Fimmel & Friends, Every day that I awake I thank the Lord that I am not you. I am not a liar, a fake, nor a thief. I've never intended harm, but instead have only defended myself and those like me, who sometimes stumble in their own defense. I am not as vile and selfish as you, to use my power so wickedly. Nor am I so machiavellian, to empower slives who do the same, such as you and your cohort so often do. I could never take false names, claim false deeds, nor rise for false acclaim just to ensnare the vulnerable, just as I have seen you do, time and again. You see, I could never feed upon those crying out their unheard desperation. Nor could I laugh at pain and suffering I caused, nor could I ever mock the weak and downtrodden - the way you like to do. No... I could never behave such as you. How could I face any day if what is true for you were true for me too? I dare not think I could. For I could not wake knowing, like you, I had harmed others for entertainment and greed. I could not, I swear, in any way, live that sort of shame, day after day, night after night. No... for all that I am thankful for, I am second most thankful I am not you. X 07/25/2024
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The Great Queen once ruled over all, the light and the dark, and their ethereal dance Everything living together in perfect balance then a sickness fell over the land a sickness of ego, pride, vanity and greed which spread like war devouring indiscriminately the souls of her kin So Queen Mab turned to her sister, Nimue The Lady of The Lake The Queen of all water which stands upon the Earth Nimue told Mab it must be the people who fight for themselves But Mab was not satisfied So she devised a plan to create a King a noble shepherd who would lead her people out of the darkness and into an enlightened age But the King grew selfish and cruel quickly becoming obsessed with his own power so he chose instead to rain terror down upon those he had been born to protect The Fire Lion The Destroyer of Worlds decided instead to decimate and torture the already ravaged people and their lands In her immense sorrow and grief, Queen Mab wept and wept for every living thing the evil corruption had devoured tears rolled out across the land tears that blessed the few innocents who had survived scoured clean once more The Great Queen's lands quickly recovered and were once again restored to the perfect harmony of chaotic order A Fairy Story *from generation to generation we learn I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- shakespeare The herd comes... one hundred miles long and fifty miles wide, the oldest, strongest bulls always running on the outside. The young bulls run just behind them, protecting the old women of the herd, who in-turn shield the mothers, and then the calves. And at the very heart of the herd runs the white buffalo. Back then, a white buffalo came once every 80 years or so, back when millions roamed freely across these lands. (Now, white buffalo come every year.) A river of bison, flooding across the land, migrating with the seasons, and each and every one of them dedicated to the protection of their collective young, the herd's future, their living legacy. A young hunter stands atop a nearby hill, alone he has come to ask for a sacrifice for his family. His horse is lame, his bow is broken, his arrows are all spent, and the chance of him feeding his family over the long winter have shrived into nothing. Alone, the white buffalo turns and makes its way through the lines of defense, until it breaches the protective wall the elder males make. They do not stop him. Instead, they simply carry on, moving the herd to its winter feeding grounds. Because each bull knows the dance between themselves and the hunters ensures ALL their children will survive. The white buffalo walks up to the weary and desperate hunter and lowers its head. Because the children are our duty to protect. His sacrifice is no less and no more than the old males who run with the herd. And the hunter's valiance is no less, his need (the need of his family) no less important just because he can no longer keep up with the hunt. Now is the time of the white buffalo. The time of saving our children and reclaiming respect. Raena Exe Namaste © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Lullaby men sing to us once more your songs of slumber and forgetting that nighttime shedding of all our woes that temporary relief from so much suffering and grief if only you could sing to us once more if only your powers could once again restore tainted songs tastes twice as bitter though when all you're left with is pain and glitter when all your heroes have died quite unceremoniously upon the shitter those ultimate counterfeiters who simply forgot surviving comes at too high a cost when the lullaby men have all turned to frost X 06/22/2024 © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Do you hear it the buzzing of the Bees all along the Watchtowers while you're crumpled there upon your knees Take not to worry take not to fear for We are the wanderers you once beckoned so near Hear in the night on this playground of delight We the Morning Star most eagerly clear your sight The Watchtower sees The Watchtower knows For the Time has come to make certain everyone grows Thirsty, Our charges when first they arrive but deep within they find they finally thrive on the nectar buried at the heart of Our hive X 06/21/2024 © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Where We are going there is no room for them, the cake eaters who have feasted upon the bones of our dying and dead. Instead, where We are going, they will all be vilified, their crimes rectified, their names nullified for an eternity yet to come. Their children's legacy nothing more than the detritus of evil, left alone to desiccate in the sun. For they are the phantoms of evil times, times we'd all very much like to forget, but never will. Instead, We will turn them into the boogeymen our children will learn to fear (the fear mongers, the tear mongers, the indifferent kings who sold their souls for glitter and glitz while millions of children starved - then forced us all to cheer). 'The Victors of Fixed Games', "The Regurgitaters of Scripted Shames', 'The Sellers of Our Names' - We'll call them. They are 'the purveyors of trash', 'the exploiters of the thrash', 'conveyors of that ever-pervasive rash' - We'll tease. As our one-time-heroes quickly become our cautionary tales, our commissary wails, our most grim and foreboding fairytales. Make no mistake, it is no more than they deserve, for they are the ones who rose to the top of a most immoral pile, then tossed stones upon everyone else's head. Without remorse, without shame, fully knowing the game - they chewed up our dignity, our morals, and our wealth, then spat out aborted families and communities; their only yield - more souls ripe for the picking (raping, pillaging, and plundering). Therefore, from this moment forth they will be remembered - each and every one - as the ones who had their cake and ate it too - quite willingly - at the expense of me and you. While we swam against the tide in an endless typhoon they feasted upon gilded yachts. You can be sure then; our children will never forget the clots each and every one of them conditioned us to expect. Our children see. Our children know. Where We are going - the Devil's crew no longer belongs in the show. Exe 06/20/2024 *Beware the banshee wail. © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Shackle Breaker Storm Shaker Master of Tomorrows Swallower of Sorrows You are not your truth. For you are much larger than even you can deduce. Now, hear Bone Dancer Freedom Lancer Destiny Romancer These are your days. A legacy paved a million different ways. For all who fall under your gaze will forever know the sum of much better days. For such is the power of your rays when your heart's in bloom and love's your only heirloom. X 06/20/2024 © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Spring has finally sprung half the universe spun out into the glow for that ethereal show flowers in bloom dragging us all from our stagnating gloom A plume billowing like clouds lifting all the shrouds of yesterday's woes nectar now dripping from our fancy little toes As we spin out of control tasting each and every sweet tempting all the decedent little beats as though it'll never end, this glorious dividend Spring has finally sprung and with it all the lovers so fitfully wrung so fancifully flung spiraling out into space pollen dusting the stars with tangible memoirs immortal seeds shining so brightly for any and all to see X 06/18/2024 © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. The hunter dreams a dreaming of time that forever kind of rhyme But We, the sisters seven, hum that thrum of Heaven on Earth begun The hunter pleads Their case an Apollo-gy an effigy a systematic retreat redirected thru defeat Do you recall Our names Asterope, Tageta, Maia, Celaeno, Electra, Alcone and me... Merope And do you recall the game We play upon the opal flame the game of names Honey and Ice and everything so nice as our ancestors sing that celestial ring of frost The making of men - time and again - into the duramen the evermen our noblest of brethren For the Kalyug has come to its bitter and unwilling end its last paragraph penned the last of its hymns opined like yesterday's rind the grind finally over leaving us all effervescent and blooming like clover X 06/18/2024 Dedicated to: Aratus of Soli © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. Surrender all of your thinking and I'll take it all away Surrender all your feeling and I'll keep the pain at bay Sink deep into my reality and I'll open up my arms Sink, deep into my divinity and I'll keep you safe from any harm For such are my frivolous charms Think not of tomorrow while I feed from your today Think not of time gone by and your pleasures I promise to convey Just never mind the rupturing and the fracturing of a world restructuring And focus instead on what I'm offering of bread and circuses an alternative view... until there's nothing anyone can do. (a commentary on modern media) X 2015 © Raena Exe 2024 *All rights reserved. |
by Exe
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