Once Someone Else Gives You The Answer, It’s Really Easy, You Know?


I think the issue at hand is that I am trying to use the wrong format to write things to the world every day. I wrote these, as you are all are intelligent enough to see, as a discussion twixt you and I. The problem with that is that the nuance of what I am trying to say is lost. Not by any fault of the reader of course, but by the medium and its particular lack of interactivity as a whole.

A dear and wonderful friend suggested a thing to me that I never thought of doing before, so I am going to try that, not today as I have plans, but I will start Monday I think, maybe Tuesday if the gym is too intense, but we shall see there. It won’t be a lot of work as much as it will be a lot of editing, a thing that I universally despise, but in this sense, I think it actually will produce a much better product than before and The Book, its glory indicated by its capitalization here, will be easier to begin I think.

No one makes movies where the bad guys win unless they are in some way horror-based, so I thought to myself many a fortnight ago that why do the “bad guys” need to be bad in and of themselves. I know it is one of those moral things we all need to make up our mind about, but I think it is easy enough to decipher, or not.

So, all that having been said, Dawny love, you are going to get precisely what you suggested and I am going to write about our dear Edward, I am going to start much, MUCH, before where you might think I am going to and I am just going to see where it takes me. I know I can write it, I did already, this is merely fleshing out the things that were already there and seeing them development in much more dimensions than I had previously let them exist in.

So, on that note, I am going to go take a shower because they are awesome and my muscles hurt and I will update things as things get updated.

RAWRZ Bitches

A Sad Form Of Truth

This is me, JameyBear

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.

Take These Words Into Thine Mind And, Like A Magic Bullet, Pulverize Them And Make Of Them A Smoothie For The Soul. So Sayeth The Bear

Brain Amoeba

Since I have taken a break from social media, I have had a lot of free brain cells dedicated to the writing that I want to write, and with that having been said, I wanted to give you an outline of what I had in mind to write. Not that you need to know, but hey, maybe it is an interesting thing for you to read while you are eating lunch or something. If not, we still cool, I will get to writing the things as opposed to just talking about writing them here tomorrow.

I am not going to set a schedule, that makes it a chore and boring and we never want a passion to become a chore, right? So instead, I am simply going to make a goal for the week ahead and see if I can meet that goal. If I can’t, it’s all good, I will just keep doing it the next week. No pressure situations, just a rough layout is all I need to keep my brain focused on the prize, which I will end this very click-bait thing with.

I want to start heavily developing our good friend James in Pater Noster. it flows so easily and I love writing it, except the dialog. I loathe writing dialog. It will be my second-heaviest piece I think. It has a long time to go before it figures out what it is, but I have a decent idea of the roads it needs to take to get there and the adventure of the thing is the ride after all. I am shooting for three days of it a week, it is better when it is fresh and I have already bled a few ideas out of my brain since the last one, so it should be a relatively easy thing to accomplish if all goes to plan. if not should still be a fun trip anyway.

Now, I know some of you have asked for more of The Assemblage, so I will be putting a single day of writing up for them a week. I not only know what I want to do with the story, but I also have about twenty or thirty more 1,000-word pieces pretty much dictated in my head I should be able to pump and flesh out the characters and universe of the most powerful people on the planet. A few surprises I think, but isn’t that why we read? Isn’t that why we let our brains transport to a place and a time that is solely within the confines of the words written?

My beloved Siobhan will be the hardest and the easiest. I want to write something every single day. Each day. it flows like water when I put myself in the world of the Dark Goddess and now that they have a gal, an endgame, well, maybe we will see what everyone can do instead of just random stories that are disjointed and sometimes completely contradictory. Sister Mine will be happy with how much of it will be coming and that is all that truly matters as they are for her and I simply share them with everyone because I have been allowed to. Siobhan was my gift to her many years ago and the fact that I can still write her is delightful on so many levels. The difficulty doesn’t come in the writing but in the time management of it all, however, that is a Bear problem, not a hypothetical people reading this that aren’t Bear problem.

Blog things will happen when something pops into my head to write. I hate having to force myself to do them so, in epic fashion, I have noped that idea right out of my head and if I have something to say I will write it, if not, I will dive into pretend land and give you stories I hope you at least enjoy to see if nothing else. Poetry, Audio Things, CreepyBear, all of them are free time and noise level dependent. Recording a story in audio with three kids flying around the house with Duck Magic is simply not going to happen, so, expect some tinny-sounding phone audio of me talking to myself before bed for a bed until I figure out the things to do there.

Did I forget anything? Did I leave a thing you want to see out? Well, I turned comments back on because I am a masochist, so if you want to say something, request something, give me your PIN, the comment box is open. Or, you know, Facebook, Twitter, all the places.


PS. All of that is for next week, for the record, I am just going to do what I want to do.

PPS. Insert the if you like the content support me by clicking the Buy Me A Coffee Link at the top of the page.

PPPS. Pandering Over

The Assemblage – Midas – Ready To Begin


Typing with fingers that seemingly were worn down to the bone, Midas hit the Enter button and finally, after months, all was done to get the new house he had set up complete. There had been setbacks, terminations, security breaches, and every other opponent to progress that could occur, but now, buried under a mountain with a world of gold and more technology than most of the houses in the city surrounding him combined. Even now, leaning back in a much more comfortable chair than he had previously sat in, he looked up to the ceilings hundreds of feet above his head and saw the vast ducting that kept it perfectly cool or warm in here as desired by the Master of, well, by Midas that is.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and marveled at the fact that he could do every single thing in this house from his phone. Closing what few windows there were, closing and locking every door either one-by-one or all at once, real-time GPS of people, things. It was enough to make your mind melt if you gave enough thought to it, which everyone tried very hard not to. He stood up and walked down the massive corridor turned hallway towards the Vault. He walked there every night, making sure personally that security was as perfect as it should. When approaching it, opulence was what came to mind. Persian rugs over the rough floor, tapestries from around the world on the walls, entirely concealing the meters, and sometimes kilometers of rock behind them. The only time you realized you were in a vast underground cavern is if you looked up in the main hallways. He had left them open on purpose so that they could be surveilled from a height with all manner of equipment from FLIR cameras to motion detectors, raw human eyesight and even olfactory sensors to see if there was a chemical agent deployed.

Taking a deep breath, Edward nodded to the single guard that sat behind a rather substantial desk in front of the Vault door.

“A delightful evening for dinner and a drink Johnson, please, take a few minutes while I see to things here.” The guard nodded and released the trigger of the shotgun aimed at his employer’s midsection as the seemingly casual passphrase was used by the correct person, on a proper day, and even at the right hour. Edward had instructed them to shoot before querying anyone, even himself if he had been compromised and forced to approach the Vault unwillingly.

Nothing was left to chance.

Edward glanced to the left to the only other door in the cavernous hallway and took a deep breath, pushing that off for a few moments while he took care of the Vault. It had taken all these months, but everything in the room beyond had been sorted, weighed, valued, cataloged, photographed, and each section, even within the vault, was in a separate vault of its own in case the worst should occur, and the vault was breached. Meters of steel surrounded each vault, not impregnable, but it would take time enough for the right people to get down here an make sure it was ended. There was a different code for each vault, rotated twice a day at random times to make scheduling an attack impossible.

Looking quickly about the football stadium roomed that he could not come close to seeing all the way across, Midas shook his head and walked back beyond the vault door to the outside and heard as it hissed as it closed behind him, the negative air pressure pushing all outside air out with him in case of a caustic spray of some kind. The door locked automatically behind and the guard, who of course had never left his post, nodded to Midas who smiled very tiredly and walked to the previously ignored door.

It was an ornate thing of thick African Blackwood. Edward had been helping the men install the door, and no matter how softly it opened at the gentlest press, there was nothing light about the wood, which was counted among one of the most substantial and most durable on the planet.

Beyond the door, Edward stopped and admired the sheer decadence of the room beyond. When he had assumed duties that evening, Monsieur had told him that it was required that each member has a place, building or the like, able to shelter not only the entirety of the Assemblage but their families as well. Edward of old knew of Monsieur’s location as he had helped in its maintenance countless times.

Midas took it a step farther than that. Having been a servant, although particularly well-treated one, his entire life, he wanted to make sure EVERYONE could come. Each Assemblage house was represented by hallways that splintered from the room Midas stood in. Each house was identified by a silhouette above the hallway entrance. This great initial room was more significant than most homes and could be used for dozens of purposes. It had all the technology that was required for war, as well as the amenities for comfort. Each hallway was a vast thing, hundreds of meters long with room for families, servants, every single person connected to the families in any way. Not only that, each person save the smallest babes had their own rooms, as comfortable as anything they had ever had. All of the comforts of each of their homes were there, including some unique things for children to do to keep frightened minds busy.

Satisfied that all was in order, Midas walked back through the door to the hallway and nodded the last time to the guard who, unseen, pushed a button under his desk which locked everything down for the evening and made sure the guards above knew that their vigil was to start.

Midas may have been sitting on a mountain of gold, but no one would hurt his people. Be they associates or the smallest children, the shield of his home would encompass all.

The Help – Midas – Preparations and Plans


The problem with a cave is that it had to be emptied before you could modify it. It didn’t need to be clean, it just needed to not have anything in the way so that tests on the underlying bedrock could be performed to see if the rock would collapse under the weight of the potential structures that would be placed on them and various other structural issues.

Moving the gold was simple, there were more than enough trucks and workers to do it. The problem was doing it in a way as to not make everyone within five thousand miles wondering why vehicles were coming out of a warehouse parking lot thirty an hour for days on end. However, because of the absolute power that money has, it was decided not to transport the gold out of the cave complex at all. For weeks each and every ounce of it was weighed, cataloged, photographed and moved into a singular, massive cavern that had to be expanded three times during the process. It was hundred hundreds of feet of solid stone, and a single entrance was made, only Midas knew how to access it without being brought down by the guards that surrounded it at all times, and they were under orders to shoot him on sight if he failed to follow every protocol to the letter.

Now, the man only referred to as Midas by all, but his wife and children walked away from the finally finished vault. He was covered in rock dust and coated in sweat, but it was finally done. He walked back towards the entrance to his home and smiled as he saw the men high above him installing miles of ductwork and fans to make sure that no one passed out from the heat, humidity, and lack of oxygen that caves gave as gifts to their denizens. He cracked his neck a few times to each side and held his hand up when he saw the contractors around the table they had set up just past the main entrance, their knowledge of the rest of the cave was a smattering of disinformation that was slightly different for each man. If any information leaked, they would know instantly who had betrayed them and make sure the punishment was swift.

“Greetings gentlemen, I trust you have received the numbers you asked for? We used lasers for extra precision and gave you every angle and axis we could think of to make sure you had all the data necessary. So, are we able to proceed with Phase 1 of construction?” His voice was level and even slightly jovial. He had worked for people his entire life, and he knew that these men deserved respect others would not have given them in such circumstances. That, and of course, the enormous amount of money they were all being paid for merely this consultation, never mind anything that came after. They all knew they would never need to work again if they didn’t want to.

The head contractors response was very positive and immediate. “Yes Sir, you provided an abundance of data, more than we required and still we appreciate it. After consulting with my colleagues, we can assure you with 100% certainty that every single requirement you laid out for Phase 1 can not only be completed but the additional items you listed if there were extra space can be accommodated as well.” The contractor knew nothing about this man, did not want to know anything about this man, and was slightly terrified of a man who could pay for some of the things on the blueprints in front of them. He motioned for the man he only knew as Sir to look over the designs and asked him, at his leisure, to read them over and see that was all in order and sign off on them so they could begin.

Midas moved forward and looked over the blueprints he had made himself and saw a few minor corrections that were well within the margins. The rooms, hallways, elevator shafts, garages, everything he had told them, and the things he didn’t, seemed to be in perfect order and he smiled, shook each one of their hands and told them to enjoy the rest of the week and to be back on Monday morning with the appropriate crews, to begin in earnest. They each thanked him generously and made their way quickly through the very carefully roped off and guarded path back to the entrance and finally out to the fresh air they had not tasted in the hours since they had descended into the future of their families.


Hours later, sitting in a small and very uncomfortable rattan chair that had been found upstairs somewhere, Midas carefully made his schedule for the weeks ahead. Electricians, Security Personnel, Computer Technicians, the lists went on and on, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was a meticulous man before, he needed to be even more. He had a meeting with The Assemblage at the end of the next week to not only discuss what to do about the remaining stains on The Assemblage’s good name, but also to make sure he was quickly getting up to speed with all the things he needed to do, not do, contacts he needed to make and so on. The most important part was the individual meetings with each Assemblage member. No one discussed what would happen at these meetings, just that they were required and very formal and sacred to the tradition of the Assemblage.

Finally leaning back and thinking his own name for the first time in hours, Edward mopped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket and wondered, not for the first time that day, never mind since his choice, when the other shoe would drop, or even worse, when he would wake up and remember that he was simply Edward, a butler to a wonderful man and a phenomenal woman. After a second of reflection, Edward realized that he won either way and, with a smile, he went back to work.