It was dark and cold November night. The dead air clung to any life it could find. A pearl moon hung full in the black sky, watching as the stillness conspired. A slight fog crept its way through the spines of tree's. If one followed a particular gnarled branch as it twisted upward, one would see the raven that loomed above. If one examined this ominous bird, its sable eyes might seem to whisper to somewhere far and gone.
Up on the hill side, shrouded by a few frozen willow tree's stood a coal colored house. It was a wretched looking place that stood three stories tall. Its rooftop stabbed towards the sky, its siding peeled from the harshness of the frigid winter air. It would have looked abandoned had there not been a reddish glow emanating from one of the ornate windows on the lowest floor. If one were to approach the window carefully as to not disturb it's occupant one would surely identify the source of the light to be that of a volatile fire in a most exquisite of fireplaces.
The inside of the house looked as though it didn't belong to its exterior. It was furnished with all sorts of elaborate armchairs, mantles and bookcases each looking tediously hand crafted. They clung mostly to the extremities of the large room, leaving ample vancancy in the center of the chamber. The only piece that claimed rest at the heart of the room was a massive throne like leather armchair. Its oak legs coiled down towards the wood floor; they seemed to be reminiscent of talons. Perched atop the chair was a dark and scowled looking man. His long greasy hair spiraled down to his neck and his eyes reflected the devilish glint of the flames. He was transfixed on something. It was an ancient looking leather bound book that appeared almost to heavy to lift. Its tattered pages must of contained some previous occult wisdom. Naturally the man seemed quite aware of this, as he cradled it with the tenderness reserved for a infant.
One can only ponder what profound and perplexing forms of knowledge entranced this man on such a quiet November night. What dark and sinister forbidden truths he searches for in the emptiness of his study. Whatever we may or may not know of this stranger, one can't help but notice the resemblance between the shadowy man in his leather armchair, and the crow, perched curiously in the tree just outside.
After eating two 'quarter bites' apparently from heaven, one cant help but contemplate his cardboard box existence. Staring at countless black and white tiles seems to compliment the rush of caffeine coursing through waterside veins. The glow of a flickering monitor insights epiphanic thoughts to mull through the endless night. Siting in the hollows of eternity, in an empty building and effectively changing ones from zeros and zeros to ones. While this pseudo cruciality clouds any direct experience of life, it becomes quite the cunning contrast to those pure and absolute, complete and indescribable, honest and heart fully compelling moments when you feel more alive then ever.
