I am so not a multi-tasker...

Well everyone... (who reads) I have been so mentally occupied with some art pieces that this ol' blog of mine is ended up like so many others.... Forgotten. I mean really how many of us start a blog, write 2 to 10 entries and then completely... utterly forget all of it. pffft.
I would like to upload some of the AMAZING pictures of my AMAZING art but alas i've misplaced my camera chord somewhere in my room (i think it's here somewhere). So that will have to wait.
In the mean-time here is an excerpt from a something i've been daydreaming about and slowing writing... please be kind, I know it has a long way to go left. :P.

The starry mist twinkled in and out of the folds of his inky cape. That cape was like an old book, and whenever he walked memories fell out and became part of the soil. The stranger never wore heavy boots but walked in such a dignified manner that the land would clear itself of debris in hope that he would travel it's hills and dells, mountains and forests, desserts and oasis. He was a beautiful man, with nimble fingers and two pleasant eyes that held the weight and joy of wisdom and courage. And there, in the corner of his mouth, was a sweetness that held secrets that only one knew well. He sought this one and behind his steps the picture of dawn and dusk was woven into the earth, read by a mighty oak and written into it's hart.

That night she dreamt of stars instead of her own memories. In truth she had not seen stars for many years and so the dream stuck out as a special reprieve from the things she could remember. Things like nightmares and evil walking bold-faced and bloody across her own land, shadowy eyes and clever wraiths, they were all written inside her and in many cases written with silvery marks into her skin.

She was a warrior, albeit a confused one who had traveled the 40 lands for many years, some said she was a hundred years old, some stood by thousands, others insisted that she always was and appeared out of the dawn. Eventually each group grew old and past down their history and surmises down to their children, children's children, and eventual descendants. Alas, no word of them remained in her mind and so she continued to live in the dark about her possible histories and the imaginative historians. She could not even remember the full story of how she became blind. She knew she was cursed, but the full truth had not appeared even after she had finally tracked down the one who cursed her. It is yet another key lost some time ago... her memory was shattered at best, a few sharp memories disjointed with seemingly no rhyme or reason. At regular her memories were non-existent.

“Now I am here” She touched the hard cold surface of the walls of her room. She used to imagine they were painted with murals of the dawn. That word still held some random images for her to draw upon. Pale hues of gold and pink, a foggy dew, the darkness dissolving. And in the hundreds of corridors she imagined similar scenes of rest, beauty and hope. At least she did until she asked one day and learned what gray meant. Her eyebrow raised and a smile twitched around her lips.