Eri n Ink has nd
No matter what you say around:
Words and ideas can change the world.
from 'Dead Poets Society'
Inkhand Erin's eyes as vivid as the gentle Irish meadows, and auburn hair like heather clinging to ancient rocks.
Inkhand Erin has a shamrock tattooed on her wrist, a tribute to the archaic mother and knowing that gives her strength to her children, and watches over the cliffs lashed by the sea.
Inkhand Erin wears a ring for each finger, one for each story, all love, to every promise.
Erin Inkhand wandering lands in rough and gentle, search words lost in the wind, lost in her eyes and singing in nightclubs.
One winter evening she told her stories in a pub and someone asked her who it was, she replied that it was not his name have to be recalled, but his verses.
Inkhand Erin cried, laughed and cursed under the skies of the world, watching the men dance and dreams.
Erin Inkhand us.
Your exiles speak foreign languages,
just fall asleep dreaming of your heavens,
be found lost in distant countries,
to sing a land of refugees and saints.
Thriving Ramblers - In a rainy day
Inkhand Erin is the soul of two friends, writers and dreamers: Ely (Cerridwen) and Ceci , devoted to the words, love in all its facets, knowledge and philosophy, beauty, dreams, the stories and legends of every place and every time, devoted to books, manga, ink, dusty libraries, devoted to Music - Symphonic and Power Metal, Irish Folk - concerts, songs that echoed in the blood and imprint themselves in spirit to the yaoi and yuri, movies you watch at times impossible, and before which we are moved to tea, to our beloved Ireland, the Irish Pub, Guinness, Kilkenny and the the leprechauns, the Sophists, and anyone who can develop a speech about nothing, the semicolon, the subjunctive and who does not cripple the Italian with various k and opprobrium, to entr'actes idiots, cartoons, fangirlaggio the wild, with jokes that only we understand .
Inkhand Erin is the embodiment of friendship - are trying out a little - could be called perfect.
But let me here in my piece of heaven,
to drown the bad memories.
Modena City Ramblers - Death of a Poet
Inkhand Erin writes. Currently, all his energy and his every thought is devoted to a project for an original short story - surrounded by a forest of stories more or less serious side - that has become part of his life and his world.
Erin Inkhand lives to write, and writes for a living.
If you read this line, remember not the Hand That wrote it.
Remember only the verse [...]
for ITS I've given this strength and it has Become my only strength:
Comforting home, mother's lap, chance for immortality.
Nightwish - Dead Boy's Poem
~ stories published on the Chelsea Hotel
[Work in Progress]
~ Links and contacts
EFP: Erin Inkhand / Cerridwen Shamrock / Ceci Princessofbooks
Facebook: Ely / Ceci
~ Communications : 7/7/2010
Mostly, Ceci will be to review and comment with this account, in the absence of a right; stories posted, however, will be for four hands, of course.
Warning: we will be present both in bursts in July and August due to holidays. ^ ^
~ assigned duties at Chelsea Hotel :
None.
~ Banner won :
Currently none.
~ Points scored:
July 2010 :
0 comments:
Post a Comment