Wedding Winter! Lavender Fields Felted Bridal Steampunk Ruffle Bolero

Available at my Etsy shop:
Magic Laboratory of Fashion

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Special Thanks to Kat Da Silva {Link}

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Now playing: Rush – Workin’ Them Angels
via FoxyTunes

Happy New White Metal Tiger Year!
Here comes 2010 White Metal Tiger Year!

Available at my Etsy shop:
Magic Laboratory of Fashion
All designs are © Tatiana Agapcheva, please do not copy my work.

Today’s playlist consists of my favorite EBM songs from the early 1980s.

FEATURED PLAYLIST: M’s EBM Faves. Playlist for 30 November 2009

1.  *Yashar – Cabaret Voltaire

2.  *The Fashion Party – The Neon Judgment

3.  *Eisbär – Grauzone

4.  *Hot on the Heels of Love – Throbbing Gristle

5.  *Neon Lights – Kraftwerk

6.  *Danger Zone – à;GRUMH

7.    Pity For The Self – Poésie Noire

8.    Resistance – Clock DVA

9.   *Don’t Crash – Front 242

10. *Ophelia – Tear Garden

*Available on iTunes

M’s Prior Musical Chairs Playlists:
Never Mind the Bollocks. M.s Playlist for 28 Oct 2009
M.’s Halloween Playlist 14 October 2009 playlist

Musical Chairs’ Playlist Library: LITTLE MAGAZINE’s Music Page
Musical Chairs’ Video Playlist Library: LITTLE MAGAZINE’s Video Page

Enjoy!

Musical Chairs is a collection of weekly playlists created by selected artists, DJs, and musicians for LITTLE MAGAZINE. For guest DJ inquires, please send M.LittleMagazine@gmail.com a description of yourself, including a bio and musical tastes.

Hay noches que recuerdo mis primeras muertes, las más lejanas, las más civilizadas… aquellas en las que tu aun no perseguias cada una de mis vidas. Ni aniquilabas una tras otra.

M.

Vampirii! Ah, câtă decadenţă! Aceşti monştri atât de relevanţi sintetizând toate dorinţele şi spaimele umane care cu greu pot dispărea din imaginaţia colectivă. Vampirul e partea noastră întunecată, e sângele, molima, sexul, noaptea, excesul, moartea, este imortalitatea trupului, seducţia, decadenţa, tinereţea, înfruntarea oricărei ordini, religii, morale. Cine n-a fost fermecat vreodată de acest mit?

De la Dracula lui Bram Stoker la Interviu cu un vampir a lui Anne Rice, vampirii au inundat librăriile şi cinematograful. Săptămâna trecută a apărut şi la noi filmul Luna nouă. 

Toţi avem o anumită idee despre vampiri. Dar vă puteţi imagina un vampir neoconservator care străluceşte în bătaia soarelui în loc să ardă, care nu vânează oameni, care nu bea sânge uman, şi care vrea să participe la viaţa muritorilor? Eu cred că vampirofilii ar trebui să fie indignaţi. Şi totuşi, acest vampir ciudat, apare în 2005 când putem vorbi despre întoarcerea creaturilor în centrul scenei cu o enormă forţă, şi când vorbesc de forţă, vorbesc de mulţi bani şi popularitate. 

Stephenie Meyer, o scriitoare americană de religie mormonă (e important de menţionat acest lucru) dă lovitura cu saga ei: Twilight (2005), New Moon (2006), Eclipse (2007) şi Breaking Dawn (2008). Să fie oare Stephenie Meyer noua J.K. Rowling, se întreabă presa? Unii susţin că J.K. Rowling scrie cu mult mai bine şi nici nu e conservatoare din punct de vedere politic şi religios. Dar Stephenie Meyer este scriitoarea pe care o iubesc părinţii care îl urăsc pe “diabolicul” Harry Potter. Este cea care a umplut o nişă a pieţei de adolescenţi creştini, mai ales din interiorul Statelor Unite, ai căror părinţi îi controlează cu rigiditate. Stephenie Meyer a trecut examenul cu o saga…de vampiri! Cum a făcut acest lucru? A inventat un tip insolit de vampir, foarte dezorientat, total distanţat de mit : Vampirul abstinent (sic!). Sex de-a devăratelea (muşcătura se înţelege ca o metaforă a coitului) nu pot avea cei doi pentru că el e foarte puternic şi ar putea s-o omoare pe fată. Aşa că, amândoi devin abstinenţi, cel puţin până la sfârşitul cărţii, când vor avea un fiu (la doar18 ani ai adolescentei). Dar numai după căsătorie.

Succesul lui Stephenie Meyer, după cum susţine autoarea, se datorează faptului că: „In cărţile mele vorbesc despre modul de-a rezista tentaţiei. Există o dorinţă de-a alege alt drum. Asta e metafora vampirilor mei”.  Ce contează că mitul e altul, că vampirul a fost mereu întruchiparea tentaţiei şi nu intenţia de-a o evita. Dar ce ştie Stephenie Meyer? Chiar ea recunoaşte că n-a citit Dracula nici Interviu cu un vampir pentru că sângele îi pare scârbos iar religia ei nu-i permite aşa ceva. Totuşi e cinstită cu noi când spune: „Nu sunt o scriitoare. Sunt o povestitoare de istorii”. Însă succesul cărţilor ei este atât de mare încât puţini îndrăznesc să i le critice. Să fie oare corectitudinea politică – nimeni nu vrea să fie intolerant cu religia mormonă – sau poate că nimeni nu vrea să pară un bătrân depăşit, cum probabil par eu acum, care nu înţelege ce le place adolescenţilor? 

Cum poate o poveste patetică, penibilă şi un film submediocru, să creeze o adevărată isterie printre adolescenţi, şi nu numai? Să facă ravagii mai ales prin populaţia tânără feminină care se identifică cu eroina cărţii şi a filmului. Idealul lor în viaţă e Bella. Iar pentru Bella Swan un singur lucru este mult mai important decât însăşi viaţa ei: Edward Cullen! Iubirea pentru “prinţul fermecat” înseamnă totul. Idealizarea iubitului, petrecerea nopţilor implorându-i întoarcerea şi gândul că fără el viaţă nu valorează nimic e tot ce contează. Care e mesajul pe care-l transmit cartea sau filmul tinerelor fete? Singurul lucru important e să ai un bărbat irezistibil de atractiv şi sexos (recunosc, efebii din film emană frumuseţe prin toţi porii). Restul trebuie să-l uiţi: aspiraţiile, educaţia, cariera, familia, prietenii, interesele, la naiba cu ele. Luna nouă îmi pare o formulă sigură pentru o grămadă de mame adolescente şi deziluzionate.

Şi încă ceva. Când s-a lansat primul volum, media de vârstă era de 16 ani. Azi s-a constatat că media este 30 de ani. Asta spune ceva…

foto via

Bueno esta entrada esta dedicada a una MARAVILLOSA TIENDA! llamada Rotten Toe :3 me encanta y quisiera postear estas Skins nuevas ^^ la verdad es genial que den gifts como estos a 0L ^^ y lo mejor de toda no es necesario verse Goth para traerlas

!RT…Jane-Pale..lt…Oh,me!

!RT…Jane-Pale..dk…Oh,me!

SKIN: ROTTEN TOE (Regalo del grupo)

No se creo que la diferencia es el color de los labios…ni idea xD

Alright, so, it’s funny what the Muse inspires.  I’ve discovered I have two muses, I’m a lucky guy.  When one is being fickle and obstinate,  the other one is whispering poems in my ear… Like I said… I’m a lucky guy.  Is this poem any good?  Who knows.  Only you, the reader, can judge.

If this poem serves a purpose… let it be to inspire you to write your own.  If I can write one… surely you can too.  So, why don’t you pick up your pen and write one.  Oh!  Send it to me and I’ll put it up on the website! And yes I called you Surely.

Anyway… here’s the poem… oh and it’s a first draft .. it’s what came to me last night… I may tweak it or I may leave it as is… who knows… who knows… AND I don’t name my poems…

Hush my darling,

The moon is high,

The world is bathed in silver light,

Invite me in,

your garden there,

Where life begins and death not dare,

Transgression and virtue

blend and meld,

They weave our fate

inscribed and felt,

As scars upon the Wicked’s skin

as payment of an unknown sin,

Entwined,

Twisting… lifting…

Wisps of mist is all we are,

Our souls…

Purity…

Incorruptibility..

Your lips pressed tight

to mine,

If only for a moment’s time,

Hush my darling

invite me in,

Your garden there…

Where life begins… and death not dare.

Non ancora in uscita con un album, il trio londinese (Elsie Voce/Chitarra, Jonny Basso, Lyndsay Batteria/tastiere) con una manciata di singoli si è fatto notare in giro (suonando anche nelle “Peel Session”) ed è uscito alcuni giorni fa il nuovo singolo (su Rough trade) “The Great Pretender”: Sonorità crepuscolari e suadenti con la voce di Elsie, calda e morbida, che a tratti ricorda Siouxsie. Il video, un pò patinato, è girato in notturna (diretto da Alex Leach & Mike Kovacs).

Michael Dempsey, Brit bassist with The Cure

First, let’s get this out of the way…

What is “cynglish”?

Cynglish

Pronunciation: \ˈsiŋ-glish\

Origin: Canada: created by Timothy G.M. Reynolds

Function: noun Date: 2009, July 24.

1: contraction of “cynical English” a particular variety of English distinguished by use in highly cynical compositions, performances and conversations

So, now to the first poem:

RIDING THE BUS

Riding the bus, the train, the bus, the shuttle… riding it all and all of it riding on a two-fifty fare.

Spending more time with strangers travelling to and from work than with our own families before and after, work.

Strangers who twitch and swear and spit and shove, behaving better than the people we love to love, from below or above,

Reeking of solvents or bathed in Old Spice or new Axe or that industrial-strength Brut left over from Christmas 1979.

Buses stinking of vomit and skunkweed and garlic and old socks, the trip to and from work and career and other-life is like two hours trapped in a teenager’s closet.

Not just any teenager, but your goth-dressed, face-pierced, crappy grades, I-want-to-live-with-the-other-parent, teenager.

Two-fifty a trip to get bumped and grinded and fondled — but no flowers, no chocolate, no simple “I’ll promise to call you but will lose your number in the next five minutes”. The freedom of frottage without commitment.

But on a bus you can jab jab jab an elbow or step on a toe, hard on a toe or fart never-so-gracefully in the face of these daily stranger relationships and no one says a word;

but treat your causeless James Dean teen with the same disdain and you’ll hear from Family Services the very next day.

And the day after, and for the rest of your days until the divorce is settled, the custody battle done, the bank account drained and the Beamer traded in for a used Toyota Tercel that never looks as good on page two of the local paper when they announce you’ve had another trial date.

Not so, the bus, the train, the bus, and the shuttle — no names exchanged, no hatred grown, no love lost, no lasting impression made.

So give me diesel fumes and ignorant strangers and vomit on my shoes just so I don’t have to go home to Hell in the home, homey in its own hellish way.

Give me back the grazing touch of a total stranger, the hardening of my nipples, the weakening of my knees… and then their cellphone rings and ABBA’s Dancing Queen causes us all, passenger strangers one and all, to lash out, bump the coffee hand or the phone hand or grinding grind a heel into their imported Italian in-step; because it’s all fakey fake, all falsely hoped for…

…and all going to happen again for all our tomorrows, on the not-so-Express bus up and down to Downtown.

~

Ciao for now,

Tim.

In Romania nu prea a prins cultul Gothic, mai ales pentru ca multi nu il inteleg, sau, IN CEL MAI RAU CAZ, il confunda cu EMO. Eu, din sursele proprii si personale am observat ca putitni sunt gotici adevarati. Ceilalti, daca asculta muzica gotica, dar nu arata gothic, atunci nu exista=)))
Yeah… I am evil…BUT… asta e doar critica constructiva pentru asa zisii gotici romani. Multi uita ca a fi goth inseamna:

• muzica
• make-up
• hair style
• haine adecvate
• atitudine.

Asa ca daca nu intruniti aceste citerii… sa nu asteptati sa fiti numiti gotici.

Marturisesc ca am scris articolul asta la nervi,  satula de pokemoneala. Da stiu… in Romania nu avem haine, accesorii bla bla bla…daca nu gasiti….creati voi unele articole… Eu cred ca SE POATE MAI MULT,  decat niste panarame de tarfe gotice cu maiouri jegoase si insulete de la toneta. Pur si simplu mi se face greata cand vad ca nu aveti pic de bun gust vestimentar. Da… nu trebuie sa fiti toti la fel, dar nici sa pui pe tine tot dulapul de haine si vai doamne sa te crezi si buricul pamamntului.

Asta e parerea mea.

Acum va arat ce am gasit.  Majoritatea articolelor sunt hand- made, nu costa multi bani, dar necesita rabdare. Enjoy!

ps. Cu prima ocazie ma apuc sa comercializez unele articole create de mine.

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Am si eu o pereche de bocanci New Rock si ii recomand oricui. Sunt foarte comozi si arata si bine.

En del kanske tror att jag inte gillar grunge i och med att jag ett par inlägg ner påstod att grungen dödade androgyniteten. Så är dock inte fallet, jag gillar grunge, och särskilt gillade jag det runt 1992 (föga förvånande). Mitt favoritband var Melvins och enligt mig var det de som tillsammans med band som Sonic Youth och Dinosaur Jr bäddade för grungevågen.

The Melvins

När jag såg Melvins på KB för ett par år sen tänkte jag på att de var ett perfekt botemedel mot åldersångest. Buzz kan aldrig bli ocool. Hans hår blir bara bättre med åren.

Och det är en sak jag verkligen gillar med grunge: att kulturen står upp för och värnar om det fula. På så sätt är den nästan motsatt goth, som jag kan tycka handlar ganska mycket om att vara clean och snygg. Ok, allt som ryms under goth-paraplyet är inte polerat, men den finns där ändå, känslan av att det är viktigt att se bra ut. Grunge däremot är köttigt, där kan man få status genom att ha ett stort hår eller vara utflippad. Saker är inte så allvarliga. So what om man inte är fotomodell, man kan vara cool ändå, right? Det handlar om att vara ful med klass.

Don’t go out in the mud, honey!

the ultimate 21st Century goth chic!

Higher Hell: The Second Coming

Chapter 9: The Jersey Devil

I felt like we’d stepped back in time.

Leonard lived in an ancient looking farm house surrounded by pastures, vegetable gardens, a chicken coop, a tractor that looked older than the dirt he plowed with it, and a very dilapidated looking barn.

The inside of the house looked even older.

The only light came from the blazing fireplace and a few strategically placed oil lamps. The walls were bare, unpainted wooden planks, and most of the furniture looked like it was new about two hundred years ago. He did actually have electricity all the way out there. There was a big ass black and white console TV and an antique record player with a huge collection of record albums lining a bookshelf beside it.

Leonard sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace puffing away on a pipe full of sweet smelling tobacco.

“So, what brings ya all the way out here?”

“A couple of things, actually,” Lilith replied. “But first, why haven’t you been back to Hell in so long?”

“Yeah, it must be awfully fuckin’ boring around here.” Rash said.

“Boring? Ha! I don’t have time to be bored. There’s always work to be done on the farm.”

“But why are you playing Farmer Brown anyway?” I asked. “Not exactly your average hobby for a demon.”

Leonard puffed on his pipe for a moment, thinking.

“Why do I stay here workin’ this ol’ farm? Well, I guess that would be on account of Miss Sarah.”

He continued to puff on his pipe as if that had been all the explanation we needed.

“Okay, I give,” I said finally. “Who’s Miss Sarah?”

“Miss Sarah was just about the sweetest little lady you could ever hope to meet.”

He set the pipe down on the fireplace mantle and leaned back in his rocking chair.

“Miss Sarah was actually Mrs. Sarah Beckwith. She and her husband, Daniel, started this farm, cleared the land, built this house, in about 1792.”

Rash’s eyes popped as he scanned the walls.

“Holy shit! I can’t believe it’s still standing after that long!”

“It’s taken a lot of work to keep it that way, young man,” Leonard said with a hint of pride. “Anyhow, a rich man from town who owned a bunch of the land ’round here wanted this property fer himself. He kept makin’ offers, but Daniel wouldn’t sell. So the Rich Man started tryin’ to force ‘em out. He had their crops burned. He blocked the road with trees. He sent men to steal their horses and smash up their well. Finally, Daniel got in a fight with the man in town one day and never came home. They never found his body, but Sarah knew the Rich Man had had him killed. So, she summoned me.”

“Summoned you? What do you mean she summoned you?” Rash asked.

“She became a witch.” Batty answered.

“Not a witch like you’ve probably seen in movies and on television,” Leonard explained. “Anyone who has a demon helpin’ ‘em is a witch. It don’t have nothin’ to do with magic or anythin’.”

“Yeah. Technically, you could call Gabby a witch since Cas helps her and hangs out with her.” Lilith added.

“Well, as you can imagine, Miss Sarah was desperate, so she called on someone from Hell to avenge her husband. I answered. I took the Rich Man’s soul and the souls of the men he’d had kill Daniel, then I stayed to help her with the farm. I only meant to stay through the harvest that year, but I guess we just enjoyed each others company too much. I stayed through the winter and helped with the next years plantin’. Then I helped with that harvest, and so on. Miss Sarah and I lived in this little house together for forty-nine years. It was the happiest I’d been since leavin’ Heaven, everyday of it. I’d do the chores while she did the cookin’. She was one amazin’ cook too! And in the evenin’s I’d play the fiddle while Miss Sarah sang along.

“When she got old and frail, I cared for her. And after she died, well, I just couldn’t bear leavin’ and lettin’ the old place go to ruin or be sold. So, I’ve been here ever since.”

When he’d finished his story, Leonard sat there with glazed eyes and a faint smile, like he was still remembering Miss Sarah’s voice singing to him.

“You don’t ever plan to return to Hell, do you?” Lilith asked.

He shook his head.

“Darlin’, when you live in Hell, you have to find whatever little piece of Heaven you can and hold on to it,” He patted the arm of his rocking chair and scanned the room with wistful eyes. “This is my little piece of Heaven. I never want to leave it.”

“Well, that takes care of what Satan sent us here for. Now how about the slightly more pressing issue?” I asked Lilith a little impatiently.

She nodded.

“The other reason we’re here, Leonard, is we need your help finding someone. A Human girl. Cas’ friend.”

“Oho! So you’ve found yerself a Miss Sarah of yer own, have ya? Well, I’d be more than happy to help ya out then. Do ya have anything of hers? Maybe somethin’ she held on to not long ago?”

I thought hard.

Shit.

I didn’t bring anything of Gabby’s with me.

“Uh…”

“What about your phone?” Lilith asked. “Did Gabby give it to you?”

“Oh, yeah! She just gave it to me yesterday before we went to the club.”

I pulled the phone from my pocket.

“This may be a silly question,” Batty piped up. “But, have you tried calling her?”

Everybody looked at me.

“Um, no. I hadn’t thought of it.”

I hit the appropriate buttons to call Gabby and put the phone to my ear.

It rang for a while before going to her voice mail.

“No good. She’s not picking up.”

I handed the phone to Leonard who looked at it like he had no clue what it was.

Which he probably didn’t.

He felt it. He looked it all over. He held it up to his horse-like face and sniffed it.

Suddenly, Leonard got up from his chair and headed outside with Lilith, Batty, Rash and me following anxiously.

Leonard stood in the yard looking all around, sniffing in every direction, his nostrils flaring. Finally, he stopped and pointed a finger toward the north.

“There. I got her. Can’t tell exactly where, but it’s that way. Maybe a day’s drive.”

Well, that really narrows it down.

“You couldn’t be a little more specific, could you? She could be in danger. We need to find her quick.”

He scratched behind one ear for a second, thinking.

“I suppose I could drive ya. I can follow the scent right to her.”

“You have a vehicle?” Batty asked.

“Other than the old tractor, I hope.” I added.

Leonard walked over to the barn, swung open the front door, and switched on a light inside.

“I use this to go pick up supplies fer the farm. It’ll get us where we wanna go.”

Inside was a very beat up old 1963 Lincoln Town Car. The thing was big and boxy with a few stray pieces of hay on the seats and some loose chicken feed on the floor. But it would definitely hold all of us.

“Y’all look pretty tired. Why don’t ya sleep here tonight and we’ll leave first thing in the mornin’.”

I’d have rather left right away, but I was pretty exhausted. The flight to Egypt with Lilith had taken a lot out of me.

I shrugged and sighed.

“All right. As long as we get an early start.”

“This is a farm, Cas. You just better be able to get up as early as I do.” Leonard said with a pat on my shoulder.

Rash looked concerned.

“When you say ‘early’, you’re talkin’ like, what, nineish?”

Leonard chuckled.

“Son, by nine the best part of the day’s already passed,” he pulled out a pocket watch and checked it. “If we get to bed now, we’ll be plenty rested up for the trip. I’ll get y’all up at six after I do my mornin’ chores.”

Rash blanched.

“Six! That’s the middle of the night for me!”

“Heh heh,” I laughed at him. “Welcome to farm life, city boy.”

As promised, here’s another outfit from Zipz, a very cool goth/neko/tats store on a lovely gothic sim of its own called Ithilien.

This is the Belted Tartan outfit in dark tones.  It also comes in red as well – the dynamic duo of gothwear.  The necklace and earrings are also from Zipz – the Ryon Light Metal and Black Stone necklace, and the Dark Metal Skull Cameo with Diamonds earrings.  Didn’t I tell you they have great goth jewelry?  I added the Dirty Biker Cuffs from Sn@tch, which I am pretty sure I won in the lucky chair (but I could be wrong coz that store is my second home).  The boots are my “go to” boots – First Flower’s Valerian Boots.  Hands down, my favorite boots on the grid come from First Flower – not only are they wonderfully detailed, but they are also reasonably priced for the level of craftsmanship.  The hair is another I found in my inventory from Exile – this one was in a folder of gift hair.  I have no idea how recent the gift is.  The skin is, of course, my favorite goth skin – Zanzo’s Reborn.  It’s like the finest translucent porcelain – sigh.

That’s it.  Now stop reading the feeds, dammit, and get back to Black Friday shopping!  You only have 5 more hours!!

Happy hunting, gathering, shopping, lovin’  (^ ^), etc. *mwah*!

Details:

Outfit – Zipz - Belted Tartan (Dark)

Earrings and Bracelet - Zipz - Dark Metal Skull Cameo with Diamonds

Arm and wrist cuffs - Sn@tch – Dirty Biker Cuffs (Black)

Boots – First Flower - Valerian Girls Black

Hair – Exile - Wild Thing darkblaze (freebie)

Skin – Zanzo - Reborn – Rose

Necklace – Zipz - Ryon Light Metal & Black Stone

Fleshlight Offers – Sex In A Can – Succu Dry — hmm, interesting… 

Succu Dry’s unique Vampire mouth opening isn’t for the faint of heart. This exclusive Undead pale sleeve color is made from the same patented Real Feel Super Skin material that’s made Fleshlight the #1 selling male sex toy in the world. The amazingly detailed vampire mouth and fangs beg you to drive your wooden stake deep inside.

To ensure an experience all its own, Fleshlight developed a brand new inner texture for the Succu Dry called “The Fang.” This intensely stimulating texture has dozens of tiny fangs that will gently bite at you until you’re drained of every last drop. Quench your lust and prepare for the ultimate vampire fantasy, but beware, this can will suck you dry!

Vor ein paar Jahren las ich “Die Zwerge” von Markus Heitz. 2003 kam der erste Band raus, nach und nach folgten der Krieg der Zwerge und die Rache der Zwerge. Die Geschichte endete mit dem Schicksal der Zwerge, wo nicht nur eben dieses, sondern das Schicksal vom ganzen geborgenen Land endgültig besiegelt wurde.

Ich folgte dem kleinen Zwerg Tungdil, der bei Menschen aufwuchs, auf seine Abenteuer. Er lernte Zwerge kennen – und lieben – er wurde Großkönig und tauschte seinen Schmiedehammer gegen eine Axt, die er Feuerklinge tauft. Er trifft auf Andôkai, die letzte Maga, und ihren seltsamen, dämonisch anmutenden Wächter Djerun in stählernder, runengeschmückter Rüstung. Er besiegt Trolle und Orks, verliebt sich und wird Vater. Am Ende seiner langen Reise ist aus Tungdil, dem Findelkind Tungdil Goldhand geworden, Großkönig der Zwerge und totgeglaubter Held. Ich habe die Bücher verschlungen.

Aber Tungdil trifft nicht nur auf Elben, Trolle und Grünhäute, er trifft auch die mächtigen Albae – “grausame Wesen voll finsterer Magie”.  Äußerlich den Elben ähnlich, sind diese Wesen dunkel und böse im Inneren. Sie lieben die Kunst und drücken ihre Liebe dadurch aus, das sie eine Stadt aus Gebeinen errichten und Kunstwerke aus Blut auf menschlicher Haut gestalten. Sinthoras war einer von ihnen – und ich habe es geliebt. Seine Art, zu denken, sein künstlerischer Anspruch beim Töten, seine Arroganz, wenn er den Wesen ihr Schicksal brachte.

hier mal eine kleine Leseprobe – wir befinden uns, wie kann es anders sein, auf einem Schlachtfeld – die Zwerge sind gerade dabei, das Tor zum geborgenen Land zu verteidigen.

Die Morgensonne schob sich über den Gebirgskamm über dem Steinernen Torweg und blendete Glandallin. Er schirmte die empfindlichen Augen mit der Hand, damit er sehen konnte und die Gewissheit erhielt, dass die Pforte nicht mehr die kleinste Lücke aufwies. Es ist uns gelungen, Vraccas, dachte er erleichtert, als ein glühender Schmerz durch seinen Rücken fuhr. Eine schmale Klingenspitze ragte für den Zeitraum mehrerer Lidschläge aus seiner Brust, ehe sie wieder herausgezogen wurde. Ihm stockte der Atem. “Wer…?” Der heimtückische Angreifer umrundete ihn und ließ sich vor ihm in die Hocke nieder. Der Zwerg blickte in ein feines Elbengesicht, Sonnenstrahlen schienen durch die blonden Haare und verwandelten sie in goldene Fäden. Die Schönheit litt unter einem Furcht einflößenden Makel: Anstelle der Augen sah der Zwerg zwei mandelförmige, unergründlich schwarze Löcher.
Das Spitzohr trug eine schimmernde Plattenrüstung aus geschwärztem Stahl, die bis über die Knie reichte. Die Beine wurden durch Lederhosen geschützt, die dunkelbraunen Stiefel reichten bis unter die Knie. Dunkelrote Handschuhe bewahrten die Finger vor Schmutz, und die Rechte hielt einen Speer mit einer dünnen, blutfeuchten Eisenspitze, die das enge Ringgeflecht des Kettenhemdes durchstoßen hatte. Der seltsame Elb sprach zu dem Zwerg. Glandallin verstand ihn wieder nicht, doch der düstere Klang der Worte sandte eisige Schauer über seinen Rücken. “Mein Freund sagte: Sieh mich an. Dein Tod heißt Sinthoras”, übersetzte jemand hinter ihm. “Ich nehme dir das Leben, und das Land nimmt dir die Seele.” Glandallin hustete dunkles Blut, es rann aus dem Mundwinkel und sickerte in seinen Bart.

“Geh mir aus der Sicht, niederträchtiges Spitzohr! Ich möchte beobachten, wie sich das Tor schließt”, verlangte er mit schroffer Stimme. Er versuchte, den Gegner mit einem Hieb der Axt zu verscheuchen. Beinahe wäre sie ihm entglitten, denn seine Kraft schwand. “Geh weg, oder ich spalte dich wie einen Strohhalm, verräterischer Elb”, polterte er ungerührt weiter. Sinthoras lächelte kalt. Er hob den Spieß und fädelte die Spitze in einen schmalen Spalt zwischen den Kettenhemdringen. “Du irrst. Wir sind die Albae. Wir sind gekommen, um die Elben zu vernichten”, sagte die Stimme in seinem Rücken sanft. “Das Tor mag sich schließen, aber wenn du dich durch die Macht des Landes wieder von den Toten erhebst, wirst du einer von uns sein und es öffnen. Du kennst die Losung.”
“Niemals!”, widersprach der Zwerg. “Meine Seele zieht zu Vraccas….” “Nein, denn deine Seele gehört nun dem Land, und damit gehörst du ihm auf ewig”, unterbrach ihn die samtene Stimme. “Nun stirb, kehre zurück und gib uns das Geborgene Land.” Das geschliffene Ende fuhr in das Fleisch des hilflosen, geschwächten Zwerges. Der Schmerz brachte ihn zum Verstummen.

Mit sanftem Druck schob Sinthoras die Klinge ein zweites Mal durch den geschundenen Körper. Er tat es beinahe andächtig, zärtlich, voller Glückseligkeit, dann wartete er auf das Sterben. Eingehend betrachtete er Glandallins vom Todeskampf verzerrte Züge und sog die Eindrücke neugierig in sich auf.
Erst als er sich sicher war, dass alles Leben aus dem letzten Hüter des Steinernen Torwegs gewichen war, stand er auf.

Ich gestehe, ich habe die Albae geliebt. Sie sind meine heimlichen Helden.

Kennt ihr das, wenn ihr ein Buch lest, einen Antihelden findet und euch wünscht, das es über genau DIESEN Charakter eine Reihe geben wird?

Heute hab ich es gefunden – das erste Band der Legenden der Albae, geschrieben vom Meister selbst.

Ihr ahnt nicht, wie sehr ich mich gefreut habe. Einmal gekauft, presste ich das Buch an meine Brust und war seelig. Andächtig fuhren meine Fingerspitzen über den Titel, der sich wie ein kleines Relief vom Umschlag abhebt. Ich wiege es in meinen Händen, genieße das Titelbild, lese den Klappentext immer und immer wieder. Ein kleiner Schauer überkommt mich und mein Hez schlägt schneller vor Erwartung. Ich ahne, das dieses Buch perfekt ist, die Geschichte mich fesseln wird. Ich öffne das Buch ein Stückchen, einen winzigen Spalt nur, stecke meine Nase hinein und atme tiiieeef ein. Neue Bücher, sie riechen so gut. Es riecht nach frischem Wind und süßen Düften, aber auch nach Blut, Rauch und Tod. Ich vermeine, das leise melodische Lachen Sinthoras und das Kampfgetümmel epischer Schlachten zu hören. Und spätestens, als ich auf den ersten Seiten lese, das Sinthoras seiner menschlichen Sklavin für eine kleine Unachtsamkeit die Augen aussticht und es Gnade nennt, das er sie an dem Tag von ihren Pflichten befreit, wird meine Ahnung zur Gewißheit: Dieses Buch ist perfekt. Es wird mich in dieses berühmte tiefe schwarze “ich bin am Ende des Buches angekommen und es ist noch keine Fortsetzung draußen” Loch fallen lassen.

xxPoisonxx is a 21 years old model from Philadelphia.
Check out her myspace website here.

Har haft en nostalgitripp de senaste dagarna och dykt djupt ner i de bauhausvideor som kan hittas på youtube. Intressant att se hur estetiken i dagens goth kan härledas till dessa gamla urgoter. Här är Passion of Lovers, där Peter Murphy bla ägnar sig åt lite male bonding med gitarristen Daniel Ash:

Hahaha dansstilen är fantastisk. Synd att videon är så himla crappy!

Inledningen med den där trollkarlen (eller vad han nu ska föreställa) påminner mig om en annan video med ett band som hette Rose of Avalanche. Det var världens mest deprimerade band och videon innehöll typ en ledsen tivoligubbe som gjorde ballongfigurer som ingen ville ha. Jag och min bror spelade in den bara för att den var så dålig (sorry, om det finns några Rose of Avalanche-fans som läser det här, men den var faktiskt jättedålig). Kommer ihåg refrängen (ja ungefär): Never another sunset no more, never another sunrise… Never another sunset no mooore, looking into her eyes…”

Den kunde få vem som helst att kasta alla svarta kläder, avfärga håret och gå och köpa sig en paraplydrink.

Went with my girl and some friends to Shadowlands Assimilate the other night at the chameleon club. It was a nice set up but past shadowlands where downstairs which most of us found much more appealing. Didnt shoot as much as id have liked to but there really wasnt much goin on. Heres what I did get.