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Eleventy seven minor eons ago, there was a being named Rogerick who sprouted from an onion seed…

Rogerick was a brave, wise being – a chipped teacup being, born of the unsprouted onion seed whilst the identity of his father is unbeknown to him. After being spawned from his onion seed mother, he was taken in & cared for by an old scryer woman till she passed away & Rogerick was left to care for himself.
And because he was such a unique being, he was often overlooked as he was not everyone’s cup of tea…

Love’s artists


I believe to love is to be creative, a true art. To love, you have to be an artist and to be an artist, you have to live as one. What an art it is to create and maintain something one cannot see. What we feel as love is, I believe, a physical manifestation of love – the unseen. I feel too many have become overly fond of just the physical manifestation, that they rarely give thought & power to the unseen. Our senses rule this world & the obsession of it somewhat & somehow makes us blind. To follow your heart is to love; to love is to create and to create makes you an artist. I guess the question is; are we willing to live an artists life?

The deafening silence of self-composition

The silence is deafening.

I want it back. All of it.
All the noise, melodies and harmonies.
I want to hear those songs so keenly & lovingly played.
That music was so beautiful with its imperfections, which made it unique & complete.
When the volume wanes to the near point of silence, it leaves a vacuum for my senses.
It gets replaced by the drone of the everyday life.
I turn off the drone to be met with nothingness.
No beautiful, unique & eclectic music. Just me trying to compose in the silence to make up for it all.

The silence is deafening and I cannot seem to compose.