Oblivious Short Stories

And what I have become,
Is just what I begun.
I’ll be there in the end,
Since all I have is gained

Loveless or stalling

Flattering so pretty
Endlessly greedy

Causing a numbed life
Or giving me wifflings
The wind is comming harder
Thoughts like leaves swirling
My mind bleed my life
And life blow my mind!
 

The river gathers in a bay and goes on swirling and foaming into the mouth from both side of the shores, gulping down in the middle by a granite shaped throat. Well inside its neck the water seems calmer but the bridled power generates an energy which opens up to a third unseen shore.

It is here in the narrowest part of the borderlands, as the shortest distance between the two neighboring countries is a significant alienation, a distinct out of reach. Although the differences between the two sides are diffuse in its presence, except for, that the other side is on the opposite side.

The Invisible people walk from the third beach along the landscape of the two other visible shores. For these people, it is all interconnected: the lines of the shores, the rocks, the standing trees of the forest and the leveling of the mountains. While the visible people apprehend that they find something here, but really can’t understand how it can be connected.

I walked along upstream on smooth rocks and round stones of many sizes. Jumped over the pouring stream of a connecting creek and let my soul pace among the invisible people on both sides of the shores though my sorrow made my flesh blind. The mind has started a voyage to the upper springs of the river; still it lingers in the air and the view of the sky meeting the water in its opening of the landscape.

Here we are close and remote, all at once. It seems as we will end up here when we left joy and sorrows in the existence of our lives. We are at the border of the lands that is divided just because they seem as an opposite, a converse of what belongs to our side. We might as well be on the other side and yet definitely on the neither side.

In the hour of the wolf, just before the dawn, when faeries doze and daze,
dance in haze,

I’ll catch your breath and squeeze to death, to birth, of young or aged,
of pleased or raged

I hear the feral Hunt with Gabriel´s Hounds
a summoning of peril pounds.

So where are you, to stop the blares,
of horns, of wolfs, in hidden lairs.

By the hour of the wolf I cry,
 a vivid call in a dour sigh.

Will lovers raise a bird songs phrase
to peel the moon in every phase?

Or will each word or twiddle wit or lie;
be a riddle, gently stirred and split with wry.

At the hour of the wolf I rest my mind
in a nest of thoughts that is left behind.
In the hour of the wolf the myth is entwined
to a cord of writhe to a hallowed bind.

On the edge of the grip of nothingness,
most people sleep not the less;

While others toss and turn,
awake in longing or in yearn.

By the hour of the wolf the urge will fade
As a crackle in our soul of what we made`

The Final Stop at Berlin Bahnhof Zoo

Final stop of the night in despair;
We young lions with frozen hearts and cigarette burned
wrists,

We are cutting presence by sacrifice to declare,
Our condemning of confining the choice by cold daggering
twists.

And you, brother lion, while you fail to trap the young
girls,
you are confused and forget of their belongs,

You ambush me, by giving them promises and pearls,
through myths and heroic songs.

I, who so recklessly left to the evil and blight,
the fate of my night stung love,
Was cold and blank to the urge of female invite
to the bait and smilings thereof,

But still I had to fence to defend
Against insulted squires of noble ascend.

Here at the stop of the final despair
I close my love by a sigh, in breath of the air.

I, a young lion, am pounding through life,
with the pumping of my blood against the steel of a knife.

It is as if the wind gave a message a shove
Of lucky days close to its brim,
My blood in a rush, I think I'm in love
- Of whom? – Oh, of every breathe, of every whim

I wished that everything in this heaven and on this earth,
Lie stretched near my heart like a maiden’s mirth.

Nor young or old
Warm or cold
Hardened and bold
Goes winning in a heroic strive
Against life in stoic thrive

So solemnly sad in a solid cove
In the bed of our soothed death
We call for the curdling candid love
In dread of our closing breath

So, then is your sorrow, of worst
when friends, you thought are cursed,
no follow,
left alone,
by hollow
head and bone,
apart
depart
no heart,
not nursed
but with ail and thirst.

In the dense of the hazels,


Far some quivers grows

Midst the shadowy painted appraisals,

an ancient presence glows.



I walk the olden path among others,

That also here did tread.

The place comes in within and in another´s

Where trace speaks in my head.



Clay, decay a coming dismay

Stones and bones bewildered astray



Descending in a slope with slender shrubbery

Depending on the hope of barren baneberry



Long lost, still fingers crossed



I the king of the wood in human hood



I gather with you Hecate, fairies and witches

Where magic, is turning, does tosses and twitches.



Do what thou wilt, not!

So as thou wilt do what thou not got!



Yield not a measure of every word and sentence

Wield your pleasure in not to be your repentance



Be beyond language, meaning and seeming

Where we are free from anguish and painful demeaning.



So here I close this theatrical act,

Amongst beings and animals, deep in the forest's dim lit tract



And now, let us all return,

to life, to loving among.

Where true meaning and mindful yearn,

and are all running along,

With forever inspiring and ready curiosity

In a never expiring, steady velocity.



Let your hope wallow and the hollow to be hear

But do not let the follow of heart be the follow of fear.

At the brim of our breath
Whilst a whim from our death

Comes, violets and yarrows in midsummer night
So solemnly embraced in lucid delight.

Fly woodcock fly over our house,
Owl, hedgehog, nightjar and mouse.

In every stone within every tree,
By every fairy, willow and bee.

Night lingers and holds our awakened hearts
At the feast, among old spirits that nest in these parts.

And at the midst of this night you stretch out in the glen.
On moss, near rosehips and loans, by meadow sweets and wren.

My Elven Queen, has been lost in a thousand years,
We rest in the green, once haunted by tears

Years, counted in seconds and weighted by hours.
Ahead of our senses by the seven of flowers.

Although, one, is the night of fairies delight¨
by the magical birth of the fawn.
In every, of a day, the dusk falls into night
and night into the mirth of the dawn.

During one of my journeys into the realm of everyday life, I made a strange and absurd observation. I truly cannot explain it, but similar observations of these phenomena has subsequently been made, at many different occasions, both by me and by others.

I was looking for a flower shop where I could buy a birthday gift for a friend. When I finally found one and entered, I had an immediate impression of how extraordinarily well kept and elaborated this shop was. All the plants and flowers were so dazzling and confounded so I felt dizzy and drunken of my mere presence there. The shop was full of bustling customers and I took a few steps backward into a corner and I just stood still and gazed breathlessly. Everything became a scene, a play on the stage of a theater.

At this time I particularly noticed a number of female assistants who glided delightfully around, squatted themselves down and reached around, to take care of plants and flowers, swiftly and elegantly, like dancers in a ballet. All this filled me with a strong natural intuition:
- These women are fairies!
In the very moment of the thought, the nearby assistants turned towards me as if I had cried out the words to them. They met my gaze, each one, friendly, but cautiously, somewhat frightened, and they then hastily disappeared. Further into the store I saw someone, who seemed to be the only male assistant. He was well surrounded by several female customers and stood with his arms outstretched and was lecturing about something. He was wearing a straw hat, white shirt and a green scarf round his neck. Also this time I got a very strong revelation:
- Here is the King of elves!

I went closer to pass the crowd around him. But in some odd way, I noticed how he was looking at me while he avoided me skillfully. He was moving so we had a customer in between us all the time. It felt like I was a threat or an unexpected interruption to his performance. Or he just did not want to help me; I thought, gave up and walked towards the other end of the shop. Meanwhile I also rejected all what happened as sheer fantasy.

I came to the checkout and asked the cashier, an older woman, if it was anything I needed to know concerning the care of the flower I had chosen. She just stood there in an extensive moment of silence, stared at me horrified as if I was a ghost. It was quite embarrassing, and some other customers began to complain, asked her if she would not help me so she could proceed to their turn. Then she went absolutely mad and barked unexpectedly and furiously her complaints. As she in the same instant, hurriedly and insensitively took my flower, wrapped it into the paper, and demanded wordlessly but conspicuously to get paid. Then she turned to the next customer without giving me any further notice.

I was completely overwhelmed; however just before I got to the exit I saw a hand reached out from beside of me. She was one of the previously gliding women and gave me a booklet on flower care with a tentative apologetic smile. In the next seconds I was out of the shop and could not think about anything else than how unpleasant the cashier had been. Soon I was on my way elsewhere and also forgot about everything.

In the middle of the night I woke up with an absolutely revolutionary feeling. I had dreamed of deep woods with glades of lush groves within the kingdom of elves. I was besieged and had no words for this and had to search “Google” for what was on “the fairy king”. I then discovered the name of "Oberon" and a sudden stillness was spread inside me like it was an incantation or a spell. I really do not understand the meaning and importance of the dream. Nevertheless, in its message, an invaluable love is lost into oblivion and Oberon himself have become deceived. Someone has stolen his identity and are now reaping the fruit of his reign. Oberoen must remeber what he really is and find what is lost. I hope this exposure now will be a key for someone who can solve this riddle Hope it will open a door and uncover the mishieve and thereby make it possible to put all things back to what they should be.

When I read further, the name of "Oberon" led me to Shakespeare's play; "A midsummer Night’s Dream". I had never really appreciated this play since it seemed excessive and unnecessary pretentious. Although now the spirit, the feeling and the latent symbols of the words, have an entirely and utterly new magical meaning for me:

Oberon:
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in

And later Puck softly states:

Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.

Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchway paths to glide;
And we fairies, that do run
By the Triple Hecate's team
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic. Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house.
I am sent, with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.