My photo

Writer, Father. Entrepreneur. Bum. Atheist. Recluse. Garhwali. Foodie. Downloader. Drifter. In no particular order.


dämonprinz / engelsbraut

In his sky, the clouds were never far. Sometimes they would be kind, and allow a handful of sunbeams through. Most days however, they would continue to mirror the dark swirling undertows of his mind. The Dämonprinz would often spend these days playing hide and seek with the dancing shadows under his feet. Zoom out, and the earth would look like a leper's skin. In the world of Dämonprinz, the laws of physics were fickle. They were never on the side of makers. Things would break down, fall apart, crumble to dust at the hint of a reason, sometimes without one. Ironically, final endings were rare here. This was the world of unwanted immortality. Decaying things would take forever to die. They would linger at the precipice for ages. That's why his world was full of old rickety things. The sea was a murky green. The trees were barely alive, out of sheer stubbornness. The creatures were old, slow and feral and hideous. The Dämonprinz knew that somewhere on the dayside, a bit towards north, was the home of his Engelsbraut. But salvation, in the form of her companionship, would come to him in little pints. It would never be a bellyful, never quite enough. But he was grateful for whatever sunshine he could muster. Deep down he knew that 'enough' was not his thing. He was built for dissatisfaction and longing. Perhaps he needed this darkness, this thirst, to keep alive. He could hardly call it a curse, because it was the very essence that defined him. It was the theme of his existence. It was his dance, his show, his... opus.