Madison Stewart
vocalist for Forsaken Sanctuary
Goth/Trance fusion
Yes, we rock!
I'm usually not one to complain, but- I am finding it extremely difficult to accept what has happened recently. I miss my dad. Even though he was a real cheap bastard, he was sweet. Sometimes he would get these really amazing flowers for me. I have no idea how he got them and where, but they always made my day.
It was terrible that I had to identify his body at the morgue. Stupid bitch of a mom, "Couldn't handle it." Whatever. The way he looked, I still have nightmares. Nobody should go through that.
So glad uncle Jake is here. Haven't seen him in years. I love him, but he's like the most strangest man I have ever known. I hardly know anything about him. Alison, may the angels be with her, said that he is a hit-man for the mob. Yeah, right. And I'm Lorde. She said he makes people disappear. I don't see it. He seems so normal to me. But then, he saved me from the Shannon O'Dowd. I don't remember much about it now. It was like a really weird dream.
But he does take care of me. It's funny to watch him try to be a dad, like he has no idea about teenagers or music or fashion. It's almost like he's from another time period. But he does try. He took me to this diner that no one I know has heard of for lunch. Get this- there's no menus. And yet the waitress brings me this fabulous plate of blueberry pancakes with hot maple syrup. It's exactly what I've been jonzing for. That was way cool.
My band, Forsaken Sanctuary gigs out the local circuit on a regular basis. We're gearing for a label deal. Bestie Taylor thinks we are so close. I hope so. Be nice to finally make it.
Lately I've notice we are collecting an odd sort of new fans. They aren't the usual Goth kids or sway-dancers. Have no idea where they come from. Some of them are older too. Like you'd think they should be taking care of the grandkids. Strange clothes too. And not more like a fashion risk than a fashion statement.
Whatever.
Maddy
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
The Veil between the worlds is thinner than you think!
Diana Lancaster
Detective - Chicago Paranormal Division
Don't let the title fool you.
I can see between worlds. Really, I can. You may think that this is a very special gift. It is, it can be. But I dread when the veil dissipates and one stares at emptiness. The emptiness of a murderer's soul. The absolute lack of regret or sense of any wrong-doing. They act as if they smashed a bug when actually, they butchered a family. Little children.
Some say they are evil. They have not seen evil. I have. And it can swallow your existence whole if you are not diligent.
Let us set the ground rules. Ghosts are not some hapless person stuck between worlds. It is much more complicated. The tragic ones don't even know they are dead. Why should they? They weren't truly alive when they inhabited this three dimensional world that we experience. Others, whose souls are stained by viciousness and hate are enjoying the indignity of God's wrath. Sometimes a residue remains that is most unpleasant. But I jump ahead of myself.
Most of the entities I have dealt with suffered such a quick and sudden departure that they are unsure where they are. Comical as it may sound, there is some deed or knowledge that they must release before they can move on. What is really pitiful is that in most instances they don't know what that is.
And they come to me.
I didn't ask for this. I never wanted it. But to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't know what to do otherwise. As miserable as it can be, they remind me of the delicate beauty of life. And yet we squander it as if were a cheap pastry.
Some are silent. Some don't know when to shut the hell up. Their voices, a bit altered, heavy, drunken, laden with guilt and regret.
And I, this peculiar English woman points the way for them.
No, I haven't seen the light that is often spoken of. It is what I don't see. Their absence indicates that they journeyed to the hereafter. And left me alone.
Alone in thought. Alone to let the runaways of the spirit world visit me and haunt others. Alone to hear the still voices whisper to me in anguish. Alone to smell the odd fragrances that sometimes proceed them. Alone to see how they were taken from us.
My special little gift to the world.
I am not complaining, merely stating.
It's a job, someone must do it.
Luck of the draw they say. All that and incorporating my particular talent with Chicago's finest.
At least I'm not boring.
I know what life is and am not letting go.
Diana L.
P.S. Say what you will, but half of you would trade with me in an instant if you could see what I've seen.
Detective - Chicago Paranormal Division
Don't let the title fool you.
I can see between worlds. Really, I can. You may think that this is a very special gift. It is, it can be. But I dread when the veil dissipates and one stares at emptiness. The emptiness of a murderer's soul. The absolute lack of regret or sense of any wrong-doing. They act as if they smashed a bug when actually, they butchered a family. Little children.
Some say they are evil. They have not seen evil. I have. And it can swallow your existence whole if you are not diligent.
Let us set the ground rules. Ghosts are not some hapless person stuck between worlds. It is much more complicated. The tragic ones don't even know they are dead. Why should they? They weren't truly alive when they inhabited this three dimensional world that we experience. Others, whose souls are stained by viciousness and hate are enjoying the indignity of God's wrath. Sometimes a residue remains that is most unpleasant. But I jump ahead of myself.
Most of the entities I have dealt with suffered such a quick and sudden departure that they are unsure where they are. Comical as it may sound, there is some deed or knowledge that they must release before they can move on. What is really pitiful is that in most instances they don't know what that is.
And they come to me.
I didn't ask for this. I never wanted it. But to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't know what to do otherwise. As miserable as it can be, they remind me of the delicate beauty of life. And yet we squander it as if were a cheap pastry.
Some are silent. Some don't know when to shut the hell up. Their voices, a bit altered, heavy, drunken, laden with guilt and regret.
And I, this peculiar English woman points the way for them.
No, I haven't seen the light that is often spoken of. It is what I don't see. Their absence indicates that they journeyed to the hereafter. And left me alone.
Alone in thought. Alone to let the runaways of the spirit world visit me and haunt others. Alone to hear the still voices whisper to me in anguish. Alone to smell the odd fragrances that sometimes proceed them. Alone to see how they were taken from us.
My special little gift to the world.
I am not complaining, merely stating.
It's a job, someone must do it.
Luck of the draw they say. All that and incorporating my particular talent with Chicago's finest.
At least I'm not boring.
I know what life is and am not letting go.
Diana L.
P.S. Say what you will, but half of you would trade with me in an instant if you could see what I've seen.
Monday, January 26, 2015
The character's Flaw is the character's drive towards redemption
Jake Stewart, retired contract assassin.
Am I flawed? Can't say that I am. Hey, we all have skeletons in the closet. Suppose I have more than most. But flaw- nah. I've seen worse. And most of them are underground now. Consider me a constigency plan. Sort of Plan B when those in charge can't figure out Plan A. Most of the time, Plan B is the easy way out. Why should I complain, it keeps me employed. Now I've heard rumors of me being the angel of death and all that, which is a load of crock, but it serves its purpose. Having a title or rather, a reputation that proceeds me is very useful. First of all, it keeps the crack-pots out. And the crazies at bay.
What is so interesting is that things- are not what they seem. Especially now.
I prayed for hours on end for forgiveness. And now this. Whoever says God doesn't have a sense of humor is a flat out liar.
Ironic to say the least that I am the one who now transports the dead to their final destination. Those of the wicked and most unkind shackled to meet Fate's fury and God's wrath.
Glad it ain't my time yet. And either am I complaining. This is heavy duty job and I keep a smile on my face. As I see it, better them than me. Consider it my get out of hell free card.
All is a day's work.
And yes, God loves me.
Jake
an excerpt from Blood on my Hands
Am I flawed? Can't say that I am. Hey, we all have skeletons in the closet. Suppose I have more than most. But flaw- nah. I've seen worse. And most of them are underground now. Consider me a constigency plan. Sort of Plan B when those in charge can't figure out Plan A. Most of the time, Plan B is the easy way out. Why should I complain, it keeps me employed. Now I've heard rumors of me being the angel of death and all that, which is a load of crock, but it serves its purpose. Having a title or rather, a reputation that proceeds me is very useful. First of all, it keeps the crack-pots out. And the crazies at bay.
What is so interesting is that things- are not what they seem. Especially now.
I prayed for hours on end for forgiveness. And now this. Whoever says God doesn't have a sense of humor is a flat out liar.
Ironic to say the least that I am the one who now transports the dead to their final destination. Those of the wicked and most unkind shackled to meet Fate's fury and God's wrath.
Glad it ain't my time yet. And either am I complaining. This is heavy duty job and I keep a smile on my face. As I see it, better them than me. Consider it my get out of hell free card.
All is a day's work.
And yes, God loves me.
Jake
an excerpt from Blood on my Hands
The character's flaw is their way to redemption
Jake Stewart
Retired contract assassin
You know what love requires?
Sacrifice.
You know what my job demands?
Commitment.
So you ask me of my flaw. I don't have any. No need for them. I'm damaged goods as it is. Figured that is enough on my plate. But God isn't without a sense of humor. Anyone telling you different is deluding themselves.
My profession is highly specialized. It is much easier to see myself as transporter. I deliver those who have had the misfortune of doing something revolting, stupid or chaotic. Most of the time it has to do with business (losing the boss money) others it was personal (usually follows under the category of a particularly hateful act). They called me the angel of death, a title I was, quite honestly, quite proud of. My reputation proceeded me. It garnered me a respect that I may have not earned, but if it strikes fear into the black hearts of my enemies, or 'clients' all the better. Of course, I raised the ante on some rather viciousness against my foes. But I leave that for another time.
It isn't for the weak or faint of heart. Speaking of which I do have one. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a monster. I do have feelings per se, but they are bottled up. Tucked away, hidden, and I dare not even try to open that shattered Pandora's box.
I prayed for years for the chance of forgiveness, and now am given this. Like I said, God does laugh. We just don't hear it, and if we do, the joke is on us, and that can be very impractical.
They call me the Ferryman, but the title is very misleading. Consider the source. They are not your typical bunch. But I digress and divulge too much. Let us just say that I transport the damned and most unkind to the furious Fates and God's wrath.
It is a bargain I am somewhat willing to do with great conviction. For for the grace of heaven's everlasting forgiveness, that could me taken to the other side. And let the Furies decide with their own brand of zealotry.
Ironic isn't it that this is my labor now, my eternal burden. But I go to work with a smile on my face. Better that than to suffer hell's harsh and frozen void.
Jake
P.S. Yes, God does love me.
Retired contract assassin
You know what love requires?
Sacrifice.
You know what my job demands?
Commitment.
So you ask me of my flaw. I don't have any. No need for them. I'm damaged goods as it is. Figured that is enough on my plate. But God isn't without a sense of humor. Anyone telling you different is deluding themselves.
My profession is highly specialized. It is much easier to see myself as transporter. I deliver those who have had the misfortune of doing something revolting, stupid or chaotic. Most of the time it has to do with business (losing the boss money) others it was personal (usually follows under the category of a particularly hateful act). They called me the angel of death, a title I was, quite honestly, quite proud of. My reputation proceeded me. It garnered me a respect that I may have not earned, but if it strikes fear into the black hearts of my enemies, or 'clients' all the better. Of course, I raised the ante on some rather viciousness against my foes. But I leave that for another time.
It isn't for the weak or faint of heart. Speaking of which I do have one. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a monster. I do have feelings per se, but they are bottled up. Tucked away, hidden, and I dare not even try to open that shattered Pandora's box.
I prayed for years for the chance of forgiveness, and now am given this. Like I said, God does laugh. We just don't hear it, and if we do, the joke is on us, and that can be very impractical.
They call me the Ferryman, but the title is very misleading. Consider the source. They are not your typical bunch. But I digress and divulge too much. Let us just say that I transport the damned and most unkind to the furious Fates and God's wrath.
It is a bargain I am somewhat willing to do with great conviction. For for the grace of heaven's everlasting forgiveness, that could me taken to the other side. And let the Furies decide with their own brand of zealotry.
Ironic isn't it that this is my labor now, my eternal burden. But I go to work with a smile on my face. Better that than to suffer hell's harsh and frozen void.
Jake
P.S. Yes, God does love me.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
2015 A bright, bold and beautiful year.
2015 already?
Yes. Another year. The fabric of time, science and belief all confined into a unit of perception. We follow our heart's desire and can be tricked into alternative roads and diverging routes. Straying the path of faith leads us into strange and terrible worlds. But it is these worlds that lend us knowledge that strengthens our growth. Although it can appear perilous, it is most welcome to our inner wants and needs. And if we conquer the demon fears and are victorious, we are heroes forever.
A new perspective. This is a new year, so the event warrants it.
What is it that I want to be, do and have?
Without getting too personal, I say to you, dear reader, this:
my pilot script, Blood on my Hands, optioned.
a new career, that is a real job/vocation, not a j-o-b.
more money in my pockets (and the bank), more fun, adventure and romance, and and a new place to live.
And for the first time in my life, travel. Really travel. Someplace new and exciting. I can go solo or enjoy it with someone.
Been a solo act for too long. Maybe it's time. But I divulge too much and digress.
Suffice to say number one is the script optioned, and a real career, writing.
So I set my cards on the table, or the gauntlet. You can use whatever reference you want.
And to keep my promises!
Dear reader, I do apologize for my lack of diligence or follow-through. Please forgive me. I have squandered too much already of the time that we are blessed with.
But no more.
Call this my lesson in courage. That I reveal myself as I have never before. The truth they say, is within.
So let us continue this road-trip together.
Until next time, adieu
P.S. Yes, I am definitely going to be a regular.
Yes. Another year. The fabric of time, science and belief all confined into a unit of perception. We follow our heart's desire and can be tricked into alternative roads and diverging routes. Straying the path of faith leads us into strange and terrible worlds. But it is these worlds that lend us knowledge that strengthens our growth. Although it can appear perilous, it is most welcome to our inner wants and needs. And if we conquer the demon fears and are victorious, we are heroes forever.
A new perspective. This is a new year, so the event warrants it.
What is it that I want to be, do and have?
Without getting too personal, I say to you, dear reader, this:
my pilot script, Blood on my Hands, optioned.
a new career, that is a real job/vocation, not a j-o-b.
more money in my pockets (and the bank), more fun, adventure and romance, and and a new place to live.
And for the first time in my life, travel. Really travel. Someplace new and exciting. I can go solo or enjoy it with someone.
Been a solo act for too long. Maybe it's time. But I divulge too much and digress.
Suffice to say number one is the script optioned, and a real career, writing.
So I set my cards on the table, or the gauntlet. You can use whatever reference you want.
And to keep my promises!
Dear reader, I do apologize for my lack of diligence or follow-through. Please forgive me. I have squandered too much already of the time that we are blessed with.
But no more.
Call this my lesson in courage. That I reveal myself as I have never before. The truth they say, is within.
So let us continue this road-trip together.
Until next time, adieu
P.S. Yes, I am definitely going to be a regular.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
The Culinary Arts are Tasty Indeed
Dear Reader:
I can say that I have been blessed with an epiphany, a divine message in the comfort of my home. It came in the disguise as a movie, Mostly Martha (thank you TCM), and for me, a revelation. It was not once scene per se, but moments of scenes, that reminded me of how fun it was to work at a restaurant. Sure it is a job, work, whatever you want to call it, but there is also a unshakable camaraderie that I haven't experienced in any other work places.
Perhaps it is the pressure of delivering a product (a meal) that is in many ways associated with the home, and very personal preferences.
Perhaps we relax and dare to be ourselves when we share food with others.
Perhaps it is the goal of the chef that all delight in what is prepared. The reasons vary and I could go on indefinitely.
Nevertheless, I want to share with you what has been missing in my life for many years.
Working at an office setting in front of a monitor, regardless of pay and benefits is not the life for me.
Working in a kitchen, caterer, restaurant is so much more fulfilling.
More on this later.
First thing? New kitchen gear. Creating meals again from scratch. Be a little daring and trying new things. A little of this, a pinch of that, and I have prepared some very tasty dishes.
The fun is when it flows.
The reward is how good it tastes, how your body responds. Food sustains us, it should also be delicious, nutritious and healing.
More on that as well.
Signing off tonight. The adventure begins. The Universe is talking.
I can say that I have been blessed with an epiphany, a divine message in the comfort of my home. It came in the disguise as a movie, Mostly Martha (thank you TCM), and for me, a revelation. It was not once scene per se, but moments of scenes, that reminded me of how fun it was to work at a restaurant. Sure it is a job, work, whatever you want to call it, but there is also a unshakable camaraderie that I haven't experienced in any other work places.
Perhaps it is the pressure of delivering a product (a meal) that is in many ways associated with the home, and very personal preferences.
Perhaps we relax and dare to be ourselves when we share food with others.
Perhaps it is the goal of the chef that all delight in what is prepared. The reasons vary and I could go on indefinitely.
Nevertheless, I want to share with you what has been missing in my life for many years.
Working at an office setting in front of a monitor, regardless of pay and benefits is not the life for me.
Working in a kitchen, caterer, restaurant is so much more fulfilling.
First thing? New kitchen gear. Creating meals again from scratch. Be a little daring and trying new things. A little of this, a pinch of that, and I have prepared some very tasty dishes.
The fun is when it flows.
The reward is how good it tastes, how your body responds. Food sustains us, it should also be delicious, nutritious and healing.
More on that as well.
Signing off tonight. The adventure begins. The Universe is talking.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
American Partisan I
The memory is clear, the time distant.
Voices fade as my vision dims.
Precious moment are sealed away for one last look.
I am prepared.
It was a time of great upheaval and sacrifice. We lost our way, but found home through blood, toil and tears. And to reclaim what was rightfully ours was a declaration of war. Of battle we won and lost. Of those fallen, and the Angels of Divine Mercy that guided the wounded to heaven.
When the sun scorched the satellites and earth, food became scarce, water precious. The neos thought after forced starvation we would capitulate. Even their provisions were mixed with poison.
But of the miles trodden, the lead spilled, it was her, by faith or providence that assured victory.
He was but a vessel for her intention. And yet, it was his strategy and force of will which allowed the partisans to victory. Always burdened by its cause and tragically, the burden was never lifted.
To hear her speak, but it wasn't in words. Pure thought that caressed your consciousness. Like a soft summer breeze. It was like a lover whispering to you.
We smashed through armies like a scythe through wheat. We advanced like a fire through straw. Napoleon would be proud.
Voices fade as my vision dims.
Precious moment are sealed away for one last look.
I am prepared.
It was a time of great upheaval and sacrifice. We lost our way, but found home through blood, toil and tears. And to reclaim what was rightfully ours was a declaration of war. Of battle we won and lost. Of those fallen, and the Angels of Divine Mercy that guided the wounded to heaven.
When the sun scorched the satellites and earth, food became scarce, water precious. The neos thought after forced starvation we would capitulate. Even their provisions were mixed with poison.
But of the miles trodden, the lead spilled, it was her, by faith or providence that assured victory.
He was but a vessel for her intention. And yet, it was his strategy and force of will which allowed the partisans to victory. Always burdened by its cause and tragically, the burden was never lifted.
To hear her speak, but it wasn't in words. Pure thought that caressed your consciousness. Like a soft summer breeze. It was like a lover whispering to you.
We smashed through armies like a scythe through wheat. We advanced like a fire through straw. Napoleon would be proud.
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