Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Burned by the fires of scorn I rise again from the ashes.

Since I have recieved countless messages from the faithful readers of this sight anxious to hear tales of my greatest tribute to thorn, I suppose some kind of explanation as to my prolonged absence is in order. The simplist way to put it is that I have been in retreat licking the wounds of a broken (albiet black) heart.

To start at the beginning, I had decided to write a sonnet. So after working on my mightiest poem yet all night, I came to school prepared to crush my classmates and win the heart of Thorn at the same time!

Sadly, in what was to be a series of setbacks in my blackest (in a bad sense) day ever, my boombox shorted out in the morning and I was forced to take my younger sister's pink "barbie beach party" boom box instead (much to my classmate's mirth and my chagrain).

Anyway, no sooner had in started the tape of my prerecorded recorder accompanyment and began to read then disaster struck. But let us look at the poem first, then you will be all the more astonished that I did not ride out of school that day on a mighty stallion with my fair wench Thorn at my side!

And here it is:


Of Blood and Lust in a Time before Time

In darkest times where elves lay bound and chained,
And Faerie-dust gleamed dull in obscured light,
The sheep swarmed in a land where folly reigned,
Twas there I suffered through the endless night.

For ages I had slept in mist filled skies,
Till I was woken by a sounding horn.
I gazed in wonder at your lusty thighs,
And saw the bugler was my one true Thorn.

As steel on steel did our eyes boldly meet,
And so we sprang upon our craven peers.
Their screams were proof of ultimate defeat,
And with great mirth we embraced in their tears.

Passion flared as our bloody work was done,
My sword then found its sheath and we were one.


Yea verily, take a moment dear reader to collect yourself after that poetic onslaught. So what was the result of such a mighty verse? Well, at the mention of her name, Thorn came running up and kicked me in the codpiece (which I had specially made for the day), of course this only served to increase the laughter that had been freely flowing since I started my recorder tape. To make matters worse, my teacher tried to make me stop reading as Thorn continued to kick at me (though I did detect a certain tenderness in her attacks). By the time I got to the final rhyming couplet, I had been dragged to the door while Mr. Robinson the football coach helped to take me to the principal's.

As it stands now, I am not allowed to speak to Thorn, talk of a sexual harrassment suit is being thrown around, my parents had to come take me home, and we have an appointment with the school guidance counsellor.

I would be utterly crushed were I not so sure that with my words I have sown the evil seed of my love deep within Thorn's bosom that day.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


One more pic from Smoking Gun. My Carmin Sidearm. I can't believe I left it at the scene. Oh well, I've been meaning to buy a cordless piece anyway. Sick of lugging around that extension cord...

So I suppose y'all can guess from the transcript below what happened. Here is the crime scene photo of Steven's remains that I lifted off of The Smoking Gun. So as usual your man Winter is on the run from the police. I'll keep posting but I can't disclose my location. And to any pigs out there reading this, I'd do it again motherfuckers.

Transcript


Mailman:
Laaaaaaadies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the MistyCircle Drive's Rap Battle Supreeeeeeemmmmeeeee. Today's contest is between the brash young newcomer Steven, with his abs of ice and goggles of... ice, and our own champion of the verbs and the vibes, The Wonderful Winner of Winnnnnnnnterrrrrr! Everyone will remember last year's heated competitions when Winter took on a snow tiger the Traverson twin's from down the block made. That tiger was ownnnnnnnned. So let's have no more delay! DJ start the beat!

[ Luke Traverson hits "Play" on his boombox.]

Steven:
Uh Uh Uh Uh
Here I go
bringin it to the one made of snow
He was the Man
but he didn't know
I'm the new kid on the block
who can lock drop and pop
Winter's a snowblower
watch him on my cock


Winter:
Hehe "snowblower". I get it. That's good.
Uh Uh Uh Uh
I am better than you
I am a better hue
I have better things to do
Than listen to this DOO DOO
So I'll tell you what
You continue the battle
I'm gonna take a nap
and ignore your prattle.



Mailman: Well round one was interesting. The insult "snowblower" was coined by Steven and Winter cleverly rhymed "do" with "Doo Doo". Judges?

Tanquray: I bet Steven has decent credit. He's sexy.

Mailman: Okay then, on to round two, the FINAL BATTLE. DJ?

[Samuel Traverson hits "Play" on his boombox]

Steven:
Uh Uh Uh Uh
Look at you
You're lookin blue
Mad cause my song came on
And your girlfriend knew the words
you stupid nerd
White snowmen run this universe
Now I'll walk away
With my mouth about to be around some
Tanquray

Winter: Did you just say "White snowmen run this universe?"

Steven: Well uh, It's just a rap... I was just

(Winter removes a snow dryer from Tanquray's purse. Screams echo through MistyCircle Drive. The gentle whir of the weapon can hardly be heard over Steven's pleas for mercy. The screen goes to static.)

End Transcript

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

uh hey

hiya everyone. my name is katie and i'm a friend of winter's. he asked me to post this for him because he won't stop playing video games. he wanted to make sure you all know that he has some sort of "transcript" of a rap battle to post, but he cant tear himself away from his PS2. i don't know how you would get a transcript of a rap battle that happened in a neighborhood, but whatever. anyway, i guess he'll be back before too long.

who is the d&d fag by the way?

-katie

Monday, August 15, 2005


Don't get me wrong players, I'm amped for my bro Lost's future with that fly hoochie Thorn. Now that he has a chance to break some rhymes on that ass, his dick is as good as in her. But things ain't as green with Tanquray. Last week this whitey motherfucker Steven showed up on our block, and just 'cause he's got a ripped eight pack and goggles all the chickenheads are going crazy for him. Winter ain't about to take this sitting down, so I've challenged this bitch to a rap battle. He laughed a whole lot and then punched me in the throat, but we'll be see who gets the last laugh at the battle. As soon as its over I'll post a transcript so all yall can see just how badly I smashed on this cracker. Peace and Respect.

Oh happy day!

I know that joy is for the weak, but you will have to permit me this one lapse! My english teacher, who by his tepid book selections for our class (no Poe? no Lovecraft?? no Rimbaud???) has proven himself to be the enemy of all things unholy in this world, has decided to give us the assignment of composing our very own poem to be READ TO THE CLASS! Oh the sadistic glee that welled up in my heart upon his pronouncement...he does not yet know his folly! Yes, in answer to your questions, Thorn is in the class, and yes, a poem is the thing to capture the heart of my dark queen! Not only will I utterly smash the right thinking, christian indoctrinated minds of my peers with my soon to be composed poem, nay...warcry!, I will also have Thorn laying at my feet like the limpid pool of a slain gelatinous cube (2nd edition rules). Would that Wednesday were upon us already so that I might bathe in those dark waters!

And I am off, like a plague wind, only I am bearing far more than death and devastation this day; the black wings of love ride upon this storm!

Saturday, August 13, 2005


My D O double G Lost isn't the only one here who is looking for love. I'd like to introduce y'all to Tanquray, a lovely young mama who works four blocks away from me. Look at her sass! I've yet to *officially* hit that shit, but don't worry. Your main man Winter ain't about to fuck it up. By the time I get done with this bitch she'll be a puddle of water. Oh, and check out the cracker baby. Ten seconds after I took this picture he broke his face on the bumper of his rich honkey mom's car.

A Hail to my Dark Brother the Wonderful Winner of Winter

Apart from letters of encouragment towards my quest to win Thorn’s heart, by far the most common messages I receive on this blog are in reference to my connection to Wonderful Winner of Winter.
And the question is always; why would a dark soul such as myself and a black snowman choose to write a blog together? To quote Slayer, “Satan sees the answer lies not far”. In fact our unholy connection is twofold.


First, and most obvious, is our musical bond. While to many, Unholy Black Metal and Gangsta Rap seem to hold little in common, there are in fact many connections:

1) Preoccupation with the the ever present specter of our own death. Our mortality waits each one of us, hanging like the sword of Damacles, forever casting a dark shadow into the living world. Black Metal and Gangsta Rap are very aware of this with such songs as Notorious B.I.G.’s “Ready to Die” and Immortal’s “Eternal Years On The Path To The Cemetary Gates”.

2) Both arose around the same time (early 90’s), and were strongly influenced by “the ancient ones” (Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa and Kool Herc for hardcore rap, and Venom, Bathory and Mercyful Fate for Black Metal).

3) Both were divided in their early and most productive years between two camps. The Death Row/Badboy feud and the Grishnackh/Euronymous feuds divided the scenes and led to the deaths of such warriors as Notorious BIG and Tupac (to gunshot wounds) as well as Euronymous (to dozens of stab wounds).

4) The violence did not stop in house either as many gangsta rap bands were convicted of shootings, pimpin' and dealin' as the black metal bands were also convicted of stabbings, church burnin' and grave desecratin'. This attitude can be seen in such song titles as Graveland’s Blood of Christians on my Sword” and NWA’s “To Kill a Hooker”.

5) This list could go on and on (general nihilism, minority status through race or ideology, minimal song structures, rejection of “clean singing”, preoccupation with extreme outfits and posturing on the album covers, and a general hatred of whitey or christians). The point remains that these two genres share more in common than most people think.


Second, and perhaps the most important connection, our extreme musical tastes and ideological beliefs have set us forever apart from our “fellow” man. In a society that has no place for us, this small blog provides a welcome port in a black sea of despair.


So hail to you may black brother in suffering! May your sorrows be bleak and your writing fill the happiest soul with pain!

Friday, August 12, 2005

My dark mistress


Though it is a bit blurry, I had to post this latest picture of my dark angel Thorn. Behind her cold stare you can cleary see the ember of our passion's fire. Would that it would flare to pyre-like proportions. As it is, I was lucky to get away with the negative.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

A Battle Hymn for our/all time

It is now 12:30 AM and I have been stricken by one of my horrid fits of insomnia. In eight and a half short hours I will have to rise to face the cursed sun once more. To avoid the dread of that thought I have composed a new mighty poem. Ay, no mere poem is this, Tis a battle cry for the ages!!!! (my disconcerting use of exclamation marks continues...I must remember to avoid their use around Thorn)

Anyway, here is my new offering, it sounds MUCH better when accompanied by my recorder as it is meant to be performed. Also imagine the clanging of sword on a grim battlefield!


A thousand mailed soldiers upon the field
wrathful malice hate and steel!
Charging on stallions into the sunrise
All shall live, none shall die!

A thousand lances glint before the light,
thundering hooves, fierce war cries!
Enemy hordes rush screaming to their doom,
Bone crunching cries, blood and death!

Black as snow

You and your kid
your child
your baby on legs
walk by with that smirk that i hate
"look what's that?"
the miniature honkey yells
and you tell him
you tell
him..

"That's the other snowman,
the one I told you about,
he's made out of dirt,
and soot, and probably Mad Dog 20/20
because that's what black snowmen drink.
Christ he's ugly! He should be off the street.
If he weren't a snowman he'd be asking for money,
now lets cross the street
to the side that's sunny."

This is what I go through day after day!
So when I turn to selling snow
to afford the bills I pay
for the house I got
that's in the wrong part of town
that's full of cockroaches
and a landloard draggin me down.
Just remember that Christmas comes once a year
But Winter comes much longer and Winter is near
and Winter is real and youd better fear
cause I'm coming to your villa
and sleds on skis on
30 inch mcqueens
I'm the ice cold killa.

Despite my constant smile, some days my heart is sad. Posted by Picasa

Here I stand, all alone. When will my brothers in the Winterland struggle open their hearts and join me? Posted by Picasa

This is a picture of me hanging out in the off season. Black snowmen get much less work than white snowmen. Posted by Picasa

A vision of light in a void of desolation...

My newest creation is finally ready for viewing! I typically shudder to think of using something so potentially jovial as an exclamation mark, but my sorrow has reached near giddy proportions with my newest poem. It is to you my comrades in pain that I will show it first--not counting my dark mistress Thorn; she is always my dearest companion, and I hope someday to earn her love. Though I will admit that the scorn she has heaped upon me of late is richly deserved. It must have been some absinth like delirium that caused me to so foolishly suggest we go to something as banal as a "dance" together. And, her derision at my newest offering has only served to make me lust for her all the more. Still, I can only hope it will fall more approvingly upon your ears:


The Traveler’s Song

I have floated beneath the deepest seas,
To where shadows sleep in the serpent’s arms.
Treasures I swallowed in one mighty draught,
As I swam through the waves to the world’s edge.

I have journeyed to great mountains, ages old,
Where stone halls still rang with hammer blows.
Through the rock I passed to its hidden roots,
Till I sank too deep, and dissolved in earth.

Life’s seeds sown deep in my earthen substance,
I grow free once more and sing to the sun.

I have ridden though forests and fey woods,
And over old hills where cold rivers flow.
Through the spring flowers in meadows of gold,
I rode alone with the wind in the fields.

I have soared through the skies upon dawn’s wings,
Past clouds of white mist where eagles once flew.
So high my body melted in the sun,
And fell like the rain upon quivering trees.

Shining, my dewed essence reflects my dreams,
Till again I run free beneath the hoar leaves.

To all these places and a thousand more,
I have journeyed alone in the black night.
For when my eyes shut and the mist creeps in,
This world seems brighter, now free from the truth.
Having posted I may now return to my shadows--and wait for the blissful release of my nightly slumber (in times like these the early bedtimes of "school nights" are more a [demonic] blessing than curse)

ruminations...

It has been brought to my attention that my posts are rife with misspellings. I should point out that I am using the archaic forms of "forgotten and trepidation", but as with my job at the local hot topic, I will bow to the demands of a suffocating society and conform. Perhaps a musing on a better time will ease my pain:

O were I back to the elder days,
The times in the past now sung in lays.

For could I but see
The sweet fairy’s tree,
And once again run
Neath the golden sun,

I might lay down my head
Upon my downy sweet bed,
And never again be
Subject to cruel misery.

The Colors

BLUE BLACK GRAY PINK
I BET YOU KNOW WHY MY FINGER STINKS
YELLOW PEACH WHITE TEAL
LOST AND THE WINNER ARE
KEEPIN' IT REAL

AND I AM SAD.

A coming into existence

And I am finally here after the ordeal of my new account registration. A voice of my own, and a spot in a forest glade to post my thoughts. It was everything I wanted. Why do I still feel so hollow?

I do not like your "e" "mail". I long for the days of horseback and wax seals.

Nadine

Nadine smells funny.
Not a poem, just a fact.

Shenak

Oh that's a typo
Well that's not funny
Because that is not how
no stop!
that's not quite
argh!
my name is not that!
fine. i suppose its funny
except not funny I will get
you
back.
With
the
clever
use
of
Shenak.

In sadness...

My sadness knows no bounds as I have found that my great suffering must be channeled through a name that is not my own. It is with trepedation that I leave my voice to the fates and hope that a new username and password might drift my way before I am once again swallowed...in the sands of time.

Still, the dreams of eternity will be a welcome relief from this grey world.

Let it be known

The game is afoot. You are bad at writing poetry and that is why I call it "noetry" because NO WAY is that good poetry.

Also, my entries that are prose and not poetry will be considered poetry and will be winners because I do not write poetry. It is for fags.

Let it be known that it is most certainly on.