When considering the canon, that is, the body of masterworks that a given culture treasures, it is worth considering what exactly makes a masterpiece, and indeed why the masterpiece has such a powerful influence, why it is more than a mere artwork. For literature, for example, aspects such as linguistic virtuosity, emotional depth, psychological ‘realism’ …
Author Archives: cynewulf123
The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter III
Chapter III There were five of us. Well, there were really four of us, and one who had been slowly diminshing for several hours. He was somewhere between a half and three quarters. ‘Please…I know nothing more!’ It was difficult to tell whether it was his flesh, blood, or simply his spirit that was being …
Continue reading “The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter III”
The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter II
Chapter II Praise be to God. Salutation to the Unknown Reader. I have quit my place at Welchin. The good Fathers informed me of my father’s death, and the suspicion surrounding it. As is my obligation, I have gathered myself up and left for Majoree,with Hel at my side. The Fathers refused his demands to …
Continue reading “The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter II”
The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter I
The Adventures of Hel and Edin Chapter I There were two of us. I, Hel, and the other, Edin. Both of us had learnt our professions and not much else at Wilchen, that indifferent place with one foot in civilisation andthe other in barbarism. The town stunk of indecision, right down to the Spiritual House …
Continue reading “The Adventures of Hel and Edin, Chapter I”
Games as a Matter of Life and Death (A Strange Monologue)
Games as a Matter of Life and Death; or, The Pitiful State of Would-be Gods What matters the game? Why do I rage and hoot upon seeing some arrangement of dots on cubes of plastic?why do I bury my face in my hands as my opponent poorly narrates the killing blow of some deaf and …
Continue reading “Games as a Matter of Life and Death (A Strange Monologue)”
The Pillar
The sediment made us sick. The wandering delta streams, the stench of endless green, The mixing play of words, wine and bloody spray Flowing into a slow drop of day. Maladies hummed like reeds by the bank. Old-young, rich-poor, pale-burnt, All come and drink a flower dew, The falling waves of purple-golden crash Upon them …