Come a-prying have we? I see you peeking from behind the curtain, eagerly trying to ascertain who it is that you have stumbled upon in these strange, electronic lands…..
But I do, and without further ado, ket us cast aside traditional sales pitches and regurgitate whatever forms of desription cross the horizon of my thoughts:
I am the cold earth, the crisp autumn leaf fluttering past, and the cry of the crow in the ancient oak.
I am the light of a a lost age, reaching the weeping city through an electric smog, the signs of chaos and the quake in your heart when the even-song plays.
I am the liar, the thief and the changeling, the monster in a book and the saint soon forgotten.
There is silence, and there is my inability to hold my tongue.
I am the unease that haunts your soul and who inhales the wisps of your chains. Yet there is nothing to fear, for I am mystic father, reverend author and pale bard.
And I bring you welcome from the Roots of the mighty forests, blessings from the distant Stars, and the Gift of Feather from Crow who is oh so capricious, arrogant and wily.
So sit a while and let me tell you a tale of the once upon a future that is already lost, a past that never was in a time that doesn’t move.
After all, what else are you going to do with eternity?