A Sad Form Of Truth

I want to write a book. Well, I suppose by all practical measurements you can say that I want to write another one. I am not ashamed of the first one by any stretch, but I want to write a thing that is pure and totally me. Little Boy was an exercise to see if I could complete the National Novel Writers Month challenge, during which you are trying to write 50,000 words in thirty days. So it is rushed and it was something I did purely for the challenge, for the ability to say that I had done the thing.

So, now what?

I have written thousands of poems that are between things that make me cry in memory a decade later and things I will not delete purely because I need to never write that piece of shit again. I love poetry, it was my passion before I truly understood what that word meant. I would write these things to my first wife that would go on and on about her chestnut hair and eyes like smokey mirrors. I would write to Naomi about the beauty of childbirth and the creation of life with a schmuck like me. War and Death and Love, Angst and Joy, Forgiveness and Hatred. I have written about her forever eyes, Valkyries as my salvation and mothers that are far away that my love will never fade for.

I have written about The Assemblage and their awkwardly moralistic power plays on a global scale. I wrote about the Eight Mothers that came from that place Cosmic Horror begins and ends. I rewrote The Inferno as best as I could. The Dark Goddess Siobhan and the glory of her power over the hearts and minds of things that go bump in the night.

Am I out of things to write? No, that will never be the case.

What I don’t have, is courage.

I am terrified of rejection. Personally, professionally, artistically, even spiritually.

That’s it see, that’s what there is no book.

What if everyone hates it? What if it is the punchline of jokes and the object of derision.

Yeah, I know I can’t control any of that.

Truth is a stupid thing when it is in your head.


It is two minutes after five. I have been up since a little before four, and I went to sleep a little after eleven. I am not really kvetching that point, more of way to start the brain and hopefully get some coherent thoughts out into the world as opposed to just coming across as whining because I am up early, of which I always am when there are Ducks to get on buses. I actually don’t mind it most mornings, it is a nice and quiet time even with all three of them down here doing their routine things.

Just like that, I know what I am going to write about this morning.

I am a stickler for routine. I am sure there is a reason in the neurochemistry school of things, but for the purposes of this I think I will leave diagnosing to people who went to schools that give them the authority and the knowledge to do that thing. I just like the way the world operates when it is nice greased on the skids of the predictable. I know that in exactly fifty minutes medication gets taken, in eighty minutes people start this, then get on buses, then lather, rinse, repeat.It makes the anxiety skyrocket downward when I know what is going to happen in a given set of time.

It is both the reason I haven’t been writing and the reason it is bothering me not to. Slipping the skin of the writer on is a stretch of muscles I don’t remember having until I start writing and then the comfort of it is like a gravity blanket pressing against my skin and squeezing the panic of the world out of me. Writing about Siobhan and the Fae, The Marquess and the Rituals, the Marquis and Pain, and even the sweet octuplet of matriarchs that rule it all.

Yes, there are many times in the next month or so when there is going to be a lot of Dark seeping and floating to the surface of my brain and getting spread thinner and thinner each time I write about it as a form of catharsis. Yes, I am going to not keep a schedule no matter how much I wan to try to keep one. Finally, yes, I will stop writing for a chunk of future and come back and write something apologizing for all that and starting the entirety of the Masquerade over again.

I am listening to Somebody to Love by Queen and it makes me smile. Not just because my obviously well-raised children are quasi-soft head banging to the riff of the guitar and the Elder Duck is singing along to Freddie of the soaring vocals. I am smiling because it seems an appropriate song to have on at the moment. Lately I have not been very kind to myself in that sense and I have listened to the inner monologue of doubt and self-hatred a little too closely, so hearing this first thing in the morning gives me pause and makes me think of all the people I do love and the people I know love me and it makes the world spin a little easier and the shadows in the corners of my brain seem a little less dark.

Now, it is time to go and dome Daddy Bear things and snuggle a duck or two before they are off to the delightful institutions they disappear to for huge chunks of the day.

Tá mé ach seirbhíseach



I am rather cognizant of the fact that I want to create an entire universe. I know that I am tackling an ambitious, to put it lightly, undertaking and it will actually require a lot ,more follow through than I am used to in my writing.

So, as I sit here at half past 6 on a Sunday morning, I thought I would share some thoughts on the brutal, and yet essential, restructuring I have to do in order for this to work at all, never mind in a way I find ascetically pleasing.

As it is now, there are three main divisions of the writing I have done on this site.

The Major Dramatis Personae specific and ONLY specific to the Universe. This includes, at the moment since there are more coming, Banazari, Nuria, The Marquis, The Marquess, The Shuffler.

Siobhan is a separate entity that exists in her own Universe that is separate from this one and she always will be separate.

The Mythological Dramatis Personae, in this Universe known as The Eight Mothers which thus far consist of two of the eight, Yidhra and The Broken Goddess.

The third element, thus far completely absent from here is the history, locale description, and general non-character specific background information. This is both the easiest and the most difficult to write in that the ideas are plentiful, the stitching is a little harder to work in order to make everything snugly fit together.

So, I told you all of that so I can tell you this next part.

I will continue to post and update the ones listed here as often as I can. However, I need to write a lot of background things that will make things coming up make a lot more sense than they would if I were to leave it out.

As all of you can probably tell, the holidays suck a lot of suckable things for me and my motivation lowers a great deal this time of year. I am not going to give up and I plan on pushing through this and writing. Writing helps relieve the depression and anxiety as it is.

Lastly, I have every intention of doing more of the poetry reading things in the very near future and I have not forgotten that a lot of you actually want to listen to me blather on about assorted things until you either fall asleep or an aneurysm type thing happens in your thinky parts.

Oh yeah I will try to throw more blog things, assorted stories and original poetry in here as well, because, I mean, why limit myself to a dozen things?

I got this. Hold my fucking beer.

This Week, GROWL

This week can fuck off and die.

However, on a lighter note I am happy to hear back from people who apparently liked my foray into poetry reading. I was terrified to post that because I have a huge fear of rejection, but hearing positive feedback was a goodness to be sure. Any and all requests will be filled, seriously, anything. I love to read aloud, it is a passion of mine and it is how my Elder Duck learned how to read and how I helped my own little brother learned how to read when the time came.

I think I am going to do a complete recording of The Hobbit. I love Tolkien and he has been my personal favorite since my gran read him to me when I was less than four years old, and if the stories she told me are true, she even read him to me while my mom was resting and I was still in the womb. I have other reasons to read it as well, so I think it is a win-win for everyone involved. Since it will be free and all I am pretty sure I won’t nailed for violating a copyright, and if I do, well, I do.

It is a cold and dark Saturday morning and I am so okay with that it hurts. I can snuggle with my ducks, watch some college football and wait for the inevitability of the oncoming Darkness That Consumes.

Writing. Yes, I have been a tad less diligent as of late. Some deeply disturbing personal things have happened that even I won’t tell the Internet and I have had to focus my efforts elsewhere for the time. Worry not however. I have plans for Nuria and Banazari, The Marquis and Marquess, The Shuffler and Siobhan, and especially the delightful Mothers I have introduced to you.

I have a wicked migraine forming, I am assuming because of weather things in addition to the loathing that the Lord feels when he sees the worthlessness of my soul. it is hovering just between tolerable and throw darts at a board to see how I can rip my own head off without causing too much of a mess. Generally, this time of year for me is better and I don’t get as many, I am truly hoping that my small respite has not been taken from me. If it has, well, it has and I will just have to adapt to yet another new normal.


The Marquess – Chapter 3

Robert opened his eyes and all he saw was a smokey haze. No more than a foot in front of him was a wall of smoke he could not penetrate with his gaze no matter how hard he tried. Even with all the smoke, there was no issue with breathing, he took deep breaths and looked skyward and again was met with a wall of smoke, thick and oily.

It is then he heard The Marquess and the contralto that simply must be obeyed.

“Robert, come here to your Marquess, come here and sit beside her in this place of power and learn of things that man is not meant to know, Sit beside her and become a ruler over things you did not even know existed. Come to me now Robert, I do not like to be kept waiting.”

Robert felt panic in his heart when he imagined letting her down. It was not a panic of a man who worked for someone, it was the panic of a servant who has disobeyed a Goddess and he fears the wrath that may come if She does not brook his disobedience.

He walked, knowing instinctively where to go in the smoke. He looked straight ahead and nothing else. His only goal, his entire being, needed to find Her and serve and do what was commanded of him. The smoke thinned and his heart began to beat normally and he let out a breath he did not know he was holding when he finally saw her.

Naked and glorious in a chair of stone and bone. Blood spilled about her feet like so much rancid water thrown from a tavern closing. Her hair was raven black, her skin nearly luminescent in its vibrancy. She was pale as death and glowed like a furnace of a star. Her body was shaped for incitement and her eyes locked onto him as he imagined a hark looked to the field mouse. She spoke with soft lips the color or rose petals and as she did a tongue as black as a midnight grave winked at him through pointed teeth.

“Come now boy, sit with me and let me teach you.” Robert obediently dropped to his knees and sat on his heels as if it were a thing he had done his entire life. He saw her reach into the pool of blood and ichor he himself knelt in and smile at him with murder and lust in her eyes as she spoke to him again.

“You will help prepare the Way. You will salt the earth so it cannot feed, drown the deceivers so that they cannot speak and drip with the blood of the unrighteous. I chose you because you are a dark man Robert, I chose you because you have seen the sensual in the grotesque, I chose you because you have seen the beauty in the corrupt. Now we will let you live every fantasy you have, let you take from the world all you desire and you will do it in my name and the Darkness that Comes. You will sing praise to all Eight Mothers and debase yourself in front of them and serve them, each and all, in my name. Do you understand me?”

Robert could not stop the thoughts in his mind from rising to the surface. Dark and evil, foul and serene visions of torment and blood. He did not know when he started to smile and look up to his new and infinitely infrangible Goddess.

“The Marquess shall have the power of the Eight, The Darkness shall Come, I shall serve, I will obey.” He bowed to her then and pressed his face into the foulness the ground was, his mind empty of all things until he felt her fingertips brush along his spine with a serpentine quality.

“Let us begin that kè sere, let us show them all what us under the Veil”