The dark Minotaur is back, puffing in the mountain’s chest again. Tore through the air and ripped a space between the canyons of nothing there. Overriding any other natural force. And horror. Shaking the rocky bowels, shaking the spirits, shaping tectonic yesterdays. Assert an earthshake.

Blur water. A jug of it set on the side of the lake. A griffin of horrible things homing inhuman instincts overdosing any other force to survive. Beams of desperation in faces of the non-found. The non-alleviated pain of an earthquake. The empty depravity of the land.

Screaming mythological creatures shake factual land, unwelcome tyrants tantalizing the guards of breaths and life. The griffin earthquake.

The dark Minotaur is vain. Wants to rip everything. Kill a pool of little kids and innocent gray housewives. Scatter grandmothers and little kitties. The pictures online devastate any other feeling.
Nature sometimes hates us.

A bullish note, an attempt to towrope the empty promises for a better tomorrow, for a designate protector, for the golden knights, for the failed culture that remained unfilled words, never deed. The nature’s answer to the incompetent. Assert of an earthshake.

Flesh and blood, empty eyes and fear. And darkness. The shake of the rock. The minotaur’s moan becoming roar. Shaking the spirits, shaping tectonic yesterdays. The griffin earthquake.