Posts Tagged ‘Jack Frost’

The times of cold approach,
And the dark with it,
Twin seasons of Fall and Jack Frost,
Times of boreal frost biting at your fingers,
Seasons of shivers,
Presents of pumpkins and bonfires,
But not before the autumnal death of the year,

Firstly come the hues of orange and brown,
Emeralds decaying from the boughs,
Laying a carpet of beguiling entropy,
A funeral for this turn of the sun,
With scents of ginger and freshness,

Then follows the true storm of cold,
Walls of snow from the sky,
Rain haunting the alleys like spectres,
Jack Frost cackles in blizzards,
Leaving little crystalline stars about as presents,

These times bring cold and discomfort,
It’s undeniably true,
But it also brings gatherings around fireplaces,
Blankets and cuddles and cinnamon,
Hope for a new year,

If the cold didn’t bear down,
We wouldn’t know the warm.

Greetings inmates.

Only a short one this time I’m afraid, but rest assured I am working on a couple things. This post is sort of referring back to one of my previous posts called “The Oldschool Harlequin“. It was a piece about the supernatural being called the Oldschool Harlequin, as the name suggests. In that post I mentioned the Harlequins servants. The knife, the cane, the doll and the crystal ball. Tournefoux, Domnall, Pandora and Jack Frost. These supernatural beings are powerful in their own right, each with its own abilities and nuances. Tournefoux, for example, is obsessed with blood and relishes the spilling of it, but only if he finds the act amusing. Otherwise he regrets it utterly.

In this post, i simply wanted to show you a picture. The picture depicts the Oldschool Harlequin and three of his servants: Tournefoux, Domnall and Jack Frost. At the time i drew this, i hadn’t yet come up with Pandora’s design so she is missing for now. Now, as i have said before I’m not an artist. My drawing abilities are lackluster to say the least, but i feel some kind of visual depiction is helpful in bringing the reader/witness into my world.

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There you have it! You will see the Oldschool Harlequin himself in the centre, with Jack Frost on the left, Domnall on the right and Tournefoux at the top. Both Tournefoux and Jack Frost resemble jesters in a fashion. Tournefoux is puppet-like with a wooden mien, here he is with his trademark knife. Jack Frost with a fairly typical icy appearance. Domnall is diminutive, with a knight-like appearance. One of his arms is like a medieval lance. These are very basic descriptions of the servants for now, I will be writing a piece about each being in the future. You may also notice the bleeding hand of the Harlequin, I will tell you now that this was not caused by any other being. The Harlequin’s hand bleeds at will, but why and how?

There you go then. I wanted to post something today, but didn’t really have an actual piece of writing ready to post yet. I’ve been wanting to post this picture for a little while now anyway, so I thought now was as good a time as any. I hope you like it despite my lack of drawing ability.

Until next time, have a crazy day!

So, I’ve been writing this for the last few days. It’s meant to be, quite simply, a piece about the Oldschool Harlequin. The supernatural being I imagined up, not me myself. I didn’t want to give too much about him away, while still explaining some things about him.

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“So, who or what is the Harlequin i hear you say.
Have you not seen him?
The regal man in a top hat and emblazoned with outlandish face paint.
A madman or visionary?
A vagrant or pilgrim?
Criminal or revolutionary?
Good or wicked?
In truth, nobody really knows.

He came to these shores from out of the distant mists.
A chaotic phantom.
An outsider.
A force of nature.
A demigod.
Appearing in one place, then another almost instantaneously.
He has shown himself to be both benevolent and malevolent.
Unnaturally brutal and kindly all at once.
Occasionally appearing to act simply on a whim or out of boredom.
To understand his ways is to understand chaos itself.

Why is he here?
To know that would be to know the universe.
He preaches about insanity, Armageddon and anarchy.
But also of individuality and freedom.
He rejects government, while also shunning leadership himself.
He seems to prefer to influence and instigate, rather than direct.

His servants are equally unknowable.
The cane, Domnall.
The knife, Tournefoux.
The doll, Pandora.
And the crystal ball, Jack Frost.
These bizarre machinations carry out his will, their actions just as alien.
Heartless, or perhaps soulless?

He’s drawn to the mentally ill and the impressionable.
To the Harlequin, an asylum is a chapel.
The inmates, his flock.
The amassed corpses of the staff, his altar.
He likens himself to a priest of sorts.
A priest of madness.
A cleric of the apocalypse.
Anarchy and insanity, his sermons.
Self belief and self-indulgence, his hymns.
Apocalypse and the end of the world, his prayers.

For all his doom saying, the Harlequin just as often acts with charity.
Helping the weak and strong alike.
He is, no doubt, a freak.
But he is no monster.
He saved my family.
We had no food and were beset by bandits.
With a flick of his hand, he cut them asunder.
We owe him our lives, for what they’re worth.
We’ll follow the Harlequin from now on.
To whatever hell or heaven he leads…”

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