Sunday, February 10, 2013


I am going to 'unplug' again, and hopefully not come back. OK, one more thing. If you want my whole book series on one page, go here: Sorry about having to copy/paste and all, but I never bothered to figure out how to hot link. Now off I go, and hopefully never have to look at another computer again.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Trying To Save This Blog!

So another pointless post. Well, at least I've got everything in order on my profile now. Oh, and if they kill the illustrations for my book, here is the link again: Yes, I could have gotten a better artist, but Morgan is one package deal that I'm not going to throw away. (Though there have been times I've wondered why.)

Friday, January 25, 2013

I Canna Feckin' Believe It!

I'm bleedin' retired! And I get a call from my 'agent' that blogger threatened to delete my blog for it bein' inactive, despite how many persons seem to be still checkin' it oot! I mean out. Well, whatever. I post this to save the damn blog. If ya want any of my story set or other writings, copy/paste 'em. I'm non-profit. Don't need your steenking money. Have enough to be comfortable forever. And here's the link to my book series: It all goes together. You can have it all if you want it. If you like it, print it, for all I care. I don't. It ain't perfect, but hey. I needed to do one more edit for typo's and a thesaurus run on the first volume since too much is repeated in the same language, not that I can change the plot. People have routines, all right? Glad I have a REAL publisher. This blog will eventually be deleted. There won't be anyone to tell me to salvage it for much longer. So ifn ya like my poetry that's not with my Tasmanian publisher, copy/past all my blogs. If not, continue to ignore. Damn, I have better things to do than spend Hell knows how much time doing salvage posts!

Sunday, October 31, 2010

KOCH BOYCOTT-----Dayam! The Link Ain't What It Was--Can't Access Sans Membership Now

Okayyyyyyyyyy. I read the damn report, and now it's gone. Go figure. This is what I get now if I hit the link I originally copy/pasted:

It ain't what it was, but that's NOT GONNA STOP ME!!!!!!!!!!

Ah, use this instead:

Now what happened to the report I read? News suppression? Is the article even there? Maybe I should 'o copy/pasted it on a private file? (But I didn't.) How much of this will continue? It happens all the time. You hear about it on YouTube all the time. This or that video taken down due to. . .mostly complaints by Israel or cops due to police brutality incidents exposed, but still. . . Up to now, this is an add-on edit. Google the bastards yourself, and see what elitist, regressive arseholes they are.

Now on that Koch boycott. . .

A good idea, me thinks; considering all the damage they've done.

They CAN be destroyed. So can every other evil corporation, pharmaceuticals included. If only the general populace got brains, anyway.



THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I'm probably askin' too much. Move right along sausage casin's an' chicks. Nothin' to see here, as they say.




I'm sorry, but Oi jist 'ad ter say dat. 'Oy dare an unimportant, arcane creature such as Oi; who 'as been dragged from de 'istory books an' myths av prehistory 'av such 'chutzpa' ter make such a declarashun?


Why not? We're on par in wan respect! We are legend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not much 'appened as written. Or 'ill 'appen. Trust me! Yer 'ill fend oyt eventually.

Ach! Forgot meself. Sorry! (Damn Yanks!)


I'm sorry, but I just had to say that. How dare an unimportant, arcane creature such as I; who has been dragged from the history books and myths of prehistory have such 'chutzpa' to make such a declaration?


Why not? We're on par in one respect! WE ARE LEGEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not much happened as written. Or will happen. Trust me! You will find out eventually.


This blog is in proper sequential order.  Top to bottom, page 1 through whatever.  I play with the dates and times to make it that way.  I find the way this blog automatically lays out, rather a bother to read.

Donn Ui'Midir 'Ere, Sort Av

Never luk at death in de seem way again!

Dead on, De Xanon Chronicles are complete...somewhere else. Oi transferred dem 'ere, an' dat transfer made de formattin' non-existent. That's also de way 'tis gonna stay, unless sum day Oi git pure, pure bored.

Oi 'ope yer damn Yanks can understan' dis, cause quite frankly, Oi'm boke av compromisin' meself. An' since dis site is millin' me an' not respondin' ter me commands roi nigh, Oi guess Oi 'av ter put de list av volumes wi' links on dis page. Or yer can luk at me profile, an' sort through de 'ames. Also, nigh sum av dis stuff is adult content, so watch yisser sprog, 'uh?

An' 'ill yer still respect me after yer read it? Well, it don't matter none ter me, since most av waaat Oi wrote aboyt didn't 'appen; so don't git yisser 'opes up either, 'uh? (heh-heh-heh.)


(What Revelation Never Told You)


(Life With Thanatos)

(The White City)

(The Second Time Around)

(The Akashic Castle)



(Our Demented Poetry Collection)

(A Lot of Love, A Little Hate, A Little Philosophy, and A Few Questions)

(The Gate Keepers’ Archives #1)

(The Gate Keepers’ Archives #2)

(The Gate Keepers’ Archives #3)

(The Gate Keepers’ Archives #4)




Ah, an' if yer clap lashings av black, scroll down. Dis tin' didn't transfer worth a shoite.  Or in plain fookin' English, the spacing sucks the big one; thank you, Blogger for not allowing a decent copy/past from my MS Works file.   You're gonna have a bunch of blank space between some sections, and you're gonna have to scroll down a LOT!  PHLLLLLPPPHHHHHTTTTTTT! 

And no, I didn't write the whole thing in Irish dialect! I 'ken' (A word I didn't use much, until recently. I generally say 'nu'.) I can't if I want to get my tales across. Now will I write more? Aye, but no more books. And may I also say that all stories on this blog, after this post were writ AFTER my series. It's like a continuation, and it would really be nice if you read the above BEFORE you read what's after this post, to be more 'clued in' on what it's all about. Like would ya watch part 2 of the 1960's Batman episodes first, or watch Flash Gordon in random order? Sheesh! This is a SERIES written in part like a stream of consciousness thing. I admit my short stories are better than the main series, but the main series is entertaining if you are OPEN MINDED. (It might also help if you're Irish, or Greek, or Pagan, or 'alternative', or emo, or Goth, or you hate life, or you're an iconoclast, or if you want your brain scrambled. . .oh, you get the idea.) After all, I do go all out, no holds barred if no one gets hurt, OK? We all do!

Oh, and one more thing! Don't ask me any stupid questions. In fact, don't ask me ANY questions, considering I don't 'technically' exist, OK?????????

I Lied! Two more things!

Ah, an' if yer want me series in audio, yer can go ter De Gothic Writers' Guild. Naw, 'tis not me readin' it. Me voice is 'igher, me accent is Oirish, an' Oi blather lashings faster. Also, any formattin' errors or missed chapters are not me fault, aye?

De lass who owns dis site might git it straightened oyt wan day. If not, Oi forgive 'er. She's a pure jammers lady, an' yes; dis is free. After al', waaat chucker Oi nade wi' nicker? Or shud Oi say, 'After all, what do I need with money'?

Am I drivin' yer crazy yet? If not, give it time! I already had one lad say about me, 'e didn't know whether 'e wanted to drown me or make me 'is butt monkey, though not in that order!  Ye gods, as if! Me two's wan too many! Sometimes two too many!

Oh, an' bein' this is non-profit, feel free to copy it to your own personal files. Just don't claim it as your own. If you do, I'll track you down and sue you for a nose hair coat from your own nostrils! I have a mucker who wants wan, I mean one. Damn, switchin' dialect is a pain.

Slave Ship

Slave Ship

Imagine spending weeks in the cargo-hold, crammed with naked bodies, some living, some dead, until the crew removed the corpses to throw into the sea. Imagine being fed only small pieces of worm infested biscuits, rotten gruel, and ancient salted meat not fit for maggots, and only being given bracken water or urine to drink. If we refused to eat, we had our teeth knocked out, and were force-fed through a funnel. You are branded, and chained, forced to stand or kneel in your own waste and vomit, for there was no room to lie down...until enough of us had died to be thrown overboard. Not that we did lie down if we still had the strength to stand. The floor of the hold was too vile, but at least later I could kneel or sit to sleep. Those of us who were too tall had to kneel, for the roof of the hatch was low! We couldn't go to the bathroom without going on someone else. You aren't a person. You're property. Cargo. Nothing more. If you fought for your freedom if just to try to jump into the sea when you were brought on deck, you might have had a limb cut off for rebelling, not that I stood a chance, being a small woman. I'd also been dragged on deck a number of times to be raped, for I was a pretty one. Twice, I were raped by one who was chained behind me, but those men were killed before they were even finished with me, perhaps by the one who was behind them. I was in no state to notice, but it was one of the few things that made me happy, though I never found whom my vindicators were. 

 I might as well have been a sack of flour. I was ill, and festering. I wasn't sure I was going to make it across the Atlantic alive. I lost track of time long ago, so I had no idea how long I'd been here. I hadn't even been on deck, except for the times I was raped by the ranking crewmembers after having cold ocean water thrown on me to rinse me off the worst of the refuse that had been clinging to me.

 My name was Aisling Nolan. A poor young girl on the verge of womanhood who was in the wrong place, at the wrong time! I'd been kidnapped in Aberdeen, Scotland, and I was on a ship to work the sugar plantations of Barbados.


 I really thought I wasn’t going to make it. After more than half of us had died in my time out of time, I heard a call on us docking. I don't know if that was good news. I was told by the first mate as he ravished me and ripped me apart; that on the sugar plantations, if you didn't do was expected, you'd get whipped, and left naked in the tropical sun to finish your day's work. He said I was also going to be raped by the black overseers to have babies for my master. Lovely!

 I planned to kill every one of them. If I couldn't kill myself before it happened, anyway.


What I'd envisioned, and what actually happened were not the same. Yes, I had more water thrown on me along with the rest of us after we were hauled on deck, and I was handled rough as I was taken off the ship with my fellow slaves, not that this did much to really clean us off. It only got rid of the worst. We were still in chains as we were led off the ship. That part of my nightmare came to be as expected! What came next; was not.

 A few minutes after I was I was taken off the ship, 'the line' was stopped. A beautiful, young, longhaired, red-blond, well-dressed man pointed to me. He was holding some sort of cloth. He gave the captain some gold coins, and the ring around my neck was unlatched. I collapsed.

 I was violently brought to my feet by one of the ship’s yeoman, and the well-dressed man who’d bought me, said, "Leave her! She's mine." His accent was Irish. Would I be shown some sympathy?

 I guess so. The cloth the man was holding me was like a friar's robe. He helped put it on me, and then he picked me up to carry me to his horse...or pony, as I'd later find out the stallion was. "What's to happen to me?" I asked.

 "You'll get washed up, fed, and allowed to regain your strength. Well decide later."

 This wasn't as bad I'd feared but I still planned on killing myself as soon as I could.

 The man put me on his mount, and got up behind me. I passed out as he was talking  

 to me about his stallion. He'd handled me very gently.


 In a while I was awoken. I was on the grounds of a huge estate with many trees, and a grand house. The man behind me dismounted, and helped me down from Hesper, as his pony was called. It was a strange name I'd never heard of.

 I fell to the ground, and was too weak to stand, not that I could have walked very well after the long ride, never having been on a horse before. The man who bought me picked me up, and as he held me in his arms, he told another man of long, fiery hair, "Stefan! Can you groom Hesper for me? It looks like I'm going to be busy for a while." My own hair was red.

 Stefan scowled. "She's so little." Another Irish accent!

 "We'll take care of her. This one isn't for the fields." Whatever that meant!

 I was taken to a room on the ground floor with flattened, cobbled stone, a drainage grid in the floor, a strange, hollowed seat was by the wall, and there was a sink, a tub, a bench, and a mirror. There were bars of soap, and strange bottles of viscous liquids by the tub, and fancy perfume bottles, a brush, and a glass by the sink. I was led to the sink, and given a strange box with a brush of sorts inside, and a capped metal tube. "What's this?" I asked.

 "You put what's in the tube on the brush, and wash your teeth with it." He turned a lever on the sink, and water came out of it. I jumped back in shock, never having seen anything like this. "You then rinse your mouth out with water, after. Put the brush in the glass after you're done to use later."

 "What is that? How do you get the water like that?"

 "We call it indoor-plumbing. It has something to do with water pressure, and the levers are used to stop it, or the room would flood." He pointed at a strange seat, which was hollow in the middle. "That is where you sit to relieve yourself. The paper next to it is to clean up until you get another bath, and after..." he walked over to it, and pressed a lever, "you flush."

 I flinched at the noise. "I'd never seen this."

 "Toilet. Better than an outhouse. As for the water of the sink and tub, the lever on the right is cold water the lever on the left is hot."

 I smiled. "This is how the aristocrats live on Barbados?"

 "I'm the only one on the island with this technology," the man said. "I'm Vergil Xanon, by the way."

 "I'm Aisling Nolan. Back home, my master was rich, but he had nothing like this."

 "You were a house servant?" Vergil asked.

 "I was. Will I be the same, here?"

 "We'll see. Clean your teeth!"

 I looked at the long box the brush was in, and opened it. I opened the tube, and put some of what was in it on the brush. It smelled nice. Like mint. After I put the box down that had contained the brush, Vergil took it, and threw it into an empty basket by the sink. "What is that?" I asked, pointing to the basket.

 "Garbage basket, for things you don't need anymore."

 I nodded. I took the brush to my teeth. It tasted almost sweet. It was pleasant.

 My teeth! They were yellow and brown, and I'd lost some of them. After I was finished cleaning them, they were white, when I looked into the mirror. My mouth was also pain free, and I saw white stubs at every space where I'd lost my teeth. "This tooth soap is sorcerous?" I asked.

 "Yes." Vergil went to the tub, and turned on the water. It came out fast, and it scared me. He tested the temperature, and adjusted the levers. "Take the robe off, and get in. The water is warm."

 "Are you going to rape me, too?"

 "Ye gods, NO!!!!!!!!!!! That was horrible, what was done to you and the others. More than half of you died on the voyage, as usual. I'd stop the slave trade if I could, but it's beyond me."

 I got out of the robe, and sat in the tub. I was so weak, I didn't know if I'd be able to get out of it again after I was finished. Vergil handed me the soap, and a washcloth which I have no idea where he got, from. The soap smelled very nice. Like some sort of flower, and I'd never seen anything like it. "Same," I said.

 "Clean yourself up as well as you can with the water running and the drain open, for now. " Vergil lifted one of the bottles. "This is for your hair."

 I nodded, and did as I was told. The liquid for my hair was thick, and it also smelled pleasant and foamed up a lot. I never dreamed anything like this could exist, and it was nice. "This is strange, but I like it," I said. 


Vergil barely paid attention to me, and seemed off in his own world as I had my bath. After a while, he came over, he turned the water off, and let what there was drain out. Then he hit another lever, poured another liquid into the tub, and turned the water on again. The water foamed, and was oily, but it smelled good. "Time to heal the wounds on your skin. You don't feel sick anymore either, right?" The tub filled, and the water wasn't drained.

 "No." I hadn't even noticed, until he mentioned it. "Are you a wise-man of the old knowledge?"

 "I am." When the water was almost to the top of the tub, he turned it off. "Let me get you some clothes." He left me, then.


This was bizarre. From the vilest circumstances a girl could be in, I was transferred into a place that was beyond the dreams of royalty. Did I still want to die? But what was in store for me?


Vergil had treated me with a respect I’d never know in my entire life. This estate was grander than anything I’d ever seen, and I had even ridden a horse, which I had never even dreamed of doing, even though I was unconscious for most of the trip. And on that horse, I was held in front of the handsomest man I’d ever seen in my life. An Irishman, on top of that, despite his odd, not very Irish name!


Vergil had said my skin would heal. I did feel good, now; under this hot, oiled, soapy, pleasantly scented water. I looked at my skin, and it was smooth, with no sores, and it looked paler than I’d remembered it. I also didn’t hurt from having been raped, anymore.


When Vergil came back, he was carrying a bag. He placed it carefully on the bench. “Are you about done?” he asked.


I suppose I was. “Yes.”


He came over to the tub, and pressed the lever to let the water go. “Stay there, and let’s rinse you off. Your hair, too! Hold your head under the faucet when I get the water right.”


“All right.” Again, I followed his request.


After I got out, he gave me a large towel to dry off, and then he went back to the bench. “We’ll eat after you dress. We don’t eat meat, here. Animals are our brothers and sister.”


I nodded, and I liked what he said. I never got much meat, anyway. I had considered it a treat, but it wasn’t food for the house servants. Unless it was the cook, that is, but that wasn’t my job! I’d been one of the cleaning drudges, and errand runners. At least I had clothes to wear, got enough to eat, and a roof over my head. That was more than most of my impoverished class had, and I was glad for it even though I received no salary. My life could have been much worse, for the time. As it had, after I was kidnapped for the slave ship. That was the ultimate nightmare.


I kept the towel wrapped around me, as Vergil motioned me toward the bench. I came to him, he reached into the bag, he scowled, and pulled out something I couldn’t believe. Black, satin silk, laced panties. I’d never seen anything like it. Underwear wasn’t part of my uniform. It wasn’t something the lower economic strata had access to, unless they made something of their own when they could; and that wasn’t common. It was considered a wasted effort. I myself had only two dresses and a bonnet. I didn’t even have any shoes, and always went barefoot.


The dress I’d been wearing was taken from me before I was loaded on the slave ship, and now I had nothing. My own body didn’t even belong to me. Vergil had bought it.

I put the panties on. “Would you like to look at yourself?” Vergil asked me, as he pointed to the mirror?


I looked at him, and then went to the mirror. I opened my towel, and I was stunned! I looked a bit more filled out than the last I time I saw myself. It made no sense, considering I’d been on the verge of either dying of starvation or my illnesses just earlier today. I was positively beautiful. I almost couldn’t believe what I saw. I looked so perfect. I had milky skin with a few freckles here and there, not that they looked bad. “What did you do to me?!”


Vergil chuckled. “Not much, really. I bought you, put you on my pony, brought you here, helped you to the ground, led you to this room, and you did the rest.”


“How can I look like this?”


“How can I answer that? You look like what you look like! Would you like to finish getting dressed?”


“All right.” After this, I wondered if I was going to be getting into a fancy gown. I wrapped the towel up around myself again, and walked back to the bench.


I went back to the bench, and Vergil handed me a very strange pair of black, soft shiny stockings that went all the way up to the waist, and were put on like pants. “These are odd,” I said.


“New style.”


I put them on. Next he handed me thick, leg hugging stocking that would go halfway up my calves. I took them, and put them on. This was so odd. Next, he handed me something I’d never seen before. “What is this, and how do I wear it?”


“It’s called a leotard top.” He took it, and held it up to himself. “You wear it like this, and you just step into it.”


I nodded, and took it back. It covered my breasts, was very low in the back, and it had shoulder straps, but it didn’t cover any part of my arms. I put the towel on the bench, and looked down at my form-fitting outfit. I had no idea if this was it. It wasn’t very modest, but it covered me. “Will I have shoes?”


He smiled at me. “You’ll have boots, like mine,” he said.


I scowled. “Men’s boots?” That was unheard of, for a lass to wear.


He winked, and pulled a set of black breeches from the bag. “Aye. Better for you, for now.”


I smiled. “You’re giving me men’s clothes?”


“Easier to ride in. We only have one kind of saddle here. We have women’s clothes for you too.”


I got into the breeches. “These fit so well. How did you do this?”


He shrugged. “I don’t make too many mistakes any more.” He pulled some brand new boots of the bag. “Stefan dresses kind of like this. These are practical clothes.”


“The red haired man who took your pony!”


“Aye. Want to look at yourself again?”


“In fact, I do,” I said. I went back to the mirror, and I really liked what I saw. “These clothes are pretty.”


“One more thing,” said Vergil, as he pulled a puffy sleeved, lacy white shirt from the bag. I had to pull it over my head, and tie some thick white strings around my neck to secure it. “If you like, I also bought some perfumes for you.”


I put it on, and went back to the mirror. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I then went back to the sink and sprayed one of the perfumes on my wrist. It smelled like some flowers I’d never smelled before. I loved it. I put some on my neck, and in my hair. “What am I?” I asked Vergil, when I walked back to him.


He cocked his head. “Hungry, I imagine. Let’s go to the dining room.”




I was amazed at what I saw. There was a long table, and some people were already eating. There was a man with very black hair, and slanted eyes like I’d never seen before with the most beautiful, olive skinned, black haired woman I ever saw in my life. There was also a white man with glowing red eyes who looked just like Vergil, Stefan was there, and a beautiful black couple. I’d been threatened I’d have a black overseer who would act as a stud for me, but I’d never seen a black person before. All the slaves who were with me were kidnapped poor, children, or ‘criminal’ whites, whose only crime had been trying to survive.


The table was laden with all kinds of dishes which smelled heavenly, and which I’d never seen before. There were rich sauces, breads, teakettles, and pitchers of different coloured, fruity smelling liquids.


The white man who looked like Vergil said, “Why, hello; Aisling. I’m Keith, and welcome to our house. Help yourself to whatever you want.”


“Hello, everyone.” I just had to smile. “Is everyone Irish here?”


The slanted eyed man said, “By proxy. I’m Ronin, the lovely lady at my side is Deliah, the dear ones across from me are Tonya and Andre, and I believe you’ve already met Stefan.” Yes, he had an Irish accent, too.

Everyone waved at me.


I looked at the table. I have no idea where to start,” I said as I looked at Vergil.


He shrugged, and took a plate. He put rice on it, poured a thick green, soupy vegetable over it, spooned out some lentils in a yellow sauce, some battered, fried vegetable, and some other vegetables in a thick, yellow sauce. He put a thin piece of oily bread with bits of garlic and onion on it on my plate, and put it before me. Then he poured some tea into my cup, and a cloudy white liquid in my glass. He put the same things on his own plate, and I waited for him to come back before I started eating.


It was the best food I’d ever had in my life. I ended up having three platefuls, and a desert of what I was told was passionfruit mousse pie with whipped cream. I swear I still had room, but I didn’t eat any more.


“Are you strong enough for a ride, now?” asked Vergil, as we finished our meals.


I shrugged. “It seems I am, though I don’t know why. Hours ago, I was almost dead.”


Stefan coughed, and covered his mouth. He also seemed to be struggling not to laugh.


Vergil looked at him. “Steffy-poo! Be good, and I’ll pet your nose after we get back, all right?”


The whole table broke out in chuckles, along with me; considering what Vergil had said, though nonsensical, was rather funny.


Stefan nodded, laughing quite hard. “Thank you.”


I looked at Vergil. He smiled, and said, “It’s a private joke. You’ll find out all about it very soon.”


I shrugged. “All right. I think I’m going to like working here, but what is it I’ll be doing?”


“Now, just going for a ride. Take a break and recover from your horrid journey to this place. Stef, I think Shiva would be good for Aisling to ride.”


“If he’s willing, which I’m sure he will be, for the rubdown I’m going to give him after he’s done,” said Stefan.


“I’d verify with him,” said Vergil.


Stefan closed his eyes. “He’s game. I’ll go to the stables with you.”


“Thank you.”


I had no idea what anyone was talking about.




Shiva was a beautiful grey pony with a black mane and tail, and black feathers. He also had a stripe going down his back, and a black nose. I almost couldn’t believe I’d be riding such a fine animal. A halter was put on him, along with a real light saddle. Vergil told me never to kick him, or handle him rough. I was warned if I did such a thing, I would end up being thrown, and possibly attacked. In fact, it was suggested that I just give him the lead, and let him do what he wanted with no input from me. He was smart enough to do that I was told, and I’d let him.


When we rode away from the house, we went to the back of it. There was a wide trail we took, in a heavily wooded forest. It was much cooler from when I’d been brought here. The trees also looked different. It was almost like back home in Aberdeen, but a little warmer. “I haven’t seen any plantations,” I said.


“There are none by this house,” said Vergil.


“And you’re not telling me what I’m supposed to do for you. Why you bought me! You paid a high price for me in gold! I saw it.”


“Let me tell you after we get home. It won’t be bad, but first tell me what you would like to do.”


“I don’t know. I never thought of it. I used to think only of survival. After my parents more or less sold me to Master Phillip Devon, I just had to finish the tasks they gave me. I mostly had to clean things, like scrub the floors, dishes, dust, and laundry. I was also sent to market, and delivered messages. When I was on my way to the market, I was abducted for the slave ship. It happened all the time.


“Working for the Devon estate was hard, but Master Devon was rather kind. I was well fed, and I got a small room with a pallet that I only had to share with one other servant lass. Mistress Sarah Devon liked me, too. She would sometimes feed me a pastry, but it was nothing like here,” I said. “I’ve never had clothes this good, and the bath I had with those soaps for my hair and body were something not even Mistress Devon had. Water had to be gotten from the well, and heated; and they only had baths during the warm months, maybe once every week or two. Usually everyone used washbasins, and I only had soap from lye and lard. It didn’t smell as good as yours.”


“I have an unfair advantage over the Devons, and I’ll tell you all about that in the same conversation we’ll have in as to what you are to me.” 

“You look young to have all this land.”


“I’m older than I look,” said Vergil.


“Do you have a wife?”


He laughed. “That wouldn’t be possible.”


Too bad! “Why does Keith have red glowing eyes, and is he your brother?”


The eyes aren’t natural, and we’re not related. Nothing about him is natural. He’s of the Sidhe. In fact, so am I.”


I nodded. “I think I’m beginning to understand. Am I still where I was, or in your land.”


He smiled, and rode closer to me. “You’re very perceptive, and very intelligent. You are in my native realm. I also have another name, but that will wait a little while.”


I closed my eyes, and smiled. “I think I owe you my life.”


“And to tell you the truth, I have no use for it.”


“Why did you take me? Why am I here, not that I have any complaints. This is a fortune too good to be true.”


“Aisling, you are supposed to be here. It is your destiny. You were to meet me when you were sixteen.”


“I didn’t even know how old I was, not that it ever mattered.”


“Let’s turn back home,” he said as he turned his pony.


Shiva followed Hesper’s moves. “All right,” I said. “Can you tell me why you said you’d pet Stefan’s nose?”


He sighed. “As you noted, Stefan has a very large nose, and he pretends to live for it. A lot of jokes are told about that nose, and he also has a lot of jokes pertaining to cannibalism; but don’t take him seriously. He’s somewhat of a prankster, and can be quite amusing.”


“Is Stefan one of your servants?”


“We work together. I wouldn’t call him a servant. You might be the same as he, in some respects. Occupationally.”


“What do you do?”


“Now? Mostly art. We play music, we paint and draw, and other things.”


“I’m no artist,” I said.


“Would you like to be?”


“I’ve never thought about it, but I suppose it’s not a bad thing to be.”


“It’s not. In fact, it’s a very good thing to be. I’ll train you well if you have a knack for it.”


“Thank you.”




When we were almost home, the ground was different. The dirt trail became cobbled, and it was never like that. Also, the house was gone. In its place was a castle, and there was a moat around it. “What is this?” I asked.


Vergil extended a hand to me. “It’s my home, as it is. Not the illusion I had you see earlier.”


“This looks like where I came from. The trees, the cold, everything.”


“We’re close to where you came from. Just west of it, across the sea to the southwest of the isle of Eire.”


I took his hand, and the ponies stopped. I knew the legends. “You are Donn?”


He nodded. “Donn, son of Midir the Proud. Welcome to my home.”


I smiled, as I looked into his beautiful, wide, black eyes. “I died on the slave ship.”


“As you had to, to atone yourself to yourself when you were on the other side of your last experience.” He drew back his hand from me, and dismounted.


I also got off Shiva.


Donn opened his arms, and invited me into his embrace.


After we wrapped ourselves around each other, I came to know everything that happened and why in this life, my last life, and all others before it.


I also knew this had been my last, thank the gods!








Delusions Are Us

As you sit in obscure glory;
The epitome of contempt
Just basking in your arrogance,
I shake my head and do attempt
To make sense of you.
You have isolated yourself
To spurn all for me and my kind,
And you call it self-containment.
To think like that, I'd say your blind.
You have a view
Of yourself that's misdirected.
You need not what you are, you say;
Yet you're hardly self-reliant.
You can't be, where there's night and day.
See your thoughts anew.
In your realm, you still must be fed,
And most knowledge is kept from you
In part much to keep you in check,
And keep you from turning the screw
While you're mind's askew
From reactive hostilities
As ancient as the day you fell
Into the state you are now in,
And the hatred in which you dwell
From the mess life's brew
Has scarred you with. Now look at me.
I came to you to give you peace
And purpose to your last round here
When in the past you tried to cease
The life that you grew
To despise more than anything.
The life that you promised to me,
Before you were born, this time 'round.
At least you filled your destiny,
But just wait the few

Moments in time for when I can take you back,
And you can become as how you now see yourself.

(Naw worries, rossie! Ah've got yer covered in de only way dat counts.  Dis cycle's de last.)

Hey, Rebel!

My Black Tiger, you call yourself.
You said you'd live and die for me.
Dude, you're in one strange phantasy.
The rules are diff'rent here, you see.
I don't need you, but I'll have you.
Your devotion's hard to resist.
I saw before, it won't desist;
So on taking you, I'd insist;
As a case for eternity.
I obsessed you, 'fore you met me.
I wasn't what you thought I'd be,
And a short term calamity
Our strange beginnings did become
Due your unsound expectations.
Still, now we've got good foundations
For a love and strange creations

That were never seen anywhere before.


Think Not Of Me In Analogy

Compare me to none, for I am myself.
I wear black, not white. I am transition.
I am no pretender. Like mortals born,
I am but of mortal disposition.
I am sheer power, yet still very frail.
In limited knowledge, I've made mistakes.
I try to make sure all works as it should,
And I haven't done too many retakes
For a man living so long out of time.
Take me as I am. No other's like me,
And I am not like any others, lass.
Stop your projections, for reality

Is not always conjured by your mind,
And remember who and what you are; as well.

Finally, forgive us both for our errors.

A Reflection On The Greatest Vengeance

Thanatos and I were just sitting on the couch of the Akashic Castle, each with an arm around each other, sharing thoughts wordlessly, when Thanatos jerked up. "Donn, we have to stop."




Thanatos smiled. “Let’s dress in his sort of style. You wear a tan 18th-19th century hybrid. 18th century white shirt with ruffled sleeves, tan breeches, vest, tailed coat, high collar and cravat for shirt, and high collar for the coat, and cloak. Black and tan riding boots, with the top band of the boots tan, a dark brown cloak, and an epee at your side. I’ll wear something similar, but in black.


I closed my eyes, scanned what Thanatos envisioned, and my black tunic was replaced by a not quite historically accurate, but stylish suit of a pre-Victorian gentleman. Shortly after, Thanatos was also redressed, and what a handsome, and impressive picture he was. The jet-black clothes on his snow-coloured form was something I’d have to paint as soon as possible.


When we went to Stefan, he was pacing, and raging in the holographic garden on the lowest basement floor.




“Stef!” said Thanatos.


Stefan whirled on us, with a scowl on his face. “Wow!”


Thanatos crossed his arms. “Gate Keeper dude! Your present state of mind is not becoming of you. Especially since you declared that you were over that thing you call your incubator.”


Stefan bared his teeth. He was in his part time fangs, for the moment. “I just walked away from that bitch. Burned the address, and decided that was that. I never told her what I thought of her. It’s grating on me, and I kind of want to take a trip into the past. 2011 sounds nice.”


Thanatos chuckled. “Stef, you weren’t even technically alive then. We’d taken you a bit before that.”


“She didn’t know that. We lived at opposite ends of the country. She was in Carthage, North Carolina that year. Imagine if I appeared as the buffed Kyle Shannon I was at my height, knocked on the door, dropped off ‘our’ book that she never saw, and told her that I hoped that the Russians had gotten her.”


“That’s not a nice thing to tell an old lady who’s a World War II survivor,” I said. “You could also look it up.”


“Never have, never will,” said Stefan. “I’m sorry, but I am having a real regressive moment. I am severely bothered right now over the fact that I never really settled this with either her or myself.”


Thanatos tilted his head, and smiled. “You also did a rather amusing song about her called, ‘Mama Was A Psycho Bitch From Hell’. Would you like to give her the CD you and Kevin did when you were alive that never sold one copy?”


Stefan first covered his mouth as he started to laugh, but then a look of surprise crossed his face. “Dude! Your fangs! They’re gone!”


I looked at Thanatos. “Huh?”


He raised his upper lip. “Only for now.”


“I hope so. I love those things,” said Stefan. “Now does that mean I get to time-trip back now with that book collection, maybe a compiled picture book of a couple hundred of our best paintings, and that CD?”


Thanatos shook his head. “You will do no such thing, Stefan! You’ve hurt her enough by disowning her and disappearing from her life when you were 19. She realised the error of her ways and did a much better job raising her last child.”


“Her last man-trap to glue her final husband to her. After all, he was an officer and a gentleman. Not only did he make a lot of money, he also helped her clean the house. Yeah, I looked the kid up once. A ranked golfer, whiz at school, BS in psychology and she also had a crotch dropping in her 20s. Talk about throwing your life away.”


“That’s not how everyone sees children. She is a bit better adjusted than you are at the moment, dude! She was a good protégé, played the game, and it worked for her. But she didn’t have to deal with a volatile basket case who didn’t know what she was doing, or was even ready for parenthood when she had you and your first two half siblings,” said Thanatos.


“I really do think she should have aborted the first three of us,” said Stefan.


I crossed my arms. “You all turned out OK, and if she had, you wouldn’t have been able to transduce the first ten volumes I wrote, you wouldn’t have experienced all you experienced with us; including getting the living daylights screwed out of you.”


Stefan laughed. “With you two dressed like that, I almost want you to screw the living daylights out of me again. You two are absolutely gorgeous in that quasi-Victorian look. Not quite Dracula-esque enough for my taste, though.”


Thanatos looked at the ceiling, and sighed. “Seducing you was NOT why I had us dress like this, and if you wanna get screwed; you are NOT staying in the gender you currently are.”


Stefan cocked his head, smiled, and switched gender. “OK. The gender thing is fixed, but let’s hold off. I almost would rather go off and do another painting of you, though I want the horses in the background, lightly tacked.”


Thanatos smiled, and extended his arms. “Come ‘ere, babe.”


Stephanie walked over to him, accepted his embrace, and returned it. 


Thanatos looked at me, and winked. I nodded, came behind Stephanie, and held her from there, with my left arm doing my best to include Thanatos in my embrace. He stroked Stef’s hair, my hair, then kissed her on the temple. He scraped the side of her jaw with his now all too human teeth. “Stephanie, I will shortly have a confession to make to you, and I think you’re going to like it. But now, let’s just all hold hands, and walk through this holographic garden.”


Stephanie closed her eyes. “OK.”




Damn, we didn’t spend nearly enough time down here. It was so quiet, dark, and so serene, where mists from beneath the floor were perpetually vented up, and those mists were very thick up to our knees. The mists were scented differently, depending on what three-dimensional picture image of what flower was before us. If we were by the roses, we’d smell roses, if we were by the carnations, we’d smell carnations, and so on. The room was lit up by the holograms themselves, and additional torches of different flames, like what had been in my garden of Tech Duinn. The only thing I missed was a chance to see the sun set, but that was all right. I could go somewhere else to see that if I really wanted to.


Of course we had our benches and lit fountains. No, there were no gazebos in this garden. We left those behind at Tech Duinn. They were there for shade, and protection from the rain, sleet, snow, or hail. Being this was an indoor garden of illusion, there was no practical application whatsoever for having gazebos, so no one manifested any.


We were walking hand in hand, and Stephanie was between us. “Stef, you asked for the life you lived to get Donn again, and I was part of the package. There is no justification for you hating the tool you used to get here,” said Thanatos. “This must be the billionth time we’ve had this conversation, and it never does any long term good even to this day.”


“Can’t help but dwell on being literally thrown across the kitchen for accidently dropping a bottle of milk, or being kicked in the Achilles tendon for allegedly dragging my feet, or being smashed into a table for biting my nails, and all that. Or being made to weed the four sides of the house without proper sun protection, or only getting attention when I stepped out of line, which wasn’t very often; having been a bit averse to pain.”


I said, “You got off a lot easier than Joel’s kids. They got thrashed several times a day. Once your brother was even inspired to jump out of a second storey window to escape her wrath.”


Stephanie laughed. “I’m surprised we all survived her. I wouldn’t have, if I’d known about all the nice toxic plants in our backyard when we lived in Warren.”


Thanatos stopped us. He embraced Stephanie again. “OK, dude! Time for my confession! I wanted to wait until after this walk, but I might as well get it over with.” Of course, she held him in return.


“OK, this I’ve gotta hear, myself,” I said.


“Note how none of us never met her. How she never came to us.”


I scowled. “Considering all circumstances, that is a bit odd.”


Thanatos kissed Stephanie on the forehead. “I wouldn’t allow it, for more reasons than one. I will also admit some of those reasons are not honourable at all.”


Stephanie looked up at him. “Oh?”


Thanatos smiled, and caressed her hair. “I could have allowed you to meet and truly settle your differences, but the hate you feel is such a strong inspirational force for your art; though it’s hard to tell for those you don’t know you. You feed off that hate to create some absolutely, astoundingly beautiful works, and if it weren’t there; a lot of the passion in your masterpieces just wouldn’t be there. 


“Now we want Stef Shannon, not Norman Rockwell, OK?”

  Stef held Thanatos tighter. “How much more can I love you?”


“You never told me that,” I said to Thanatos.


“That’s not something you or anyone else needed to know, until now. So can we drop it? Sort of? Or just revel quietly in your antipathy, and do what you gotta do?” asked Thanatos of Stephanie.


“Until I feel like bitching about it again, I guess,” said Stephanie.


I chuckled. “Sounds realistic. Also sounds like the last thing anyone needs here is to get this resolved.”


“Only for a while. It’ll happen eventually. After all, ultimately there is only one soul. We’ve got to reconsolidate with everything in the end,” said Thanatos. “I also have another confession, but that is going to have to wait until after this walk.”


“Does it have anything to do with my nose?” asked Stephanie.


“Stef, your precious nose is the last thing on my mind right now. Trust me. Let’s go to the far wall, turn right, and then leave by the dark pole entrance nearest to us.”


“Sounds good,” I said. “Then what?”


“We skate for a while doing solo performances, then we look at the paintings we did. All of our stuff, including everything everyone did from Andre to Warren. Then you and me can bring Stef to the right realisation.”


“And when do you get your fangs back?” asked Stephanie.


“After we’re done hogging each other for this period of our consciousness.”




Thanatos was the first on the ice. He’d changed to just white satin shorts, and he manifested the tiger stripes that he’d worn for Kale Feldt. Of course he wore socks under his skates. There were no illusions involving holographic lights, or time-trip tricks. He skated like a mortal, and due to his superior strength and speed, he left me in the dust; considering he could now not only do everything I could do, but more.


He did ice-danced to ‘Ride of the Valkyries’, ‘Für Elise’, and ‘Greensleeves’. He went from sheer athletic prowess to grace that couldn’t be surpassed by anyone or anything. I almost couldn’t wait to hit a new canvass before he was halfway through with his second song. I know how much we resembled each other, but due to his exotic colouration, I thought he looked a bit better than I; and I wasn’t the only one who thought so, based on...oh, never mind.


I went next, and changed into my favourite black silk tunic before going on the ice. After Than’s impressive performance, I knew I didn’t stand a chance on outranking him in any way, but I went for three somewhat slow songs, and tried to go for beauty and grace. I played some old favourite, more progressive rock tunes of ours. ‘Kashmir’, ‘Immigrant Song’, and ‘Nobody’s Hero’.


When it was Stephanie’s turn, she switched gender. “Man, I could watch you two forever,” he said.


“Thanks. Looks like we’re going to all three of us hit the art studio after we’re through with our stints,” I said.


“Damn right,” said Stefan. “And it seems we save the worst for last? There’s no way I can measure up to you two.”


“You do it all the time, Stef. Come on! You’re just as much of a pleasure to watch as any of us. What you can’t do, you make up for in style,” said Thanatos.


He smiled. “Thanks.” He stood up, and said, “I still haven’t figured out which costume I want.”


I shrugged. “Can’t help you there.”


He sighed, and then shrugged. He ended up donning a loose-sleeved poet shirt, and a kilt. He put a tartan design on his skates, as well.


“Cute,” I said. “New one, huh?”


“New outfit, but old music. I’m gonna go slow, too.”


I nodded, and sat down. “Break a leg, babe.”


Stef would pick ‘Scarborough Faire’, as done by Geoff Tate, ‘Jet City Woman’, and ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’. His performance was impeccable. His grace matched mine, though he kept the routines pretty tame. He wasn’t dressed for anything too wild. There would be no aerials, even though by now he could do them as well as I, for instance.


As Stefan was finishing up, Thanatos got up, and skated over to him. In a few seconds, Stef would be a woman in a flowing, black, silk and sheer knee length dress. Her skates went black, to match the outfit. Thanatos was still in his shorts and stripes.

  They ice-danced together. They did interpretive numbers to ‘Dancin’ in the Ruins’, and ‘White Flags’. The two of them almost had me in tears; the performance was so captivating. When it was over, Thanatos immediately changed back to his not quite Victorian outfit he had worn earlier, cloak included, and motioned me over to them. He had an arm wrapped around Stephanie. When I was in reach, Thanatos put his free hand on my right shoulder, and we weren’t on the ice anymore.


So much for looking at the paintings like we’d planned.




Both Stephanie and I reeled from the unexpected change of scenery. The three of us ended up in one of the halls of Tech Duinn. We were by the exit to the garden, just around the corner from the spa. Thanatos kissed Stephanie on the cheek, and then manoeuvred his lips to where her right shoulder met her neck. He scraped his teeth over that part of her, and caressed her in such a way to set her on fire. Hell, he set me on fire.


Thanatos clenched his teeth, and locked his lips on Stef’s neck. They couldn’t have held each other any closer. Stephanie lifted her left foot, which no longer had skating blades on the ends of her boots. None of us did. She wrapped her left leg around Than’s right. I got behind her, pressed myself against her, wrapped my left arm around her, and did my best to get Thanatos with my right. Thanatos, with his lips still on Stephanie’s neck, managed to caress my hair and give back that one armed embrace a little more efficiently, being he was a bit taller than I, and had noticeably longer arms.


“Mmmmmmmmmmmm. If I wasn’t part of this sandwich, I’d sink to the floor,” whispered Stephanie.


I lipped her ear. “And it is cold out here. Is it the winter, love?” I asked Thanatos.


‘Yes,’ I got a telepathic response. ‘And if you think I’m going to divest the way mortals do, you’ve got another thing coming.’


I chuckled. “I have a lot less to get out of, and I have no intention of doing that myself.”


Thanatos’ lips left Stephanie’s neck. No, there was not a mark on her. Not the slightest trace of a ‘hickey’. He looked at me, smiled, and we were suddenly on the other side of the door of the spa, totally un-attired.

  I went into the water first. “Musk oil?”


“Please,” said Stephanie.


I flipped the tan switch to release the oil into the turbulent water. Thanatos went in next, and he left a space between us for Stephanie, not that it was needed. When she was about to sit down, Thanatos pushed her toward me. She pointed at me, looked at Thanatos, and he smiled, and nodded. She looked at me, verified I was ready, and straddled me. We embraced each other, as she rested her head on my right shoulder, and kept me delicately titillated via occasional, sporadic contractions.


Thanatos stood up, and pressed himself behind her. “Time for the rest of my confession.”


“Go,” said Stephanie.


He kissed her on top of the head. “I know because of what your mother did to you, you are comfortably here with us as you should be. I know it was all planned in advance, though you did end up regretting those plans since it is harder to actually live through what you had in store for yourself as opposed to just theoretically thinking about it. We also know I am no fan of child abuse, or abuse of any kind, for that matter.


“My thing is, I also take your feelings personally due to how close we are. I’m not on par with your hatred, but I know it’s there. I love it when you use it for your creativity, but sometimes it just eats you up inside. When you start feeling like that, I want you to think of what’s happening to you right at this moment. The beautiful lad whose lap you’re in, and all you’ve done for each other. And me standing behind you…looking so much like the one you’re connected to, who helped bring you to the degree of power you have, in ways so few experience. Just remember right now, frozen in time, out of time. You can have this again and again, and the woman you used to bring you to us will never remotely have a clue that such a moment could exist, or that The Akashic Castle could exist, or our lovely Tech Duinn, or our part of The White City, or any of our adventures existed. She will know none of it, for I won’t let her. 


“From the day that you sent your last letter as Kyle Shannon to be, you disappeared from her existence. When you are destined to meet again, the creature that was your mother will have blended with others, and will have lost that individual part of her identity, as you will have lost the individuality you have, now. Christl will never know any of this, and she will never see a trace of Donn’s book series, or any of our art, or the places we’ve been.” He scraped his teeth on the side of her neck. He had his fangs back, and he left a slight scratch, though he drew no blood. “And she’ll never know thisssssssssssssssssssss!” He gently entered her in what way was available, and after he was in place, he exploded us Tantrically in an unimaginable culmination. 


We went from the spa straight to Nirvana to become one soul, for a while.


Stef...whatever gender it was or wasn’t, would have no further issues on the matter.




After we came back to The Akashic Castle, another fifteen paintings would go up shortly.










The Coldest Dish

This is really by Thanatos, but he doesn't have a blog and he told me to post it, so hey!  It's an add on to my last story.

How you revel in your hatred
Of wrongs long gone since yesteryear.
You rage in hostile memories,
As from our wanted path, you veer.

You desire peace, but this ain't
The path to get it. Destruction's
Not the way to go, but hear me!
Direct, with no implications;

Let me remind you of what is.
You are with us, and they are not.
You share our art, and share our love.
You command our power and got

To experience what has been
Denied to all humanity.
Leave your past foes in ignorance,
And hold on to your sanity.

The great revenge of here that is,
Is exile from all you now know.
Leave them in their reality,
While you bask in perfection's glow.

Manx Factor

  Difference - 3152     Dollar amount - 1449.168

  (.309 X A) + (.534 X B) = 1449.168
  .534 - .309 = .225
  .534 X 3152 = 1683.168
  1683.168 - 1449.168 = 234
  234 / .225 = 1040

  A = 1040  
  3152 - 1040 = 2112
  B = 2112  

  Yisser failte, but Oi don't tink you'll be needin' dis again while you're at wha you're at.  

I Will Not Return From Whence I Came

There is nothing left.  Everything has been destroyed.  Considering how it happened, I suppose I don't care very much.  I saw it coming.  You can't clean a place up and leave it to a bunch of hypocritical, lazy, power tripping, ideal-razing jerks who refuse to see the link between cause and effect.

I'll not condemn you if you played no part in the fall, though I do see there are not many of you.


Canny, cannae, can't, won't, willnae, 'ill not, wulnae, aye, ayuh, yes, och aye, roi, richt, reit, don't, dornt. . .GIT ME OYT AV 'ERE!!!! Or GIE ME IT AY HAUR!!!! An' waaat 'appened ter 'oot'?

Ye gods, Saxon, Celtophile brat! Git yisser dialects straight. Or are ye more comfortable wi' "Gie yer dialects straecht"???????????

GAE AWA'! SHOOT ME!!!!!!!!!!


What the Hell is wrong with you?  I've got a right hand.  A left too, for that matter; and I don't have to take it to a movie or take it out to dinner before making use of either.  So if you don't mind. . .

Is that politically incorrect enough for ya?


Running On. . .

Running on a promise, a warning, a threat, a gift, and a tested power. A very great power. If it is not taken away.

So near, yet so far.

Three years, and eight months. Will the caldera blow? Or something else? Two years. Will full retirement have to wait until then? Eleven months. Or then? Or will it be less time?

After all, what is left?

But self-imposed obligations that seem to be only an inconvenience.

Still. . .I wait.

Choose the battles wisely.

Heh-heh-heh. Or choose not to fight, for there is no need.

Let's Keep Our Victories To Ourselves

Discretion's the better part of valour.
Now, ostentation may bring a pallor
To your life that's really better not there.
You must keep your temper if you dare
To keep me as your collaborator.
Let's you and me make sure there's a later
To enjoy for your ancient battles won.
Don't gloat too much, for you are not quite done.
When you are, you'll know; 'cause you'll be with me
In an exhaulted state. Your destiny

As we have willed, where all is art,
And art is all. . .for us!

Living Every Day Like It's Your Last

It's what you're supposed to do, but so many societies try to make sure you don't.  THINK OF THE FUTURE, DAMMIT!  But for many, there is no future.  Sometimes, things happen.

A house fire?  Lose everything?  That can slap one into the right perspective.  So can living under siege.  Or with a terminal disease, or failed crops when you have nowhere to go.  And some can do it under conditions of incredible comfort, because they know the TRUTH.  They are prepared for anything and everything with just a wee bit of knowledge.  Life is temporary, and existence is eternal.  

That's all you need to know.  Stay detached. . .and stay prepared.

Ruing The Past Again

I see you sit in contemplation.
You wonder what may have been that day
When you threw yourself into my realm,
If hatred hadn't got in the way.
Hatred not of me, but the concept
That I represented for my looks.
Close to the Nazi ideal I was,
Hence you curse your old biases' hooks.
Your irrationality's gone now,
For what image another presents.
You seethe, cursing your past programming,
And what history misrepresents
As written, and how you were twisted
In your way to reject ev'rything
That is held in esteem by the world.
That's not bad, when I check the briefing

Of what you've become;
Which is more like me.

(Hey! Generally 'bout half my hairs are blond, and the other half are light orange, OK? A few sandy ones here and there. I colour the hair sometimes for my cases, depending on what's necessary.)

All You Know Is Illusion

You were born into a dream,
And one day you shall awake.
You'll laugh at the pain you feel
Right now, for your lesson's sake.
You'll cringe at your visions lost
In the great forgetfulness
In that thing that you call life,
Where you were wiped with less
Knowledge and sense than a beet;
To enter the Land of Nod,
Where the Truth is in exile,
And perception's a façade.
You exist where myth does rule,
And nothing is as it seems.
Priorities corrupted
Do bring forth some strange regimes.
Still, I would not fret so much.
I've let you ken it will end.
I've known you ere, know you now.
A glimpse of Truth I did bend
In your direction, dear lass;
Since you chose to live for me.
We'll meet for good, out of time;
For I am your destiny

When you're finally cured
Of ego's addiction this time 'round,
And you can stop missing me.

Waaat Is Wrong Witcha Idiots?!

You're from a place. . .where lies can't be told, where only truth exists, where manifestation is instant, where there is a connexion to all, where you can travel at the speed of thought, where there is no time, where anything that can be imagined is, and where you have no limits. So you choose to come. . .there to live on Earth with limited access to truth, and where you totally forget what you are, and what you're capable of.  Not only that, but you fight to stay there like your life, I mean your existence depended on it, and cling to your prison with more cohesion than a starving tick and Epoxy combined.  


Aye, makes sense to me. NOT!!!!!!  (Yer nu, Oi'm really beginnin' ter luk forward ter retirement in me auld age.)

Och, wa dae Ah bortha?!  Yoo're aw beyond hiner. . .uh. . .'ope!

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!  Oi want someone's noggin on a plate!!!!!!!!!!!!  Got my mixin' dialects as bad as. . .oh, never mind!


A little moment in paradise. Alone. Just to sit there in the dark, looking out the window with a cup of tay in hand, watching the rain come down. Not a care in the world. A purring cat in your lap. Why does anyone want more?! Why do so many go to so many extremes to complicate their lives as much as they can? Why do people go out of their way to make themselves as miserable as possible?

I used to, but I can't identify with that any more. I wonder if I was what I was due to my former intrinsic nature, or due to external programming? Probably a combination of both.

Stupidity and youth do seem to go hand in hand. It generally takes time to find yourself again after being wiped clean. Some never do. I wish I could say it wasn't my problem, but people are so good at making themselves other people's problems. I guess it's in the job description.

Damaged Goods

Best avoided, really. They can be quite distrustful, and just short of impossible to win over. Due to past betrayals, many have a wall up that's a parsec high, a parsec thick, and you might as well try to break it down with a rubber mallet and calibrating screwdriver. They're occasionally terrified of needing anyone or anything, and that makes for some strange behaviour patterns. They can be colder than helium slush, and quite vicious in defending their independence. Can one find anything more selfish? More self-sequestered in every way possible? A more uncompromising shoite? Someone whose threats you better take seriously, be they direct or veiled?

Why did I write this?

I don't think I wanna tell ya.

Rage Untamed

If you were like me right now,
A galaxy would explode.
I'm surprised your memories
Don't make your damn head corrode.
Contracts that were due, now done;
Were what you once agreed with
To get you to where you're now,
This land; oft passed off as myth.
Calm down, for all that happened
Was required for our cause.
Since when was life e'er pain free?
Give your boiling blood a pause!
Your past foes were the moulders
Of your creativity.
Indeed, your foes were your friends
For bringing you back to me.
How oft must I explain this?
Their price is high for their role,
As was the cost of your past.
Come out of your black hole.
Look around, where you are now.
'Dude', it really was worthwhile.
All is at your fingertips
That will cater to your style,
And gone are those, you revile.
Forget them.  Let them not rile
Your peace or what did beguile
You to my beloved isle.

A Consideration

What is better?  To pay for the future with a past, or to pay for the past with a future? Or change 'to pay' to 'to get rewarded'.  THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!


How Much?

How much time? How much frustration? How much work? How much pain?  And what's worth more?  What has been done, or what can be done that I refuse?

Stupid question,  The answer is known.

Was it volunteered? If so, why? Love? Mercenary reasons? Obligation? All of the above? What else is there to do? What's next?

I don't even know what I am. I do know I am a part of something greater, of ultimately there is only one, as was before, but I know so little of what is in between. So many questions with such illusive answers.

And the most pertinent question of all. Do I have a camera?!

Heh-heh-heh. Maybe. Black and white. . .and red. Some should be done in colour, if. . .

The gold and silver one should be shown in full glory.


What would be, if you were like me?!

Just another story.

No Duhhhhhhhhhh

An explanation of how fucked up a society the world is.  Status conscious materialistic fools who judge not themselves or others by their accomplishments, but by what they own.  

Huh!  Not that anyone owns anything.  It's all borrowed real estate, dudes.  It's not just the Western world. It's EVERBODY.  After the non-industrialised world sees the industrialised world, everyone wants in.

How Nice If You're. . .

Riding home the last kilometre of the birch forest before you get to your winter cottage with attached stable in the light snow. You put your pony up, clean his hooves, wipe and brush him off, and find you've been expected. You walk into the living room direct from the stable, and close the half door that separates the partitions. The fire's high, and a kettle's turned out on the fireplace crane. A thick, cream of mushroom soup with garlic and scallions, from what you can smell. Tay pot on the table with three empty cups and place settings waiting. Just as you hang your cloak, the other two members of your household come into the room; one carrying a tray of buttered bread, and the other a heavily ladden plate of various cheeses and dried fruit. They put it on the table, pour tay for themselves and you, and sit down after they get their soup. You smile as you raise your cup to them, before filling your own bowl.

All we couldn't eat, my equine friend would get after dinner.

(Please pardon the babbling, but I wish it could so be. . .NOW!)


To see one is slaving over a desk for you, worshipping you with graphite or pen in word or picture.  To lock eyes, and just know. . .   A finger caressed down a cheek, or a hand run through the hair.  A call to an intricate meal you had no idea was coming.  A flask of attar waved under your nose, with a promise.  To be so aware of an appreciation so powerful, where there is no cause to focus on one's own sensations that have nothing to do with 'other'.  To see the tears of having been missed.  To be invited into the sweetest embrace.

A contemplation so rare in actuality.  How many of the Tuatha de Danaan sit down, and really think of this?  Or how many of the mortal flotsam that make up humanity?

For most it's fiction.  A thing of dreams.  It's in books, cinema, plays, operas, ice dances, but no part of reality.  Oh, there are exceptions, but how rare to understand the entire feeling or motivation of the instigator.   And how many instigatees care enough to truly reciprocate?  And what was the motivation of the original move?

Was it conditional?  Was something expected?  If so, that debases the moment to nothing.

So why did it all happen, it is wondered.  Payback for something too good to be true for it has not been experienced in memory?  The unconditional? Infatuation?  A desire to harness power greater than can be dreamed of?  All of the above?

I know the answer, and I instigated it.  It is not entirely honourable.  But perhaps, neither am I.  It seems I'm not above using circumstances for my better end.  Yet some things must be done, come Hell or high water; as they say.  If the boot fits. . .

The rest can be ironed out later.  As the journey toward perfection progresses. . .

As the promise and the warning previously mentioned are heeded.  As true peace is found in the knowledge that what is, is out of time and eternal, and cannot be changed.

And this time, there will be balance.  No more tryin' for Karmic vacuums.  All will be like an equilateral triangle.  No resentment, no expectations, no nothing.  One for all, and all for one; like what Alex Dumas said.  Nothing will be as it was, and all will flow without any blockages up ahead.  

If yer even 'av any idea waaat de feck Oi'm blatherin' aboyt, not dat Oi gie a flyin' shoite.

Just Follow The Script

Do what you gotta do to get to where you're going, dragging your chains; even though you don't have to, for your own peace of mind. Damn, doesn't that sound like just more slavery? But the apprenticeship following the present gig is gonna be a bit harder, and isn't that like. . .um. . .indentured servitude? You gotta be a page to be a knight sort of thing?

Such is life, such is death.

No escaping some things.

Can we say "Shoite on a steck"?

But hey! Maybe, just perhaps the view of the city below being blown up can be seen from a mountain top between now and then? Good analogy, though it may be close to the truth.

Ah, yes. More incoherent babbling. Well, if you knew me, you'd know damn well what I'm talking about, but you don't; and you aren't going to, so never mind.

I Was Asked A Question

What is the point of anything, when you know everything?  Uh, ask The Source, huh?  How about CREATIVITY?!!!!!!!  Art!  Devoting eternity to making beautiful things?  Perhaps sharing some of that knowledge if you have a mind to?  Using that knowledge to glue everything back together again?

Sometimes having to learn something gets it the way.  It's a distraction, compared to already knowing what you have to learn.  And speaking of distractions. . .there are so many of them, that it becomes quite annoying.  All these little ratchets getting in the way of personal quests.

Personal quests. . .shared.  Repairing  damage done in the past, and making sure it never happens again.  Long, painful quests to rebuild what was ripped asunder for the stupidest reasons. . .namely ego.  Wars lost, battles won, truces made, alliances rebuilt.  Alliances that shall never come apart again. Ruins razed to the ground to be replaced by a magnificence that will never fall.

For no one but a very select few will know what is there.

Personal Sovereignty

It can only be had if one is alone, and no one knows what that one is doing.  Is it worth it?  Sometimes I think so, but the circumstances don't always allow it.  On the other hand, sometimes I think not.  I'm indecisive that way.

This is a paradoxical topic.  It's nice never having to compromise yourself in the slightest, but sometimes circumstances compel you to do that.  There are things you can't walk away from, and still sleep easy at night.

That brings up the question:  To whom do I owe myself?  No one, yet everyone?  What is to prevent me from cutting off all means of communication, and never leaving these walls again?  Or my land, at least.  I do like playing outside.

I think I'll be obnoxious, and lay off here.  It's not a question I can answer.  Any answer would be speculation, no?

December, 2010

So cowl, so damn cowl!!!!!!!!!!

Absolutely freezin'! Snow, ice, not goin' away real soon. Hell hath arrived due to a ruthlessly slaughtered gulf stream, brought to us by 'Genocide Unlimited'. You know who you are!

This cold. Something to use. I wrote enough about it. Go out, run around in it a bit, whilst a tad underdressed (Shorts, socks and running shoes?), come back and what? Sit immediately by the fire after puttin' the tay on, or fill the underground tub?

Ah, fill the tub. Forget the tay. Get out of the wet clothes, go to the kitchen, fill up a tanker with ice, lemonade, take it with you, and slowly enter the tub as you finish the tanker before you're even half-way submerged.

I used to think individuals who did things like that were nuts. I suppose I still do, but now I was one of them. Then again, if I'd wanted to remain sane, I would have chosen to be born a cat.

I Remember The Demiurge

And because of this, I completely, totally, all the way, realise I am my own prisoner; along with those few who have decided to join me on my quest.  I have a job to do, and after it is done; I will saw those chains off of myself that I personally have placed there.

The cornerstone of my project is laid, the foundation is built.  After all is complete, I will cease doing stupid things. . .I think.


I don't like it. I try not to do it, but I have to put up with it. Sometimes it's a despised tool to use to intitially get through to someone, but at least it doesn't last.

Thank the gods. I don't appreciate being appreciated for the wrong reasons. At least it's no longer an issue with those closest to me.

Well, not usually, anyway. Sometimes it's annoying to have an audience for some of my hobbies. Especially when you can't outrun one of them.  

Gods, I can't believe I posted this.

How Nice To Be In A Position To Say. . .

I play my way, or I don't play at all; and really mean it.  How nice to be able to tell the world that, and also to know that anyone can have that power IF they have the right priorities.

But apparently servitude is more important to people than freedom.

On the other hand, who am I to talk?  After all, I must confess to being chained and bound.  It may not seem like it at first glance, but I have placed myself under obligation.  Yet I knew what I was doing, why, and I also know it won't last forever.  Well, unless I want it to.

On occasion some trade-offs and compromises are definitely worth it.  ;^)  Until I change my mind.

There Is Something I Really Hate

It's when people go after you not because of who you are, but because of WHAT you are.  They want an image, not a soul.  

Oh, I already covered this in my objectification post, huh?

Anyway, it generally doesn't work.  Who can live up to that image?  It's like idolising an actor for what he or she plays in the cinema.  It's silly.  One is a fictional representation from someones' mind, and the other is a real, flawed, whatever.  An idealised paragon verses reality.  But people do it all the time.

Sometimes people are so damn tenacious in refusing to give up their illusions, it's insane.  The one on the pedestal has to crash pretty hard, and then the one who put him or her there ends up loathing the fallen idol for no fault of their own.  I've seen it happen so many times, I lost count.

Have I done it?

Uh, don't I have a right to remain silent?

Or am I in the right country for that?

I Love The Rain

The harder, the better.  To sit by the window, hearing the water smashing against the glass, or to watch it hit the puddles, or listen to it hit a thinner part of the roof.  To sit out in one of the verandahs, with a blanket wrapped around you, holding a cup of tay.  To light the incense, just lay back on the bed, close your eyes, and be hypnotised by that sound. . .and for a while go to where it never ends.

Ah yes!  Freshly cleaned off, laying on satin, under warm covers, listing to the wind lashing outside, the torrents crashin' down.  A cat on top of you, or snuggled at your side; would be nice.  Come to think of it, so would be a back-rub by someone who really knew what they were doing, and could put you to sleep with their touch.  Throw in a scented oil, while we're at it.

I think I'll sign off now.  I'm kind of tired, anyway.

Hurry Up And Wait

Things take long, oh so long. They're drawn out to unfathomable degrees. So many set-backs, so many problems. Why? What is it that must be seen? What must be waited for, and cannot be missed under any circumstances? Why must patience be stretched to almost the point of breakage? Why can't everyone be on the same page?

Such is life, for the umpteenth time.


HAARP, bomb, terrorist, IRS, tax evasion, FBI, tax avoidance, gaol, I mean jail break (I swear, you Yanks drive me nuts with your spelling.  Been on your side of The Pond so long, even I can't remember what's what some times.), TNT, World Trade Centre, Truthers, Tea Party, Animal Rights, Green Peace, drug deal, drug bust, revolution, Echelon, oh why don't I just copy/paste a whole bleedin' page.


Rewson, SAFE, Waihopai, INFOSEC, ASPIC, MI6, Information Security, SAI, Information Warfare, IW, IS, Privacy, Information Terrorism, Terrorism 
Defensive Information, Defense Information Warfare, Offensive Information, Offensive Information Warfare, The Artful Dodger, NAIA, SAPM, ASU, ASTS, 
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real, spies, IWO, eavesdropping, debugging, CCSS, interception, COCOT, 
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Society, Hmong, Majic, evil, zipgun, tax, bootleg, warez, TRV, ERV, 
rednoise, mindwar, nailbomb, VLF, ULF, Paperclip, Chatter, MKULTRA, MKDELTA, 
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AVN, Playboy, ISSSP, Anonymous, W, Sex, chaining, codes, Nuclear, 20, 
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DT, gtegsc, nowhere, .ch, hope, emc, industrial espionage, SUPIR, PI, TSCI, 
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Class, squib, primacord, RSP, Z7, Becker, Nerd, fangs, Austin, no|d, 
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unclassified, Sayeret Tzanhanim, PARASAR, Gripan, pirg, curly, Taiwan, 
guest, utopia, NSG, orthodox, CCSQ, Alica, SHA, Global, gorilla, Bob, 
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E.T., credit card, b9, fraud, ST1, assasinate, virus, ISCS, ISPR, anarchy, 
rogue, mailbomb, 888, Chelsea, 1997, Whitewater, MOD, York, plutonium, 
William Gates, clone, BATF, SGDN, Nike, WWSV, Atlas, IWWSVCS, Delta, TWA, 
Kiwi, PGP 2.6.2., PGP 5.0i, PGP 5.1, siliconpimp, SASSTIXS, IWG, Lynch, 414, 
Face, Pixar, IRIDF, NSRB, eternity server, Skytel, Yukon, Templeton, 
Johohonbu, LUK, Cohiba, Soros, Standford, niche, ISEP, ISEC, 51, H&K, USP, 
^, sardine, bank, EUB, USP, PCS, NRO, Red Cell, NSOF, DC7, Glock 26, 
snuffle, Patel, package, ISI, INR, INS, GRU, RUOP, GSS, NSP, SRI, Ronco, 
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SSCI, NIMA, HAMASMOIS, SVR, SIN, advisors, SAP, Monica, OAU, PFS, Aladdin, 
AG, chameleon man, Hutsul, CESID, Bess, rail gun, .375, Peering, CSC, 
Tangimoana Beach, Commecen, Vanuatu, Kwajalein, LHI, DRM, GSGI, DST, MITI, 
JERTO, SDF, Koancho, Blenheim, Rivera, Kyudanki, varon, 310, 17, 312, NB, 
CBM, CTP, Sardine, SBIRS, jaws, SGDN, ADIU, DEADBEEF, IDP, IDF, Halibut, 
SONANGOL, Flu, &, Loin, PGP 5.53, meta, Faber, SFPD, EG&G, ISEP, blackjack, 
Fox, Aum, AIEWS, AMW, RHL, Baranyi, WORM, MP5K-SD, 1071, WINGS, cdi, VIA, 
DynCorp, UXO, Ti, WWSP, WID, osco, Mary, honor, Templar, THAAD, package, 
CISD, ISG, BIOLWPN, JRA, ISB, ISDS, chosen, LBSD, van, schloss, secops, 
DCSS, DPSD, LIF, J-Star, PRIME, SURVIAC, telex, Analyzer, embassy, Golf, 
B61-7, Maple, Tokyo, ERR, SBU, Threat, JPL, Tess, SE, Alex, EPL, SPINTCOM, 
FOUO, ISS-ADP, Merv, Mexico, SUR, blocks, SO13, Rojdykarna, RSOC, USS 
Banner, S511, 20755, airframe,, Furby, PECSENC, football, Agfa, 
3210, Crowell, moore, 510, OADR, Smith, toffee, FIS, N5P6, EuroFed, SP4, 
shelter, Crypto AG Croatian nuclear FBI colonel plutonium Ortega Waco, Texas 
Panama CIA DES jihad fissionable quiche terrorist World Trade Center 
assassination DES NORAD Delta Force Waco, Texas SDI explosion Serbian Panama 
Uzi Ft. Meade SEAL Team 6 Honduras PLO NSA terrorist Ft. Meade strategic 
supercomputer $400 million in gold bullion quiche Honduras BATF colonel 
Treasury domestic disruption SEAL Team 6 class struggle smuggle M55 M51 
Physical Security Division Room 2A0120, OPS 2A building 688-6911(b), 
963-3371(s). Security Awareness Division (M56) Field Security Division (M52) 
Al Amn al-Askari Supreme Assembly of the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SAIRI) 
Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti 
Federalnaia sluzhba besopasnosti GCHQ MI5

Deleted that last one, 'cause it might just get me in a wee bit o' trouble if I don't get enough warnin', but here's the link if ya wanna nu what it be:

Scroll down a touch.  I'm just checkin' to see that if I'm gonna get a couple o' thousand hits fer doin' this, so I can talk about it and laugh me bluidy  heid aff!

Och!  Gaen Scotty again.  I swear, I think I'm losin' myself.

Oh, and I was informed that I forgot one!   "sbwy bmb tmr set 4 Xmas eve Allah B gr8".

As  if!  Shoot me ifn e'er I become a fan of the 'big three'.  Take a flame thrower to me, e'en!  Gods, those religions have caused so many problems, and still do. 

Och, I HATE this post.  Everybody comes to this piece of shoite, and the only reason I put it up was to see if I could provoke some interest from the powers that think they are.  Suppose it's good I didn't. Now the paper tiger who no one listens to can continue on with it's literary art, his philosphical rants, and whatever else, unmolested for a while longer.