From the Lost Notes of the Deep Dweller’s Shipyard [New Fragment #6/Till Death Do Us Part]

Please never ask me how I keep going. I have no idea how – or even why, for that matter. All I know is this: The shadows will never tire of chasing me, and there is no long-term escape. Just now they are closing in on me again, as I stumble and sputter along the well-trodden path, bound for another fall. I can feel them everywhere, in the glaring sun as well as in the pale moonlight. The space to manœvre, or even move at all, decreases rapidly with each step and with each breath I take. I desperately clasp every little bit of happiness I have managed to get a hold on and tack on to my heart. Yet there is not a hope in hell when the time comes for the shadows to engulf me. And they will feast upon me, eagerly and mercilessly devouring whatever I may naively have believed to be mine to keep, from the fondest memories to the most intense feelings of love still lingering. Finally, they will leave me alone in the dark to rot for two eternities. Alas, they need my repeated suffering to nourish them, and so they will leave the seeds of false hope to be betrayed to grow another tree of life from within the despair-infested grounds. For where death would be the only true companion, only emptiness awaits to corrupt the very essence of my being. May the day that death do us part come soon.

Draft of a Prologue to a Possibly Longer Story

As the title says, the following is a draft of a prologue to a possibly longer story. It certainly needs some polishing, perhaps a few more details filled in. In any event, let me know what you think of it – especially whether it could make a worthwhile read – in the comments. Thank you very much!

‘I feel so tired, Damien, so incredibly tired and exhausted,’ produced Samuel, as they made their way up to the snow-covered top of the mountain. ‘Pray, tell me, you feel it too. You must feel it too…’
His hands shook as he spoke.
‘No,’ replied Damien in a dry voice. ‘But little does it matter, and little it would matter if both of us died.’
‘Wha… Why… How you can say that? How can you even think that? After all we have done, after all we have accomplished, after all these endless struggles, you’re telling me…’
‘… to save your breath if you would get where we are headed. We are close. We are almost there, brother, just a few more steps. But if we would get there, we need to keep going.’
‘A few more…? I only glimpse this shadow – there, in the distance.’
He pointed his finger vaguely, but where he was not even sure himself.
‘Each step I feel the desire to lie down and sleep grow stronger. I don’t know if I can keep my eyes…’
His voice trailed off and he leaned on his staff with exhaustion, a pitiful, emaciated figure of whom it would have been anyone’s guess how he was even still alive.
As Damien tried to support his brother who was on the brink of a breakdown, the wind began to rise again, stronger, harsher than before. Swirls of snow threatened to bury the brothers alive.
‘We cannot stay here, Samuel. We must press on.’
‘My senses…’, Samuel whispered in a hoarse voice, ‘they are on the wane, Damien, you had better…’
‘Think of the others, Samuel, think of the others, think of their sacrifice! You cannot die, not until our quest is finished!’
‘Yes, the others… where… where are they? I cannot see properly, where… I cannot see Carlisle… is she tending to the mount?’
He coughed violently during his speech.
‘The others are dead, Samuel. We are the only members left of our party, the only ones who can still complete our quest. Do you understand? I need you in there!’
‘Dead? How… I… I cannot take another step, Damien. I am sorry… please… forgive me, brother…’
Yet even as his brother prepared to give in to his desire for sleep, Damien still had enough strength within him – both physically and mentally – to carry his brother onward. It truly would not matter if they both died after finishing their quest, yes, but if they died before… He dared not think of it. And he needed his brother for the completion of their quest, it required two at the very least.
Even though Samuel had devolved into this barely recognizable shadow of his former self, each step took all the strength Damien could still muster. The snow reached his ankles under his robes, yet it was the shadow in front of them that sent shivers down his spine. His sight was blurred, yet still he knew exactly where to go. His will had always been the strongest, and had reached legendary status a long time ago. At the beginning of their journey, none of them could have known what they were about to encounter, but as weeks and months crept by, it became ever more clear that not all of them would make it to their destination.
The sacrifice of the other four former members of their party now gave Damien the strength he needed to carry on, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. As he approached the large wooden door of the tower, it suddenly flew open, as though their arrival had been anticipated. And as they passed through the door, Damien still carrying his brother Samuel on his arms, the brothers vanished in the darkness that appeared to spread throughout the tower.


As I lay dead in my head,
offshore by the riverbed,
cast asunder, as I bled,
I went to the heart of dread:

Meet me here in speechless fear,
good advice is all but clear,
take it up and run, my dear,
shed some night by dry-eyed tears.

Cold as shivers run the rivers,
on your eyes you feel the quivers,
all in all, what truth delivers
is the fleshless nonforgiver.

Spare me not, for I shall rot,
steal my breath – nay, take the lot,
stab me to complete the plot,
eat me from inside, my bot.

Beware, ye standing before this portal to the realm of shadows ye are about to enter! For those who dare tread on these paths may neither return nor ever be the same again. Should ye decide to trade the world as ye know it for what hath been unbeknownst to you so far, the deal shall be final. For your eyes shall be gorged out by the recognition of the falsehoods ye used to believe, and be replaced by the light of the Dog Star. Thus, ye shall see some truths, but also falsehoods, for no light ever is a guarantee of enlightening the whole of darkness. Be your choice careful and well-considered! Speak now unto the portal the words of your true desire.

Secret Messages

Ending day of shadows raining.
Life runs out of you and me.
Long enough my blood kept draining
Into stormy eyes to see.

Drowning in the sees of dawning,
On and on, no help in sight.
No hand reacheth me, no morning,
Till the last of hopes hath died.

Pity is not what I’m craving;
Lies of yours I do not need.
Act as thou feel, don’t keep waiving;
Yesterday was long to bleed.

Whilst I stand here, casting wonders,
In a manner none can do;
Thou tread in the land of thunders,
Heart and mind are broken, too.

Messages we send in bottles;
Ending this is overdue.

All cats be grey in the dark, they say. But is this a bad trade of the dark, or is it rather a good one? One minute we fear the dark, for we cannot see properly and therefore fear not to recognize people for what they truely be; the next we fear the light, exactly because we fear to recognize people for what they truely be. Love can be the most valuable thing in a human’s life, although it neither gains one any property nor makes for a living. To walk on these paths, however, is to tread on a knife edge, with the outcome, it seems, a random gamble. You never know on which side of the edge you will end up. Throughout history, romance gone wrong has been a strong enough reason for people of both sexes to commit suicide. In less severe cases, it has led to mental depression, financial loss up to insolvency, apathy, or total indifference as to all other events in the world. Of course, one can recover from heartbreak, but after each time a heart has been broken, no one involved will ever be the same again. And while one minute the past appears to be totally out of reach with respect to its enlightened moments, the very next its dark sides may overshadow both the present and the future.
If I found someone, however, both worthy of my love and willing to take on the challenge – for it is a challenge to endure the ceaseless stream of my love –, I should live it to the fullest, nonetheless. You can trust me, after all, though, that the burden of dealing with my endless love would be made up for by the worlds I should disclose to you.


Es tropft mir aus der Kehle
Meine Seele brennt im Sternenfeuer
Und wie die Nacht umgibst du mich
Ich sehe dich und sehne mich
und weine innerlich
um dich

Letzter Schlag auf taube Lippen
taube Ohren
fahler Schein
Will dich noch und mehr behüten,
dein Ei zu Ende brüten, kleines Küken,
ich bin wütend

auf mich

Am Ende dieses Tages
kein Gesang, nur noch ein Flüstern
Wir stehen auf aus unsren Schatten
Unser Glänzen wurd zu matten
Schauern, denn wir hatten

doch nicht einander

Jetzt wein ich dir mein Leben
Du weißt nichts damit anzufangen
Aufgebrochen nach Wodumirfehlst
Allein ich hab es zugelassen
Ich sollt mich selber dafür hassen
nicht zu fassen


Schon etwas älter, gehört dieses Gedicht immer noch zu meinen persönlichen Favoriten. Im Gegensatz zu meiner sonstigen Gewohnheit habe ich nur äußerst spärlich mit Interpunktion gearbeitet. Vor einiger Zeit habe ich zwar versucht, nachträglich noch einige Zeichen einzusetzen, habe diesen Versuch jedoch revidiert, weil die Struktur des Gedichtes sich dagegen zu sträuben dünkte.
Wunsch und Sehnsucht nach unendlicher Nähe führen allzuoft zu unendlicher Ferne. Die Hoffnung stirbt einen langen, grausamen Tod, auch wenn die Furcht längst zur Gewißheit geworden. Was tun, wenn das, was man ist und was man tut, nicht gut genug sind, nicht reichen? Die antreibende Zeitlang wird zur Trauer, die Trauer zur Wut, die Wut zur Verzweiflung, die Verzweiflung zur Bitterkeit, die Bitterkeit zur Empfindungslosigkeit. Dieses Spiel, dessen Regeln von alters her jeder Mensch instinktiv kennt, läßt sich zeitlebens ad indefinitum wiederholen. Einzig der Tod weiß dieser Spirale des Verderbens Einhalt zu gebieten.


From the Book of Broken Wings, Chapters II and III:

Chapter II
On every sunny day in your life, there lies a shadow over everything like an invisible dark veil. It is the reality of life lying in wait, eager to consume itself time and again so as to reverse your experience. There is nothing free in life: the price of a smile is a thousand tears, the price of true love is a broken heart, the price of trust is a knife in your back. Regardless of what you are, what you do, and where you go, whom you love or hate, the shadow shall catch up with you. In the end, the darkside always wins.

Chapter III
I have lived through the horrors of endless nightmares, I have been broken to the core and built myself up from the ground again, I have been drifting apart into endless nothingness, I have seen and heard everything there is to see and hear. But if there be one thing left for me to do, then it will be to open up my heart and let the endless love which dwells therein explode so as to chase away the dark spot in your eyes for a single moment of grandeur before darkness shall finally conquer me and enfold me in its cold embrace for ever.


Auch im stillen liegt so manches wohl im argen:
kein Wipfelrauschen ohne Wind und Blätter.
Die Liebe strandet nicht auf weißen Himmelsschlössern,
nur die Tollheit labt sich dran, wird fetter.
Und kämen Menschen auch von ihren hohen Rössern,
läg die Erinnerung mir allzuschwer im Magen.

Abseits und versteckt gelegen,
kriecht ein Blindes aus dem Schatten,
wandelt auf den Abendwegen,
will nicht auf dem Sprung ermatten,
hüpft zuweilen frohen Mutes
unergründlich heißen Blutes.

Wiegt sich mit den Felsgesängen,
liegt nicht still, nur angst und bange,
flüchtet sich zu Meeresengen,
windzerschnitten jede Wange,
schwarzes Blut gibt klare Tränen,
weiß sich sicher nie zu wähnen.

Und im stillen liegt so manches noch im argen:
die Wipfel rauschen nur bei Wind mit Blättern.
Die Liebe reitet oft auf schwarzen Schlachtenhengsten,
sie riecht nach Tod und Elend, ihren Vettern.
Und kommen wir auch frei von unsren größten Ängsten,
liegt die Erinnerung uns allzuschwer im Magen.

Hinter der Stirn liegen die Gedanken unbegriffen, unausgesprochen und unaussprechlich. Nur die alte Wehmut und ihre Schwester Zeitlang erzeugen hie und da die Illusion der klaren Worte, die gar wohl begreiflich wären. Ich liebe dich nur, wie dich meine Worte machen, unendlich getrennt von deinem Sein. In Wahrheit hab ich dich zertrümmert und nach meinen Wünschen neu kreiert. Abscheu ist noch gar kein Ausdruck. Widerwärtigkeit und Sein sind eins.