Innocents

Hear me, all of you. You who hide in the whispers of the wind, up in the attic or down below in the basement. You who lurk in my closet, under the stairs, in the creaking woodfloors and behind my windows. You who make noises in the dark, bring forth strange visions behind the curtains and drag chains across the floor. Eyes in the black. Teeth in the night. Claws at the witching hour. Hear me.

I am a child. I don't carry the weight of an adult heart, and know very little about consequences. I can still fly and run faster than time. I run on mischief and a spark of madness. I live with reckless bravery and play nonsensical games. I am still of both light and darkness, and creation and destuction act on my every whim. I have faced monsters, escaped impossible labyrinths and conquered trials untold. I have saved the realms of men and Fae from such horrors you wouldn't dare to understand. You may think me small, weak and harmless. You'd be wrong. This wooden sword has the keenest edge. I know ancient rhymes and words of power. This blanket can turn invisible at will. This cushion is an unbreakeable barrier. I have been a warrior, a wizard, a rogue. I have ridden dragons and beasts, danced on fire and earth and wind and water.

I am an innocent, and my imagination is sword and shield, cloak and armor, magic and medicine. The world tells me there is something to fear walking among us. I agree.

You should all be terrified of me.

Bards we are, bards we will be.

There's a rhythm to each and everyone of us. Be it slow or fast, steady or flickering, there's a pulse inside of us that is more than the physical beating of our hearts. I like to think that, when someone clicks, when you are drawn to them without apparent reason, it's just that your rhythms aren't all that different.

Last night, I shared that rhythm with a thousand people

Last night, the Bards, Blind Guardian, gave what I hesitate to call a concert in Madrid. I hesitate because concert can't even begin to describe the sheer amount of will, passion, sound and madness that went into it. There we were, second row, maybe 6-8 feet away from them. And it was amazing.

You'd think that after the intro, after rousing us with speech and music, after praising us, and daring us to beat ourselves, we would just give it our all. You'd be wrong. There was a little surprise : The concert was being recorded for a future release. That meant that, in time, we would listen to that record and, amidst the thundering applause, the roaring scream, the rumbling chants, we would find our beautiful, broken voices.

So we set our hands to it, one mind, one will, one soul. We fled the sanctuary, banished, and stepped into the void, searching for Tanelorn. We took the second one to the right, and then, flew straight up to morning light, prepared to face Hook, the bravest man in the world. At nightfall, we dared the elements and challenged Ungoliath to follow us into the storm. We saw gods fall, be it by our own raging hands in Valhalla or by the coming of their everlasting twilight. We let not prophecies nor miracles bar our way, and we raged at the long lost stories of our childhood, now nothing more than imaginations. They tried to leave, but we wouldn't let them, and so the wheel turned again and again. We made impossible promises on rings and fire, and then we saw them become a reality.

You should have been there. We brought fire and lighting to the world around us, the storm within matching the one without. Our voices, clear as trumpets, loud as thunder, almost drowned theirs in the end. When their songs ended, when all mirrors fell, we stood, spent, and looked at them.

The Bards smiled, and deemed us worthy. The last candle burnt out, and they assured us somebody was out there. 

Aye. We were.

PD: Link to their setlist

To Destroy, to Create

Destroying something is almost always easier to manage than creating something useful. It appeals to our inner animal. It's enticing. It makes you feel powerful. It looks flashy and lovely. We destroy in order to relieve pressure. We destroy to protest. We destroy because we CAN.

It takes a tree years to grow, and a score of seconds to be cut. Humans take some twenty years to be full grown adults, and that can end in a second. It takes months to build a house, and only minutes to demolish it.

Destruction is the work of an afternoon. Creation is the work of a lifetime.

And yet, we create. We keep creating. We never stop. We dare not, lest entropy actually catches up. But it won't.

Will it?

(Pics taken from www.reddit.com/r/DestructionPorn. Some of them are from Kiev, some from Madrid. One is just digital artwork. Best wishes to everyone)

Remember, remember

Remember, remember, the 5th of November
The Gunpowder Treason and plot;
I see of no reason why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.

UK celebrates tonight Guy Fawkes' Night. Fawkes was a catholic who tried to blow up the Parliament on this very day on 1605. Which, if you asked me, those damn pirates deserved. The only thing worse than having a brit for an enemy is having it for an ally. Ask us, we should now from the Napoleonic Wars.

Thanks to V for vendetta, Anonymous and pop culture the guy (see what I did there) has become an icon for rebellion against the goverment, which has nearly nothing to do with Guy's original intent: killing the King and Parliament to put a catholic monarch in place. He was also a pawn, not the head of the conspiracy, but he made for a great scapegoat.

All in all, the whole thing has lost its original meaning and taken on a completely different one. One I couldn't care less about. That is not bad, and it isn't good. It's just the way of things.

On the other hand, this night is also called the Bonfire night. A night to light bonfires, throw fireworks and celebrate just 'cause. A night when the turning of the world stops, when dancing, dreaming, drinking are the norm and fire is a dear friend. Now that I can get behind just fine.

Who wouldn't want to?