It Is The Life Force After All

Yeah, I'm Dark!

I am listening to Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. It is a delightful song to start your day if you haven’t tried it. Thankfully the Internet is full of awesome things that will let you experience this with very little effort at all. I am in a very narrow mindset this morning and I think this will help me exquisitely to get done what I think needs to get done. What is it that I want to get done before I disappear into the vast world of College Football at noon?


I want to write about blood and death. I want to write about bathing in it and drinking it and fucking through it and every other thing you can think of. Will I? I have absolutely no idea, I am telling you what I want to get done, I am not a psychic by any stretch of even my imagination. I have felt the urge to go back to the preternatural lately, and while my beloved Siobhan and the new joy of Victoria will always be in the centerpiece, I was raised writing blood and darkness and despair. History and teeth and mashing and mixing legends from all over the world.

Other than that, it is going to be a chill day, I have a lot on my mind and I need to try and shovel some of it off.

Rawrz motherfuckers (Also gender-neutral, I may add)



She awoke with a start, her heart racing in her chest. She swallowed several times to try and push the dust away and all she could manage was to cough weakly and try desperately to focus her eyes on anything, anything at all. Her body was numb, unfeeling in every way. Her eyes darted back and forth desperately trying to find…something. She had no idea what it was, who it was, just that she needed to find it because it was important. Yes, important, that’s what it was. With an extraordinary effort, she raised her back off the ground, her eyes finally settling, fixing on one thing.

Her arms, or at least what used to be her arms. Now they were not but mangled pieces of flesh-covered bone. They were broken, shattered in dozens of places. Some of them sticking out of the skin, others at angles that should not exist. There was no pain, none at all. She sat up farther, her back screaming as she did until finally, she was sitting straight. Then she saw her legs.

They were worse, so much worse, than her arms. They were at a dozen angels, flesh torn and blood dried where someone had left them to knit the way they were, not setting them in place where they should be, not caring that they would cripple her beyond hope.

Then it all came back to her in a flash.

Deliah, that was her name. She had been hanging for the slaughter of her friend, for reading the future, the reading that saw this very moment where she remembered everything while she was in a twisted and deformed pile of broken bones and twisted flesh. She did not know how she got to where she was, or how long she had been unconscious. Looking at her arms and legs both, it must have been weeks. The flesh had begun to heal over the breaks, the bones setting hard into place with calcified nodules exposed everywhere. Deliah took a deep breath, not a calming one, no there was no calm in the foreseeable future. She knew everything that was to come, and she knew that the next little while would be a hell, an agony that would make her want to live no longer, but the other side of it would be everything she had worked so hard on, a plan realized.

She looked around and saw what she knew would be there. All of the trying to remember what she was looking for was realized in that glance. She blinked back tears as her weak and crippled arm reached and, with a massive effort, picked up the stone beside her. She wept loudly, not wanting to do what must be done.

Even as she slammed the rock down with all of her force, breaking the broken over and over again, even then she did not lose hope no matter how much her body screamed, how much blood she lost, how much agony moving each bone back inside her caused her.

Never. Was. Hope. Lost.


Hours? Days? Time was meaningless through the pain. Every movement was agony, every breath was the weight of the world pressing down on Deliah’s chest. She looked over her body, or what was left of the old one. All the bones were in place, at last, even the memory of it made her close her eyes and nearly panic. They were where they should be and with time and a blessing from a deity she tried so very hard to despise, she would at least be able to walk again. Her arms were easier, the bones thinner, knitting faster than the ones in her legs.

She could not remember the last time she had been free of pain, had not been covered in blood and piss, snot and shit. She had made it, over days, to a small creek. She had greedily drunk from it when she could. The small fish that were too dumb or slow to get out of her hands had nourished her the best they could.

Anger flowed through her like blood. She was mad at creation itself and everything less than that. She knew it was coming, she knew every detail and yet she was still not ready for the agony and weight of it all. How dare some thing she did not see or know curse her with the ability to see the future the way she could. How dare this goddess in the darkness presume to make her do things. Why would anyone want to know the precise second they were going to die? Deliah could close her eyes and see the vastness of time in front of her and not be surprised by any of it. It was a burden she did not want, did not ask for, would try all she could o to rid herself of.

There was the future that she knew, but then there was the future that could be, and that single thread of hope is what kept her as sane as she was all this time as she sat in a pile of her own filth, most bones in her body broken, the shape of her body permanently disfigured. Why? Why was she punished for something that came from a Goddess they all claimed was all-knowing and loving?

She would have her answers, one way or the other the truth would come.

No Clever Titles, Just Hard Truth.


Before anyone reads this, please be aware that it contains a discussion about physically abusive relationships. If that is an uncomfortable subject for you and you simply want to read the stories, please click here and you will be able to do precisely that.

I am writing this to bring to light the horrible and pervasive attitudes that people in the world have in regards to violence in relationships. I am not glorifying it or trying to give it a place of honor, merely dragging it from the shadows so that people can see the vileness of it and perhaps look at it with a less cavalier light.

Thank You for your understanding in this, and truly, I love you all.


No, not quite storytime, I am not done with that last part of what I was saying by a damn long shot yet.

I won’t fill your heads with my tales anymore, I have told them enough by now and if you do not know them, you either don’t me or you have had your head planted firmly in your ass while associating with me as I have no doubt told everything about myself to nearly anyone I have met for the last twenty years in the first few weeks of meeting them. See, that is my ancient mariner, I need to tell my tale so it won’t happen to anyone else. I need them to know I don’t need or want pity, I want you to understand that it is preventable.

I digressed there, didn’t I?

I have already got two messages in regards to what I wrote earlier that I am going to share with you, well, share the big bits and leave ambiguity as to the author of the words.

Firstly, we have a stereotypical violent male response.

“If a bitch ever comes at me like that, like she is something important again, I would put her on the floor before she knew different.” There is more but it devolves into things best left out of sight by those of us who are beyond the “sacrifice the soul to the Id” level of human development. I am going to break it down as I see it and, please, tell me if I am wrong my dear and loyal Gentle Readers.

For starters, we start with a derogatory remark. Now, while it is true that the word bitch can be assigned to any number of genders, the writer indicates later on in the sentence that the person he has physically assaulted in this scenario is indeed a person who identifies, or at least whom he identifies, as female. The derogatory remark shows that he has no interest in this person as a human being. They are an object designed for a purpose, one can easily imagine the purpose that he has designed internally for them without a great deal of imagination.

We follow the derogatory remark with an interesting set of word choices. Note his use of the word again, of course, meaning this person has engaged in this type of assault on a person before. However, almost more importantly is the use of the words “like she is something important”. Dehumanizing language is often a key to the mid of an abuser. If they make the person into a thing, an “It” if you will, then why should they care what they do? If the person they are assaulting is an “It”, “Its” do not have feelings or thoughts, they simply exist. Stripping away the humanity of the object of your terrorism and violence, in addition to making you a mockery of a human being and worthless in the eyes of society as a whole, allows the attacker to remove guilt from himself. Once again, an “It” would never be able to have thoughts and complex emotions, so the audacity of the “It” having accusatory words simply beggars belief in the mind of the assailant.

I think the first part of the next sentence, “I would put her on the floor” is self-explanatory, but in light of the lesson here, I will go ahead and get into it. First, he takes ownership of the act, choosing not to use pronoun heavy phrases like “she would be on the floor”, or “she would end up on the floor.” They WANT you to know that they are responsible for this, they NEED you to know that they did it, either for the fear factor they think it might have on you or for the sad people like them who would see this as a victory over a lesser being, worthy of praise and respect.

The end of the sentence is the most terrifying of all in a way. “Before she knew different”. Look at that sentence. He would strike this person, assault them and put them on the floor before any other action or words could be used. Their absolute first response would be instant and intense violence. I am not a psychoanalyst by any stretch, but it speaks volumes that they would choose the last-ditch action of most people for their opening gambit.

So let us combine all of this into a truly terrifying scenario that words alone will illustrate. He sees this woman as non-human, an “It”, a thing to be used for a purpose he has dictated it must serve. To this non-human entity he has created, he will happily and repeatedly engage in violence until the woman, or “It” to him, is on the floor, taken out of any scenario that would threaten who and what this subhuman stands for.

Take that in. This is a random commentator on a blog on the Internet. He knows nothing about me or mine and he would wantonly and proudly boast he would assault, over and over again, any woman who dared have the audacity to think they are anything but the “It” they have been designated in the eyes and mind of this social predator.

Forgive me if this seemed pedantic and arrogant in its presentation, I needed to make sure that I said precisely what I wanted to say. I also apologize to any abuse survivors who have read this and perhaps have seen some things that are parallel to their own lives. You have nothing but my support in your struggles and I am here for all who ask for assistance. It is not your fault, in any way whatsoever.

I was going to go into more thoughts, the second comment as well, but I think I have said more than enough on this subject for the day.

I love you all, so very much.


Okay, So, Maybe It Took Me An Entire Day, But I Am Back And The Demons Are Ready To Come Out And Shatter Your View Of The Way Writing Should Be.

Gentle Bear

Greetings My Gentle Readers,


Yes, I am back to calling everyone who reads my blog that for one big reason. Let us say that you do not identify as male or female and I say “Ladies and Gentleman”, I refuse to exclude anyone from my writing, unless maybe they’re a Nazi, and then they can go away. I want all people to feel welcome to my writing because, to me, it is like letting you into my home, messy grammar and bad plot lines included. If you walked into my home and I ignored your gender pronouns, you may just tell me to take the long walk off the short pier yes? Call me out on that shit if you notice me slipping up. I use genders below because I am absolutely positive the pronouns are correct, otherwise I will be using hey from this point on.

Today will be a heavy writing day. I have to get back to Siobhan, Victoria, James and Elisabet, maybe the good people in The Assemblage, some new stuff maybe, but, before we traipse down my rather dark hallways of fiction,i need to talk about something here. I need to do it here because if I talk about it in the place it originated, i would be disrespecting someone I love so very much.

In essence, it is not okay to be violent against your partner.

I know that a lot of you are reading that and saying no shit, but apparently there is a rather significant subsection of the population who feel that striking their partner, regardless of the gender identity of either party, is a perfectly reasonable way to deal with the escalation of an argument.


Story Time from Gentle Bear.

My ex-wife, the woman who jaded my view on women for a decade, tried to kill me. She didn’t try to shoot me, no. She stabbed me in the left shoulder, tried to make me think the smell from my cereal was not the bleach she put in it and tried to run over me with the car that I had just bought for her hours before.

I never hit her. Some “men” might be saying that if it was them they would have done some degree of violence to her in order to, I don’t know, show their dick size or something. No, that isn’t the way it works.

You walk away. You defend yourself if you need to, I’m not saying don’t stop a punch or, in my case, mitigate the wound depth by grabbing her arm before the knife was all the way in. Then I walked away.

It’s never okay, I don’t care what argument you come to me with, it is never okay.

A Small Delay and Nothing More Methinks, Or I Might Just Go Full On A Full-On Bender, Only Time Will Tell

Brain Demons

Now, my overly descriptive title notwithstanding, I am in a place and I need to get out of it before I write anymore today. This isn’t one of those things where I vanish into the ether for weeks, no, this is a couple of hours to get my feces properly collated and then I can get back to the thing that gives me the most peace in all the world.

So, knowing that, just maybe don’t have a spasm when you see some of the things I write later.