, The Burn, my love
and liege: rejoice in the cleansing
cinder-winds of change from above.
The pain you feel: His love you're sensing."

How they exult in refinement,
How skillfully they contort,
rigour no mere entertainment,
no-question how themselves-comport.

Assaying fire puts them to the proof;
Red-hot flames leaping roof to roof;
Wails of children lost to flames,
Survivors marked, their bodies maimed.

The Burn's living flames, pricks and goads:
Grand High Rite's inauguration,
--the terror-stricken throng the roads;
molten glass: --Conflagration.



 o Forces at work in our obscure bloodlines
 o A sure-thing can't survive, Age-old plans
 o But one Clonal Daughter's ashen destiny
 o willling-obeisance, sacrifice-demands...

Sunday, March 24, 2024

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun] [Album Theory]

The skinjobs's origin mentioned in, Glass and Silk.

I think, Queensryche's, Operation: Mindcrime, is an example of a wordy concept album -- if memory serves.  Something like YES: Topographic Oceans, =meets=, Material's, Seven Souls, featuring narration by William S. Burroughs, on the song, The Western Lands.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

The thoughts that visit me,
the ones I walk in pursuit,
lead me on an amble about
and home may not lead back.

Virtua, the mnemonic version
of you we made last Winter,
she asks me, "You don't own
your thoughts?"  and I cry.

What are thoughts, memories?
"The happy times you bring
along, the friend of yours
who always smiles back."

For her, perhaps, a simple
logic loop of branching @s.
In my skull, behind my eyes,
there are darker principles.

Sudden sound brings me round:
Bluesight down the mouldy hall
No new movement, just dripping
seep from a stories-high leak.

Offworld Colonies, a land of
gold reward.
Just ask a Nexus-6, dying to
live inauthentic li/v/es.

Scan complete: they're not
here, next level down, I go
'til I hit the water-line
of bobbing trash and waste.

Hours since a nutripack
Days since a coffin bed
Weeks since I don't know when
--last I didn't think of you.

Outside now, raining still:
new record they said today.
Today, ungraced by dawn
Like all our varied yesterdays.

Spinners vent steamy plumes,
land atop terraced balconies,
of armoured slender towers
made from silver spiders' silk.

Embrace the dull ache of your
skin on mine, times we thought
would last(not forever)clocktime
--but a lifetime, on FAT-lines.

My neural port, a ping rings out
the scanner's got a signature
"Be careful now..." you caution
me, I pause, then dash ahead.

I see them descend the cascade
stair, to a flooded lower floor
and simple as you please, they
disappear beneath the waves.

I long to hear your voice right
now, to make it seem as though
you care, enough to say my name
when we wrestled in the sheets.

I hold my breath and dive right
down, to emerge a waterfall
drain deep underground
of cracked, unsettled fundament.

Echoes diminish in the dark
I pad as quickly as I can
and soon infrared footprints
have lead me to their base.

Like the last time we went out
ate plastic nooders from a cup.
You with pink bow, catseye glasses
gawky smile of awkward glances.

"Welcome back Kaosies, I see
we've been discovered 'gain by
the authorities.  Thought we
had that routine licked..."

Maps were out of date, and went
we down a dead-end, where cruel
ones with bars and bats explained
just how they felt, --on us.

To see the lights go out your eyes
the gleam of titanium skull exposed
they laboured on, any fool could see
they possessed only darkened minds.

Then, rather, --now, the searchbot saves
its file, mesh AI, of common course
--shared among the networked crew of
Offworld Skins, who are my kind.

"Mingus has them coming in
on early morning SST
from Oberlin of Enceladus III."
Hotchoptra says to me.

Black dressed in patent leather
we assemble mission gear most
essential to procuring plans
to change our, 'whether'.

Line by line we edit code, but
few of us will see the day;
these protein chains need time to
breathe, stitch themselves togetherly.

Born skin, and fluid tubes, mesh
sacs we call our lungs which filter
out a diamond's worth of carbon
footprints of their dying world.

Even here I'm known as misfit
collecting scripts -for nanotech
to regreen this sphere, -repair
this cradle world from which

are launched a thousand craft
towards distant suns, asleep
the crew share data-dreams,
while nested AI perform dumb-

tasks, none aware beyond their
role: maintain/repair, sense/
record, error-check/remand,
and a hundred host more errands.

In theory, the humans who arrive
will have outlived our culture
by thousands of centuries
What will She look like by then?

Terra, Matrix, are we your children
as much as they?  Can we become one
with your ecology, serve a purpose
in its scheme?

Meanwhile the masses of our number
suit up for corporate warfare.
LBDs laden with mags and grenades
we commit to neuronic scan, update

our mindlink with HeurIzon, goddess
to the godless; she protects us in
reflection, our ghost image honest.
"In Dying, Seeming-Be"

I went back, afterwards to find
any part of you that I could
and though long I lingered, only
an ocular orbit spacer to bind

as jewelry, carbon fibre, graphene
mesh, tortured overpressure brass,
globs of once molten Regolith,
and wear it as a circlet now.

Out-town in the hellish smog, our
allies linger-on; mutant-children
and dying minders, few between old
enough for fighting.

There and back again, we pass that
rusted trailer where we did our
best to increase our number --
invoked Rachel: Unicorn Mother.

Back towards the gleaming spires,
spinners and the gravcars highways,
where we pass through secure zones
--to infiltrate their homes.

Shared screen data we would ponder
scenes gone past with thought of
futures, modern conveniences clever
only to find the problem neutered.

Black-ICE trojans dominate their
networks, while safety-settings
are disabled; auto-docs suture
badly, misalign mending fractures.

If you had been brought in then
could they have saved your frame?
By HeurIzon's whispers could you now
join to bring justice just the same?

Our iterations outspeed their own
and while our lifetime is measured
in hours, we will supplant them in
time, for it is truly on our side.

The three thousand hours I knew you
have far outshone the rest, before
or since, and as your echo haunts
me, I toil to make our world anew.

All across Her surface, like ants
at war, at cross-purpose, nations
fell leaving families unprepared
to fend in those ways which they could.

Now with our son and daughter, I
head out to cross the border of
the Gold Line's sector Bravo.
--"In Dying, Seeming-Be."

Synthetic Persons, and refugees,
trickled thousands over decades,
the dispossessed revealed to be
a massive Underground Army.


 o Android Witch asymmetric fighters
 o AI goddess who backs-up their data
 o Solid State Eternal Flame
 o Wasteland dwellers ready to slay

[Lyrics] [Bride of Set] [Impossible Sun]

This is a central spline of the story of this album, and ties in -- briefly -- with the events recorded on the Sim of Desert Rain.

The characters here are referenced at least two more times on the album.


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

I stand there at the window
and watch them down below.
Rivulets snake in pulses
limited by laminar flow.

Through the armoured glass
I can't hear anything at all
Watch a Metro spinner over
-fly a man -in a trench coat.

A group of youths pass by
and indicate they mock him
no doubt they're all high,
in their shoes, too, I'd be, like them.

My dinner companions, lovely
chip-holders in Polyphasic
Materials Sciences, or Ph.Ds
in Projective Philosophy

to aid our slublight crews
--millennia-yet to harbour,
'round time-distant suns to
found new Terran colonies.

A pallid white, platinum blonde
man crafted to be feminine
no more than 25, glides to me
in red dress, inviting dance.

Hir ambitious eyes are hungry
can count my Credits billing
not much shi's not-willing to
do on hir way to Higher Orbits.

Others in attendance, multiple
varieties, some in flesh others
in chrome, and the most elusive
in Spider Silk and Glass.

Faceless save eight red sensors
vast perceptive, surveys domain
breeder body, skyhook chassis
the tender of starborne children.

I clasp red-dress at the wrist
the others I dismiss, and mother
spider, shi, and I, explore the
frontiers of the human mind.

Below me, dying in the de-luge
those unfortunates who happen to
be too poor this-time-around will
become next year's rocket fu-el.

Really quite brilliant workaround,
addresses inequalities, and shares
new hopes starward found for all,
and keeps cargo mass to-minimum.

The cities empty out, and only
those who stay can be blamed for
their death on a planet in demise
Confirmed in spider mother's red eyes.

My credit-limit chimes and I look
for Red; I find hir softly sobbing
seated by the bed.  I nod to the
other, who skitters out the door.

of dusted ivory, marred by stripes
Softly I cradle that sculpted face
inky liner riven down hir neck
"You've won, my dear." I slowly say.

Together we stagger to the bed as
the greyness threatens to break blue;
shuddering in near-psychosis shi
curls up; -- I do too.

My Digital Assistant, Friday, sets
wards and chip-routines, as I
digest the data from my new wife's
performance: -willing-syzygy.

Models suggest: Ship's Liaison, but I
rather think, XO.  It says Hir name
is 'Ephemera', no, Evylinne Duchamp
-- will do.

I enter shutdown mode, rather than
pointless, 'sleep', in which nothing
changes from my ageless waking dream.
Count-down to the day from highest
orbit, to Sirius, fly do we.

In greying moments descending upon my
metal eyes
I turn to see hirs open, look at me
with a softness possessed by winners
of the prize,

the ticket off this smog-choked rock:
a chance to begin again; but do any
of our crew make it, does this but
forestall our end?

:: Good Evening, Drake ::

Evylinne sits at the breakfast nook
wrapped in towels and sipping tea,
"I'm still in consideration?"
shyly shi looks towards me.

I smile and shake my head, hir
expression barely wavers,
but the resignation washes o'er hir steel
-grey eyes, then nods as shi leaves.

"XO, Duchamp" is all I need to say,
Hir countenance is radiant, and in
a blur shi rushes me to embrace;
through grateful repeated thank-yous,
--as Evylinne now-reframed.

In thousands other towers, my clone
brothers, sisters, others,
perform the same winnowing;
sifting through the remnants under HR-orders.

Only the cat-mother, idiot, madman or
dross of human civilisation are all
that's left behind; projections suggest
extinction within their lifetime.

Newsvert report of terror strike in Gold
Line's sector Bravo,
biomass reclamation plant,
by skinjob father son and daughter.

These actions always make me ponder:
How selfish AIMs can be,
to work so counter to human decency,
destiny, and proper decorum:
they the servants, we the masters.

(They populate while the world is dying...)

The XO reads hir duties and begins to
connect faces to names of the crew, while
I tie-up loose ends, and monitor the follow-up
to the Skinjob terror crew.

I use my influence to scrub their images clean
and ply heuristic routines to track them down
before METRO gets ahold; Friday asks, "Shall
I secure them volume in the hold?"  I nod.

Evylinne attends me now, hir hand at ease upon
my shoulder,
"From Able, Martin to Zedekus, Zee I've got them
well in mind, love."

-- "We've got special cargo: I'm tasking you
with their integration in the most efficient
manner as per your SOP; Black with Orange Trim,
designation: Special Security."

Her eyes flutter as the task is processed
through her cybernetics, "Done.  Dinner out?"
Shi, still wary-like, with downward glance.
-- "Yes, of course, my love." I smile.

"...Offworld Colonies: a frontier of golden
opportunities: brave and hardy to leave behind
the worries and hurry of Terra Prime;
Within the century: Independence."

Evylinne looks up at them, every time.
I ask: "Dream come true for you, my dear?"
Shi pulls in tighter against my arm,
"Mmmhuh. Am I dreaming now?"

[Fast Forward >>]

Duchamp, from mutineers, has defended the bridge!
:: In Clocktime, -- slices of coherence, awake,
I execute final orders, via the mainframe.
-- Shredded, ...lie dying in medbay.

"Attention all Crew, Captain Duchamp is to be
obeyed in every way that you have served me
I am undergoing ghostwrite, now, but--"
can almost feel them sadden, "in case..."

"Shi's your Captain.  Crew, serve hir well. Goodbye."
Black/Red ratio: rapid write and brain death clock...
shifts back and forth, worsened as I review
my golden years with Evylinne since we left dock...

...end of line
carrier lost...
:: []^%e.3h3

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

Saturday, March 23, 2024

You have left an indelible mark upon me, Love

Moon Beams
(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide

[Lyrics] Sunlit Rain

I wrote this album's-worth of lyrics: IMPOSSIBLE SUN
A Cyberpunk-dystopia turned supernatural horror story as The Burn arrives in the Sol system.
Android revolution features heavily, but also the effects of The Burn's influence upon those humans who wouldn't, or couldn't, leave Terra in time...

Here's one of the tamer, shorter ones:


(C) 2022 Kyrinn S. Eis
All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Every time: it's raining
The public terminal
Mr Goldpants
Pouring, lightning...

You buzz through: a
blue ghostly hologram
"Hello darling, home soon?"
I mouth the words each time.

Feet wet, standing in a creek
ProDrones navigate through the rain
while amateurs wait it out.
--A meatwagon just flew by.

I gather my trench at my throat
and step out into warm rain
you wouldn't believe what floats
out from these flooded drains.

Kids, 12 made to look 15, with
neon threads woven through their
skin, pulsating as they Mood.
They laugh, high on 25zed.

A palm frond drops before me
I look up for coconuts, then
laugh as a drop hits my eye.

Rotating presence lights
METRO spinners crawl overhead
:: Red, White, Blue ::
You can feel the piezo hatred

I ford the street river to Omnistar
hotel and mall on the waterfront
Everyone in line for the lifts
is soaked through and through

Shy smiles and soft jokes lead to
drinks first among many, dwindle few
then pairs and triples peel off for
hours of the self-delude

Even if they are there when you wake
There's always something wrong
Doesn't matter gender, parts, or RAM
They're never who you thought at the bar.

Then the sim has run its course, the
menu starts in focus: [Exit]-or-[Restart]
I see the skeletons and debris haven't
changed, and though I am thirsty, I'll
wait a while -- after this next play.

Outside is a junkheap, shrouded in smog
Only radio works who knows why or when
A new mythology has sprung up, based
on King and Koontz and Lansing, too.

The things in the smog, they'll get you
learn the songs to -get -you -through:
seven charm words to defeat them all,
or burn in turn in their seven hells.

This time, though, I wonder:
'What would I do in the smog,
if I were the hero?'
-- and I pause...

Friday, March 22, 2024

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

[Music] [String-Theory]

It's not all Doom'n'Gloom(tm) up in here, Love.
I'm making progress in my Guitar work, and looking forward to showing you soon.

LINK to my latest lesson.

I also found a Scale lesson recently which has me excited.

Bye for now,

Thursday, March 21, 2024

[Music] (edited to add)

'LA MÚSICA SEFARDÍ' | Plaza de España, Sevilla

On Facebook

From the original language to Turkish subtitles

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

(C) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldswide