picture of a good friend of mine. associated text to be edited in later.
note, i didn't draw her standing in such a strange position.
i drew her laying in a bean bag chair.
Edit:
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Relevant text from the journal entry.
I have removed some sections that weren't part of it, including what appeared to have been a grocery list.
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"I have long time holden my peace; I have been still, and restrained myself. Now will I cry like a travailing woman; I will destroy and devour at once."
Isaiah 42:14
trip with [redacted] to [redacted] on [redacted]
Crackled.
Here be Dragons:
(Survive/evade/resist/escape)
1. Pay heed to principle provocations.
2. Establishing a presence.
3. Prioritize: repudiate, repatriate.
4. Avoid repetition of unmotivated efforts.
5. Retire.
6. Beware Trapdoors. (Secure the parameters)
A needle grin splits the Boggart's face, revealing countless rows of dirk-like chompers as he continues to chatter in a manner that while entrancingly melodious (timbre) is indeed, also occasionally somewhat nasal.
"I made it myself, from leftover centaur parts"
The slimy Pokol activates the device, neatly maneuvering the controls which appear to have once been a fairly impressive set of antlers. An eerie glow begins to emanate from the creature's sordid contraption. Slowly it coalesces into a crystalline orb hovering just out of reach. There is an image therein. The vision is filled with static, but familiar outlines can be discerned. There is a mountain, or perhaps merely a sizable pile of rather largish hills stacked atop one another. Carved into the face of the rock is a woman (like unto the Daughter of the Most High). Epic like cities. It reminds one of Mt. Rushmore, only, y'know, like, a lot fucking bigger. An endless Ocean, most crimson, laps at her heels. (Never stops gnawing) Year after Year she erodes in the rain.
At the foot of the mountain, there is a bronze plate with an inscription:
"The Christians Spent what Jesus Saved.
Never Hearts nor Minds did they Obey.
(it continues)
Thou art what thou eats: yea though grown light grass lain,
lo! Leaning grain-fed lass loosens, lifts loss featherweight
Cleanses colons:
[and semicolons too;]
Complete competition crowds concerns. Calms brains.
No matter, relentless revisions cannot reclaim.
(Couplings crushed converge. Concrete corkscrewn cold contagions closing complicates)
Ravenous.
Cunningly-Crafted-Cauldron's constant cremations consummate.
All Roads bum rushed, rapid hobknobbing returns its face.
Knocks nightwatched though vineyards hounding hot scent of lace.
Portals told locked, the Phones never Rang. unfortunate unscheduled departures are made.
Roused Ruins reeking, (riddled/red lettered) recently rough ridden upbraids:
"You were supposed to ask permission Before you came"
Rhetorical recompense not withstanding, your scheme's not in vain
(Conceptions can fetter compliance with the Law of these days)
By compulsions convulsions so crept and kept like a slave.
Toward balanced steadfastness and for release I have prayed.
The world implemented to torture discounts. A seller's market for pain.
From far, Frettings are fashioned then pounded to place.
Well rounded wordless wishes wasted white washing shame.
A Maze it may resemble, tho never mistaken for Grace!
Suddenly circumspect, seeking shelter she strays
bad but branded and stone thrown remains she unfazed.
Shivering, serpent swept, seeking slumber she sways
Blameless, unrepentant, seeking solace she stays.
Been Saddled and Sized up, her captives by gaze.
Done dirt work with Devils never changing her ways.
Her Skirts all blood crusted of Kings and of Knaves.
Leaves lines of chastisement wherever she lays.
Through flesh fraught with shackles smithy spirit still Reigns.
though knee bent in mire, with Gold we'll have paved
Struggling always uphill till last we've been slain.
Sounds of footsteps. Fallen Feathers. Angels dancing on our graves.
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I will probably have to edit out typos again. there you have it.
Love is Law,
SHCR