Saturday, November 3, 2018

A Witch's Bargain

Richness.

Not monetarily, no. It is in melancholy and desperation. It is in loss and inability to hold the light. The movement is somber and wicked. It is a shroud that envelops me.

Yes, I am affluent in ash. I am abundant in self-antipathy.

I walk in shadow.

I seek the benevolent and healing hands of those who could once look upon me and still smile. They have passed into the lit realm of fancy. They have walked through the veil into the boundless sky where they can float freely. Penumbral responsibilities lay undone.

Countless shades and tasks keep me here. Mostly from my own ego. The copious amount of pride in walking the border between the knowing darkness and the unknowing light on the other side of the veil. I've made my home here. I retreat to it. It is my horrid comfort.

It was not always like this. This cornucopia of dread and insignificance was not as infinite as the moonless and cloud-filled night.

Once there was exuberance.

In the time before. In the time when I was I, and she was she. In the time with us there was song.

She was my foison, I her jocular hero.

We braved the highlands and the deep cairns. We ran rampant along the broken walls and deep fields of grass. It was a time of laughter and love. The stars were jealous.

Her hair was honeyed mead. Her eyes, bluebells.

We would gather the myriad of herbs and hunt the numerous game.  We built and farmed. We were shepherds of joy. We reaped happiness. We had want for little as we had each other. She, as wholesome has heather, soon lead me towards the path of fatherhood.

For six joyful winters the three of us were together. I taught the boy how to track and to work in stone. I taught the boy how to live.

Upon the seventh, a profuse blackness surrounded him. He had gone far and away off of the known paths. He went into the woods.

The bleak winds were not prosperous as he came out of the copse of trees. It was black and foul. It had the smell of magick and ill tidings. A murderous band of hooded crows had plentiful wings on that wicked wind. There was no doubt, a witch placed a mark on him.

Her wart-ridden hide came out of the forest behind him. She had a surfeit collection of souls around her twisted frame bound in teeth and wood. Her eyes chilled the air. I was thankful for her bargain in the end. To save him, I now walk in shadow, behind the veil.



Special thanks to those over at @Slam_Words for the prompts.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Naked Sunday: The Need of a New Voice

It is about habit. It is about building the foundations and the creation of what follows. It is about holding the line and doing what’s necessary. At least, this is what I’m trying to believe.

Granted, I write this more for myself than for anyone else. Some may think that’s the way it is supposed to be. I feel that it’s pointless drivel at this juncture. I’ve complained and analyzed. I’ve meditated and contemplated. I’ve done and failed and done again.

I’m almost to the point of just chucking stuff at the wall just to see what sticks. My words and thoughts only seem to catch my close friends. They do not go viral. They do not have that nuclear capability to achieve a critical mass.

Much of what I write seems to flow into some sort of sinkhole. It crosses some event horizon after I publish them and I never hear much about them from then on. There have been a few exceptions. Mainly from other artists who are struggling with the rough and raw emotions that seem to be my subject matter.

I remember when I had fun with words instead of stressing about them. I didn’t much care if the audience ‘got’ my stories. I’m not sure when that changed. I’m not sure when I became one of those people with thin skin and an easily broken ego. I’m not sure why the validation means so much to me these days.

It is a blockage that is preventing me from gathering and collecting my words and setting them into a format that is ready for public consumption. The fact of the matter is that not everyone is going to love what I write. It’s damn impossible. All I need is enough people to like my work or give it a chance.

I need more than a handful of people in my direct circle. I need to get off of my ass and do some editing. I need to collate the stories together and get them to Beta Readers. I need to ignore the internal voice saying that I’m not good enough.

Nothing is going to happen if I listen to that voice.

Sunday, August 19, 2018

Naked Sunday: Under the Impossible Sky

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day. The gist of it was that we all feel lost at times. We all feel that there are too many things going on that we just can’t get moving towards the solution. We feel overwhelmed with emotions that are resident in the deep places in our psyche where the light doesn’t often shine. It’s crippling and frightening.

We toss out lifelines to our families and friends. We hunt for connections online. We scroll through our social media accounts with an almost manic fervor. Looking. Waiting. Anticipating. We tend to come away feeling deflated and even more alone.

The premise he brought to me was that if one is lost in the woods, the common wisdom is to stay put. This way those who are looking for you can find you quicker. IF, he continued, if they are looking for you. More often than not, we have to find our own way out.

This struck me in a deep place I didn’t expect. Tears came to my eyes. I was lost in the constant miasma surrounding me of diet, Diabetes, and detachment. I felt no one was looking for me. No one had any idea of what was going on in my mind because I hadn’t shared anything. I was just a prickly bastard.

So, I have a choice here. Submit to the dark cyclopean nothingness of the Old Gods or work on finding my way out of the woods. Do I want to keep ranting about the impending portents pointing to the fact that the universe is cold and unwilling to help out an insignificant fleshform like myself, or channel that rage into pushing myself into movement regardless if I catch the eye of some roving Ancient Thing or not.

The choice is mine. It always has been. Many times I forget that fact.

Sunday, July 22, 2018

Naked Sunday: The Making of a Man

What makes a man?

There’s much philosophical debate on this subject. I’m not going to explore these thoughts today. I feel the subject matter is moot. There’s no alchemical exchange for it. There’s no measurement in philosophy.

Instead, I offer the following:

43 Kilograms of Oxygen
16 Kilograms of Carbon
7 Kilograms of Hydrogen
1.8 Kilograms of Nitrogen
1 Kilograms of Calcium
780 Grams of Phosphorus
140 Grams of Potassium
140 Grams of Sulfur
100 Grams of Sodium
95 Grams of Chlorine
19 Grams of Magnesium
4.2 Grams of Iron
2.6 Grams of Fluorine
2.3 Grams of Zinc
1 Gram of Silicon
680 Milligrams of Rubidium
320 Milligrams of Strontium
260 Milligrams of Bromine
120 Milligrams of Lead
72 Milligrams of Copper
60 Milligrams of Aluminium
50 Milligrams of Cadmium
40 Milligrams of Cerium
22 Milligrams of Barium
20 Milligrams of Tin
20 Milligrams of Iodine
20 Milligrams of Titanium
18 Milligrams of Boron
15 Milligrams of Selenium
15 Milligrams of Nickel
14 Milligrams of Chromium
12 Milligrams of Manganese
7 Milligrams of Arsenic
7 Milligrams of Lithium
6 Milligrams of Mercury
6 Milligrams of Caesium
5 Milligrams of Molybdenum
5 Milligrams of Germanium
3 Milligrams of Cobalt
2 Milligrams of Antimony
2 Milligrams of Silver
1.5 Milligrams of Niobium
1 Milligram of Zirconium
800 Micrograms of Lanthanum
700 Micrograms of Tellurium
700 Micrograms of Gallium
600 Micrograms of Yttrium
500 Micrograms of Bismuth
500 Micrograms of Thallium
400 Micrograms of Indium
200 Micrograms of Gold
200 Micrograms of Scandium
200 Micrograms of Tantalum
110 Micrograms of Vanadium
100 Micrograms of Thorium
100 Micrograms of Uranium
50 Micrograms of Samarium
36 Micrograms of Beryllium
20 Micrograms of Tungsten
300 Femtograms of Radium

And here we are.

So, work the alchemy and make a man.

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Naked Sunday: Good Days

I was going to put more into my study of branding and how to create what I want to put out there. I’m not really in the mindset to absorb the information. I’m not in the mindset to do much of anything.

It’s a rare rainy morning where I live. I’m enjoying the coolness of the morning. I think I may go for a walk before my wife gets home and the heat of the day rushes in. I am at peace for the moment.

I have coffee on my right and the cats are active. They want to go outside, but it is foot-waggling wet there. They have no interest in being that uncomfortable.

There are words percolating on another project deep in my mind. I’ve a hint of guilt because I’m not pushing those out. I’ve enough of a storyline in my head to let these thoughts and the words simmer on the back burner. They cannot wait too long though, the project is from a request feeler I put out on Twitter.

With the day starting as it did, I keep going back to a memory of my childhood. It was another rainy day. It was wetter than this one. Drops were falling from the sky and water was sluicing down the gutters to the central drains.

I was under 10 and full of that exuberant energy that children have at that age. I was at one with myself and had not yet developed my mental and emotional flaws. Memory being imperfect, I don’t really recall the exact details of how or why I had found a plastic straw, but that was the vehicle for my adventure in the rain.

The water in the gutter reminded me of raging rapids. The straw, bent and folded into itself, was the racing boat that held my focus. After I found the shape, I dropped it into the water. It took off immediately!

I raced after it, a smile plastered on my face. I felt each bump and twist that my tiny straw boat took. I rocked and swayed with it in the water. Sometimes there were doldrums where the stream was blocked. A twig or tree branch fell into the gutter and slowed the water. Frustration built up in me when that happened. I knew the race wasn’t over. I squatted down and picked up the floating straw construction and moved it past the blockage.

It was a good day. I say that because I don’t remember the moments that led up to the rain or after. All I remember is the feeling at that moment in time. I’m not sure I have the vocabulary to describe all that I feel in reminiscing about it.

I had purpose — singular and focused. I was connected to the sky, the streets, the rain, and the path that the straw took. I was about in the rain not caring about whether or not I was wet. I was just a kid with a piece of plastic doing what kids do.

As an adult, I miss that feeling. I miss the act of playfulness and being at one with my surroundings. I struggle to find it in these dwindling days I have left.

Responsibility weighs us all down. There are bills to pay, both literally and metaphorically. There are times we cannot take the time to play. We have to be the arduous ones who push against the grindstone. Others rely upon us.

Through these lenses, everything is colored in grey or beige. We lose ourselves in that place of responsibility and sacrifice. We twist our philanthropy into rage. We transform our altruism into jealousy. We cannot see the path we are walking because we are warped by self-pity.

Perhaps that’s the reason I stare out the window so much. Not daydreaming. Not fantasizing. Just staring. I don’t want to be outside, I just want to be doing something else. Not because the task is particularly hard. Not because it’s something that I cannot do. I’m just bored with the task and need some sort of respite.

Today, I’m going to go beyond staring out of my window. I’m going to go out into the stillness that the overcast day brings and be one with it. I’m going to let it absorb my chaos.

It’s going to be a good day.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

The Punchline

Before, I was petty, less of a man
Roaming around in a hood, with a gun.
It was all about money and my wealth.
The acid changed me, molded by Batman.



Destiny came as my body healed up.
My mind, though, never the same. I began
To understand my new transformation.



I am the light to his dark bogeyman.
My ugliness is not a hidden pun
Behind a mask that's not good for my health.
No, because now I am the laughing man.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Naked Sunday: Branding Myself, Part 3

Here we are continuing through the minefield of what others think I am based on what I can and have produced. Getting my brand and voice out there for others to see and hear. We're also trying to figure out just how far the Rabbit Hole goes when it comes to self-promotion.

6. Form your brand voice.


According to some sources, a ‘brand voice’ should be:

  • Professional
  • Friendly
  • Service-oriented
  • Authoritative
  • Technical
  • Promotional
  • Conversational
  • Informative


But is that what I’m really trying to do? I’m going to tell stories from my own experiences or the ones I pull out of thin air.

Sure folks want professionalism and friendly. I can’t see them being really interested in the promotional attributes though. I cannot tell you how many accounts I’ve blocked on Twitter because I see nothing but ads to buy books. There’s got to be more than that. There has to be some substance.

So, the voice has to fit me. The voice has to let them know that I’m not another bullshit artist out there trying to hustle a dollar to go get a Spicy Tostada from Taco Bell.

My voice has to be charismatic. My voice has to be mine. Wait, it my voice, isn’t it?

I would like to think that I have a unique voice and vision when I post things. I may be ruminating on similar subject matter as others, but the thoughts and the tuning of these ideas to my situation has got to be mine or it won’t work for me.

After all, it’s my looking glass. Having someone else in it just wouldn’t do.

7. Build a brand message and elevator pitch.


Egad, a brand message. What exactly is my message?

Going back to my card:

Thinker
Dreamer
Maker
Writer of Things
Sky Knocker

and NOT wrangling your monkeys.

My ideas may not align with your ideas, but they may provide insight. They may not be what you had thought of, but it will be entertaining. It may be following a line that is easy to see and then take a hard left.

Many of my stories do not have a happy ending. It’s not that I don’t like stories like that. Some of the best have a denouement sliding into the proverbial home plate for the winning run. Cheers and rounds of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” reverberate throughout the park as the setting sun fades.

That’s not the kind of mark I want to make with my stories.

I want to write the ones that you’ll remember in the pitch black. When your nerves are raw. When the spooks come out of the shadows to remind you that no one is in control, least of all, yourself. I want you to remember the various shades of chromatic lip gloss that covered full lips whispering your name. I want you to remember the smell of gunpowder and the cacophony of tinkling brass as everything goes into bullet time.


It may not be the place you’re expecting to go, but you’ll enjoy the ride!
Sit down and get ready. Mindwarp in 3, 2, 1...
If you think you know where this story is going, well, you’re wrong.


The problem with maintaining that kind of branding is that it will not appeal to everyone. Some may say, ‘screw that, Gary, stick to your guns.’ Well, constantly throwing a reader sideways is a good way to lose your way.

Customers want their expectations fulfilled. Sometimes they want to be surprised, but overall, they want the story finished in a somewhat logical conclusion.

I want my message to be simple, “I want to entertain you in new an unusual ways.” Or even more succinctly, “Let me show you what I see.”

The stories I tell are not always bleak. They may be unusual and strange. They may be horrific. They may even be sorrowful. But this is the world as I see it. There is always something around the corner waiting. There is always another shoe to be dropped.

This is the way I see life. I still need to couple that with meeting my customer’s expectations.

Spoon boy: Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead... only try to realize the truth.

Neo: What truth?

Spoon boy: There is no spoon.

Neo: There is no spoon?

Spoon boy: Then you'll see, that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.

The pitch?

That’s another ball of wax. This is the part where I have to sell myself and my skills. I can’t just hand over scribbles on pieces of paper to someone in an elevator and say, ‘Here, read this!’

I have to be confident and accurate as to what I can do and what I’m offering. I have to be on stage with that someone and draw them in. I have to tell the story of my storytelling. It is about me.

Jack Burton: Feel pretty good. I'm not, uh, I'm not scared at all. I just feel kind of... feel kind of invincible.

Wang Chi: Me, too. I got a very positive attitude about this.

Jack Burton: Good, me too.

Wang Chi: Yeah!

[pause]

Jack Burton: Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?

But, Egg didn’t give me a potion. I’m here all by my lonesome trying to be the invincible hero of my own story. I can show you a thousand different worlds, but if you don’t care to read about them, I’m sunk.

The pitch has to be strong and intriguing. It has to have the lure that my readers are after. It has to be all-encompassing. Drawing them closer. My readers need to see what I’m describing as we’re heading down the floors. They need to understand what I can do.

Underneath my trench coat, I have the cure for the doldrums. I can snip pieces of adventure and intrigue and tie them up. I can mix it together in a powerful potion.

All they have to do is drink it up.

Take a chance.

Let it soak in.

Moving from this world to the stage I’ve set.

BAM!


Then, I’ve got them.

Let me help you be where I have been, let me help you feel what I feel, join me on this path for a time and you will be witness to my visions.