Mermen and mermaids, the mythical lost cult of the sea. The ocean empire, vast and glorious, stretching as far as the blind eye can imagine. Aborted spawn, tainted flood, the menstral curse in union with the moon, and the tide draws in. Stained, wretched sheets, the reminants of the life that never began. And the legends are true. The creatures return, beautiful in their enigma, mearly shadows in the sun and darkness of the night. Their prescence known by man’s servent, low deep growls. Warnings or greetings?

“Hold onto this dream,” she preaches, “For now it is all you have.” A tear runs down my mud streaked face, as I realize the truth. This illusion I fabricated remains that which keeps me alive. The tower, the moon, the songs of the stars, the demons and their queen, the eyes, my mind poisened by my weak spirit, I stumble in the black night which embraces my soul. Escape, the dark oblivion of eternal sleep, is this what was fortold? Fate does not exist and this path I walk has no direction, for it is I alone who chooses where and when to turn when the roads split. Lost chances, no regrets, yet still I crumble by the wayside, never learning from the lessons life teaches. And this black savior, though inevitable, tantilizingly lies mearly beyond the hirizion of each coming day.

Conversing with the voices of my soul, disroyal arguements, screaming for the sake of choiceless mutterings, burning words into hands. Red candles line the alters under which the woman of the night proform their arts. Blemishs mark the torn skin, burns and scars, lucidity ignored as the pain become pleasure. Who called these sirens to scream throughout the life of the fallings stars? Banshees of the night, gripping the moon with a warm, friendly hand. Paid for sex, no shame, no emotion, fake moans of pleasure, the orgasmic trance forgotton like an empty shell.

Where are the lands we were promised? The promised land, our haven, utopia, the holy sacreligious island oasis in the centre of the desert. Cool, calm waters, naked virgins bathing in the blue pools, peace on earth. Bodies meeting, finger touching, gasps of nivarnal union. nature in all it’s beauty, the sea breezes ruffle through the enoch’s hair. Heavenly angels lying side by side in beautiful dreamless sleep. Blissful sighs, glorious illusions embracing one another in gleaming, glass towers. This is the tyranquil world - warless, painless, impossible.

The drums roll, the storms rage, the mirrors break, chaos. This is our life, this maelstrom of life, love death and fear. Nothing but the knife to live for. Blood shed, stumbling over the smouldering remains that litter the battlefield. The fires heat the ocean and the floodland waters fall. The merfolk gasp and drown in the air, a dry, slow death, screaming just to live. Torential monsoons ravage the land, mountian streams becoming waterfalls, then freeze into imovable ice blocks. Flaming tongues, cold to the touch. The world on fire yet frozen in time. This war of the ages, of mother earth and the rock and a hard place, mountians crumble, lessons of the past forogetton, the beautiful dream shatters, the illusions lost, the creatures of the jungle roar in unison with the wails of the fallen. The four towers crumble, visions of bricks and mortar conflicting with one another, stone is dust and air remains the only haven we can trust, but mankinds power to destroy the empire of the Earth threatens this last sacred gift, polution, chemical warfare, ozone cracking in terror, the stars fall like vicious comets, hurtling towards the ground, gigantic craters, sand envolopes the airy and translucent music of the night, evil reigns, death raises his head, a smile touching his thin, cruel lips.

And throughout this inferno we dance the last dance, harmony and sympathy moving the hips, the serpents dance, black ghosts surround us, moving in celebration, dark lust, too long since we heard the last lovesong. The fire-bells ring, the demons sing, but we move silently, deaf to the agonising volume that threaten to penetrate our very beings, estranged to the sounds, our ears muted to the firey, disordly harmonies.

Sunlight shatters the silver shadows. Liquid metal flows on the river bed, washing away the grains of time that scatters the earthy surface. Evil breeds in the darkness and the wooly cotteness of the mother’s womb, enclosed within the safty, it grows to tainted spawn. The roots of the tree wither, starved of the rainfall, the leaves drop, the branches dry and hollow, the woodcutter smiles at his new timber and the flames lick the sky. The orchard in the valley, the birds in the living trees, peace falls again in this ever changing landscape, seasons merging with their soul sisters, winter with summer, spring with auterm, the life and the death, the pendulem swings in every direction, never stopping yet fading with the dusk, oblivion comes with the darkness.

What is this madness? This bipolar trance of mother earth, enchanting the land with her manic and depressive moods. Even the goddess’ suffer as time grips it’s deadly hand, aging with the coming day, the dust settles on their unmoving bodies, stony faces, marble skin, impossible concentration.

I’m laying on my back on this peacefull, pebbled beach, and these stars are getting nearer, their music singing in my ears. I can smell the sea and her soft, smooth skin, overpowering yet beautiful as the scents embrace my mind. The comfort takes me to another land where the sky is aflame with glorious rainbows. My eyes and soul transfixed by the beauty that surrondeds me, drunk on the glory, high on the apparent viriginty of the naked sky, never before seen by human eyes. My beathing is slow and deep, in tandam with my heart, the rythem is like the ode of a poet, clear and lyrical, liquid smooth, silk, satin, faerie dust falls over my form and again we dance. I am stoned immactuly in this land created by the bards, the elven children, and the King of the Silver River. Roses and tulips grow in the fields to the north, faces grow as the flowers take form arranging in such a way that they seem to smile at the heavens.

Then comes the roar of the big machine, breaking the spell and bringing reality crashing down upon me. This grey, dark world, full of demon’s and shadowmen, rape, incest, murder, death, war, sickness, plague, rats, pain, blood, fury, hatred, rage, sowwor and misery. This is reality, this is life, this grim land torn apart by mans need to domonate the earth, flags of all nations scattered among the island, glory in the medals worn by the ‘heros’ who bring death to others souls, could touch, electrical hum, we live in the age of destruction, the barns stormed, the metal birds crashing into the ground, wingless, no suprise, this was fortold. And here I stand, bombarded by electrical radiation from all directions, the air thick with the poisen gases, and I look up at the skyscrapers that domonate this landscape, great, ugly monstrosoties built of metal and glass. Is this the final war? The armaggadeon? Forces of beauty aganist poisened uglyness...

Propagande is broadcast from the T.V tower, dour faces, grey, lifeless skin, these are our leaders, our generals, our kings who rule us with an iron fist. Where hhas the nature gone? The beauty that spellbound us through the ages lost to the metallic pylons that stand upright, pointing toward the devestated skies. And now as the future look bleaker so we turn to the past, never learning from our history, but yearning for those lost times, in love with the forotten lands, we lie in out beds awating our death and the peace and ignorance and oblivion it will bring.