Kindness. It is our saving grace. Its practice gives us the chance of salvation and heaven everlasting. Sometime we need prompts, reminders, circumstances, and even a kick in the rear to wake us from our tendency of being of absorbed in our own delusion.
Art, in all its functions and glory, be it song, story, painting, performance, film has shown and given us angelic presence. The feeling of the divine. A form of pure grace, what we may call love.
There are many examples, of which I shall share. Let us say they are my observations, reporting what the senses communicate to me.
It always starts with a feeling.
Of liberation. Of freedom. Of pure potentiality.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Old Debts
A jealous regret goes overboard. His rage and anger curse all who bound him to a watery fate. The grave welcomed him with open arms as he was considered the devil's spawn. But he had other designs. Woe to be to whomever unraveled his intentions.
Years drifted by without pause or care. Until...
When he was discovered. The same place, but a little worse for wear. And as for all the warnings, they were long since forgotten. Save for a medallion, of Celtic origin, scripted with the cause and cure.
Driven by gold's fever, it was hastily snatched.
Death to be who unleashes the beast, woe to be the brethren of those who slain him. Be it by line of blood or consent, they will die. And suffer in the same grim way he was so drowned.
Enter the hero, whose continual prayers for redemption may go unchecked, but not unnoticed. He is called to the funeral of his brother, the one who unwittingly unleashed the monster. Our hero, by name of Jake, is, was Chicago's most notorious contract assassin. It has been said neither bullet, blade nor blunt can harm he. Or so goes the legend.
And now he lays to rest his little brother, the last of his clan, save for Madison, his teenage niece. And now Jake, doing the admirable thing, cares for her.
The monster, call him Shannon O'Dowd is exacting is particular brand of revenge. The body count grows. Detective Diana Lancaster has her own particular paranormal talent investigates. She sees beyond what the boys in forensics proclaim and prove.
What are called the Neglected, they prefer abandoned. All heap sob stories onto Diana, who complies with conditioned British resolve and with her own particular brand of sardonic wit.
And then there is Jake. It is not the abandoned who follow him, but rather those who unceremoniously crossed over by Jake's munitions.
Needless to say, he is a fly in some rivals' ointment. To them, Jake has outstayed his welcome, to others, a lasting testament to an old regime.
But Shannon O'Dowd will be not be denied his blood thirst, his form of reckoning. The murders continue, more grisly than before.
The monster is immune to destruction save from the power of faith. The decay of the old gods made provisions that only a man of faith can bring down the cursed. Followed by releasing the fire serpent, a old legend that has been lost in the chronicles of time.
And this begins our series...
Years drifted by without pause or care. Until...
When he was discovered. The same place, but a little worse for wear. And as for all the warnings, they were long since forgotten. Save for a medallion, of Celtic origin, scripted with the cause and cure.
Driven by gold's fever, it was hastily snatched.
Death to be who unleashes the beast, woe to be the brethren of those who slain him. Be it by line of blood or consent, they will die. And suffer in the same grim way he was so drowned.
Enter the hero, whose continual prayers for redemption may go unchecked, but not unnoticed. He is called to the funeral of his brother, the one who unwittingly unleashed the monster. Our hero, by name of Jake, is, was Chicago's most notorious contract assassin. It has been said neither bullet, blade nor blunt can harm he. Or so goes the legend.
And now he lays to rest his little brother, the last of his clan, save for Madison, his teenage niece. And now Jake, doing the admirable thing, cares for her.
The monster, call him Shannon O'Dowd is exacting is particular brand of revenge. The body count grows. Detective Diana Lancaster has her own particular paranormal talent investigates. She sees beyond what the boys in forensics proclaim and prove.
What are called the Neglected, they prefer abandoned. All heap sob stories onto Diana, who complies with conditioned British resolve and with her own particular brand of sardonic wit.
And then there is Jake. It is not the abandoned who follow him, but rather those who unceremoniously crossed over by Jake's munitions.
Needless to say, he is a fly in some rivals' ointment. To them, Jake has outstayed his welcome, to others, a lasting testament to an old regime.
But Shannon O'Dowd will be not be denied his blood thirst, his form of reckoning. The murders continue, more grisly than before.
The monster is immune to destruction save from the power of faith. The decay of the old gods made provisions that only a man of faith can bring down the cursed. Followed by releasing the fire serpent, a old legend that has been lost in the chronicles of time.
And this begins our series...
Monday, February 9, 2015
Twilight of the Gods or Purgatory's Lament
The sulphur is what you notice first. It burns you throat and lungs. Some retch. Others feign fainting. As if by some miraculous chance they wake up somewhere else. They don't. Prayers won't save them. Too late for that now. And it won't be heard anyway. Any and all last reproaches, pleas and cries are but folly. It is not scorned, but ignored. For the other side is too terrible to consider. But it is what awaits. The eternal doom of their own choosing. Poor bastards.
The wailing never ceases, as it is endured. The screams pierce what remains of the flesh, beseeching the God they called their own, as now, the devil calls them home.
The wailing never ceases, as it is endured. The screams pierce what remains of the flesh, beseeching the God they called their own, as now, the devil calls them home.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
I sing but my voice is silent
There was darkness, and it sustained me. I knew of light, but that was another lifetime ago. There is beautiful solidarity with darkness. It is comforting. It never relinquishes control. Let's call it the eternal womb. And I was loved here. At least I was safe.
But the light invaded what was my protection. Like a perverse lover, it intruded my body. There was electricity, the white-blue fire that cascaded all around me, through me, in me. At first it was terrifying. I didn't want to leave. I was being evicted from my home with rude force and bitter action. I resisted. I tried. I pleaded for the darkness to stay, to protect me! But she was mute. The hot lightening wouldn't cease. It continued to liberate me from my lovely home.
My lungs heaved and gasped. Air, so strange and odd filling me with breath. Muscles, my muscles, sinews, fibers, tendons revolted against this lightening. What was happening? And why? But this body...of mine, was becoming...alive.
And the darkness was no more. Light, brazen, crass, megalomaniac light surround me and pounded me like many small cruel hammers.
There was a shout of joy. Or rather, of exclamation.
"Live my love, live!" the male voice said. Shouted really. Screamed. He was ecstatic.
I expelled water from my lungs and started to shake.
Then I screamed. "Rah!" "Rah!" "RAHHHHH!!!!"
That frightened him. I knew that right off. I couldn't even see yet and he was startled and afraid of what he had done.
But once the bandages were off, he became mine. But I am always his.
He didn't know what to do. Poor fool. Play with nature and the laws of the universe, throw in some scientific mischief and a personal vendetta and this is what you get. Me.
I am alive. Quite conscious. Aware. A living, breathing, thinking organism. But more than that, I am a woman. I am me.
He seemed elated. I know what he did was wrong and against the Creator's wishes, but it is his charm, and our little secret.
He hides me sometimes. He says that I'm not ready. He loves me I think. I'm not sure if I love him back. I'm not sure of a lot of things. But I do know this. I don't know how I know, but it's like these thoughts that aren't really mine whisper to me, in my voice, but it's from another mouth. Familiar because we share the same words. I call her Susan, but she likes Suzie.
I'm still figuring this thing out. And I have lots of questions which I don't think he will answer. But no matter. I will find out or discover eventually.
I'm not going anywhere.
words scribbled on the Akashic records
signed, the Bride
But the light invaded what was my protection. Like a perverse lover, it intruded my body. There was electricity, the white-blue fire that cascaded all around me, through me, in me. At first it was terrifying. I didn't want to leave. I was being evicted from my home with rude force and bitter action. I resisted. I tried. I pleaded for the darkness to stay, to protect me! But she was mute. The hot lightening wouldn't cease. It continued to liberate me from my lovely home.
My lungs heaved and gasped. Air, so strange and odd filling me with breath. Muscles, my muscles, sinews, fibers, tendons revolted against this lightening. What was happening? And why? But this body...of mine, was becoming...alive.
And the darkness was no more. Light, brazen, crass, megalomaniac light surround me and pounded me like many small cruel hammers.
There was a shout of joy. Or rather, of exclamation.
"Live my love, live!" the male voice said. Shouted really. Screamed. He was ecstatic.
I expelled water from my lungs and started to shake.
Then I screamed. "Rah!" "Rah!" "RAHHHHH!!!!"
That frightened him. I knew that right off. I couldn't even see yet and he was startled and afraid of what he had done.
But once the bandages were off, he became mine. But I am always his.
He didn't know what to do. Poor fool. Play with nature and the laws of the universe, throw in some scientific mischief and a personal vendetta and this is what you get. Me.
I am alive. Quite conscious. Aware. A living, breathing, thinking organism. But more than that, I am a woman. I am me.
He seemed elated. I know what he did was wrong and against the Creator's wishes, but it is his charm, and our little secret.
He hides me sometimes. He says that I'm not ready. He loves me I think. I'm not sure if I love him back. I'm not sure of a lot of things. But I do know this. I don't know how I know, but it's like these thoughts that aren't really mine whisper to me, in my voice, but it's from another mouth. Familiar because we share the same words. I call her Susan, but she likes Suzie.
I'm still figuring this thing out. And I have lots of questions which I don't think he will answer. But no matter. I will find out or discover eventually.
I'm not going anywhere.
words scribbled on the Akashic records
signed, the Bride
Blood on my Hands
This is mythos. An alternative reality they say. But you didn't hear it from me.
So you think that ghosts and fairies, ghouls, monsters, sirens, werewolves, the bloodied undead, zombies with a conscious, relic saints and devout sinners and lost angels don't exist. Yet I have evidence otherwise. Do you really trust your faith, or you parrot what you have been told by others. Do believe in what cannot be proven by the scientific community? Are you will to take an extraordinary chance, bet against all odds, go for broke, throw the dice one more time?
That's it! I knew you could. Why? Because you hunger, like we all do for something more. Something wicked and sublime, yet touching, even uplifting. A taste of supreme pleasure without guilt, a bit exotic, but comforting and familiar. We want it all. In small doses. Too much enthralls the senses and overwhelms our judgement. Let's keep it in check, shall we?
You would be surprised to discover that this very world is within reach. Closer than you think. Just a click away.
Our hero, Jake Stewart is vying for forgiveness from the almighty, as he ferry's the unwanted and unclean to an uncertain fate. Let the Furies decide. He is without cause, but for the grace of God, that would be himself escorted to the shores of the otherworld, the wretched dregs of the afterlife.
They do not go willingly. But Jake has a power, gifted by an ancient god, that overpowers even the most putrid and stained.
He straddles two worlds. It is tightrope where the slightest slip lands one in purgatory. And there is no escape.
But not all is lost or dire. He has friends and allies in our world. The three dimensional one we take for granted.
One is Diana Lancaster. Of Chicago finest. She has the innate ability to peer into the otherworld. Or rather, it uses her as a conduit. The departed, both recent and delayed come to her for council and release. It is gift that she has not completely come to grips with. She tolerates their intrusion. And the talent exceeds her understanding. She is called the Gatekeeper. She likens it to a conductor on a train asking for one's ticket. This trip, of course, is one way.
Another is Madison Stewart, Jake's niece. Maddy is more talented than she knows. The lead singer of Forsaken Sanctuary, finds fans and groupies of all ages. They love to hear her emote what they most want to feel. Her voice also invokes entities and creatures not of this earth. They also flock to Maddy to hear her sing. Dare I say she is a Muse incarnated? And such beauty is bound to such a young and tender young woman.
We all seek answers to questions alike.
We desire mystery and the unknown.
We want our secrets kept, but others shared.
And there is usually a little stain within us all.
A little blood on our hands.
With all the washing and scrubbing won't come out.
But let us not like our famous Scottish lady, drives us to madness, but rather to illumination.
So you think that ghosts and fairies, ghouls, monsters, sirens, werewolves, the bloodied undead, zombies with a conscious, relic saints and devout sinners and lost angels don't exist. Yet I have evidence otherwise. Do you really trust your faith, or you parrot what you have been told by others. Do believe in what cannot be proven by the scientific community? Are you will to take an extraordinary chance, bet against all odds, go for broke, throw the dice one more time?
That's it! I knew you could. Why? Because you hunger, like we all do for something more. Something wicked and sublime, yet touching, even uplifting. A taste of supreme pleasure without guilt, a bit exotic, but comforting and familiar. We want it all. In small doses. Too much enthralls the senses and overwhelms our judgement. Let's keep it in check, shall we?
You would be surprised to discover that this very world is within reach. Closer than you think. Just a click away.
Our hero, Jake Stewart is vying for forgiveness from the almighty, as he ferry's the unwanted and unclean to an uncertain fate. Let the Furies decide. He is without cause, but for the grace of God, that would be himself escorted to the shores of the otherworld, the wretched dregs of the afterlife.
They do not go willingly. But Jake has a power, gifted by an ancient god, that overpowers even the most putrid and stained.
He straddles two worlds. It is tightrope where the slightest slip lands one in purgatory. And there is no escape.
But not all is lost or dire. He has friends and allies in our world. The three dimensional one we take for granted.
One is Diana Lancaster. Of Chicago finest. She has the innate ability to peer into the otherworld. Or rather, it uses her as a conduit. The departed, both recent and delayed come to her for council and release. It is gift that she has not completely come to grips with. She tolerates their intrusion. And the talent exceeds her understanding. She is called the Gatekeeper. She likens it to a conductor on a train asking for one's ticket. This trip, of course, is one way.
Another is Madison Stewart, Jake's niece. Maddy is more talented than she knows. The lead singer of Forsaken Sanctuary, finds fans and groupies of all ages. They love to hear her emote what they most want to feel. Her voice also invokes entities and creatures not of this earth. They also flock to Maddy to hear her sing. Dare I say she is a Muse incarnated? And such beauty is bound to such a young and tender young woman.
We all seek answers to questions alike.
We desire mystery and the unknown.
We want our secrets kept, but others shared.
And there is usually a little stain within us all.
A little blood on our hands.
With all the washing and scrubbing won't come out.
But let us not like our famous Scottish lady, drives us to madness, but rather to illumination.
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