June 2012
47 posts
Dancers To A Discordant System
Meshuggah
We believe, so we’re misled
We assume, so we’re played
We confide, so we’re deceived
We trust, so we’re betrayed
“But before the Kemper was able to use his ocular, the instructions she had left in Covenant reached him. He looked straight at Kasreyn and obeyed her.
Distinctly, he articulated one clear word:
“Nom.” —
Distinctly, he articulated one clear word:
“Nom.” —
The One Tree
Stephen R. Donaldson
The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, Book Two
“These walls don’t talk, even when somebody knocks.
These walls don’t stand, for anyone else but themselves,
These walls don’t fall, even when gravity’s failing us all.” —
These walls don’t stand, for anyone else but themselves,
These walls don’t fall, even when gravity’s failing us all.” —
Fair to Midland
Tall Tales Taste Like Sour Grapes
“The prospect terrified him. But he had no other solution to the venom in his veins, to the power he could not master, had no other answer to the long blame of the past. The Dead repeated their doom in The Grieve above him, damned to die that way forever unless he could find some grace for them. Foamfollower had given his life gladly so that Covenant and the Land could live. Covenant began moving, advancing toward the fire.
Brinn and Hergrom opposed him. But then they saw the hope and ruin in his eyes. They stepped aside.
“Covenant!”
Linden came running toward him. But Cail caught her, held her back.
Heat shouted against Covenant’s face like the voice of his destiny; but he did not stop. He could not stop. Entranced and compelled, he rode the mourning of the Sea forward.
Into the fire.
At once, he became wild magic and grief, burning with an intense white flame that no other blaze could touch. Shining like the gem of the krill, he strode among the logs and embers to Seadreamer’s side. The Giant did not see him, was too far gone in agony to see him. Remembering Foamfollower’s pain, Covenant thrust at Seadreamer. Wild magic blasted the Giant from the fire, sent him sprawling across the cold stone.
Slowly, Covenant looked around at his companions. They were distorted by the flames, gazing at him as if he were a ghoul. Linden’s appalled stare hurt him. Because he could not reply to her in any other way, he turned to his purpose.
He took hold of the wild magic, shaped it according to his will, so that it became his own ritual, an articulation of compassion and rage for all torment, all loss.
Burning, he opened himself to the surrounding flames.
They rushed to incinerate him; but he was ready. He mastered the bonfire with argence, bent it to his command. Flame and power were projected outward together, so that the blaze lashed tremendously into the night.
He spread his arms to the city, stretched himself as if he yearned to embrace the whole of The Grieve.
In wild magic, white puissance without sound, he shouted: Come! This is the caamora! Come and be healed!” —
Brinn and Hergrom opposed him. But then they saw the hope and ruin in his eyes. They stepped aside.
“Covenant!”
Linden came running toward him. But Cail caught her, held her back.
Heat shouted against Covenant’s face like the voice of his destiny; but he did not stop. He could not stop. Entranced and compelled, he rode the mourning of the Sea forward.
Into the fire.
At once, he became wild magic and grief, burning with an intense white flame that no other blaze could touch. Shining like the gem of the krill, he strode among the logs and embers to Seadreamer’s side. The Giant did not see him, was too far gone in agony to see him. Remembering Foamfollower’s pain, Covenant thrust at Seadreamer. Wild magic blasted the Giant from the fire, sent him sprawling across the cold stone.
Slowly, Covenant looked around at his companions. They were distorted by the flames, gazing at him as if he were a ghoul. Linden’s appalled stare hurt him. Because he could not reply to her in any other way, he turned to his purpose.
He took hold of the wild magic, shaped it according to his will, so that it became his own ritual, an articulation of compassion and rage for all torment, all loss.
Burning, he opened himself to the surrounding flames.
They rushed to incinerate him; but he was ready. He mastered the bonfire with argence, bent it to his command. Flame and power were projected outward together, so that the blaze lashed tremendously into the night.
He spread his arms to the city, stretched himself as if he yearned to embrace the whole of The Grieve.
In wild magic, white puissance without sound, he shouted: Come! This is the caamora! Come and be healed!” —
The Wounded Land
Book One The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant
-Stephen R. Donaldson
