• Sleepwalker by akiaura, LONOWN, STM – Lady Kathy’s Sleepwalker Fate

    The song “Sleepwalker” by producers akiaura, LONOWN and singer STM gifts our ears with phenomenal unparalleled compositions which results in a new revolutionary genre that, yet again, creatively blends the bridges of electronic music, dark wave, witch house and phonk. It is that impactful that any time I listen to it (which happened more than 100 times for sure) it causes me to have visions and inspirations of moments, characters, stories, pictures, feelings, motions and situations. I don’t really know what all of that might mean hollistically but I highly thank the artists for gifting me another piece of the puzzle. So here I present you the short story inspired by the song Sleepwalker, perhaps even a script for a future music video project:

    Lady Kathy was in trouble of coming to rest. A natural instinct teared her off her bed. She bestired herself from her bedchamber and refrained from lighting the oil lamp that was placed on her bedchamber cabinet. The midnight moonlight that shined through her whole being right at this moment was already too radiant for her to endure further lighting. Everything glowed all to much for her. “These forms, these tremendous colours utterly overwhelm my vision” escaped from her lips as she tried to get a hold of herself. In her long white nightgown she resorted to the corridors of the castle. At that exact moment she was absorbed and stricken by an enormous force that lingered in the air as if it was waiting just for her all along. These odd energies and forces in the sphere interweaved into her spine so much that Lady Kathy shuddered with sheer horror which resulted in an instant cold shock of sweat as if she had seen a demon or a ghosty creature, but this did not truly happen – it was rather the demonic that resided inside of her which awakened. Fog that creeps ever closer now swirls wavelike and S-shaped from the tip of her toe up to her face like a summoned genie in a bottle. With the most torn open eyes which made her veins throb a timelapse of all her life moments played back on the surface of her eyes. It’s as if one had granted her the gift of resolution of the worlds most profound mystery which of course hurt and was too much for a sole body to bear. Who she was, who she wasn’t, what she did, what she gave, what she learned, what she taught, what she drove, loomed in her iris like a predestined prophecy that is now forever vanished.

    While all of this is being performed in the castle’s interior, the exterior rampaged altogether. Trees had to battle for their balance very suddenly, flowers for their survival, slumbering birds for their gentle shelter. But within all of this distress one thing was found: It was the most beautiful moment of the tides. Glass-clear crystals followed by numerous imminent splinters and flakes rained down from the sky and they formed eternal spinning spirals in their flights. Their synchronicity is reminiscent of a well rehearsed dance just for this exact moment that expires forever very much into the next. The crystals rain down and cut the sphere. If nature was a body it would be bleeding by now. The moon, very much delighted by this phenomenon, ablazed in new splendor and light of deep nightshade. This new flock-shaped emergence revealed a much magnificent picture of great grandeur: The crystals sparkle and shine in total radiance due to the astral moonish spotlight because the moon is an artist herself now and wants to partake in the limelight of this matchless show. To form a whole as jingling and moving parts – this is their pure existence.
    A monstrous howling joined the whole theatrical performance. It is uncertain if the sound belonged to a wolf or not. Considering the vibrant picture of the foreground the sound could’ve also belonged to those of Gargoyles that encircled the whole castle.

    Lady Kathy seemed to be just as well captured by this sphere which drags oneself through time and space and then putting one into place, the harmony of it all.

    Just as Lady Kathy figured out the mystery, she faints.

    . . .

Sappho, spelled (in the dialect spoken by the poet) Psappho, (born c. 610, Lesbos, Greece — died c. 570 BCE). A lyric poet greatly admired in all ages for the beauty of her writing style.

Her language contains elements from Aeolic vernacular and poetic tradition, with traces of epic vocabulary familiar to readers of Homer. She has the ability to judge critically her own ecstasies and grief, and her emotions lose nothing of their force by being recollected in tranquillity.

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