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You’d speak my name in tongues

You’d speak my name in tongues, you’d holler out in spades Oh, how I wish you could love me again Into the darkness my baby flies, Into the darkness I say goodbye – Kind Dude – Black Butterfly –

Pale, beyond Porch and Portal

Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands; […] She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn – Algernon Swinburne – The Garden of Proserpine –

The Empty House

See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! […] « Secrets », sighs the night-wind, « Vacancy is all I find; Every keyhole I have made Wails a summons, faint and sad, No voice ever answers me, Only vacancy. » […] – Walter de la Mare – The Empty House –  

Wreathing a band to bind us to the Earth

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth […]

I don’t want to run to no Hills

I don’t want to run to no hills I can’t seem to summon of the will To recall how to administer the sign I’ve built – without you – King Dude – Silver Crucifix –

Sorcellerie

Frau Gaubenslosher was strongly suspected of witchcraft. […] And it must be confessed appearances were against the Frau. In the first place, she lived quite alone in a forest. This was suspicious. – Ambrose Bierce – The fowl Witch –

A tyrant Spell has bound me

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. […] Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go. – Emily Brontë – The night is darkening around me –

The Gray turns Gold

There is a woodland witch who lies […] The dragon-flies, brass-bright and blue, Are signs she works her sorcery through; Weird, wizard characters she weaves Her spells with under forest leaves […] The fancies that she doth devise Take on the forms of butterflies […] Till, where the wood is very lone, Vague monotone meets […]

Mon pays, c’est l’hiver

My Country it is not a country, it’s Winter My Garden it is not a garden, it’s the Plain My Path it is not a path, it is the Snow My Country it is not a country, it’s Winter – Gilles Vigneault – Mon Pays, c’est l’Hiver –

Marchés Noirs

Mark your diaries! With Hexmas just around the corner, I will be offering my creations at several « pop-up stores ». Two in Paris and one in Nyons (26).