Book: Naughty,sweet,adult - 'Wings of a Raven' is the first book in a shared contemporary book universe. Mature storytelling and explicit events by Mike Koontz




Suitable for a mature audience. 17+ and up. Adult storytelling and events.
UHD book reading video TBA
Weekend read (Three Nights Bed time read)
'Wings of a Raven' is the first book in a fictional story and universe taking place in what you can think of as something quite like our current world, right here and now.
Populated by people of flesh and blood walking inside of their own equally beautiful, yet disturbing worlds and little lives that on the surface smells and looks and behave just like our everyday reality.
Wings of a raven is painted upon a canvas of the imaginary, the grounded reality of science and modern day life just as much as the fantastical bestiary that dwells just beyond what our eyes normally can see.
Delivered with a touch of horror, and sensual and sultry naughty love. Life and death, Science, and life mixing with the pagan realms and the horrifying unnatural.

Photography, and writing by Mike Koontz
2016, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing



Music of the day
Sail into the black by Machine head



To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration








Chapters and pages, library and language menu to the left of the screen










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In a dream forgotten, I was climbing inside a bell tower.
Or was it, simply

a memory lost. A moment from life it surely was
although I still did not know, if it came from a life already lived.

Or, a life, yet to be seen and felt.

High up above me, a raven's wings could be seen.
Flapping before they came to rest and the birds eyes eerily twitching sharply before focusing on me and nothing else.

Curiosity and familiarity I swear, could be seen in the eyes of the bird.





Like a taste, upon the back of my tongue. Something came to mind and then, life and time seemed to slow with the beat of my heart.

Its thump inside my skull and ears, like a breath of words once washed away in the rain and stormy winds that snatched the words from my lips. It was as if I was still talking, but making no sounds at all.





All around me.
Light came to fade from both my eyes and in its still lingering touch upon my skin I could feel it vanishing in mere seconds as if it was all sucked away.

Why I wondered, 'what am I doing here'. 'how can this be real'.

Like fire in my mind, it burned, like a stream of white waters rushing ahead to crush the river bed and all the sand castles that little children had been building, my skin burned and prickled
and then..










Silence and stillness

lay all around me



as before my eyes and beneath the raven.
A magnificent elephant bull convulsed in a sharp spasm before collapsing towards the ground.

Soundless I watched it tusks seemingly and defiantly hold on to the frozen air as if to force its body back up from the ground, but then, they too hit the mud and dirt. Forcing a gust of dust exploding in a silent cloud

I tried to move my head, or at least I think I tried?

Did my throat itch?









Did I even think that, or is this not even me?. The thought echoed inside my skull as fingers separated from the soil itself beneath the animal carcass. Wrapping around its dead body and slowly the earthly limbs pulled it down into the eager earth and out of sight.

As the last of the elephant carcass vanished from my view, my world seemed to twist around itself and heavy fog came galloping, swallowing everything and me.
I knew.
I knew the air should suddenly be hard to breath, it was as if I knew that my skin was actually burning from the putrefied air and smog that now poisoned me by the second.


"Detached",
the words forming in my mind.

'I am detached from my body' this is a dream I thought. Or was it really?





My own fingers and hand suddenly stretching out in front of me, carving in the vapid air, as if to create an opening to once again see.
To see the raven above me.

"Why was there ravens here" ... Burning, thudding, thumping the thoughts kept racing, pounding against the skin and bones inside me.
My eyes searching, my mind burning, I carved and carved, faster and with growing desperation before my blood froze to a million shards of ice inside of my veins.

Things were moving.
Around me, moving towards me, away from me?.

"Why are you moving, stop", I screamed








Shadows in the fog, moving shapes without form.
Moving silently I thought, but the thought echoed immediately inside my mind, 'perhaps there is sound, and I just can't hear it anymore'.

Who am I?
I tried to remember as the clump of fever raged from deep inside, it burned my thoughts, a black hole caught inside the confines of my gray matter, my bones and flesh, but soon it would tear me to pieces.
Where am I. And then I knew, long before I could see it.

Amongst the moving shapes of shadow, there was a woman, a woman behind a mask that helped her breathe in this air that was killing me.

The world began to twist and warp and the raven once more cried out my name
"My name? how do you know my name", my name? what was it, I had already forgotten..





















Moments later

Or was it in reality, months or even years, and decades that had silently passed me by? That I can not truly say, but to me it felt just like any other fleeting moment, like when you look up from the morning paper, having just read a bunch of obscure black headlines that suddenly makes you realize that since what could almost be perceived as 'yesterday' for you.
In reality, 10 years had already gone by and before the postman's hand with a loud clunk dropped the next postcard or meaningless junk in your mailbox, just 'hours' from now, another 5 years would have passed you by as well.

Just like when your mind and eye swiftly and uninterrupted changes focus from something up close and personal to that far away in the distance object.









In the blink of an eye, you see with clarity what once was out of focus. Colors and transitions changing, light changing shape and hue in a moment of thoughts, blurry becoming laser sharp and shadows transformed to light and clear forms.
A seamless canvas that opens with clarity by nothing more than the will of your mind, and your eyes rapid changing focus.

My eyes came to rest, and I rose back to life, clawing my way through the dimmed curtains that had sheltered my disconnected body and mind, and like the shriek from a raven as it soars into the air, leaving the maggots and dead carcasses behind.

My memories of the dark faces, the ravenous woman pounded my senses as my still dusty, itching eyes opened to the light of day.







The mist

and the bell tower





A burst of cold air rushed its way down my lungs and throat, and with the chill of midnight air, a scent of mold and urine sprinkled upon wildflowers and rotting wood.
The mist and the bell tower finally disintegrated inside my mind and before the cloak of my blurry eyes.

I coughed and stood (I think) upright with dilated pupils and thirsty lips as the pleasantness of the cold and starry night struck my synapses with the strength of a pummelling fist.
Hammers crashing against the iron anvil, fists of flesh crushing your skin, jaw and teeth's.
Life and the blinking light pounded upon my feverish mind, my bones and flesh caved, cracking, rebuilding.

My laughter, crackled and mad it soared like a sudden burst between my dried out lips as my body kept roaring with a starving, hollow intensity.
Each scent making my entire being convulse.









It was as I had slept for an eternity and my blood were non-existent, my tummy and soul, my entire being left utterly drained and empty. A raging hunger rushed in from all around, it consumed me and crashed my insides and my senses time upon time all while my empty insides turned around on itself like a barbed wire, all twisted and knotted up. My entire body increasingly kept tightening up. It stopped, started, releases and clutches, a tightening hold that crushed me, tore and twisted inside, it stopped and started.
Release and start, Release and start. Release and start.

All over again and again. A shriek, the shrieks of ravens.

My legs cramped and spasmed as my muscles contracted and jolted my entire body with pain.

I smiled and laughed out into the airy night as I forced myself up on my elbows.
'you beautiful Whore of a life".
Are you real? Is this real?








I could not keep myself from laughing as the words bubbled up from within 'I am fucking life you hear me!.'
'I will find you, in the middle of the night'.
I mumbled like a madman, to the veil of empty air, who did I talk to? What the fuck was I saying. Fucking birds! "Shut up!!"

The words formed and bubbled through the cracking sound of my laughter 'It does not matter, one day I will find you. Like the puppet and his shadow, the pied piper and his ravenous horde of rats'.

I laughed, I cried and raged, I bubbled with joy and the wind kept ripping the words out of me.

My voice, now a low whisper as the rain and wind kept pounding upon me. Tearing into my flesh, the water was so cold it made my feverish mind burn with ice, the sound of ravens kept tearing into my flesh and mind.
'Winding up and down, up and down, the stairs that lead us deep into the earth and the far-reaching stars'.










Like death and nature and the pagan marvels that is all of life, I knew my resolve. Unbreakable, but inside the waves of heat and cold, the words I spoke with no rhyme and reason, I wondered if perhaps I was now a mad man as well. Somehow I knew I had not always been mad.

It was as if a force of life force akin to the pulse of a star and the moving oceans, transforming, radiating, evolving inside. Each day a new page to turn and be, to become, to learn and see more of all that is life.

And like the sun and moon, the stars and the oceans. Every obstacle slowly melted away in the course of time never ending.

With a deep breath.
I closed my eyes as I caught a swift scent of fragrance dissipating in the night air.
Assaulting my senses and calling to me, awakening memories and life in my limbs. Out there, she crawled through the mist of time, like a beacon, calling upon me, to hunt her down and make my claim.

Would I have to climb that tower in my mind I wondered?.





would I be the one to feast on the carcasses of dying elephants, would I destroy, or save them all.
Ah you marvelous old bastard, you fucking beautiful star-filled ocean of wonders. You haunt my heart and mind, you tease, create, kill and tear them down only to unravel even greater beauty behind every layer of life and death that is peeled away.

I loved life, I absolutely knew that I did.

With every breath and moment of it and I smiled as my mind like a burst of magnetism launched out and called out to that cloud in the night that kept growing inside my mind, like a cancerous lump of "weight", I could feel it out there, far away.





I called for them in the night, to herald my answer if they so wished, to come and fetch me. To grant me a ride through the wild road here in the realm of devils and angels, together by my side once again.

Don't ask me, how I even knew that something was out there, I still don't know.

I am still not entirely sure that this is not just the wildest, most outrageous dream ever dreamt.
A lump of coal burning inside my mad mind.





But this is how it was and is, for me.

Are we even alive? Is my hand moving as I look down upon my fingers? Or is this your dream and I am just a figment that grows inside the realm of your imagination.

And if I am a being of flesh and bones, if I bleed and breath, then, how can I talk to ravens and air? Who are you that I keep addressing?.
What does it even mean that I do. Questions that might ponder your brain, they surely have done mine in at times. I can feel you. I can feel your eyes and your mind tasting my words. Your feverish mind tracing every line of words I type.
Or do I type? Are you reading this or hearing it? Are you real?









Would you like to know something? an ancient truth revealed between just the two of us
Those are questions that I do not care for, and I do not need the answers either.

What I know is that I am. And that is all that is needed to claim this life as mine.


I feel what I feel, just as you do. It is a shining beacon inside of us all that shines as bright and gloomy as we allow it to do inside the soundless, long night.

From deep inside that vividly burning light, the chill and goose bumps spread, through my every bone to the hair on my body, my skin, filled with thousands of hairs standing up in eager silence.


As if I was really standing under a shower outside at night, caught beneath the cold freezing winds together with a beautiful, naked women. Kissing and tasting every inch of each others pounding skin

Yes, you can so feel that sensation too, can't you? Her lips against your naked skin, your fingers tracing her vibrant nakedness. Can you sense her turn on, the anticipation of the pleasures you will unlock and conjure from inside of her. The moist that is spreading.





The dark call, like a magnet-filled the insides of my mind and I knew that they had already heard me.

Out there, my children spread their wings, soon to would walk this place together.

The mist would unravel one day under the relentless wings of time.

My lips curled in a smile as I tilted my head every so slightly.
Listening to the coming storm, and in the distant, the falling rain as it fell upon the world.
Ah, the sounds it made upon their wings.
Dark, beautiful beaks.
The cascade of branches moving, the sound of rain against the world - somehow, I could feel the drop of rain against their veiled, black feathers and it was as if we all stood beneath a great waterfall, covered in blackest feathers with water flowing all around. Their voices soaring to the skies, pounding this mighty world like a torrent.

I smiled as the thought for a lingering moment caught a bubble in my mind and floated to the surface of my conscious stream.









Is this really happening, or am I still dreaming?
Am I lying in bed somewhere, trapped inside the beauty of a mad dream? Is it even my dream or someone else's entirely?


Perhaps I was right earlier, and I am just the figment of your imagination and no one would ever know that I am also and actually here. Unanswered questions as insignificant and pointless as the fact that we might seemingly never truly know the ever-changing nature of time, our clocks might claim it was a mere hour, but, perhaps as it sometimes felt, I had been standing here, waiting, for an eternity, or a mere second. Where did the energy go, the flowers broken and bent.
The decaying corpses, reclaimed by soul, wind, water, do mountains and dark horses dream too?

Perhaps time was always the same and it was just a difference of emotions that changed our perspective in the most fundamental ways - perhaps it was our own mind and true needs that altered reality - it was that sweetest of madness that was life's beauty and the mad halls of the human mind.

The echoes that bounces at night, transpires, evolves and forever remains in perpetual transformation and relevance.

I turned my face up to the sky as laughter rolled towards the rain drops that came hurling towards me.
Standing beneath the rain that would soon bounce against my cheek and hair with even greater force.

I lifted my arms slightly bent as to welcome a long-lost friend that somehow would always be your most important friend no matter how far they had journeyed, no matter time and silence travelled, it would always be like a mere second ago when you saw them again, it was like that moment when you first encounter the love of your life - actually knowing entirely. without knowing the semblance of it all.

"Fuck" went through my mind.
'My feet are itching, and I need to wash my hair, I need to eat and dry up, what the fuck'










Out there, far away and still shielded by that veil of night, the shrieks tore through distance and rain, traveling through the darkness to announce the approaching arrival.


Of something..














Outside the sun was sparkling brightly as the rays of light bounced around on the frosty surface of crunchy leafs and grass still too cold to leave the night fully behind.
Branches that had turned to popsicles on the barren trees that guarded the solemn sleepy streets, a long, straight line of ancient forests, standing guard along the sidewalk with their crown of leafs reaching up as to say hello and good morning to the warming sun and bluish skies.

The waitress looked outside the tall windows as she reached without thinking for the big cup of coffee, like a trained robot her delicate, feminine fingers put the cap on top and clicked it in place with a smile as she handed one giant cup of black coffee over to the waiting customer in front of her.

The door opened with the familiar digital beep as the customer nodded and turned towards his table. And through it the tunes of street music launched its pleasant assault of rhythm and disorderly life, like a hymn of madness and pulsating organic messiness she could hear "Machine Head" churning away the almost nine minutes long "Sail into the black" and for a moment her spirit abruptly lifted and a sense of elated joy took hold of her mind and heart, dancing and moving, her beautiful head bobbing with the wild chugging of music as she handed the next customer their cup of coffee.









Customer number 47 for the day she thought to herself unless she had lost the count, of course, and with a chuckle she thought of the never ending line of coffee being handed out as a string of pearls and swine's romping around the globe, never ending, and always growing. hTe line of pearls and anonymous swine's danced through life, waiting their turn to worship at the alter of coffee.







One black

cup of coffee

and a smile

please




Her mad thought burst out of her sensual lips in a spontaneous laughter, almost making her spill the warm coffee all over her feminine hands and sculpted nails.

A voice pulled her back to the room, and there he was "One black cup of coffee and a smile sweet girl",
She smiled a real smile this time, from her toes all the way to the beautiful caramel chocolate colored eyes.
"Coming right up boy". They had known each other a little more than three years by now.










An instant and magnetic attraction on all levels, sexual, intellectual, emotional and more. Something about him always made every fiber of her being come alive. And not just in that familiar sexually loaded way, but she felt at ease. Alive and burning bright, happy, thrilled, turned on, calm, at home and wild, tamed and set free, all at the same time, like she was accepted and entirely enjoyed exactly as is and always would be, no matter where she went.

No matter what they talked about, no matter what they did or how her day had unfolded otherwise, his presence was ever there, in spirit, mind, body and soul, even when he wasn't physically around.

Haha, ah it is pure madness she thought as she laughed in the private space of her own mind, but oh so wonderful and unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
Most remarkably of it all was that she knew that it was entirely mutual. She had always known that long before the first kiss ever happened. In fact, inside she thought that as impossible as it was, he might even enjoy and love all that she was even more than she enjoyed him.


As he took the cup of coffee their fingers touched and a jolt of pure happiness and raw, unadulterated passion surged through them both.
With eyes all sparkly from the smile he felt inside he let his fingers trail hers for a brief moment as he silently ushered the words, "tonight?". Just as she was about to nod with anticipation, the radio buzzed to life all by itself and a scratchy old sounding recording full of static and noise, screeched out


"A canvas tent, close flapped and secure was erected and inside the tent a fire started…Fitting a big canvas affair that had the appearance of a diver's helmet on the head of "Big Chief" Mason, a full-blooded Indian from the Walpole Reservation, Canada, Charles P. Salan, then sent the Indian under the flaps into the smoke filled tent. The smoke was thick enough to strangle an elephant, but Mason lingered around in the suffocating atmosphere for a full twenty minutes. He came out of the tent 'as good as new'".




They simultaneously laughed, as their eyes still held each other's gaze, and the customer right behind her boy, looked just as surprised, as he spoke - "That was odd?, I have been buying my morning joe from you for years and I've never heard even a beep from that radio before? Did you fix it"?

No she replied to the customer, that was truly odd, odd but funny, I thought that old relic was dead and buried since long.

A well, I guess, everyone and everything has a final hurrah in them. Even an old vintage radio like that one.
The man nodded back, "I think you are damn right about that, we all have a final hurrah, you know, inside, yes we do".

And as abruptly as the broadcast had started, the radio went dead silent with a final eruption of white noise reaching out of its vintage internals, and with the sound imploding upon itself, the electrical light that had jolted back, illuminating its dials once again, like in yesteryears, faded out to black as well. As if a ghost of electricity had turned around in it´s deep sleep, awoken for a brief second before the mythical ghost of Sandman once again pulled the blanket over it´s slumbering face..








"Did you murder the world today?".


The waitress found herself looking with a puzzled expression at the man standing in front of her, "Say what? I don't think I heard you". "Oh, I am sorry, I meant your coffee. You know, Did you kill the world again with it? it is good enough to die for you know".

"To come here to start the day, and to look at the ever growing line every day here, it´s not just the coffee tho I am sure. It´s you. This place, for some reason people are drawn here, it is like nothing ever seen, you got it girl. I don't know what exactly that is, but you do and ever since you moved here, taking over this place, people just keep lining up".






She laughed a bit.,
Suddenly feeling a tad bit shy and self-aware, a light laughter escaped her.
"So, are you saying that my coffee and good looks is capable of murdering the world? Thank you, but no thank you to that responsibility, I would much prefer the world to be alive and well - and still drinking my coffee, of course".

"Just a figure of speech, my dear. On the contrary, you make the world a bit more alive every damn morning, your morning smile, the fresh scent of your coffee that wash against my senses as I open the door, the world would just not be the same without you to start the day for it".

"Now that I can live with"








she replied with a genuine little smile, as she looked down and approved his purchase on her Lenovo Yoga Pro 5 laptop that was propped up on the counter. His phone or watch already communicating with her Yoga pro, she loved these new payment systems, no money exchanging physical places, no dreadful booking to do, no receipts, no delays no manual signing in, the entire smart system already knew who he was even tho she did not, and the cups was priced accordingly to how much he had filled them up.
Weight and all accounted for, and the purchase and books all taken care of the same second he got close enough. She didn't even need the line of people, or herself for that matter, but she liked it, it gave it sort of a human touch.

And when she looked back up the man had already taken his water and fresh apples, picked up his coffee to go and headed back out on the street after picking a handful of fresh strawberries from her ever fresh, organic growing, all year round strawberry fridges.
Like magic, she glanced down just in time to see her system correcting the amount he had paid and in total 8 little strawberries ended up being paid for as well.

She loved it!.






As the door closed behind him with its characteristic sound, the silence fell like a wooly smith wrapped fully over the entire room. Like as if someone had plugged her ears full of cotton candy, soundproof cotton candy and a blanket of pure black around it all that is.

No more customers, no sounds, no lingering line of people waiting to order a cup o joe on their way to work, or on their way from work, perhaps they were waiting for their lover or best friend to finish shopping or whatever these busy bees were doing.

Perhaps they had just left their secret Tinder lover and now wanted to take a break before heading back home to their husband or wife, their girlfriend or boyfriend(s).


She often wondered about the lives of her daily customers.

Where they happy on the inside? Like she was. Or did they just pretend, like a little leafy mantis, hiding in plain sight, masqueraded to face the world with a mask of pretend to shelter the softness of their mind, heart, and soul.

And now, as it so often did when the calm conquered the moment. The exhaustion of everyday life washed over her pretty being.








When the silence fell and nothing more was piling up, the exhaustion became apparent. As she often did in these situations, she made herself a big black and in silence she sat down, looking out at the street on the other side of the window, the world parading by her beautiful eyes that were seeing, yet not focused on anything as the thoughts sprinted by the insides of the vibrant always busy like a bee maze that was her own gorgeous mind.






Step inside

see the devil in I




The words of Slipknot broke through her paralyzed, almost meditative state when the old radio buzzed back to life for a few seconds, sending a jolt of surprised fear through her at the sudden outburst, and then the moment passed and the room was once more silent and muted.

She looked at the radio with raised eyebrows and her expression changed to a puzzled mix of disbelief and wonder.
"Wow, little old radio, something truly odd is going on with you, are you sure that you are feeling all ok?",
she smiled at the hilarious realization that she just caught herself talking to an old vintage radio.

Floating by in that cup of soundproof cotton candy she proceeded to finish up her day, cleaning the café, wiping and polishing the tables and counter, emptying the leftover coffee and watering the real plants and flowers that she insisted on keeping. But she knew that it was well worth it, real greens brightened the day and mind like fake plastics never could. They brought health to body and mind and she even enjoyed caring for them.

40 minutes after she had started to close down for the day she looked over her shoulder at the photographs and old books that she had carefully selected and sparingly used to give her café that hard to find romantic and homey feeling that posh interior designers would kill to bottle up and sell to their luxury customers.

She could make a killing doing that if she wanted, but no, this peaceful little life and café, that was exactly what she craved.

The entrance door locked behind her as she stepped out on the walkway and sensing that her phone had left the room, the door locked itself like it always did. And inside most of the lightning shut down as well, only leaving two led lamps half dimmed in the panorama window and as she headed down the walkway, the heating in the café lowered itself to preserve some needed energy as the Tesla battery went from powering the place to recharging itself, piggybacking on the solar panels from the streets and the roof, and the windows itself.

High up, sitting above in one of the trees that paraded the empty street, a black bird lay its head on the side in that peculiar and quite alien looking way that seemed like it once where crafted and given birth inside the pages of a H.P Lovecraft horror tale before it somehow managed to break its unnatural chains and tore itself out off the confinement of the books pages, materializing in the flesh, a being from another world, that now, made real in our realm, roamed free in this world too.

And if you could, for an hour or two, see nothing but these ravenous birds.
To shut out everything else around you.
To feel and hear them, to soar the sky on feathered wings and sense them, to experience the world as they see and feel it.
Then I know, that the ancient Viking tales of Hugin and Munin would not just tingle your senses, but take the shape of profound truth as you rediscovered the bond to our oldest brothers in the hunt, the dark feathered Ravens and prowling, grey wolves that had hunted with us so long ago.

Oh, the prey beneath our claws and teeth's, the blood and pulsing strength and adrenaline. Our bond and shared meal that you would sense, feel and witness. It would all come calling.










The birds dark, raven eyes tracked the petite and, might I admit, very pretty little girl walking down below, her ginger hair flowing long and free, light on feet and lost in her thought of the bread she would try tonight.

"Kissing crust", that´s what she would call it if her chosen few approved of its flavor and consistency.

She smiled a sensuous smile in her caramel chocolate colored eyes and sultry lips, at the duality of that name, kissing crust indeed, once her lover came over to help her bake.
And in an outburst of energy and joy she did a sudden hand stance flip as she passed by a puddle of water and two vivid autumn leaves floating so serenely upon the water.









Inside the coffee shop, the radio, once more sparked to life, repeating that odd broadcast from the middle of the day. Word by word it was the exact same thing, like a vibrating hum from yesterday that refused to go to bed and kept on playing inside your head.

"A canvas tent, close flapped and secure was erected and inside the tent a fire started…Fitting a big canvas affair that had the appearance of a diver's helmet on the head of "Big Chief" Mason, a full-blooded Indian from the Walpole Reservation, Canada, Charles P. Salan, then sent the Indian under the flaps into the smoke filled tent. The smoke was thick enough to strangle an elephant, but Mason lingered around in the suffocating atmosphere for a full twenty minutes. He came out of the tent 'as good as new'".




The sound faded away and outside, the night and city once more lay dead silent.














Inside the obsessively neatly kept and down to the germ spotlessly cleaned room with shiny white walls, not a sound could be heard except for an almost impossibly silent flow of the machinery that kept the air filtered, pleasantly cool and clean of dust, mold and particles.

Inside the room, the air moved like a gentle, but invisible summers breeze that unobtrusively kept touching your skin and long hair with invisible fingers, reminding you that there was something moving inside the world with a resemblance of organic life attached to it.


A man, sitting in front of the floor to ceiling high windows that made up the entirety of one of the rooms four seamless walls, not even once made a semblance of a single sound or motion.
His blank, blue eyes, had you looked deep inside them, showed no signs of life and had you been standing there, watching the entirety of his day go by, hour by hour, you would soon notice how the man never blinked, not even once would you see the slightest change in posture or skin, no twitching muscles, nothing conscious or unconscious ever broke the postcard like illusion that his every day resembled.









He just sat there, always looking out and about to the outside world where the moon and sun, rain, and starry skies kept courting each other, like lovers preoccupied in an endless serenade mutually written and explored together, endless strings of lovers in a sea of shooting stars.


Together it all created a string of perpetual movement and flow for this man, a backdrop upon which our world slowly kept turning as if we were all both the audience and the star inside a global cast that kept swimming and drowning in a vast ocean of near infinite in numbers, burning suns.

It was as if they, the moon and the sun and everything else, kept pushing and pulling, dragging and leading the clouds to move, and sometimes there would be rain and snow, thunder and lightning, at times you might be lead to believe that they perhaps performed for him, during the silence of the veiled night. And at other times, they kept their courtship, all visible in the broad of day, two magnets that moved, pulled, pushed on each other and everything else.

Sometimes the sky was black and brightly red. Dull and gray, blue and white, and sometimes parts of the sky shimmered as if touched by the unspeakable gods that people had conjured and raged over for so very long.

The northern lights at deep chilly winter nights turned the darkness all green in a multitude of hues as a blanket slowly moved like a shimmering ocean upon the sky that was caught in its restless lullaby.

Holding secrets deep within the ancient abyss, sprinkled atop our imaginary senses, the reality that was always there, yet never noticed.










But to him, or is that truly you? it was all about the truth of the sun and the moon as they moved across time and .. sky.
And when the butterflies came to dance in front of his eyes, right there, on the other side of the thin sheet of glass, he could see the light of all his lovers moving gently in the hair that draped their fragile bodies and their slowly flapping wings.


Finally, come night, the nurses always moved him to his own room and with the nonchalant yet professional care of trained personnel that since long have turned their loving care into the efficiency and professionalism of past times grocery store workers picking peas and cartoons of milk and eggs they tucked him into bed, always giving him a "good night and sleep so tight" goodbye before they closed the door behind them.

What kind of notions painted the night inside of his room. Was there a song playing in his mind.
Did the sun and the moon find their way inside, did they sneak by the nurses, through the cracks, the openings in the locked door. Did they caress his skin, brushed his hair. Or did something else, sit by his side at night, whispering secrets to this man, unearthed and precious, building castles of stone and sand and moonlight dust.

And then, there it was, every morning, the sun already waiting, ready to greet the man, shining through the windows of the house, a streak of warmth touching his cheek and then his eyes. The sun always came first, waking him up and saying hello, mere moments before the nurses always opened the door and brought him back out into the bigger room where the sun and the moon were already courting.

And soon, once he was seated in front of the window, the conversation altered, including him as well, connecting him to the outside world, the leafs that the particles of light scattered around and through, lighting up his skin, the synapses inside his mind. The vessels of blood and his skin, the wings of a butterfly and ladybug. Somewhere in the vast sky, a cloud was forming, and rain would soon come down, the light touched it all and the water in his body, connected to the tears of rain.









"Falling, they were all falling"
Random echoes, resonating, vibrating, the process of conscious thought in your mind, is that him. Is that you?
Are you falling right now? Or do you stand in this vast blue room, are you alive or tucked safely inside your bed.

"We are falling, and the rain caresses the surface"

To the outside world, did something, ever happen?
Or was it just like a DVR, a Netflix show caught endlessly looping, a buffer repeating, seamless and synched in the offline and online world of organic matter and digital recordings.
The randomness of data points. Processed, filtered.

Every day for him looked the same, or did they all, miss the obvious, where we all, like the butterflies, single parts of this man's tardigradous conversation, a cosmic game of chess, or just one man's gamble.









Uninterrupted.

It never came to a halt, a lovers dance between the man and his companions, the sun and the moon, you and me. Us all.
It kept going in broad daylight, in lightning storms and hale, at night the starry skies was the backdrop against his dreams and yours, and yet, the conversation never for one single breath took a pause as the three of them, and us all painted this slowly moving conversation.



Bishop

Takes Knight, c5





The man spoke as his left hand moved the bishop across the chess games squares, and with the smoothness that only a lifetime of repeated movement and thought turned instinctual processed knowledge can ever give a person, aware and processing, yet uninterrupted sublime unconscious decisions made faster than any truly conscious thought and movement could achieve ,his fingers picked up the knight at the same time as they put the Bishop down in its place. Processed, decided, executed, flawlessly.


They played their game every Thursday, the day after hump day, as they joked, was a good day for brainy activities. Soul and mind rejuvenated by physical pleasures.













Gunshots

tore through the night





Guns firing right next to your head, in the nightly slumber, tears through the silence like a fist to your face, it might be a small fist, but it is very much undeniable in its violent presence. Tearing through the fabric of life and flesh. The sound of death this time and night was certainly no different.

Its meaning and purpose, its message all clear and sound. The man leaned into the wrecked car, holding his hand on the outside of the broken door, he looked at the people inside the car, and for a second his eyes caught the beauty of their skin, traced their neckline and jaws, the long flowing hair of the two females, their lips and earring.

His eyes took in the toned and muscular build of the man as he raised his gun.










He stood there. Not hesitating but tasting and taking it all in in its final moment, life snapped abruptly and cut off. You could taste it, you could sense and smell and feel it if you just paused for a moment. Life and death could reveal its ongoing conversation, and now he heard it.





When he finally pulled the trigger, following a slow, final breath, he let out a softly spoken "Good...bye" as he let the bullets fly into the car and its passengers, metal penetrated the skull and brain of those inside, shattering facial bones, the brain, and tissue into hundreds of broken, messy organic bits and pieces of blood and gore that scattered all through the insides of their car.


For a brief second or two he watched the light and electricity that was life leave their bodies, hand in hand life and color faded away together with the ringing sound of the firing gun. Inside their bodies, he knew that the neurons and synapses inside their mind would fade away, slowly shut down life and mind, it would be like the red eye in the terminator movies, a final sign of life that last of all entered the darkness and void.










And then he turned his back forever to the car. The dead forever abandoned, wayward ghosts that would drift in their own little vortex. The man walked in silent resolve and was soon swallowed whole by the night, not a trace beyond the blood and shattered flesh and glass.



Butterflies

never comes alone





The boy smiled, and then his face broke up in an explosion of laughter, "haha that is so true, they never do gramps, they never do" the boy fell silent as he more closely watched the butterflies moving about on his bare legs and arms.


They felt so light against his skin, and yet, they clearly also had real weight.






He could feel their presence, their feet, the trunk like thingy that carefully tasted the skin on his arms and the fabric on his shorts. Searching for the natural nectar that gave light to their eternal cycle of life.

To the boy, it sort of, but not really, tickled as the butterflies moved about.
He laughed out loud, "Elephants, they are like tiny winged elephants, haha, look at them, don't you see, they are tiny winged Elephants, well not like bumblebees, but still".


It was a sunny day outside.









And it was true, butterflies never came alone. And perhaps they even could be called tiny, little-winged elephants. Today was no different, outside, sitting on the porch, drinking his lemonade and talking to his grandmother, which, in all honesty was a grandmother of course, but not in appearance, age and ways. Not like in the old tales of Hollywood where all people above 30 looked deader than dead. Her delicious, vibrant appreciation of life. No, she was very much alive in mind and body.


Her soul thirsting for life, for all the wonderful decades still left to enjoy. Dancing, training, travels and exploration, new recipes to learn and explore sexual desires, explored and fulfillingly devoured. Love and smiles, movies and music. Every day wonders in big and small. Life was grand and precious, so precious, and she knew it, life truly and always becomes better and more whole the longer we had already enjoyed it.

One look at her and you could swear that she was this boys early 30 something and very hot and beautiful sister, or perhaps, she was his super hot babysitter, surely not his or anyone's grandmother. To think of her as a grandmother defied the very fabric of reality that we were all spoon fed since before we had ever learned to walk.


And that is a gift that we should wish for everyone to encounter and to be, instead of the tired worn out shells most will choose to restrict themselves to be, dragging their tired, negative self´s through life and yet never really fully being alive.

Her looks were striking to all, delicate, sensual youthful skin, looks and spirit that kept shining through her every pore, and the sum of it all made it impossible to guess her biological age. And no one that actually knew her would ever try to claim that she was not in fact much more beautiful and striking now than 20 years ago.


But a healthy soul and body tend to do that to you, you suspend, reverse and allow your biological age to be decades behind what your birth date tries to tell you, and her petite and toned, and very feminine looks, body, and appearance made her a delight for anyone's eyes and mind, and it always would, since like the finest wine, she improved by age, becoming more instead of less.

Not just for her delightful looks, but inside her, in her mind and heart, a soul burned so bright and sensuously beautiful it would always grow more gorgeous and alive with each passing year.

It was a soul and girl that fed life itself.





But to the boy, she was just a grandmother.

Albeit not a boring and grumpy one, but a grown up that he loved to visit every year, however, perhaps, more than anything else, to him, she was a fun adventure. Yes, a glorified babysitter hero, and so much more fun than his other ones, An adult actually worth visiting, and to him that was how it really felt. Each yearly visit was all by itself like an adventure worthy of books and movies and so far from the boring school like days he spent with his other babysitters and grandparents

Not that he did not appreciate them all, because he did, the way all kids appreciate their grandparents and parents for a while. But the other adults, that was daily homework, and this was the white water raft adventure he always looked forward to.

To visit here, that to him was in some ways much bigger than Christmas itself. A real adventure made even better by the distance and infrequency. No boring moments and no harsh words or dreary adult "no´s".










The butterflies made her happy too and when she was happy, she smiled the world's most incredible smile that was ever seen, a smile born in her sensuous soul and mind and beautiful heart. A smile that on the outside made her even more striking, a smile that was the definition of sensuous when it radiated out from her eyes down to her sensual lips.
And like the man had told her a few days ago, she did have something. She had never truly understood it herself or thought anything special of herself. In fact, for years she had diminished herself to such lengths that one day, she had almost disappeared in a dark cloud of others.


But something about her just made people love her, to a lot of people, just to be around her lifted their spirits, and when someone managed to give her a real smile that started on the inside and burst out through her beautiful face, like the sun piercing the clouds after rain, it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

While she would never herself, understand why that was, she, of course, knew that she actually did have that effect on people.


It was still hard to trust for her, it was hard to be truly close despite it being the only way she really cared for and needed, when so many, her ex-husband included had only ever tried to hurt and diminish her. And for long, she had even had a hard time trusting in her own needs and feelings. Not what she felt and wanted, she had always known that, but it had been hard to trust in the divine worth of her own needs and feelings, that she was worth having her needs met. But now she knew.

Now she knew and loved her own worth.

And today, and for now, she had a grandchild visiting, and her lover, a sexy, rough, fit and deliciously toned, healthy and brilliantly wild, yet so incredibly calm and fulfilled child of life himself, carefree, yet always caring and without a doubt, to her, the kindest man alive. As kind, as he was carefree and naughty-minded he devoured the beauty of life with joy and appreciation, giving all of himself to her and enjoying all that she gave him.

He was, a brilliantly minded lover, that loved every moment she gave him while painting her days with sunshine, delight, and pleasures, all craved and desired.

So for now
The world was nothing but a wonderful place and she had over time learned to relax and allow herself to enjoy that. The good little moments, to leave the wrongs and shortcomings of others behind and instead find joy and focus, energy and life in the kind people and the beautiful moments that always came with delight and pleasured smiles.

She loved him. And she appreciated him, and my god, how she loved what he did with her mind and body, the way he appreciated, accepted and loved her for being all that she where, his appetite for all that she where and for nothing she never would be.

It had been an instant thing, yet slowly evolving relation, taking years before their first kiss. And years more before she left her abusive husband.

But in time she had.
And life since then had never been better.

Life was never movie like perfect, not for anyone. Not the stupid and so ultimately lacking fairy tale perfect lies of Hollywood that screamed inside their hollow frames for all that actually made life and love truly beautiful for real, breathing, living people of flesh and blood.

But she had luckily enough never wanted or needed the proclaimed media dream of Hollywood, and what she had found with him was something better than her every dream, just like it was, and that to her was the definition of perfect, with warts and all









A tardigradous conversation,
That was what her boyfriend had once called it. A Tardigradous conversation that despite its slow-moving pace was life's most beautiful relationship ever seen.

That was what he years ago had called their thing.
And that was what they both knew that it would always be. She smiled at the boy that sat next to her.

"You like visiting here, don't you?. Well, next year we will come and visit you and the others for Christmas, would you like that?".

She smiled again and continued.

"Yes, we will have so many gifts with us that Santa Claus himself will have to help us take them on his ride across the Atlantic".

The boy laughed at her
"Silly you, why don't you just take the airplane? Just like I do. Didn't Mom tell you? Santa is just some sort of made up thingy, she told me that Disney made him up to sell more star wars movies".
















Kisses

and sultry wet




Days later, when the boy was at the beach with his mother, her lovers hand brushed against her hair, holding her flowing, long hair in a loving and gentle but firm way. And as his lips touched and gracing tasted the skin of her neck, he slowly pulled her head backwards by holding her hair all while his other hand squeezed and pinched her stiff nipples and firm breasts in that deliciously craving way that drove her mad.
Her fingers sensually holding his hard sex to the side of her thighs and ass, enjoying the sensation of his hard, pulsating desires coming to life in her hand. She loved that feeling of his pure, physical and emotional desires and needs so much, his hardness responding to her and her alone, just like his heart and minds, his physical body´s aching pleasures craved only her every pleasure and desire, no matter how naughty and sensual. or sweet and loving it might be.

As they explored each other's physical and emotional being in that electric way, their scent and turn on mixing and weaving something bigger than the individual parts, he slowly let go of her hair as his lips and teeth kissed and nibbled at her ears.

Tasting her earlobe and the delicate skin right behind her ear and neck, her throat against his warm breath as his tongue and lips tasted her naked flesh, kissing, biting, he painted her skin wet with saliva.

Oh my god how he turned her on in ways no one else ever had come close to, and as his free hand found it´s way down between her cheeks. For a lingering slow second.. or two sliding over her tight and firm ass, gently brushing his fingertips over her butthole, never penetrating, but gently pushing against her, slightly making her open to the soft pressure, a gentle touch of promises, that served to remind her of those deliciously naughty pleasures she so loved when he allowed his oiled up fingers to explore her like that too.

And then her lover slowly continued further down and found her swollen, shaved, her wetness already flowing from inside out, as his fingertips sultry soft graced her privates.

The soft tip of his tongue traced the delicate skin of her swollen lips and clit, painting with his saliva as he fluttery soft kissed and licked and tasted her wetness and pleasures. Inside her, his fingers moved in a slow but firm motion, pressing, pushing, pulling at the opening as well as further in.
As she came closer and closer, he finally let one of his oiled up fingers touch and slowly open her smaller butt hole as well, exquisitely slow the fingers inched deeper, inside of her, his fingers was meeting on opposite sides of her two holes, all while his tongue continued to paint and tease and then her body started to quake.










With a mouthful

of

Protest




As they made love, and she came, once more, the lyrics of Machine Head´s epic 2014 piece, 'Sail into the black' tumbled through the air like a slowly building wave, tugging at your wrists and ankles, a gentle breeze and touch until it grips hold of your entire being. Soft and alive you loose your grip and tumble down into the sea.

Through the kitchen window, outside in their garden, three black ravens picked away at the worms, their heads tilting slightly, listening and observing and then, bam, their sharp beaks catching bugs and little critters, they foraged amongst the flowers, the blossoming apple tree that the bumble bees so loved. And high up above the three ravens, a big, beautiful specimen sat in the tree. Observing the other birds, looking out from the branch and the leafy tree and apples. his dark eyes looking through the old window glass, seeing the room on the inside, the two adults making love inside the kitchen. The raven blinked and turned his attention elsewhere.





The rain comes down, on my face, the drops will fall

The hammer came crashing down, breaking bones and flesh, and with the splatter of organic blood and bits, the man screamed.
It struck his hand once more and then his voice went silent.

Nothing but the gentle sound of branches brushing against the tinted windows, like little feets the branches kept marching, touching the sheets of glass and providing eerie sounds in an otherwise dead silent world.

The shadows observed the man as the seconds went by and with a buzz the screen of a phone lit up on the table next to the tied up fellow.









The subject line said, "Dont forget to pick up milk at the store honey".



























Inside of the eyes, looking out.
There was my very own death.

A gaze staring right back at me. Out over steps and stones, air and branches, the abyss held my stare, like a flickering Orion upon the backdrop of the cold universe it weighed and caught me. Weighed and held my soul and it touched my heart with fingers that for the briefest of moments held my entire life.

The essence of my existence, my soul, heart, and mind, held in the fingertips of death itself.







And like that, it was gone, black feathers that carried my dreams in broad daylight. Yanking my focus away from this life. An endless kiss that forever lingered upon my mind and lips. Growing with strength and importance inside of me for each passing second, and yet, it was like the vivid clarity of the details themselves faded from right under my eyes.
Becoming both more and less, a sketch that changed forever more with each of life´s pencil brushes, forever changing, but always there.

And somehow, I knew, that this was something that would always follow me, holding my hand all through life. Fading and growing, it´s importance and significant truth never changing.

Until, one day. My eyes would once more, look out over the daisies fields. My fingers, running through each of its petals and dewy drops, until death, would call me home to its warm embrace.

The hunter returned. My sweetest lovers embrace, the best of friends coming back from this, the longest journey.

The final, last touch and closed eyes, and I would drift away on the fields of black, my very own eternal sleep.











I snapped right out of it, there and then, the moment gone and passed as the day around me returned in full bloom, and as the light of sun hit my synapses once again, my eyes found it´s focus in a mist of colors and light, and as I took in what went on, on the other side of the glass windows that separated the inside of their home from this garden where I stood, silently witnessing the couple making love inside their home, i held out my hand and called by name as my fingers touched the feathered being that poked around, sitting on a branch right by my shoulder.

"Hugin".













Where Death may rest and butterflies their wings will open


So, how is the book going baby?

She asked as she leaned in closer and slowly kissed his neck, they were back in the kitchen where they had made love a couple of hours earlier.

His muscular and well-defined arms and torso propped up on his elbows as he looked down at the screen of their Yoga pro 5, his eyes smiled a bit as he turned his head just a little bit and sultry soft allowed his lips to catch hers.
"I am not sure. I mean, it is going great, I love the way this story is organically growing, evolving and reaching new places I myself, never thought it would when we started this journey.

It´s as neat reading as it is writing it."

He laughed a little at himself.
" But, at the same time, right now, I have no idea where the main opposing characters are. On the inside that is. The boundless frame is all here, the language, the vivid feel, the pieces, and the chessboard. It´s all in the right places.

But not the details. A well, I am loving this journey so it will slowly reveal itself, step by little step."

'What do you think? are you enjoying it?.'










Oh, I love it, you are so talented my sexy, hot boy.

Reading it is doing things to my mind and fantasy. It is like the story is giving wings to crazy thoughts.
And then, they all seems so natural all of a sudden.
Like a blanket being pulled off the bed in slow motion revealing with each passing inch something new and utterly fascinating. Yet still hiding something, tucked beneath the bed, and as you look at it, all of a sudden you realize all that was hidden, it was always there.

It´s amazing how proud you make me baby.

But, I have to ask, is he really talking to some form of life force?
A god, demon? bat shit crazy spirits, or what is going on there. Is he perhaps, just entirely deranged?

Their lips and tongue touched and tasted each other as he turned around and his fingers and the palm of his hands touched her at first on the outside of her pants, and then gently found their way inside, his strong fingers softly caressing her naked butt and delicate skin

Uhm he let out, I so love touching your delicious ass girl oh my god.






And no, I don't know.
I just do not know yet. But soon it will reveal itself to me.
He whispered, just as his fingers spread her butt cheek inside of her pants and the tip of his fingers with a slow and gentle touch reached her shaved growing wetness, he traced her subtly wet and delicate shape of her clitoris. His fingers traced her swollen, intimate lips as his tongue tasted hers.



to Climb

the Wall

the Castle

of indolence





His head was hurting. A throbbing pain, and in his eyes, the bright light and mist made the world pulsate between clarity and a foggy mess of objects that were perpetually going in and out of focus.
Why can't I see, he screamed inside the void.

His hands clutched in anger, or so it felt to his body and mind at least, because at this moment he could not even see his own hands. His fingers were lost in a fog of mist and blurred moments.

His skin prickled and in his growing rage it all of a sudden felt like a fever, unlike anything he had ever felt before it now ravaged his mind and body.






On the outside however nothing changed.
Nothing moved, not even a drop of sweat rolled down his skin as he sat in dead silence, like a never moving butterfly in front of the altar that was his ceiling high windows. He was the evergreen oak tree, and the sun was the sky he would forever grow towards.

The nurses went on with their days, they changed his clothes, tucked him in at night, checked his health vitals, showered him. Fed him, massaged and rubbed his skin. Nothing had been spared when it came to assuring that he would always be well taken care of. For, however long, the thread of his life span would keep on ticking. Would it be the tail of his telomeres that one day could divide no more, or would cancer, or his heart give in.

Perhaps, one day, the flu would take him down the river, painting the sky eternally black and feed him to the headless children, his rotten corpse returned to nature, before he ever was allowed to move his fingers again.

Perhaps he would never again look up at Orion as it dances beyond the Aurora, turning around the axis that is the sky of countless of planets. Or, one day, he would open his eyes and move his pale muscles and for now, powerless fingers.










They knew, of course, that he did enjoy, or so they thought at least, the view in his castle of glass as they called the room, the nanobots that soared his bloodstream gave them a clear view over his internal activity in both body and mind. So they knew that his mind registered what happened on the outside. And that the effect was as good for his soul and mind as it was for his physical health and well-being. They could see the areas of his mind, the activity that responded to the butterflies that gathered in the heat of the invisible waves as they bathed in the sun that reflected and heated the towering sheets of glass.


They could see this and so much more as they continued to care for him. An immobilized shell of non-life on the outside, but full of sprawling life beneath the surface of neatly washed clothes and immaculate skin.
For some reason they had never managed to hear him, neither had he ever, even once, reached out with his mind to move or interact with any of the artificial computer powered puzzles and interactions they tried to entice him with.

Other patients had responded to such experimental treatments at times, a few years ago, they had for the first time ever, managed to allow one patient to mind control another human being 500 miles away through the use of computers and the world wide web, but not him.





They could only see his mind and body respond in silence to its own and private conversation with the natural world outside the castle of glass they had built for him.


But inside, the man was now screaming, screaming inside his world of silence, screams of pure adrenaline, anger and bloodthirsty rage as he smashed his hands against the windows, against his own skull and skin. Well, inside his mind, that is what he did at least.


















"Do you ever think about, or dream about it?" she asked me.

I was laying on my back on the stony patch of moss that vast and vital kept spreading across the ancient gray rock. Giving that wondrous green splash of life on nothing but solid stone, in between the patches of green and almost white moss you had plentiful of strong, wild grass and berries growing. Blueberries, raspberries, and cute little berries that apparently were slightly poisonous.

My naked left feet and its toes resting on the bent knee of my right leg and my arms casually tucked behind my head.









My eyes looked at my slightly worn left big toe, proudly wearing all of its battle scars from years long past. Beyond it lay our valley, well it wasn't technically speaking our valley of course. But after having spent a few wonderful months here, that was how we both thought of it by now.

As our valley.

A tranquil place full of wild blueberries, eagles, snakes, wild foxes, a brown bear family, beavers and arctic rabbits that we were told took on the most beautiful white fur during winter time.

"No, not really.."
I studied the valley and its lake for a few moments before I continued,
"Well, you know what I mean. Sometimes. Sometimes it's there in my mind. But it´s vague and opaque, like when you wake up from a dream, and it is like you were already awake and aware that you were in fact dreaming for the last few seconds, and right there in that moment when you open your eyes. In that split second the light of day hits your eyes and you think, 'oh my god', I need to tell someone about this dream, and bam, as soon as you think that, that clarity is all gone, and instead of a million picture perfect little vivid details of clarity, you are left with a couple of translucent memories that soon are almost entirely wiped out - leaving you scratching your head and wondering, what the fuck was I dreaming".

... "Well" I laughed,









"That is how it feels like for me. It´s like I can't really see it. But I, you know, I do not dwell on it either. It's in the past now. All that matters is what life we have today and tomorrow"


"How about you? Do you think about it?"

I knew the answer of course.
We were different like that. So very much alike in almost all ways, perfectly made for each other, alike in so many profound ways, but wonderfully different in others.

And this was one of those slight differentiating things, but I loved you for it, exactly the way you were, and I knew you felt the same.
That never ending mind of yours that kept analyzing, rethinking and revisiting things, I knew that there was no way you had not been thinking about it for all these years far more often than I had.









And perhaps, as if she could read my minds, you turned your beautiful face and looking straight at me you said.

"You know the answer already. I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to think about it, but I do. It comes to me at evenings at times, not very often at all anymore, not really, but still too often, when I am about to close my eyes. I even dream about it at times. It´s not a constant, it doesn't restrict me, it does not take away in any way, but I would prefer it if my mind could just let all that slide away"










A falcon flapped its wings above us and the white swans called out


I looked at your sensual lips as you kept talking, gently letting my fingers touch those incredibly sexy, bare legs. And as I opened my lips to answer that it's okay. To the right of us, a big falcon left its pine tree nest and as it spread its wings the surroundings started to cave upon us, and somehow, like a bubble that caved upon itself to reveal the non-distorted reality behind it, we stood in the kitchen.

I noticed the light first, the vibrant, white light that shone through the big cutesy windows. And then I noticed the smell of fresh food, not pine trees, fresh food cooking in the kitchen.

My hands still touching her hips, my wet lips already kissing her neck and throat.
And then I heard someone speaking behind us, and when I looked up, we were sitting in a café and the waitress asked us if we wanted the blueberry pie or the peach pie with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream with the black coffee.

My stomach was loud and clear telling me to order the blueberry pie and real vanilla ice cream, sitting across me you were already smiling as you knew exactly what I would order. I smiled at you since we both knew it very well.






"Apple Pie and Vanilla ice cream for us both please"
The words had hardly left my open mouth when the strangest of things happened.

The couple on the table behind you, they started to fade away, and to the left, the window facing the empty and quite quaint street outside, started to look awfully transparent, textures dissipating and light from another place where shining through it, no.
Light where shining through everything. And I could hear the rumble of the open ocean.

My head started to spin around and my stomach suddenly felt awfully ill as your hands grabbed a firm hold of mine.
Salty water splashed against us.
A daring seagull walked across the warm rocks, not more than a few feet's from us. And your sweet, soft lips kissed mine.











to Climb

the Wall

a Tsunami

at the

Crossroads of ...





Your lips, they touched my heart, as your tongue craved my full attention. And the sensation of your skin against mine, the aroma of your entire being flooded me, my god, how I loved kissing you.



The man kept punching the inside of his own skull with fists that were nothing more then bloodied stumps by now. His teeth's were aching and he could taste his own blood as it dripped out of his nose, his eyes and broken lips and skin. Swollen and aching. Bones and skin breaking in new places. Old wounds, blood.



Your tongue against mine, my fingers opening your blouse, and my fingertips gentle as a breeze touching your stiff nipples. My wet tongue tasted your nipples.











He was chewing his own tongue now.
In a fit of rage, fuelled by the swarm of bees that now nested permanently inside his mind.
He could feel them crawling around his gray matter.
Massaging his brain and synapses, firing neurons of obsessive hate.







"This is wrong, it is WRONG", the man screamed in silence.



My god, how I loved the taste and fabric of your wet lips, how sweet and naughtily horny, yet loving our kisses always where.







A car slammed its breaks as the driver in a maddening pace kept hitting his horn.
You jumped almost off the road and back up to the sideboards, and despite the seriousness of the situation I could not help myself and as the driver angrily stared at us and even gave us the finger as he drove by us I started to laugh.

And as you were about to start laughing too, I knew you would, because we had once upon a time been right here, hadn't we?
Or where we supposed to? But just not yet?.



My mind felt feverish, and then, my naked toes were back.











I felt the skin on your legs beneath my fingers, as the falcon flapped its wings and we both looked at how it took to the sky, soaring higher and higher.












'Life & attitude by Mike Koontz'

















We were falling, in slow motion and the world was black around us. I could hear nothing, see nothing. My mind kept thinking... Nothing.
We were falling. That I knew.
But I was not alone, in the dark, you held my hand. In slow motion, the fall never seemed to end. Soundless, void less, like two leafs locked together on our backs as we rushed through the cascading white water splashing against the tempest and falls.
we kept falling.

In this moment, I knew we would die.
No one could survive a fall like this once we hit whatever was beneath. We would both die.
Soundless, voiceless, two bodies slowly falling.










It did not scare me, it was just the approaching end. And I held your hand.

It was sad, or was it? but it was just what it was, a long, slow fall after a life enjoyed.
I wondered where the world had gone.
The sounds.
The sun?
I wondered, About the dark, the silence. The fall itself. And why I could not see you.
I hated that, with all my strength, to die without seeing you. It angered me.
It fuelled me, my rage tore against the night. I needed to see you before we died.









Beeep,
beeep, beeep.....


I sat up, white warmth. White sheets, sun against my skin. The fucking alarm, I hated that.

My hand reached out, at first sliding the alarm off on my Motorola Style and then I turned, and there you where. You were laying on your side and tummy, your red hair splashed out against the pillow and your sensuous skin.

The sun always painted every red strain on your sleepy head with such beauty, yellow, white luminescence, it brought warmth inside our room, it warmed my face and on your naked back it painted little horses that galloped across your shoulder and neck. I gently let my fingers trace your skin as I enjoyed for a few, long moments to just lay right next to you.

But my heart was out of character racing. My skin sweaty. And the hair on my body stood right up.

I was suddenly, all cold, prickly skin and chills shivered through me. And through me, the knowledge that we were not alone ran its icy fingers.









A tap reached me in the prevailing silence, everything was silent again.
No, the neighbors lawnmower, I could hear it, I smiled.

The tapping continued, forcing me to turn my head and listen, I turned my body more towards the porch.
Outside on the other side of our bedroom doors of glass, three ravens patiently waited. Looking right back at us and almost gently teasing, they at times tapped the bedroom doors with their beaks of gleaming dark.




























Forty minutes later, once you too had fully awoken from your own dreams and slumber, you knew the moment you opened your eyes that I was as always up before you.

Black coffee was as expected brewing in the kitchen and the scent of coffee together with my usual mix of brutish good morning metal music softly playing from our roof hanging kitchen lamps both touched and teased your rested senses upstairs (God, How we both loved those Sony manufactured kitchen lamps slash wi-fi powered speakers. So fucking amazing how they combined that gorgeous minimalistic design with something as useful as light and quality sound).

You also knew that I would first have spent twenty minutes or so in the calmness of our tranquil bedroom, laying next to you, listening to the world with half-closed eyes while I would have drifted in and out of half awaken dreams, laying in bed with my eyes at times closed to enjoy the sounds of the world, and at times, marvelling at, and enjoying my sleeping beauty right next to me, allowing my eyes to take you all in as I let a finger or two gently trace your naked skin, soothing your dreams, kissing you good morning with lips and fingers before you too would be taken out of your dreams. We both loved that perfect way to greet another day.

I would then at a point have slouched my feets out of bed and ventured downstairs. Perhaps I put on a pair of baggy pants before I went on with brewing coffee, playing music and simultaneously reading up on last nights global news.









As I enjoyed my first warm cup of coffee, sometimes walking around in the kitchen, looking out at the morning mist and golden morning light shining down through our old birch trees and one giant pine tree, I´d at times stop in front of our chest high bench, resting slightly on my elbows and read up on science, health, tech and environmental news from all around the world, sipping on my coffee while also sketching and scribbling away on the touch friendly charcoal look-alike wallpaper, making sketches and notes. Ideas, research, thinks to talk about, things to dive deeper inside, things worth checking up on, or just random little story ideas.

Yeah, I´ll admit, there usually ended up a few notes about other worldly things too. A grocery list and a few lines of loving good morning poetry that my eclectic mind ended up writing for you all in the comfort of my very own and might I say, so beautiful good morning while I waited for you to also crawl out of bed. And today had been no different.

And the ravens, somewhere in my mind I had laughed several times at those weird little ravens, they had followed me downstairs. And I could see them right now, clearly sitting outside our windows each time I paused and looked outside.
Life is beautiful I thought to myself, beautiful and weird.

And now that you too had been drawn out of bed by the delicious aroma of coffee flooding our entire cozy house, intermixing with the warmth and light of the morning sun that graced your face and arms, your back and hair as you sat up.

You found me outside on my knees and elbows, shooting three big, black birds while our drone slowly floated by in air filming it all.









You laughed at the sight of it all, "what are you doing, come and let those poor birds be, coffee and kisses are waiting for you".

I looked up with a smile in my eyes and lips, "good morning baby, I´ve been a busy boy this morning".

"Yeah I can see that", you smiled at my never-ending flow of creativity that always seemed to be able to be kicked into gear by the most trivial of little everyday things. A creativity that sparked to life in a wide array of ways and topics.

"Come now little boy and tell me what all this means," you said with a meaning nod of your head to the kitchen wall that was full of text, doodles, and notes.










I closed the doors on my way in, leaning in right behind your back, and as my arms wrapped around your hips and waist my lips slowly soft kissed you right behind your ear.
I whispered
"you know, I LOVE seeing you come down all naked in the mornings, sexiest sight ever girl"

My hands touched your sensual, feminine and petite belly, my tongue tasted you right behind the ear and my lips touched your neck again as I pressed your hips and toned, incredibly hot ass closer to me.
"this is by far the best part of every morning you know" - I smiled as I turned you around.

"I love you cupcakes" "I Love you too", your voice always turned me on. After all these years together, having seen all parts of life so openly and wonderful together, something as simple as you talking, still, and always turned me on so incredibly much.


"Do you know what I dreamed?" I said.
"tell me", your lips touched my chin and your tongue kissed and tasted my collar bone and shoulder.

"Well, it was crazy, even for me " I laughed at myself as I said it
"It was as if I had been sleeping for decades, crazy I say"
"I woke up, and I swear I am not making this up, I had this crazy end of the dream, it was as if we were both falling through a dark sea of ravens feathers.
So many of them, that neither of us could see or hear anything. It was not even like a fall. More like we both tumbled down a dense sea of water, a sea of feathers, totally Crazy"
I laughed again









"But the kicker was, as I woke up, the dream didn't go away, it has flooded my mind all morning long. In perfect, picture vivid detail. It is unheard of. Yeah baby, I am stoked"
"haha, I love you baby", that sweet sensual laughter of yours, like pearls upon my senses.

"But, it is crazy, I had three ravens in my dream and look, look out the window, there they are".
I pointed with my hand as I turned you around towards the kitchen windows and directed your line of sight back to the three ravens that were devouring our lawn, picking for maggots or whatever it is they pick for.
As we slowly swirled around and faced the ravens, they too looked up from the moist grass.
Their black feathered heads and dark eyes looking straight at us.

"They are a little cute, cute and creepy" you replied.
"mmm, they are". I murmured as my distracted mind tasted your naked shoulder as my fingers had found their way up your delicious tummy, and to your firm, gorgeous boobs, and stiff nipples.

"and then, the kicker," I said.
"I dreamt that we owned a café, well, you owned it. In a small little quirky town. You had been married. And it was so wonderful, a pleasant little quaint victorian, high-tech town with rainy streets at night once you closed and walked home. Your daughter had gifted you with a grandson that visited us at times. And this weird, old radio".
"A radio? Did it play something all of a sudden?" You sounded very alert.
"Yes it did, it played something crazy strange. It was something about a flapping tent, and some firefighter I think?"
"Was it an Indian?"
"What? Yes, how did you know that". I turned you around again to face me.

"Baby, this sounds so over the top insane, but I dreamed that too, I think? Was there a very angry man in a big, white glass house too? And someone that got murdered in a car?"
"Yes", I replied with a puzzled look in my eyes, "yes it was, what the actual fuck, did we just dream the same dream? How the fuck, that is amazing!".










Outside, the ravens turned their heads, looking up as if they had just sensed the seeds of an approaching storm.
A slow little darkly cloud, that sparked and slumbered in the upwards winds, like a dragonfly it simmered around, lazy gathering energy in the clash of warmth and cold, the rise of oceans and pockets of moist and air.

Somewhere, still far out of sight the small cloud kept lingering like a slowly boiling pot of water that looked so calm until the bubbles of stored energy would violently burst.





Beyond the distant mountains and vast oceans. A darkly small cloud slowly turned in the sky, and a radio, somewhere else, turned on, and out of it a scratchy sounding recording came to life. Static noise and interference were the narrators main companion as the regular mid-day broadcast was nowhere to be heard. But for those that listened beyond the noise, the message still sounded clear enough.


"A canvas tent, close flapped and secure was erected and inside the tent a fire started…Fitting a big canvas affair that had the appearance of a diver's helmet on the head of "Big Chief" Mason, a full-blooded Indian from the Walpole Reservation, Canada, Charles P. Salan, then sent the Indian under the flaps into the smoke filled tent. The smoke was thick enough to strangle an elephant, but Mason lingered around in the suffocating atmosphere for a full twenty minutes. He came out of the tent 'as good as new'".


























a Norse View Imaging and Publishing


established 2013








Copyright 2017
a Norse View, Mike Koontz

The continuation of Wings of a Raven will soon arrive not only in the shape of book 2 in this particular saga, but also in the shape and form of other books all sharing the same universe and threads. Created by Nordic writer and photographer Mike Koontz.

Thank you for reading.



Author and photography
Mike Koontz

To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration

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Last Few Published Books and Articles

  • Short story: 'The Gateway Earth Chaebol, 2028AD'. a short stand alone sci-fi story from the near future book universe 2028AD created by Mike Koontz.

    Quality time needed: 14 minutes


    The Gateway Earth Chaebol
    A 2028AD stand alone sci-fi short story.



    'The Musk colony' as it was informally called could right now be thought of as a real but still very challenged success simply because the fleet had actually managed to reach their destination and somewhat to his own surprise, the entire fleet was still operational, bruised but functional.
    And considering how space travel and logistics had been prone to so many errors in the decades leading up to their unparalleled launch, the fact that they were all here, it was nothing but amazing. Taken for granted by the crew, by now at least, but still nothing but amazing.

    And while it was true, that they still had not actually put any human feet on the ground. Or even landed a single ship or UAV.
    We had reached our destination.

  • Warfare by Megaponera analis. A day in the life of termites and ants and what it can tell us about the importance of Earth day, science and fact based education.

    Quality time needed: 9 minutes


    Warfare by Megaponera analis.
    The Science of healthy living.



    They came marching in at dawn, shoulder to shoulder they formed long winding columns of wordless but well-armed soldiers in gleaming dark armor that stretched as long as the eye could see. 500 men passed us by with the rising sun painting the light of this new day behind their backs. But this would not be a day of peaceful tranquility under the light of the rising sun, instead, the sun rose up from beneath the horizon as the herald of war and death in what we all knew would turn out be just another day in their relentless campaign.

  • Healthy living: The bad health curse of smoking, almost 7 million dead people and 150 million health related issues in one year due to smoking.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes


    150 million health related issues in one year.
    The Science of healthy living.



    Almost 7 million dead people around the world in one single year ( 2015 ), due to smoking.
    Making it account for 11.5% of worldwide deaths during 2015.
    Out of the roughly 7 million dead people, 52.2% lived in four countries, China, India, the USA, and Russia.

    13 countries, Australia, Brazil, China, Denmark, Dominican Republic, Iceland, Kenya, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, and the USA have showed significant year-to-year rates of decline of smoking between 1990 and 2015.

    But while an increasingly lower percentage of the global population keep up with the filthy and unhealthy habit of smoking, as time goes by due to our global population increase the total number of smokers is still going up, and it is now close to 1 billion people!.

  • This is a story of salt: The female perspective, your health and the 2.5 million people that die worldwide every single year due to excessive salt consumption.

    Quality time needed: 12 minutes


    A story of salt, the outcome, your health & the female picture.
    The Science of healthy living.



    Let us start from the tail of the end. Because we all know that every good tale comes equipped with an end that makes the rest of the story worth reading.
    And as such, the developing story of salt is a story of the roughly 2.5 million deaths around the world which could be prevented each year if global salt consumption was to be reduced below the recommended levels.

  • Health: A life of health and fitness is in truth exactly like a game of chess.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes


    A life of fitness is a game of chess.
    The Science of healthy living.



    When it comes down to health and fitness, and the cerebral battlefield of chess the simple truth is that they are very much alike.
    There are no unearthly and illogical surprises waiting in the dark of night that will upend and change the actual fabric of the landscape.
    Your opponent can not cast fiery magic and summon demons from the netherworld to do their bidding.
    Instead what we have is a beautifully defined field of known and still developing, yet for now, unknown for you and me facts and variables, and the vast amount of personal choices those known, but evolving facts allows us to make.

    And at every step of that personal journey, chess and fitness will leave you standing as the sole commander, at a vast field made up of pure facts and deductive knowledge and the cause and consequences that every single choice will give birth to.

  • MMA and 'The People that Bleed': Meet Brad Picket.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    The People that bleed
    UFC fighter Brad Picket



    'The people that bleed' is our own label for a series of videos, all produced by UFC, that I feel show us a more real and nuanced, intimate perhaps view of the actual soul and personality of the real human being that makes up the flesh and bone, heart and thoughts behind the bravado and attitude of the MMA fighter persona.

    In this 9 minutes long video, we get to meet Brad Picket (25-14 MMA, 5-9 UFC), a tiny blue collar sized UK based fighter whom retired after his final UFC fight on march 18, 2017 against Brandon Vera.

  • Health & Fitness: The unhealthy reality of the MMA style weight cut. A BBC documentary.

    Quality time needed: 7 minutes


    The Unhealthy Practice of MMA weight cutting
    The Science of a Healthy Life



    For most people getting a bit more fit, and healthy by eating cleaner food and less calories and working out more is a great life improving choice.
    And for most, that will lead to health improving reductions in unhealthy body fat levels and body weight. But as we previously talked about in another article, when you are already in shape, rocking a fit and toned body, eating healthy amounts of healthy food, doing weights and cardio, there comes a limit where dropping even more in body weight and body fat becomes damaging and unhealthy instead of health and fitness improving.

    And beyond that basic reality, you have the insanity of MMA and Boxing weight cuts that far to many pro fighters go through just so they can fight in a weight class that they are to athletic and big to actually be fighting in.
    I am saying that because MMA style weight cutting is not something that anyone interested in health and fitness should ever do.
    Period.

    Neither should pro fighters in my own opinion. In a ideal world you would be the only one doing MMA style weight cuts, allowing you to fight people 20 to 30 lbs smaller than you, with much shorter leg and arm reach, 20+lbs less muscle mass and all the disadvantage that would give them in strength, endurance, strike impact and absorption.
    But you see, when every other fighter do the same weight cut, no one benefits, and everybody suffers from the exact same detrimental and unhealthy exhaustion that MMA style weight cuts are. With less fitness come fight night and potentially worse health for the long haul as the only real result.

  • Health & Fitness: Daily Milk, Fruit and Vegetable consumption, in relation to your mortality rate and health.

    Quality time needed: 10 minutes


    Dairy for the fit and healthy guidelines
    The Science of a Healthy Life



    Time and science continually march forward, and that is a thing of utmost beauty. But that simple fact also requires all of us to keep an open mind towards the way we do our own fit and healthy life so that we can continually adapt and improve as we uncover new layers of scientifically established health and fitness knowledge, and at times, accept that new health and fitness science-based knowledge might force us to change direction and toss out old established "truths".

    So today we find ourselves in a brave new world where a comprehensive Swedish study covering the health impact of daily dairy and fruit consumption ended up giving us so much new scientifically based knowledge about our health and food choices that the time has come to update our "dairy for the fit and healthy guidelines".

    Organic and sugar-free yogurt is still with us, while milk is completely tossed to the side, yes even lactose-free milk gets the boot out my door.
    Why you might ask?
    Well, the answer is simply put science baby, adapt or die :).

    Milk is as far as we understand it right now causing real health issues over time that simply do not happen when you consume sugar-free yogurt or no dairy at all.
    This Swedish study involved close to 200 000 people, and the accumulated data over several years indicates that a high milk consumption shortens individuals life span through increased oxidative stress and inflammation caused by that daily milk consumption.
    And as such milk has to go since yogurt provides all the same high-quality nutrition as milk and thus, all the benefits of dairy can be met through organic, sugar-free yogurt without risking the by now, strongly implicated long-term health issues associated with drinking milk.

  • Science: The Euphoric Flight of Creativity and what hides inside our mind.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    The Essence of Creativity, Hides Inside our Minds
    The Science of a Healthy Life



    The Cerebellum inside our individual selfs will dance its very best only to its own bidding. Hidden away, inside and behind the curtain of what we consider our conscious thoughts, our "little brain" powers on with magnificent poise.

    The small, behind the scene part of what we think of as our brain, is despite its small size (The Cerebellum makes up about 10% of homo sapiens total brain volume) commandeering the majority of our brains neurons.

  • Science: Air Pollution and dementia. Global pollution and unhealth, and the link to mortality rates for children under 5.

    Quality time needed: 7 minutes


    Air Pollution and our health
    The factual Science of a Healthy Life, updated with WHO data, march 2017



    Science continually spits out more reasons in a never ending string as to why anyone interested in their own health and body should also be caring for a sustainable society and world.
    As if it is not already bad enough with modern day life´s annoying sidekick, air pollution, causing cancer, asthma and respiratory diseases and crazy smog in a growing number of cities. We can now add dementia to the list of unpleasant and unhealthy effects that life in any unsustainable society will cause through air pollution.


    Swedish researchers at Umeå University have uncovered compelling evidence for a direct link between air pollution and dementia. The run down is that if you happen to live in an area that leaves you exposed to air pollution you will run a 40 percent greater risk of developing Alzheimer's disease and vascular dementia compared to if you would have chosen to live in a city with healthier air and environment.

  • Book: "Legend of the Stone Cutter'', is a short fantasy adaptation of a man that wished for ever more . Originally written by the authors Brother Grimm with minor writing by Mike Koontz. This is an 1 hour long bed time read.




    Kid Friendly
    UHD book reading video TBA
    Short story ( coffee break bite )
    The legend of the stone cutter is often thought of as a Japanese folktale. But there are also seeds of pagan Europe and other parts of Asia in its many origins and crossroads.

    It weaves the tale of a poor man, plagued with unhappiness for his own lot in life. This man worked as a highly skilled but poorly paid stonecutter, and one day he simply came to the conclusion that enough was enough and that he deserved so much more than who he was. His wish for transformative change came to be through the aid of a supernatural being, and with that his greedy appetite for a world of ever more was awoken, until one day he had come full circle and reached a state of peace with himself.
    Written by no one, and everyone.
    Before this slightly altered version, the German authors Brothers Grimm put their thoughts to the pen, but you also had the Scottish author Andrew Lang writing his very own version of the stone cutter. And there have been countless of Asian authors and Nordic ones throughout history, before and after the Brothers Grimm. And as such, I am sure, many others that told their own version of this old folktale, because like the wind, this is an ageless story about life and man, and like the wind I am sure that it will both transform and stay the same for thousands of years to come.
    Enjoy the read!.

    Photography and web adaptation and minor writing by Mike Koontz
    2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing

  • Book: "The Juniper Tree'', is a short fantasy crime drama about a family murder and rebirth. Written by the authors Brother Grimm . This is an 1 hour long 'monster under the bed' bed time read.




    Kid Friendly but spooky "monster under the bed" read.
    UHD book reading video TBA
    Short story (One Evening Bed time read)
    Juniper tree is one of more then 200 collected fictional fantasy stories from the Brothers Grimm, and like most of those stories they are in turn somewhat based on older myths and lore, and other fairy tales from around the world, and at times the two brothers own previous work.
    The original translation was made by Margaret Taylor
    Enjoy the read!.

    Photography and web adaptation by Mike Koontz
    2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing

  • Book: "Dalyrimple'', is a short crime drama about the wayward dreams we all can weave at every crossroad. Written by author F Scott Fitzgerald. This is an 1 hour long bed time read.




    Suitable for teens and up. Explicit storytelling and events.
    UHD book reading video TBA
    Short story (One Evening Bed time read)
    Dalyrimple tells the tale of young "Bryan Dalyrimple" that straight out of war tries his hands at his first real job embarking on a wayward journey before hopefully finding his way.
    Enjoy the read!.

    Photography and web adaptation and minor writing: Mike Koontz
    2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing

  • Healthy living: When protein face off with protein, what comes out on top? Red meat, plants, nuts, dairy?. And how will it impact health, strength and even the effects of old age.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    Meat vs Plant when Protein gets to battle Protein & age.
    The Science of a healthy Life



    In a recently published study, we got to take a pretty comprehensive look at nearly 3,000 men and women all aged between 19 and 72.
    The study participants complete protein intake as well as all the various protein and food sources they consumed was measured. Including various dairy products, red meat and the healthier fish & chicken and plant-based protein sources. Beyond that the study also made sure to measure each participants lean muscle mass, their bone density, and individual strength.

    The takeaway?.
    When looking at the complete study, it was evident ( and to no surprise ) that the less protein you consumed the lower amount of muscle mass and strength. But to the surprise of some, the type of protein each person favored did not have any impact on their strength and musculoskeletal health, and there were no differences based on gender or age group.

    So keep active, eat healthy and make sure to include enough protein, and yeah, skip that red meat based protein right away because it provides zero health and fitness benefit for anyone.

  • Book: "Morella'', a short descent down the haunting hallways of Edgar Allan Poe´s maze like mind. Written by author Edgar Allan Poe. 20 minute coffee break bite sized snack.




    Suitable for teens and up. Explicit storytelling and events.
    UHD book reading video TBA
    Short story (coffee break bite)
    Let us describe the short coffee break bite sized story Morella with Edgars own words.
    "I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only — Morella"
    Enjoy!.

    Photography and web adaptation: Mike Koontz
    2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing

  • Space & Science: The flight across the black void and Kaguyas observations of Earth and the way we shower our lunar friend with oxygen.

    Quality time needed: 7 minutes


    On continuous gusts of solar wind mixed with terrestrial ions Earth shower the moon with earthborn oxygen
    The Science of Life



    Outside our blue wonders shielded atmosphere, the coldness of space is filled with the burning solar wind. The dust and speckles of stars, radiation, vacuum and alien stuff like dark matter and gigantic black holes. It is a marvel of glorious destruction and life that continuously mix and merge outside our calm home, organic chaos tearing down and building new life things across the vastness of time and our Universe.

    And amongst it all, somehow, each month, Earth fires up its magnetic shields as we position ourselves between the sun and the moon, and for five whole day´s we Earthlings shower our cute little friend with Earthbound oxygen and organic matter.
    In other words, we colonize and shape the very fabric of the alien entity we call the moon with Earthborn biological life and air, organic matter traveling from our blue marble all the way to the moon through the dark void on the winds of the sun.

  • The global Environment Performance Index: Scandinavia sweeps the top 4 as the worlds best.

    Quality time needed: 8 minutes
     
     

     

    Environmental Performance Index
     Scandinavia leads the world
    The Science of a healthy life

     

    2016 years Environmental Performance Index tells us in one more way, what we already know, and that is that Scandinavia is one hell of a wonderful place to live. The world's four best nations according to the index are all Scandinavians with Finland, Iceland, and Sweden being the only 3 nations in the world with an EPI score above 90.
    ( All three still have plenty of room to improve much more, and obviously do need to improve much more. )
    And just behind that trio, ranked as number four in the world is Denmark. So, just what is the Environmental Performance Index? Read on to find out.

  • Book: "1984''. Part 3 of 3 in this nightmarish dystopian world by author George Orwell.




    Suitable for teens and up. Explicit storytelling and events.
    UHD book reading video TBA
    Weekend read (Three Nights Bed time read)
    In the age of Donald Trumps alternative facts and war on science, perhaps George Orwell will turn out to be quite the oracle.
    Enjoy this dystopian read!.
    If you missed part 1 and 2, you can start reading the story from the beginning here.

    Author, George Orwell. Photography and web adaptation: Mike Koontz
    2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing

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