It goes by many names, the space invader, the infiltrator, the head fuck, to name a few. Arrives unannounced and unexpected, taking residence in your comfort zone, droning on incessantly with negative speak, the stuff that hurts your head, while you hover uncomfortably in your own space, out-of-place. Welcome overstayed when none has been offered, sapping strength as the clock ticks and panic builds because you have things to do, life to live, but you can’t turf it out because you don’t know how, and you’re not that strong anyway. So the invasion prolongs and it grows darker and your brain grows numb with the pointlessness of it all, and your chest hurts, and your stomach feels hollow; but finally it grows tired of your boring, catatonic company and you brace your exhaustion against the portal through which it slithers away; the portal that opens ever so slightly to let the light in. Sighs of exhaled pressure leave your chest and you swear that you’ll be ready the next time, braced and protected; but that’s all just fuckery thinking, and well you know it, for it will be there when you are not looking, when your guard is down; when you are content – or think that you are. It will come again alright, but you just hope that it won’t be for a long while yet.
From Arkyne, Story of a Vampire, my debut novel…
Henri de Rais reads the following incantation from an ancient grimoire…
And thrice I hear thee, dark-winged harvester
Eater of souls
With thine hollow caw of malaise
And others will hear that hollow caw…
Soon to be published in hard copy, Arkyne, Story of a Vampire is now available in ebook format from Amazon Kindle:
I don’t claim to know that much in regard to all things poetic, and would never describe myself as such, but occasionally, in moments of emotive thought or reflection, I jot down what comes to the page and let it be.
The Memory Wandering was written some time ago and is themed around forgiveness and letting go. Common enough themes for humanity, but often the most difficult to get a handle on and more than often, unresolved.
Director of IN RIBBONS, Marie-Valerie Jeantelot, read the poem and decided to include it at the closing of our film, and in a wonderful gesture, her father, Charles Jeantelot, has translated it into French, that most beautiful language of the romantics.
IN RIBBONS https://www.facebook.com/inribbonsmovie.
Blossoming dawn creeps
Essence of self becoming
Swelling captured beats
Caroline Farrell © 2012
Photograph is the copyright of Errol Farrell. 2012