Exist-pencil meanderings…
Let me never not look up again — But here, right now, The lake-sand is blue in the clouded midday grey-sky and the broken reeds are quick and sharp — I must pick my way through them. So, I step slow, and Images in the corner of my eye are dreamy, and True as true…
Drill sergeant.
Sometimes my anxiety feels a lot like Tirian’s premonition: that he would be fed into the mouth of Tash’s stable ere the day’s end. The metaphor holds – if you’ve read The Last Battle, you know that Tash may well be in there. The terror that shook the earth and consumed the ape in one…