April 1st

In the days of our elders, tales were told to children of the 'Taint'. It was used by mothers to scare and warn them of the darkness.

It is very real however.

I have found myself contaminated by this virus, even tho I have strived to avoid it at all turns. It is a cunning thing that creeps up on the unwary soul. Having said that, even the wary find themselves overtaken by its corruption.

To this day I have strived hard to limit its influence on me, it does lately slow in its effects upon me....indeed, my other skills now gain in strength.....but, it will take a long haul to overcome this blemish on my character.

I will continue in my endeavours towards the eradication of this blight on myself, I do tho realise its uses, but when it becomes overwhelming as it so often does , then I must react to its caresses of my mind.

It is a drug, it is a scent, it is a thought that perveys itself within. I am confident that I will overcome, beguiling as it is, I shall be relentless always in my resolve towards its seductions....


Eduardo Manklow





April 4th

It weighs still more heavily, sending my shoulders forwards. My step becomes unsure.

Which way should I turn, who shall I turn to?

Tho my finesse seems to be brighter, the reciprocal cost saddens my mind leadens my spirit.

I train daily concentrating in turn, on each of those to counter the 'Taint', yet still it courses thro my veins.

I drown myself in fermented Wormwood. The green comfort given is soothing. I need search for more.

The flickering streets these days weary mine eyes. Puddles of hope evaporate before them where once joy reigned. I turn unto the sound in my head but sigh dismally. It is merely the shallow whisper of memories gone past. Where did my youth hide, where did all I once know and cherish run to.

All I see before me and around only strives to give substance to that which now haunts, that which reaps my strength. These words bleed on the paper before me. I know, I pray I will have the length of time granted to overcome, to become........


Eduardo Manklow





April 6th

I have been walking the night time streets for hours, the weather suits my mood. Snow falls, the wind bitter, freezes thro to my heart. The purety of the whiteness screams to me, no footprints show, just my own solitary marks which fall behind me, only to quickly be hidden by fresh falls.

Few lights shine in the windows either side of me, everything is dulled, hushed, whispery.

The first inklings of a fresh dawn herald the first chorus, the sound bites in my ears. It reminds me of times when things were not as now. I pause to listen, remembering those who once I loved are no longer beside me....I sigh.

A sudden glimpse of colour, a new smell invades my thoughts. I follow its lead and see ahead a figure crimson scarved. I sense purity, innocence, joy. I gain on my unknown lead. My heart beating stronger in hope, in anticipation.

Could this one person be that unseen for years now? I am rapidly led thro alleys and streets I do not recognise, turning sharply to the left, abruptly to the right. I sense I am closeing on my quarry. If I could just speak to her, for it is surely a girl, not much older it seems than my own dear daughter that died so many decades ago now. She too succumbed to the 'Taint' until it overwhelmed her and took her to an early grave.

I turn into yet another alley, seeing the footsteps I desire lead me into its dark corners.

Nothing, no one?

I fall unto my knees shuddering with exhaustion, the cold snow draining my warmth and last strengths, something, ahead, red. The red left alone against the white. I grasp it to my face, caressing its freedom, its owner gone now.

I return to the main streets, the scarf tucked close to my heart. It gives me hope.... there still remain those who command purity, I know this now, even after so many years. Light shines true to me signalling I should not yet give in....


Eduardo Manklow





April 7th


In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.

This mantra I have repeated now for over 200 years past gone, it soothes my demons that I may sleep. Tho sleep it must be said, is a loose term for what I must endure. With my eyes closed, different demons plague me. Ones of regret and hidden meaning. Over the years they have become familiar, almost welcome. The confused
pain I feel on waking, numbs the nightime, for it is during the day that I find it easier to rest my soul.

In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.


I dream. I wish not to, but I dream nevertheless. Flashes of that gone by, intermingle with that which may be. The past becomes future, the tangible written on a canvas of unfathomable oils. Birth becomes youth becomes aged becomes death. Stark reminders are a constant cross for my shoulders.

I toss and turn under my bedclothes.

In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.

Slumber thankfully beckons, heavily I sleep. My mind rolls thro landscapes of twisted possibilities, impossible constraints. The friends and families I have been part of call to me, plead once more. Arms stretched and asking, demanding of me..... 'Will you remember us, will you.....honour us?'. My sleep as always becomes more fragmented as I fight thro my visions. Wrestling against a suffocating lightmare I snap upright. Drenched in sweat, my sheets sodden once more. My heartbeat pounding in harmony with the cities evening sounds.


In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.
In somnus nos fides, suscitatio nos vereor, in nex nos sileo.

In....
Nex....
Nos....
Sileo........


Eduardo Manklow




April 10th


I know not whether I wake or sleep these days. Each is embroiled threateningly into the other. From village to town, all is unquestionably in turmoil. The sweet smell that sticks to me runs free, it is pure. It is vivid even more than the crimson scarf that I hold dear. These lucid times alive the senses make, yet it is with heavy soul that I recognise the cull that overtakes us all. I glimpse torn flags raised halfway, dying on their poles. The same children that fear the 'Taint' now run screaming to their mothers, and lie together waiting their fate.

The spinners laugh from above, only they know what must surely become of us. The web they cast forms a sickening mockery of life. I take the locket from my neck, its silver workings now long worn from use, I open it. Its contents offer me little solace these days, I wish only that I may join her finally. End this torment that life has become, lay together in eternity.

I kneel and attempt to pray to whatever Gods may be listening but all I hear in answer is the silence of their indifference. I have been long forsaken now. It bothers me not. I spit a curse at humanity, faith is a fickle thing. We worship when it suits us, when we are in need. Tonight I do not need. I draw a tired breath and somberly walk out to the screams. I look up to the skies and curse once more.

'Weave your worst, for even that is not enough tonight'......


Eduardo Manklo




April 10th


Numb.

My body is racked with a burning fever unlike anything I have felt before. The realisation of what has come to pass lately, so many lost souls, so many bereft of their final spark. I hold my head deep in my blood-stained hands, slick still, the stain never to fade. Much that I have come to cherish these days, now fading into history. I am unable to shed needed tears anymore. Long gone are those days. I will not. I must not. Comfort, I know, will take considerable time to offer herself to me again, I fuel myself with caffeine instead.

Pacing relentlessly in my prison, my rented room near the river. From here the window commands a clear view. One which interests me little. Yet.....

I cast my vision to the abbundance of life still performing it's daily duties outside. It is all so mundane and fruitless. Hand to mouth. I hear laughter and grimace at its harshness, an old forgotten song comes to mind and I find myself humming it. Ahhh, the rapture I once felt then! It was precious, fresh, it was....like footsteps....in....snow.

I can not free my mind of the vision, the pounding of my heart aches me to a point I spin around aimlessly, thrashing at my surroundings. Is that all this life offers me in this age? A momentry beacon of hope? Is that all damn it?

I throw my cup across the room splintering it in cascades over my bed. I pace with even more pupose, eventually turning to my diary which I clasp tightly in my trembling hands. This symbol, this anchor, this constraint on me. So many times I have meant to burn them all, cast them forever more behind me. But alas, I no more have the power to do this than I have to shake the constant melancholy that I endure.

Resigned to my fate, I once more, pick up my pen....


Eduardo Manklow




April 12th


I light a solitary candle.

A pathetic beacon, barely reaching the corners of my cell. It dances tho, mesmerising my mind. It's narcotic shimmer drawing deep into me, piercing through my skin. Leaving no scar, only that unseen. In my ears it roars, blazing fiercly. Wild and unharnessed. Drowning out my surroundings, they blur and sway in tandem with the flame .

Imperceptible hushes of smoke, trace serpentine curls of grey. Circling around, flittering from one place to another, their interest always distracted from their goal. Kisses of air waft aimlessly thro the crack in the window, drifting in mimic of the smoke. Mesmorised I follow their movements, captured perfectly in the moment, until they entwine in a self-destrucrive confusion only to be replaced soon after with their brothers and sisters.

My eyes close and I concentrate on the heat held within the fire before me. Slowly at first then suddenly enveloping me I bathe within its life, throughout its presence. Its effect is instantly calming. A primitive drive fills me, bending me over untill, legs still crossed, my back touches on the floor behind me.

My mind rushes from me forcing its way thro the same crack in the window, Its edges worn smooth now from decades of passage. It takes me howling into the skies, putting even the candleflame's shimmerings to shame.Cavorting blissfully thro a maelstrom of emotions. Streaking relentlessly towards the first-born shafts of sunrise, before finally plunging. Falling with anticipation, with relish.

Content.

Free.

Sleep, will this day, be something that refreshes....


Eduardo Manklow




April 25th


I am a child once more, barely past my fourteenth birthday. I have been training relentlessly for many years now it seems in preparation for what lays ahead of me. My father worries needlessly. I have proven that I am capable, being trained by the finest that Lisbon has to offer. He is old now and having never re-married, fears that I will only find my doom in the coming wars. He should know me better than that, yet even he knows not how close I came to death last year.

I am sure the reaper did indeed breath his fetid odours upon me, and still I awoke. Unharmed, stronger....wiser. Some folk show instant distaste to such wisdom in one of so few years. It bothers me little for they will all pass, eaten in the ground, little more than manure for the soil. Their empty lives becoming as meaningless as the short spark that was their years. I know that I will outlive them and their children and their children's children.

This saddens me greatly, will I ever know love? Or having found it, will it grow old and die in my arms leaving me broken?

My father shakes my hand vigourously and ruffles my hair. He passes me a small bag full of food for my journey. He looks to the skies his eyes full and asks me to wait a moment while he goes back to the
workshop. He returns with a long bundle that is lovingly wrapped and tied with six ribbons, which I recognise as belonging to my mother. It was the sword, crafted by his own father which I still wield to this day.

As I turn to start my lonely walk to the docks and to the Americas, he calls me back. Taking a finely engraved silver locket from his neck, he places it around my own. Finally his emotions overcome him and he grasps me close to himself, arms tight around each other we look painfully into each others eyes.....words are not needed.


Eduardo Manklow




April 29th


Today has not been the best of days.

I sense around me those similar to me, yet they understand little. They are eaten by greed. Their hunger overwhelms them....they are beholden unto their base desires. I know they are aware of me but I care little for their interests in my life. Indeed, I welcome their attempts at my soul. Little do they know that it will ever be held by another. My keeper, my sanctuary, my saviour.

No matter the pain they intend to cause me, I heed not their purposes for it pales in comparison to the harsh years I have endured without. Watching those I have loved pass to the soil pains me far more. How can there ever be anything to compare to that hurt? Impossible. So, I fear little these days....I welcome my own demise.

The sweet rest I anticipate makes my heart beat faster, soothes me endlessly. But it has been an age of waiting and still I endure. If only this torture would finish, would sound its last sonnet to me. That familiar melody still plagues my mind. Driven thro my body like a sharp winter frost.

I shiver uncontrollably, and curl my arms around myself. The fever comes upon me more frequently these days. Maybe it's my age, maybe it's the unfamiliar scents that surround me. Maybe I imagine this all. I clutch a blanket close around my shaking body my muscles tensing in rythmic spasms.

Slowly the seizures relinquish their hold upon me and I reach for the blade always hidden deepest within my clothing. Always keen, I raise it towards the moonlight that twists into my room and, holding it against my head, I purposefuly slide its steel kiss thro the first locks of hair, now tinged grey with years. Then the next, and the next. Soon, with shaven head I look once more thro the window upon a cold blue, lunar-lit townscape.

My pulse is soothed in satisfaction, my breath eases upon itself. I feel released....clean....steady once more.

I bow my naked head.




Eduardo Manklow




May 3rd

A chilling breeze runs thro the streets this past week. It cuts thro my clothes and pierces deeply. I shudder and quivver before its touch. Clutching my arms closely around me I brave the rutted streets. I see the rich gentry flaunt their latest clothings pass by me. Ahh, little do they realise how short their pleasure lasts. Before they know it, liggers will be scratching at what they leave behind. Fighting amongst themselves for what does, in reality, have no worth.

I smile a secret smile unto myself.

It is true, I have realised a small fortune over the years I have walked these lands....but it is of little consequence to me. I shun its priveledges for indeed, they are cold comfort to me. They only serve to highlight the divide that I have witnessed between the worthy and worthless. At times I have been challenged to describe which is which...I always ask folk to search within for the answer, for it truely lies therein. If one does not understand the question, then the answer is sadly hidden from the seeker.

I stop suddenly, finding myself in a contemplative mood. Not much has changed really over the years I have lived. Money begats money, poverty begats poverty. The chance to rise above is a struggle worthy of infinate merit. It should not be shunned for it opens doors previously
unbeknown, un-dreamed, un-imagined before. Immposible directions before, become pathways of inviting posibilities.



Eduardo Manklow




May 7th


Laughter.

The sounds and smells of springtime cut deep. To me it is only a fortaste of when she was taken from me...so many years ago now it becomes like anothers dreams. Does that mean I love her less? The fading pain tho still real, becomes more bearable each day. I feel guilt each year. Guilt that I am still alive yet she is but a memory unto me.

How I still grieve her parting from my arms. Her warmth, her touch, her scent.

Mania fills me thro this month, I want, need her back. Yet she was not as I, destined to fulfil her life in so short a time...it tears as much this day as it did then.

This time of year draws me ever deeper into gloom....into hopelessness...yet I do understand that I will overcome as I always have done. Such is the misery that envelopes me. Guilt that I am still and she is not.



Eduardo Manklow




May 12th


Such a sunrise as I have never seen before. The dew held captured on the grasses, thrummed with a molten beligerence. 'We are newborn, thrill in our unharnessed energy' they whisper. I eagerly soak up the raw ochre life they permeate, drenching myself in the golden orbs. Bewildering, twinkering in their breathtaking brilliance.

Each imperfect sphere, holds an entire world within its grasp. So many different skies to behold. They sway in harmony with the rapture of the new days light cast. I find my breath held beyond all possibilities. Turning my head, this way and that, I attempt to capture the brilliance. Sparkling points thrill my minds eye, hold me in reverence. In impossible awe.



Eduardo Manklow




May 20th


The day that always destroys, strips me bear, I am nothing again.

All year I build, this day flays me....the day of birth....the day of loss reminded.

No matter how I prepare myself for this, I still find myself helpless, weak, pleading mercy to the anguish that fills me.

The mother That died to give me life, her last breath was my first. We are forever held close thro this day. I clasp my locket around my neck tightly, feeling its spirit burn into my hand.

If only....if only.

I look to the crimson scarf cast carelessly across a chair and decide to search for this one that is pure. Maybe she will be the one that finally gives me peace....one way or....another.



Eduardo Manklow




May 24th



It is strange, but tho many months have now fallen by since I last was unfortunate to encounter Kelton, the poison that she spewed still makes me shudder. Yet, those puppy eyes convinced many of her truthfulness, her innocence, her friendship. Much like the Sand Queen.... but her tale is for another day.

I had been acquianted with C. S. Kelton for several years, my first recolection of her however was of one with the fear, she was scared and palsy faced, bug-eyed and twitchy at every sound around her. Her inane babbling when confronted by the souls ragged amused me greatly it must be said. She was once a simple bar-keep, a favour was dealt to the thirsty when she pulled her last ale. An indescribable injustice cast on the desperate in the same breath.

I have been aware of her rise 'tween years. The fawning of the elders has caused me sickness. Indeed I oft have caught myself turning in an effort to avoid the embarrasment I feel at her pathetic self-'centred', self-gratifying dribble.

But then I could never understand, not being of her clan, her drink-hole or her lackeys. Many I have witnessed, all friendly and, with great tugging of fore-locks, bid her will devoutly. Little do they comprehend how easily they shall be cast away when their usefulness is finally past.

Poor souls say I.

I pity the new for they are terribly vulnerable to her fetid words, the venomous ways she construes events. My lips curl in revulsion at the memory of it all and I swallow quickly as a lump rises in my throat leaving a bitter bile taste.

Yet even thro carefully constructed lies, her unblinking honesty persuades even our highest born of her loyalty and undying right. I smile to myself at the bed she must lay in, for it must surely be laden with many thorns. I feel, with welcomed anticipated relish, the building resentment of her that I oft hear of these days.

Time....it catches all.



Eduardo Manklow





May 30th



Sometimes I taste the breeze, it works its way thro my mind. It forces me to cast back my memories. Sometimes it sings to me of what has been endured. I gain strength from what I have to consider at these times. In stark contrast to the weakness that was so cunningly forced upon me. In a contemplative mood now, I am able to smile at such miseries and learn from them. Such lows as are hard to justify, but yet when I remember Kelton and her ilk, I find the corners of my mouth reach skyward. The comparison to what was and what is soothes me and lends me the longest laugh, the one that remains after all.

Control. Prestige. Self.

That is what I now understand of those few years. It is so apparent with hindsight what her plan was....is. Sad tho it seems, I yet pity her still and her small empire that means so very much to her. Time decays all tho, and her throne of hurt will, I am confident, crumble around her. It was never my fate nor was it meant to last long. With cool, calm knowledge, I move forward from her sickness, the infectious aura that follows her contaminating those that she is threatened by. For it is clear to me, that was one of the reasons she sought my demise. I continue to laugh.

Many are the fallen that lay behind the building of what she wants and desires so much. Their word grows, others listen and realise how corrupt she is to the core, the centre. I oft spare a thought for trodden-down lives. At the mercy of the unforgiving and mocking deeds of silver-toed disgust. The dogs it should be noted, can all to quick turn on their masters and mistresses. The bite will be deep and heal slowly. I need not wait too long is what I hear.

Sublime pleasure awaits me and many others on that day.



Eduardo Manklow




June 3rd


The fever has wracked my soul for weeks it seems. My body shudders uncontrollably.
Sweat runs down my forehead and blinds me. I suffer my misery in solitude. What brought this on I do not know, yet it prevails throughout the town. I thought I would not succumb to such. I was so wrong. The elderly and children fall fast. Drawn in carts by the corrupt to their dooms end. I have lost much weight. Even the pen I grasp becomes unwieldy to my grasp. I sigh. I last tried some food a week ago, it did not stay long inside, what little I managed that is.

Pain.

My body curls and writhes in it. Strangely the feeling is sweet. That worries me. When the spasms overwhelm me, thoughts become impossible. That is good. That is freedom But still it hurts so much, even I struggle to bear the anguish, even I. The people grow restless, they demand a voice. Yet the King harkens not. Oblivious in His blinkered kingdom inherit. the time will not be long awaited tho I feel. Gossip in the taverns arouses the meek. Angers the rowdy, shocks the anointed betrothen. I scratch myself relentlessly. Yet the itch persists. How long must I listen to the dead make their journey. I am alone now in the building, the last remaining within the taverns dark reaches. They get my money still, my needs after all are little. But the ache plagues me.

I clutch at my belly tightly as it twists and turns, causing my brow to knot with an expression of bemused pleading.



Eduardo Manklow



June 8th



Soon the Gathering will be upon me. I have seen so many over the years. Each year things change, things remain and things evolve. Yet it is a constant surprise to me every time. Seeing fresh faced folk in awe of their new surroundings always gives me pleasure. It is a time of stories, of strange events. My heart tho always has a certain amount of dread leading up to it. Maybe I have become too set in my ways of late. Maybe I am just simply tired of it all. Still, I do look forward to meeting old friends. This year threatens to be different as many have told me they wish not to attend this time. They will be missed. There are, sadly, those no longer walking the lands, they will be even more thought of in their absence.

I plan to travel light this time, tho I always end up taking many things that I do not need. Nevertheless I will use the time to contemplate all that has gone before, and all that may have been. I know that I will long to return even before I have left tho. Theses feelings have always overcome me, distance makes this more pronounced until I must resign myself in acceptance. I should be accustomed by now, but I still feel dread the closer the day comes. It is unavoidable but yet it is my choice after all. I can offer blame to no one else, my own shoulders must carry the weight.

As usual I will leave it until eves-night to gather what I need, it almost allows me the hope to not leave that way. A foolish thought that has no bearing on reality, I always go. One year tho I may yet surprise myself.


Eduardo Manklow
June 13th



My goals are simple at times, mainly to adjust to the changes that are overtaking me. My thoughts whirl as I open up to the differences around me. I find that silence sometimes is a helpful ally. There are those that seek to sanction there own existence, yet I have always shied away from such self-gratifying behaviour. Let them that need it most have whatever they want, I do not care for them after all. Their effect on me is of no consequence.

They busy themselves with un-needed duties, fickle hearted as they are, they shall fade as many others before them have also. It amuses me to see them so ready to jump at the slightest summoning. Have they not learned restraint yet? Save it for the long haul is the best approach I have found. Still, it is always entertaining to see them command their ways as such.



Eduardo Manklow




June 18th

As the day drew to a close today, a perfect line was drawn across the horizon. Beneath it the sun did glare so brightly that it transformed my surroundings into a maelstrom of burning ochre. The recent blood on the streets was bleached in comparison.

Evenings like these have become a rarity these days, the drab hand-to-mouth life that has enforced itself upon us, takes over all our thoughts. I am fortunate in so much that the wealth that I have accquired over the decades, allows me a small modicom of luxery. If i sought it that is.

The underneath of the storm clouds are tinged with an angry black, peppered with molten reds. As i gaze ever longingly at them, they seem to broil before me, beckoning me towards them. I am so terribly tempted to release myself unto this simple daydream. Put all behind me and succumb to my final madness.

Yet something inside me refuse to give in. Denies such a beguiling dream. Ahhh, if I was just as those that live around me, what few are left that is.
Yesterday I heard the cries of sheer anguish from my neighbours. I first watched them move in almost ten years ago now. Their children have grown before me, yet....of the three that were so happy at their move, none are now left.
This festering life that plagues us has taken them all. The parents are old now and realise to their core, that they will have no more. Life can hurt too much at times. I weep silently for them, and wish them all the hope I can muster.

The river outside my window has become much quieter the past few months, folk are reluctant to travel with the risk of the spreading illnesses that spread between towns. To travel from one village to another is nigh impossible these days for folk cast strangers aside, wary of what they may bring to them.

The sun has dipped unseen now. The masked lackeys of the town light their torches and cast them on the graves of many. The glow increases and gives those who have the stomach, a second sunset. I watch the sky erupt in vermillion splendour and fall into the visions that present themselves unto me.


Eduardo Manklow



June 24th

I know my madnesses and weaknesses better than any. I have after all lived with them for long years past.

The thing that has always amazed me is the folk that see me when I am cowering before these, and seek advantage over me. They should realise that it does not last for long, even tho the darkness seems unending to me while I toss and turn. Once I return from thses episodes, their true nature is always stripped open before me for I feel the wisdom and guidance of ghosts from my youth.

Those that were once my life laid bare, talk to me and advise me of the greedy liggers that seek a quick meal. Even held tight and deep within my most suffocating nightmares, I know that she will protect me. Her scent surrounds me in a vail like shield that none may penetrate. They have tried many times and some, it is true, have shown great fortitude in this. Yet still they eventually shrink and fade.

I offer my utmost thanks and prayers to her that surrounds me still and saves me from such vultures of opportunity, for they cast their slime all around.

I must put my pen away for a while, for as I cast my eyes outside, the sky has turned the most pure crystaline blue I can imagine. I can not miss this and must collect my travel bag and walk. I know before I leave where my trail will lead me, to the places that always give me comfort. And I know also before I leave, that on my return, my soul will be calm once more.

I secretly smile to an unseen figure that is always by my side....she will always walk with me and clasp my hand into hers.


Eduardo Mankow