Liar! and other shenanigans

The Sperg Box

I can feel it. Autumn is sinking into my bones. I can see my breath when I sing in the morning. Will the wonders ever cease? I have an inexhaustible craving for Garmarna, and other Neofolk bands and their wonderful songs. Coffee, hot, tastes all the better, sweeter, when it steams – even when taken black as the heart of an Englishman. And the nights! Stars blanket the morning, and the moon comes earlier. Being one who wakes in the small hours, it is nice to outlast the sun.

There is a comfort in the waxing powers of darkness which will bring Father Winter and the Cailleach to bear. The Summer Queen and all her steam will return, and I shall deal with burning Golden Sun and her Brigid then. Now, I would rather think about the Black Sun. A subtle light that fails to hurt the eyes. Is it…

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