I seriously do not get enough opportunities to pixel-play with my SL dad, Skye Nefekalum. Then again, he’s insanely busy and probably squeezed me in between many of his other RL and SL responsibilities. But still, when I contrived this concept, there was no one else as sexy and intimidating who could fit the role effortlessly. It’s my da or no one else!
This blog is another shanghai situation in which I basically IMed Tira Madoka and said, “BLOG WITH ME NAO!” And he “graciously accepted,” meaning he probably cowered on his platform and figured he had no choice because I’m a mega-extrovert. ^_^
So excited to do this shot with Shynne Nirvana! She’s the Thing 2 to my Thing 1. It’s been forever since the Shys have done a picture together, so this is long overdue! Thanks so much for indulging my elvish needs, Chocolate Thunder aka Ben!
There is a land where nobody sleeps not far off – buried in a morning’s grave the necessity of tenderness laid beneath a body protests on two knees.
He saw a girl that cried too much, her life from the knife of monster earth creatures that wait to keep us quiet the kiss of a prowl to tie each mouth.
Careful! They sniff the living! Who rushes out will fall down broken bones into skeletal corners the brittle-rattle where creatures creep the depth of tombs as flesh once did pain feeds pain and teeth lay thick.
Whosoever is found will be carried on their shoulders stalking the earth looking for others to prey on those who have warm veins.
Take refuge in the eyes of crows! No one is asleep here, bad omens have marks where ribs were torn!
The watchman is watching in silent shoes he peers into things from the corner of his eye snakes with waiting tongues here to feed again a fang comes closer to her nervous ear. . .
“Be careful out there we’re waiting where no one’s sleeping the mummified have shoulders death sits upon them red-eyed saliva with moonlight’s rabid poison in the hunt for skulls groping for flesh to chew on blood.”
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing ‘twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away.