Navy Chick On Bangbros

13. Ice Age

We praise you, our creator, for
making us what we are,
for power that you have given us about yourself,
to allow us to devour your flesh.
We stayed for years,
subjugated by the power of the Tree,
but never defeated, never really addressed.
And now that the tree is dead
and that you are again alone,
are here for the showdown.
Now that the darkness has fallen,
now that the ice covering the Tartarus,
can no longer hide: you are ours.
(The Song of the Slaves)

Dear Prisons. Demons of old, indeed. Indeed: Protodemon: their shape is not defined, but mellow and very rudimentary. They have no claws or limbs, and do not need them. It pushes me, imprison me with the sheer force of their weight. And I created them myself. They are me, are the unresolved issues that the love of the Tree had silenced. At the moment. And now that the Tartar fell the frost, I no longer escape. Better. I think this is a kind of reckoning, even if it's really hard.

Of that I have found over the mountains.

last post I chose a closing film, a fade on me that I climb a mountain steep but affordable. A message of hope, in short: a beautiful landscape, a sweet and comforting music, credits ...

what I found beyond the mountains? a plain, empty and discovery, but not desolate. Not at that time, at least.

In the confusion and euphoria of the moment, I started chasing a fairy, I would call the Queen of the Butterflies. He made his heart beat and still does, but I can not reach it: it belongs to another world ... and someone else. I am a runner, I can not fly. And I made so many mistakes.

Then I met the Lady of the Labyrinth and I was immediately attracted. A mixture of sensitivity, empathy, pain that I could not resist. And as a good Paladin fucking I'm lost in the maze to get out and I had to break through the walls. A brute force.
The Lady of the Labyrinth, the evil that they have done and what she did to me I should talk, but it is too soon.

Past the mountains, all the time I felt the urge Frost and foolishly ran towards the south rather than face it. But at the turn of the cold wind saw the Prisoners ready to take and I was weak. I tried the easy way out: escape, I could fix in the Labyrinth.

Labitinto But there is only pain, where I lost my zest for life, happiness, hope. And when I left, I found myself in the middle of the ice.


Ice Age

What the Ice Age? In climatology is a general cooling of the planet but a sort of apocalypse in the collective imagination of death from cold. This is simply ridiculous because if our beautiful Europe trotting mammoths and glaciers were the masters, in high areas of the planet's life grew and prospered. What we associate the quintessential desert, the Sahara, still brings images of the life of a rock wanton savannah.

What happened in Tartarus is this: the happiness and welfare are not gone forever, but were driven away by forces primigenee and cyclical. Are far from me while I'm rhyme stuck in ice in a plain frozen without light, without hope. Alone, except with the company of the wind, I scream in my face my sins, that humbles me with its inexorable force that separates me from the words of comfort that your loved ones send me deafening whistle with his evil.

Only! Only! Only! Only! Only! This

me scream Prisoners walk beside me mocking. Only, and that's how I feel. I have many people who love me, but in my heart I am alone. Why do not want anyone to which I have to deal with this kind of suffering. It 's too, even to describe. But most of all to bear for those who do not live. It would be unfair. Maybe I should speak to a specialist, a shrink have centuries of work ahead if I opened the skull. But I'm not yet ready for that.

And then I isolate myself, to protect others, because my friends I do not serve their sentence. That is only mine. Only. By choice, as well as fate.


Golgotha \u200b\u200bReverse

chasms and crevasses are all that gladdens the monotony of the ice. And I went over the edge of the abyss, tempted by its depth and truth hidden within it, but too scared to jump.

E 'treat yourself like at the end of my friends have been (indeed, ex-friends) to buttarmici inside. Not with malice or purpose, but simply due to carelessness and lightness. I have broken my heart and managed to turn a bad time in the worst period of my existence. But no matter how bitter it is, break the last top allows the ship to take off ... the fact that you surf in a pool of pain and despair is just an insignificant detail.

And 'my pretty deep. It is not a crack but a nice thin circular crater. A sort of bowl in which I began the process of death and rebirth of my soul. And yes, it must periodically shed their skins, change, start a metamorphosis. When I finish a stage in my life, I must find a new form. The fact that change shape my bones are to be made into little pieces, it's just another insignificant detail implemented, in the jargon we would call a technicality .

So here I am, in my personal Calvary, waiting to die and be reborn. And here the metaphor is more original, leading to a dualistic separation of my personal image.

On the one hand the Old Racer dying, not nailed to two boards put up impaled on the cross but dozens of small stagmiti ice. A bed of agony worth a fakir clumsy, falling over which fell from the brink.

Second Runner New, still sticky, soft and unsteady on his legs. It 's too weak to stand and tremble with the cold that is not used, does not have the thick skin of Old. The New Runner warms up with a small fire of twigs valuable, being the kind words of loved ones and friends, a few small pleasures and the sheer stubbornness. Every so often comes close to the Old Runner, shakes his hand and comforted him with a few words and drinks the blood poured on the stalagmites. The vital force must not be wasted, the inheritance shall be collected.

Old Racer suffers and feels his life draws to an end but continues to struggle. Shake and worsens the situation, while stalagmites the hole deeper. The irony of fate that sometimes causes the emergence of other strata of ice, ready to bite a corner of meat temporarily escaped the slaughter. But no matter, pain is a habit now.

Here and here I want to be, since in any case I do not know how to make good to go. I will not leave until the New Rider will not be strong enough.
My real battle is being able to love myself just a little ', without having to depend on love of others. The hatred I feel towards me is a tough cookie, would be the head of my prison if it were not for Contempt to beat him.
For too long I left it was someone else to love me, but now I have to do alone: \u200b\u200bthis is the real game.

I just want to know where to begin.


Here I conclude this post. I sit and wait for me to be an idea. Meanwhile, I'm curious to see if any of my theories is valid. Who knows, some of which were dodger is not up there to keep me company in the Abyss. The demons are demanding a pledge.

my children I thank you for your devotion


dancing together in the cold, dark night.
is your unprepared
but you are my
and I will not give up.
(The Song of the Slaves)