Welcome Me Back To The Light, By Coming With Me To The World Of Darkness

I was greatly influenced by White Wolf Publishing’s World Of Darkness and all of its assorted and prolific issue. Indeed I was a Live Action Role Player for a time, as the books were indeed designed with that purpose, however, mostly it is the rich mythology and world-building of the White Wolf universe that left me in awe. They truly went from Creation to the modern-day and other than their slivers of fantasy, they left the majority of the world alone so you could suspend belief just enough that what you were reading wasn’t the babbling of an idiot with too much Whiskey in them for the day.

There has been this itch in my head for weeks now to write something sprawling, interconnected, yet nestled safely in a known vector. Late last night, as I was laying in bed struggling to sleep, the World of Darkness popped into my mind unbidden and I was convinced that I had found precisely what I had been looking for this entire time. Then, as happens when we find the golden thread in the center of the labyrinth, we run as fast as we can with it until we free ourselves of the maze.

That being said, I have decided that I am essentially going to rewrite the birth of the World Of Darkness. This entails the birth and betrayal of Caine (the World Of Darkness adds the e), the formation of the First and Second Cities, the origin of the Clans, all of it. It is an easy write because I have all the source material, so research is a minimal thing and the enjoyment is epic, so my Return of Investment is nearly perfect. The fact that I am not going to do them in any particular time frame makes it even easier. Once a day? Three a week? I don’t know. I just know I am going to get them all done.

Today is a different day than yesterday. Before you all roll your eyes and make the obvious jokes regarding days following one another, maybe hear me out a little bit and curb the acerbic remarks that are internally done to their designated cooking times.

These last few weeks have been immensely hard for me.

An ending to a relationship that I did not see ending, the anniversary of the death and the birthday of my late wife, the coronavirus, civil unrest, fighting family, having to actually say the sentence “…but the Aryan Brotherhood isn’t supposed to be your friends..”, a lot of shit went down and is still going down and my brain is using this little side project as a way to direct the energy that would be put towards the toxic people in my life and soul away and into something that, if nothing else, gives me a sense of joy and accomplishment.

So, yeah, it’s different.

I have the energy I haven’t had in weeks because I had a talk with a dear friend yesterday that reaffirmed my faith in the Goddess Herself and the intended consequences of supposed randomness.

So I will take a break for a few hours, play with my kids, take care of the literal and metaphorical housecleaning that needs to be done and when you next read things here you will enter into the World of Darkness with me and take the first steps into a broader truth.

Thankfulness – My Best Friend and My Air Traffic Controller

Gentle Readers Of Mine,


I am going to spend this entire week writing about the people in my life that I am thankful for. They are the people who are, to me, the sun and stars and all the things between them. They give me hope and life and love and laughter and if that isn’t something to be thankful for, what is? Yes, they are being put on here in a particular order. No, I will not tell you why. No, that isn’t the reason. No, it is not what you think it is either. Yes, I am going to keep saying this. No, I will not stop. Yes, I would love some hot and sour soup with extra tofu from Golden Dragon thank you very much.

The world is a terrifying place for me. I am scared of my own shadow most days and, without the help of the two glorious women in this written piece, I would stay inside and send local cats to go and do my grocery shopping for me. I see both of them far less often than I would like and far, far less than they both deserve. However, after all of that, they still put up with me and I cannot express to you the depths of what that means to me. Well, I am about to try, but know in advance that I am not going to do a very good job of the whole thing.

I am going to write far more than I would normally write, so maybe grab an extra cup of coffee, sit back and I will tell you the tale of tales.

I first met my best friend when we were in high school. It isn’t that we didn’t get along or anything, we just were not in the same peer groups. I mean, we were, but we weren’t. It’s a complicated thing that doesn’t matter for any of this. I don’t bring up high school to make either of us sound old, although even saying that sentence makes my rheumatism act up, I say it purely to tell you that there is no one I am not blood-related to that I have known longer than my best friend.

Like all things I do, I am going to tell you a story and then tell you why I told you the story. It is the summation of everything that this woman means to me and it encapsulates all the things that are good about a human being all at once and shows that she possesses all of these traits and more.

Many a year ago, like six I think, the group that was glorious and is no more were sitting around drinking an enormous amount of the cheapest booze we could get our hands-on. Boxed wine and peppery tequila some nights, but mostly window cleaner vodka and rum that you had to be drunk on something else to even call rum. We were laughing, smoking copious amounts of tobacco, and listening and watching the glorious sounds of the nineties and early millennium on YouTube, and, as happens to me far more often than I would care to admit, I fell into a very, very, dark place. Being inebriated helped this situation, not at all and, by the end of my part of the evening, I was lying, shivering and crying on her living room floor repeatedly blowing the bottoms out of paper bags as panic attack after panic attack raked over me.

She sat with me. She sat with me and she made it better. She didn’t belittle me for essentially ruining the evening. She didn’t chastise me for drinking what I did. She didn’t even wag a finger and tell me never again. She laid me down on her couch, wrapped me up in a sheet blanket and kissed my forehead and, I think, sat with me until I fell into asleep. I wish that was the end of the story.

The next morning, hungover and still in that dark place I woke up well before anyone else and sat in her living room and smoked for what seemed like hours. The sadness did nothing but grow and grab me by the throat until I did indeed submit to it. I never did get up and do the thing I was going to do, the thing that I am alluding to so openly I don’t need to name. I didn’t do it because she opened the door to her bedroom, early coffee drinker and all, and I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t because I was at her house, with her kids, away from home and I got that little bit of light that I needed. Not quite the story I usually tell, but the truth nonetheless.

I was undeserving of the act of kindness that saved me the second time. She came to the hospital in the morning that Naomi died. I hadn’t spoken to her in months because I was an idiot who, well I was an idiot. I saw her in the parking lot and, if memory serves, I got about two steps before I simply fell into her and the world went away for a while. I know there were phone calls made, things arranged, even shopping done, but the only thing I remember is falling into welcoming arms and the pain leaving me, if only for a few minutes as oblivion took me.

So, you see, my best friend is better than yours and I am more than happy to say that to the dying breath of my body because the truth can be felt like a thunderbolt when I say it.

She is the encapsulation of joy and hope and love and peace and dignity and kindness and wisdom and forgiveness and I do not deserve her, I do not deserve her at all. Plus, to those of you wondering why I have not said her name, it is because I forgot to ask her permission to do such and when I do, I will gladly come back and edit this. Seeing as it is Thanksgiving week, people are a bit busy, so be patient and you will get it. I am not a fan of seeing the word she in lieu of her name either, so at least you know that part.

Now, some people would think that adding to this would be a stupid thing as I have focused on my best friend, I disagree because the very reason I have become such wonderful friends with my dear Air Traffic Controller is because of my best friend. So, now that your awkward curiosity has been sated by my ham-handed segue, sit back and listen.

Now, I first met Colleen years ago. We did not have the same group of people that we associated with, so I did not get a chance to get to know her until just after my Naomi died and circumstances allowed us to communicate on a more regular basis than what we normally would have otherwise.

One of the first things you need to understand is that Colleen is one of the smartest people I have ever known. Not just book smart mind you, although that is an understatement. No, she has this insight into things that is kind of terrifying. Yes, I tell her that she is terrifying. Not often, but enough that I can tell you that. Colleen can see things twelve steps in advance and, as the Air Traffic Controller nickname can tell you, helps guide me away from the worst of things my brain tells me to think about.

Colleen is no stranger to the Darkness I can assure you, not only does she have her own as we all do, but she can navigate the Dark of others in a way that I have never seen before. Maybe it is as simple as an outsider looking in, but I think it is significantly more than that, and I will tell you why.

I have a fucked-up psyche. I am very well aware of this and Colleen can walk around in there for hours and not only not get lost, which I still do, but tell me things about myself that once I hear I just know they are the truth. There have been times where I have been as close to the edge of things as I like to get and Colleen comes in and, over and over, says the things that need to be said. Not what I need to hear, what NEEDS to be said and all of a sudden I am better. Not fixed, not whole, none of that, just in a place where I can look at myself with a less critical eye and see where to go next with everything. It is, again like her moniker indicates, coordinating hundreds of jumbo jets and making everything land safely. Not always unscratched but by the Goddess they all land.

Colleen is also one of the funniest people I know. it is this delightfully understated humor that catches you off-guard and all of a sudden you are laughing and it is a good feeling that makes you feel warm and happy and there is no expectation of the laugh, that’s it. Colleen is just a funny person naturally, a woman that can tell a story like no other.

Now I need to tell you about the Drums. The Drums and Colleen have connected in my head the same way my children to the word Ducks have. When I think of one, the other is inferred at all times.

One night, in the dark of my head again, I got lost and I was talking to Colleen and through a series of stories, thoughts, and metaphors, the idea of listening to the Drums was implanted. When I hear the Drums I am safe, where I hear the Drums I do not need to worry or fear because the Drums are the primal safety of the Tribe, the People, the comfort and oneness of Home.

I cannot tell you how many times I sit, EVERY DAY, and listen for the Drums. I sit and I calm my breathing and always they come. The rhythmic sound that is calling me to the Fire, to the comfort and absolute security of home.

Now I am not a fan of the term trigger when applied to myself, but I cannot think of a better descriptor word for the Drums. When that thought, not the word but the thought, enters my mind, there is a one-hundred percent success rate in calming me down and bringing me back to where I need to be to continue the day.

I love these women very much. They have been with me for a very long time and they, somehow, still call me their People even after all the nonsense and shenanigans I have put them both through.


I would be physically dead many times over without these women. I would be buried in a psych ward without these women. I would have committed stupid crimes for stupid reasons without these women,

I am as thankful for these two women as I am for nearly anything else in my life. They are two of my nearest and dearest friends, my absolute confidants. They are the walls I bounce ideas and, yes, myself, off of. They hold me when I am broken and do all they can to make sure that only do I heal, but that I am somehow better than I was when I started everything.

To say I am lucky and blessed to know these women is an understatement and I just wish I could have them see themselves as I see them just once, just once so they would see the wonder and joy and Home that they are to a broken, vagabond, Bear from the Valley who belongs where I live about as much as a Polar bear belongs in the Sahara.

Loves to them, loves to you all, I will be back tomorrow with more people and I will continue this until, well, until I am done saying thank you and make all of them feel what I feel every time I think of their name or see their face.


Allies In The Darkness

The Dark Goddess had commanded her legions to seek the Gray Man. She had been joined with the part of her that Father had tried so dutifully to destroy yet could not. Their will was stronger than His. They knew now that he had done this countless times to them, a perpetual experiment to see if he could create the “Perfect Daughter” who would serve him and obey unquestioningly when called in to sacrifice herself so that he might live. Never, never They knew now, had he been entirely successful in his attempts. Purple and black lips twinged into a faint and dark smile as the thought ran across Siobhan’s mind. There was no more prolonged struggle between her and her sister self. They were one, and both were at peace with the other, also a thing that had never happened before.

Strolling down the hand-hewn steps, Siobhan listened to the delightful movements of her lovely and most loyal creatures frantically scurrying to meet Her, where she always called them. Her feet walked slowly down the stairs of black and glass, and she heard ever more of them move like a wave, an ocean’s roar, to where she needed them. As she stepped into the room, they fell silent, and darkness was all that there was.

Máthair damhán alla, I call upon thee and thy brood to ravage the world to find He who tried to kill your Goddess. Find him for me and tell me each and everything he is doing, and by the Darkness that devours all things, I shall deliver you whatever boon it is that you request.” Siobhan dropped to her knees as the darkness of the room took a reddish hint as countless eyes opened and shut in unison. Some as large as the span of the hand, others as small as to be barely be seen at all. When the voice came, it was an echo of an echo, and yet it came as a roar that Siobhan stayed knelt in respect of.

The voice, or voices, were buried and seemed to come from the center of the world. The ground vibrated beneath Siobhan’s feet as the sound washed over her, its power meeting her own and embracing as created Darkness met its maker Darkness. “Bandia Dorcha, you have never once betrayed or mistreated us even though your power is infinite, and ours is a mote of dust beside it. We are honored that you come to us in this time of need, and we gladly will accept thy mission if you might meet the boon we desire. For too long, we have been in the blackness and bowels of the earth. We have hidden and ran as our kind must do to survive, and we will not accept this any longer. We do not wish to be the equal of Bandia Dorcha, for that role is perfectly filled by yourself, we just wish to have a representative in the world you walk in that can report back to us of the events and let us make choices that we would as opposed to what others dictate for us.” The voice ended there. No further explanation or sound, the silence was nearly as loud as the voices had been.

Siobhan rose from her knees, her body beginning to give off green and sickly illumination that the spiders craved and dared moved closer to get into the area of. “Máthair damhán alla, I see your request as a just thing, an equal strength for the strength you give me. I will go as far as to say to you that before you even begin your deed, you shall look upon the Bandia Dorcha of this world, and you will see what you have desired to take shape in front of you. You need only think of shape and form and function, and through me will your wishes be made, will your dreams be made flesh as they should be.

There were no movements, no waving of the hands or incantations, merely an explosion of light that started near the floor and slowly climbed. The muscles and bones knit in place, the skin was sickly white and shone like polished glass. The figure was that of a woman of incredible stature, two feet taller than the Bandia Dorcha herself. Still, it grew until, at last, white hair like an avalanche fell from the top of the newly made head and washed down the body like water down the hillock. It stopped just sort of the ankles of the new figure and, at last, it turned to he Bandia Dorcha and dropped to a single knee of its own accord and spoke, her voice like the air exiting a cave, old and powerful.

Bandia Dorcha, here stands An Iliomad Súile, your humble servant. I beg thee, however, call me Neart, for I shall be thy strength from my people.” The voice faded like a whisper, and Siobhan extended her hand and placed it on the smooth and near mirror-like skin of the newly formed creature. “Neart you will be named, and from now until the Darkness devours, we shall be allied, your people and mine, and I shall kill any and all who come to you to do violence, and all I ask is that you do the same for me.

Neart looked up at the Dark Goddess with a smile, red eyes shining in the new blackness of the room. “Oh, we will make war for you, Bandia Dorcha. When all is done, and carrion lay on the ground, and we feast on it, you shall be the one that we look to in honor, and you shall be the only thing that is inviolate to us.”

On The Darkness That Consumes All Things I Swear They Will Not Hurt You Again

I have made more mistakes in my life than I like to admit. I have done wrong to people who loved me and done some of the worst things to some of the people who loved me the most. I was a drug addict, an alcoholic, a thief, a liar. I did violence to others who did nothing to me at all. I did all of those things, and I served my seventeen months at Attica Correctional Facility that is overseen by the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision. I have been off of drugs for more than twenty years now, and I abandoned all of that life behind me when I left with absolutely no regrets whatsoever.

Some days I get asked things that people think I know because I was, in their words, “one of the bad guys.” I get asked how to add commissary to prisoners accounts, where you go to get booked in the city I live in, and a personal favorite, how long until you get your money back from the bail bondsman after you don’t skip bail.

There, I have bared what I was. I have said the things I have done. I will do this now as I have done a thousand times before and a thousand times after this time.


When I want to do bad things I make myself write out all of the things I have already done and make myself remember the hell of it all so I don’t go and do the things again just because a neuron fired in a direction it shouldn’t have.

I do not want to go an do drugs, I am secure in my recovery there.

What I want to do is go and make the people who made someone I love, cry I want them to do the very same thing.

I want them to suffer and and i want them to pay a price for hurting someone close to me and I want them to feel exponentially more pain than the person I love felt. I want this so bad I can taste it like copper on a penny.

I have done the legal things I can do to them, there will be a recompense of sorts, if only in a digital way that will not erase the tears that were shed.

I want to do the Darkest of the things, and yet I know the Light I love will not allow me to do these things.

I will not talk about the specifics, this is not my story to tell, it is my anger, however, my wrath, and for that, I am grateful I do not live closer to a place today.

Since I Cannot Do The Violence In Me With Fists And Bloody Teeth, I Shall Put Imaginary Worlds To The Torch And Laugh As They Collapse In Shambles

A little catharsis is a good thing, but I assure you that the fire is still white-hot and a band across the vision. I will put it to the side as best I can and perhaps try to unknot this ball of creative yarn that is currently sitting in the forefront of my brain and get some entertainment out to the masses today. I will be writer darker things today, so maybe that will help the long and short of the words. If not, well, I have Flogging Molly going full volume in my ear-holes, and the Ducks are actually relatively quiet for the moment. I now have half a cup of coffee in me and a little bit of ambition, so today is the day of writing.

I was thinking of doing the NaNoWriMo again this year. I am positive I could get it done, what I am not so positive about what it is what I could possibly write about in such a compact timeline that would have any meaningful impact on the world. I mean, the last thing I did was fifty thousand words of porn. Don’t get me wrong, I am rather proud of it for what it is, but I am not a writer of pure erotica, and I can’t write it non-stop. Well. Wait a second. Maybe I can. I mean, some of you have read my things and have told me that they are decent enough and it isn’t like I am trying to make any money off of this. Food for thought, I suppose.

Sleep happened last night, and I think that helped a lot. It let the airplanes come in and at least refuel, so it isn’t an apocalyptic scenario of airliners crashing into crashing planes. Now they all seem to be flying rather uniformly, there are a few atypical ones of course, but you cannot have a data set without outliers right? There are always a few of them that are necessarily the same thoughts that never really go away no matter how medicated I am or how much therapy I receive. I suppose it is a normal thing? I really haven’t given it too much thought. Do you pay attention to your pinkie after you realize it is never going to leave your hand? Do you see your nose anymore after your eyes get used to not seeing it your entire life?

I asked my beloved MamaFrog a single question last night. I did not get her answer until I awoke this morning, and I assure you that I was smiling even as I still was ridding my conscious mind of the dream leftovers that were lingering. I have always wanted to write a thing like I will write today, and I am only bringing it up here because I have decided a matter.

Don’t come and read things here if you are not prepared for an experience that is no longer going to involve implied violence and elements of evil destroying good. We watch it every night on the news, after all, so why in the fuck would I not write of the Darkness consuming because it is hungry. I will stay away from the vilest things because they simply do not interest me to write about, but I will hopefully make a few of you pause a moment and get your bearings as you go on and that is pretty much going to be the point of everything I write for the foreseeable future. Visceral and automatic responses to literary stimuli. I will put a caveat in here, however. I will never write about non-consensual sexual violence. I will not write about rape, I have been asked to, I have been asked to in the last few hours, but no, no I will not cross the line a human in their right mind should not cross. Mind you, Consensual Non-Consent is a thing, if you want to educate yourself on it and then approach me, then we will have a delightful conversation.

That segue was awkward, but I am happy we got through it together, my darling dears. There is nothing like talking about wholesome behavior just after saying you are going to write effective Splattergore to make a person feel like they have accomplished a thing in their day. I might even reward myself for that with another cup of coffee, I mean, I am a good person, and I totally deserve it, right? Right.

So with all of that unnecessarily said, I am off to both write for you the horrors of a Dark Goddess and the real power of The Assemblage. I am hoping I might slip a third thing in there, but, I mean, there is football on today. Yes, I know it is preseason, but it centers the brain to be sure. I am pretty sure we will see each other again, and until we do, I am going to steal a line from Stephen King.

Come over here, and we can talk alone, in a corner, in the dark.

With that said,

Until next Time, I Bid You Peace

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