They came hidden amongst the explosions as if the fire in the air had called them.  Dragons or fire-snakes, slithering across the night sky like slow, red lightning.  Their roaring laughter echoing with the explosives calling out for cheerful destruction.  For one night every year they come out to eat that which we choose to forget, every possibility which never turned reality.

In the morning only burnt out paper tubes remain, reminding us of ourselves.


Once upon a time, very long gone now, I hung out on some sort of chat rooms and communities on MSN.  They too are since long time gone…

The reason I bring this up is because a long time ago there was an RPG community there, called Keep of the Necromancer (KotN for short).  I used to go by the name Melanie the Sorceress at that time, and I had a great time there.  Sadly, this was at the time when I at first started to get my severe winter depressions and during one my precense there just kind of faded away.

There were some people there I got to know and lost contact with.  Some of them I can not forget, and I have sometimes tried to find them again.  To tell them that they made an impression, and that my life has been better for having known them, having shared this once upon a time with them.  Having weaved a story together with them was something I will treasure forever.

I remember that our GM was called Arthurian.  Up to this day I am still impressed with how he managed everything.  I especially remember and still sometimes laugh at the small messages he would write in the list of who where doing what, where.

I remember two ilythiiri (drow); Kalgaroth and Julienne.  Kalgaroth was and is someone who I was deeply in awe of because of his writing.  His posts were usually masterfully written, and when I talked to him privately he was a kind and friendly person.  Julienne too was someone I used to talk to both privately and in game, who was a good friend.  She noticed once that I was not sounding like myself in a post and asked me if I was all right.
(These two are the ones who introduced me to the ilythiiri and are the ones to blame for a love of that race.  A love I have carried with me for over ten years.)

There was also a bard, called Mica Nor.  Unlike the others I did not have any private contact with him, but he used to write poems about what the group did and stuff.  I had a dream about him a few nights ago, which made me think I should write this post.

I also remember someone called Azalyn.  I had some private contact with her, but I cannot remember much.  I know she had to leave because she was ill, but I cannot remember any details.


If anyone reads this and either knows these people or perhaps also was a part of Keep of the Necromancer, please leave a comment.  I hope that you are all right and that perhaps you think of me too sometimes, perhaps laughing at something I wrote or said.


/pao – 18 dec 2011 – 22.17




I… have no idea.  Please don’t ask what this means.  I was just writing this for my hundred words.  The different parts have different patterns, and I was mostly trying to use words.  But I do like reading it aloud for myself…


I – stretch out my hand to touch the mirror
my ghostly reflected lips
are cold to my fingertips

you – watch closely from the doorway
your lipstick the colour of heather
a wild moor, a bird of a feather

he – is just a dream
hair like strawberry
skin like cream

she – was always the one who ran
always were since it all began

it – those not worthy of genders
dogs, houses, fish – other pretenders

they – with beaks like traffic cones
and slender, delicate bones

we – watching and waiting
with bated breath anticipating

us –

our echoed laughter ricocheting
this painful sadness mitigating


/pao – 9 sept 2011 – 04.13


I wrote both these for my hundred words today.  The first one got a bit too long, so I put it here instead.  Now off to sleep.


shrouded in thunder and gently falling night
a creeping nightmare fading into daylight
a deep pool of water in pale candlelight
something below the surface frightening
a sudden blinding whiteness – lightning
frantic wings take flight

one – a friend in the shadows
a puppet master hidden from sight
two – a friend in the forest
a companion close as a dancing shadow
three – a friend on the shore
with seaweed in his salt-stained hair

four – lavender
for regret and remorse
five – peppermint
for sedated calm
six – clove oil
that is for secrets, forgotten history
and stories untold
songs never sung

something moving just below the surface
behind her eyes, below her feet
that dark pool of water – is it oil?
a spark falls





a lingering feeling that something is lost
see, my friend has thunder in his eyes
and sometimes the wind catches his hair
no hands can capture a storm
no paws can hold it down

one – a memory of what never was;
a campfire surrounded by ice
silent songs warming cold hearts
two – a song never sung;
a song of rain and summer
whispering reeds and dragonflies
shadows and light

a lingering feeling of sadness and loss
see, my friend is like the ever moving sea
his skin is covered by salt crystals
my tears like diamonds in his seaweed hair.



/pao – 8 sep 2011 – 05.00


it is 07.46 am, and it has been snowing again.
I am awake, and outside there is a man in a tractor, trying to clear paths in the snow, piling it up neatly.

it is 08.02 am, and the man in the tractor has left.
the cloudy sky is greyish deep blue in the dawn.  the chocolate is cooling in the kitchen and my pills lay here beside me.
but I do not yet wish to sleep.

the rats are mostly sleeping.
my girlfriend is sleeping.

I hear footsteps upstairs, in the apartment above.
the world is waking.


I guess in a way that I should be happy.
Why aren’t I happy?

There is a beautiful winter out there.  Cold, hard and deadly.
I want to go out there and sit in the snow and think.
Feel the icy cold to my skin, feel the burning, paradoxical pain set in.

There is such a gentle snowfall outside.
I want to see the snowflakes land on my clothes, in my hair.
I want to watch it as it doesn’t melt.

And then I want to come back in, curl up beside her and thaw again.

/pao – 22 dec 2010 – 08.38


(lost history)

sometimes, i really wish i hadn’t had lost so much history in all the moves, both between physical, metaphysical and digital places…

so many stories, poems, drawings and diaries lost that i will never find or see again…

all i can hope is that even when i forget, even when the fading memory is only replaced with the knowledge of knowledge i have lost forever…
the important parts of it will be safe in who i am now.
what i turned out to be.

but sometimes, i really wish i knew better what i once was…

/pao – 21 sept 2010 – 20.08


some music is life; it makes your heart beat faster, makes you breathe harder, makes you want to fight or run or think, change things.. it tells you about life.. about all things that are life, reality, teaches you things..

and then, some music isn’t life.. it is only a dream..
it makes you curl up and sleep and dream and float around in nothingness, not doing anything, not living.. just dreaming, waiting..


the music I listen to right now reminds me more of a dream than life..
I am not sure if dreams are what I need right now..
because dreams are to very little use if they are not used..
and right now, I need life..

but life is almost nowhere to be found right now, surrounded by chilly almost-winter.. life has fled, hidden, fallen asleep..

life is dreaming.


the page is empty..
my paws should write or draw..
but the dreams won’t stick to the paper..

they flow away again.

/pao – 22 nov 2009 – 02.33

(edit: adding a part of a terribly silly and hilarious fake-play I am writing. It was suiting…)

The winter is coming, and I do have to sleep.
And so, I fill the sleep with dreams so that
I will have hope and something to long for;
something to fight and carry on for.
Something to help me not die in my sleep
out of starvation and lack of food for my soul.
The Hambre del Alma is singing with such
a lonely and complaining voice –
like the voice of the winter gales! –
and the starvation of the soul is just as real
as the starvation the rabbits feel
in their burrows.



(written 7 sep 2009 15.14.. this is a reference to and an evolved thought from even further back, going home with a friend on a train.. an evolution and a shard of a thought…)

We are all strangers on this train. We all share this darkness in the window, we share this journey. Everyone is looking around without seeing. The young woman in front of me fidgets with her hair. We are all sharing this silence. We are still in the silence, even though we are talking. We are all thinking. I sit there with them. With my hopes and dreams, nightmares and fears. With all my pain.
(I bet you feel pain too.)

I am just like them, even if I’m not. I’m not like them, though still one of them. They excluded me early on, and I could never find my way back.

But we are all strangers on this train. We share the background noises. They, me, us, we. We are all being people. We are all thinking.
We are all being. We are all going somewhere through the night. Home? To friends and family? To work? Away? Perhaps in circles, around and around?
Perhaps nowhere.

Out there in the pale light, in the white light, in the orange light that man made lies the broken metal junk that man made. All the hopes and dreams that man made. All the things that man made to separate himself from nature. All the things man made to protect himself from nature. All the things that man took from nature and forgot where it came from.

Look out there. The light that man made, illuminating the big, concrete houses that man built. Hopes and dreams of a better life, away from the caves that man once found. But the apartments are still apart. Gaping holes in a wall of concrete. Gaping caves in a man-made mountain.
Cityline like the jagged line of a mountain range in the distance.

We are all strangers on this train. We are all strangers to each other. Most of us are perhaps even strangers to themselves.
We share this silence that man made. We share these background noises that man made.
For a moment we hide in the light together, hoping that this train will take us somewhere we want to be. For a moment we hide in the warm light from the darkness outside.

Then the train stops and we leave, all walking in our different directions, once again.



There was something else I meant to say, but it got lost.
I was sad, then I got happy, then I got sad again.

In other words, I am still alive.

/pao – 10 nov 09 – 05.06