You know you can always count on me, friend
Like no one else, I've gotten used to the coldness of the stone
So I can be with you often
Silver rain will wash away the tears of the Dread Sky
I will rise with the sun…
I will rise with the sun…
- Valyrym.
Referring to the story "The Dragon In The Dungeon"
Some say I'm hitting the point.
So I strike again.
When the Writer dies, the World creates a seemingly imperceptible void, a void waiting to be filled, greedily begging others for revelation.
For the next One to take its place in this great spiral.
Light.
Narrow tunnel.
Echoes.
Arise.
Rest in Peace
Coyote - Of The Wilds was a talented writer, author of many fantastic stories which he never managed to finish.
He was able to convey true, deep emotion through words, through many unfinished stories. Now, through the ending of the Story.
These stories have contributed a lot to my life in 2020, as I wrote about in “Split Of… Personality”. Like for many others, he inspired me to create. I wrote “Split Of Fate”, deleted it, now I'm bringing it back to life, but I also have other plans - regarding the stories of Of The Wilds… but more on that later…
This was difficult to draw. Difficult without getting eyes wet.
Just a quick doodle…
Well, if I were nearby, I would place an apple on his grave.
Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893)
At 9:30, Tchaikovsky set to work—composing at the piano only after he had dealt with any proofs or his correspondence, chores that he disliked. “Before setting about the pleasant task,” his brother noted, “Pyotr Ilich always hastened to get rid of the unpleasant.”
After lunch he went for a long walk, regardless of the weather. His brother writes, “Somewhere at sometime he had discovered that a man needs a two-hour walk for his health, and his observance of this rule was pedantic and superstitious, as though if he returned five minutes early he would fall ill, and unbelievable misfortunes of some sort would ensue.”
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
“Truly there would be reason to go mad were it not for music.”
― Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky
“If you do not want to write, at least spit on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope, and send it to me. You are not taking any notice of me at all. God forgive you – all I wanted was a few words from you.”
― Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
#dailyrituals #inktober #PeterTchaikovsky @masoncurrey
