Current mood:	excited
Current music:	Vautrum Rising - Peter Green - Ghosts of Albion

Phantoms & Foci
I've got Lord Byron on the brain . . .
I really don't seem to be able to help it.
It's not my fault I swear.
I blame Niccie, he was the one that started me off on Romantic Poetry with his Mage, Ethan 'Fairy Godfather of Gorh, I'm so hot I'm on Fire' Shelley.
Ever since then it's been creeping through my brain.
Speaking of Niccie, things are going alright with him at the moment. His job's really hard on him. I know he hates it, but it does tend to make him a nightmare when he gets home. It's not the easiest thing to deal with when your relationship's on the rocks as much as ours is. We need to completely change the way we work together. It's hard to do that when he's tired and pissed off all the time. Still, he seems well enough tonight, so I'm not going to go bitching just yet.
Anyway, back to what I was saying, Romantic Poetry, yes.
The thing that's started this particluar little ouburst off, is a series of Flash animations I found on the BBC's website. If you haven't already, go forth and check out Ghosts of Albion. It's absolutely divine. Ok well it's not that great, it's a little wooden in places, but it's mildly amusing, and the more I think about it the more I like it. And it's got Lord Byron in it, so that can't be bad.
Anyhoo, I thought I'd put some pictures from it in here, because, well, I'm still convinced that pictures make people much more interested in what I'm saying

Ghosts of Albion

Lord Byron	The Whole Gang
Much of his poetry, even the prettiest odes to love, are spells in disguise, efforts to shield himself from the demons wrath. It's all rather sad. Byron had many lovers, but few loves. - Nigel Townsend - Ghosts of Albion	Giant, naked woman with a spear. Lord help us. - William Swift - Ghosts of Albion

And speaking of Lord Byron, I drew a picture of him last night. I started it off in pencil, then inked it, then put watercolours over the top. I may post the pencil and inked versions at some point, I may not. Either way, the finished version was the best one, so here it is, along with some pretty poetry to keep you busy until next time.

Lord Byron - Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went --- and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires --- and the thrones,
The palaces of crownded kings --- the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire --- but hour by hour
They fell and faded --- and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash --- and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gansh'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless --- they were slain for food
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: --- a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought --- and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails --- men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beast and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not a caress --- he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each others aspects --- saw, and shriek'd, and died ---
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death --- a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and oceans all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge ---
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of air from them --- She was the Universe.