rfurtkamp

And the shameless whore was promised 13.06.2018 8:42 ↓

Tracing the name in her hair, it was so.

Bill Boethius / Robert Furtkamp - Space, of rain and again! 13.06.2018 10:33 ↓

Occasionally, I hear one of Mr. Boethius' songs, and have to chime, or fake organ, in. (Original available at https://soundcloud.com/bill-boethius/space-full-of-rain )

Sheetrock over the father's eyes 11.06.2018 7:22 ↓

Live June 11, 2018. There are times when the light must escape, and the demiurge closed off.

O you swords of the South 08.06.2018 1:47 ↓

It was going to be one of those fire-brimmed mornings on the mountain. Let the thirteenth key be laid to rest. Live June 8, 2018.

A beginning of the third and of the four 08.06.2018 6:17 ↓

So it has ever been, a blasted witching hour in the smoke. I have seen Her in my dreams, and have stared into the eyes that I cannot placate, nor provide anything that it does not already have, yet it looks and smiles

The burning, shells, and me 04.06.2018 7:12 ↓

The charring and the shells and the burning thereof. Sizzle beyond simmer, serves two for a generation.

Power in the making, power in the drowning 31.05.2018 6:26 ↓

And power in the breaking. Or, the story of best intentions and leaving with less than one started the journey with.

Where there is ash is beyond footwear, quality or not 27.05.2018 11:36 ↓

In the ashen fields, not even boots of lead will save the pain. A duet for the parting of ways.

Thirty three: a return 23.05.2018 6:15 ↓

A reading from the book of the mountain.

The things I learned in her orbit 21.05.2018 20:28 ↓

How to kill, how to die, and how to stagger back to life. Live May 21, 2018.

Lost in the hills of loss 19.05.2018 7:08 ↓

Live May 19, 2018. The saga of the reckoning, and the places it led, and one companion that had seen it all.

On arriving, dust 17.05.2018 7:26 ↓

It was in the first moment of the morning that the purple mountain appeared, and the storm raged.

Best camp before dawn 15.05.2018 9:30 ↓

There were ghosts at the peak, ones that did not travel with. And they sang their stories to any who would listen. I imagine they are still there to this day, howling.

King for a day, then gone 11.05.2018 9:36 ↓

The death of the shadowless man, or how to leave and never return.

Farewell to the tree / where I buried my gun 10.05.2018 7:09 ↓

I remember it well, twisted and worn. And it probably sits there forever, a sentinel to things that I was, once. Those days are gone.

The things I left behind 09.05.2018 5:26 ↓

Ghosts, two decades removed as hazy sunrise comes to pass. A duet for the riders of the flat lands given way to mountaintop questions.

A saga of the whores of Leftbridgeshire 04.05.2018 5:47 ↓

Dreams and phantoms, elevated in the hills

A blast in unexplained places, never claimed 02.05.2018 9:55 ↓

An explosion outside a post office of the soul.

The flight of the shadowless man 01.05.2018 5:51 ↓

Duet for the mountains, Walpurgisnacht 2018. Hyper-heavy edition.

A bride-price beyond pale 28.04.2018 14:07 ↓

Duet for the watcher at the threshold - even though the mountain is steep and dark, he is always there. And this is his story.

There were visions once, and pure 25.04.2018 6:03 ↓

When sleep is less enticing than the visions of the waking hours.

When it comes again, shoot to kill 25.04.2018 7:18 ↓

Duet for the storm - it is the season of death, and let the ways be counted.

Lingering cries from the death spire 24.04.2018 7:40 ↓

When the wash subsides and the bodies scored to ash, the cries remain at the wasted tower. Duet for what could have been.

The manger of the hells is ripe for the plucking 23.04.2018 6:38 ↓

Duet for the breaking and the heat of the tar pits.

It is still a November of the soul 16.04.2018 5:24 ↓

Duet for the mood hanging on the mountaintop, and then there was rain. As loud as the room can stand.