The Ecteiroglyphs of the Lorwolm
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11:23 AM - June 02, 2009
More doodles from Tsitao-utna's pencil
And more . . . © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
12:56 PM - May 31, 2009
Tsitao-utna's pencil
The smallform of Tsitao-utna is invisible, but her herald, her sigil, is a small blue bowl. When she wishes to speak to me, I take the bowl from its place in the cupboard and set it on the table and put a pencil beside it. Her voice comes from a place 14 diumalks above the bowl. A diumalk is approximately a half-inch, according to Tsitao-utna. Through a period of trial and error, I discovered that Tsitao-utna prefers a Turquoise drawing pencil with a soft dark lead, 6B. With this sort of pencil, she seems to converse longer and more naturally, with less distraction. She often seems hurried when she speaks and I believe I can perceive a certain tension in her voice. I think she is intimidated by Ga-ukogomen. Sometimes when she speaks to me, I imagine her looking over her shoulder, afraid she will see the na-awult. I imagine her as a young woman, with long dark hair, very straight and waist-length. I have no real reason to picture her this way, but that is the image her voice sounds like. One day, a few hours after she had spoken to me, I picked up her pencil and began to doodle. The marks I drew are represented below in figure 1. This has happened to me many times since. I don't know what they mean, just as I don't know what the ecteiroglyphs mean, but I have ideas. I think the first doodle represents Tsitao-utna in some way. I believe figure 3 is a representation of Ga-ukogomen and figure 4 is about Nihr Avna-attu. I don't know if these doodles are their names in written form, or if these figures tell a part of their stories, like a lineage or a history. I have to conclude that these forms are for the future to decipher and are not for me to know. I am just the stenographer. 
The forms that are closed are filled with yellow color because I feel it is somehow important to emphasize that those forms are closed. The forms that are unclosed, that have gaps between the lines, have a different significance than the closed forms. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
7:23 AM - April 09, 2009
XXIII: Books of a feather-robed sage
In the sixth gyre of the Age of Four Wandering Moons: A new mood stirs under those yellow leafed boughs
Which shake
Within the impressed abstraction of scrolls from both
17th centuries.
A spring of words overflows the closest drawn goal in steel—
Poetry generated in a wide range of free-given street noise,
Raising delicate hopes for the strength of the resolved city. The first two lines of the books of a feather-robed sage
Written on a thousand rolls of silk kept for all good:
Elusive time immediately experienced is frequently unfair.
Question or believe, but light travels slowly within the grave. From the tale of the count who has not yet named a successor:
The countess arrays her daughter in her most resplendent robes
Clear-cut as laquered satin, gently shaped as the lining
Of a seashell. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
7:20 AM - April 09, 2009
XXII. Illuminating the lotus spirit
In the fortenth gyre of the Age of the Nascent Vaunthald: The hooded frog, a great silver boss on its iron forehead,
Stands above the red cedar temple for seven hundred years,
Guarding the imperial headdress wrapped with silk wires.
Granite clouds coiled and dusky loom over balanced pools
Illuminating the lotus spirit before the perception of every eye. A rough devouring entity with no rules or principles
Will live unknown and dominate the hollow crown;
According to true etiquette he had vowed his constancy
To an allegiance lost not in fire nor earth but in water. Black rain sickness will lay siege swift as a shadow,
Livid outlines forming round the mark of measuring metal
Stamped in the reddened throat of the secret usurper. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
8:14 PM - April 06, 2009
XXI. A fatal child
In the ladder gyre in the Age of the Bunin Kings: Behold, in a field thick inlaid with yellow patines
Of summer roses,
The flower of men, a fatal child driven by the deep power of joy,
Indifferent to restless violence surrounding the pendant world,
Ignorant of the bright sunset gold of painted pomp and blind
To the glare of glass thrones charged with mystic change. A long entwisted circle of allies bound by sympathy in blood
To this Queen, will stand in her proper greatness and hold out
Against great thousands, when monarchs play the tyrants
In the barren mile of the Mediterranean's common age. The Kindly Race, never-resting, with gentle work
And endless care,
Diffuse the false art of ancestral sermons wreathed
In golden theaters,
Unloosing the chained foot of cold winged Oumesan. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
4:15 PM - April 02, 2009
XX. The ironic peer
In the second gyre of the Age of the Glass Council: The herald of a hideous winter, careless of what he brings,
Comes with stout rage strapped hard to the locked thunder
Of heavy machinery lumbering under the inland sea.
His rude marshal counts random correlations and predictions
In a given splatter of yolk, wine, grain and gravel. A seafaring force from the cavernous island of adamantine
Confounds him with news from all emerging nations
And a patriot's blood well-spent in a blinding landscape
Of milk-white sand overflown with the divinity of myth. The ironic peer, drawing a line of natural light
And simple color
With a cart map and tripod compass, will guide the flagship
Through unwilling sleep, driven outward into godlike hardship. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
7:01 PM - March 31, 2009
XIX. The fall of Nagarjuna
In the gyre vaunted of the Last Gohlguanarchy: Eighteen thousand watch a stark dorsal cross rise
In the sky behind the toxic brim of Jirreshnag's moon
Fallen in dim eclipse, air shorn of disastrous twilight.
The sole ruined shareholder of an isolate empire
Sends them forth into serried ranks of horizontal mist. Their passage through air begins with a pair of hours
When the broad sun new-risen weighs heavily between
Two slaves.
The second one in the light of a double-edged threat
Cuts and binds brass and stone to blunt the lion's paws. Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
Nagarjuna's gates of steel in rocks impregnable
Are no stronger than summer's honey breath. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
6:42 PM - March 31, 2009
Paul Holman
This is a link to an article by Paul Holman about the Ecteiroglyphs in Geometer magazine. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
9:36 PM - May 14, 2008
XVII. The serpent's skull
In the sixth gyre of the Age of the Good Remainder: A multitude of believers follow the dog-headed beggar
Over darkening thresholds and under sheer canopies
Of ceremonial pavilions standing fast in the
Churning current.
The rushing darkness is partially broken by reflections
Of a shower of gems through the spiked wheel. After arguing with a bull-throated pagan disguised as
A hermit,
The Moskeel in a threadbare coat and a crown of nails,
With the devil on a leash, gives up his kingdom
For a broken cup, a basket of quail, and a branch
Of oranges. Entangled hands form into an inverted bowl
That hides an alabaster box that holds
The serpent's skull carved from green-tinged ivory. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi------------------------------------------------------
9:27 PM - May 12, 2008
XVI. The noble dwarf's watchman
In the gyre vaunted of the Age of Eichenblon's Crater: The pyre of the mob does not satisfy the vengeance
Of the excommunicated tribe of the Northern Deep.
The subtle blood of this breed becomes infirm
With smoke;
They tremble behind a line of unnatural towers
And draw their harmless swords against themselves. After Orion's third sister marries the noble dwarf's
Watchman,
Her indifference becomes reluctance and regret.
They are parted as her carriage passes slowly
Through the gate of recent woe, never to meet again. Opposite a vine-clustered chair two faces are depicted,
One in the forlorn grandeur of eternal marble,
The other in the dead shrewdness of sullen iron. © Eirene Kuanyin Skadhi
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Ayun tierodus aben eleseyo ju naconglaut enijan isuk.
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