Since I went into seclusion over Smidgen's death, so much bullshit has happened, I just don't know how to properly process it in an acceptable word format. I've been reduced to forwarding news stories and memes, and posting brief interludes of shock and horror at the dismantling of my country. Now, I could share everything I post on Facebook here, but I don't know if that would be something people would want to see, so I leave it to whomever reads this. Do you want me to rant and rave in images and micro-blogs here on the Cliffs, or shall I reserve that for Facebook and Twitter?

In the meantime, if you're wondering what I feel like being so speechless when I'm typically the one who won't shut, just reference this gif of John Cusack. Verily, he is my spirit animal.

Mood: aggravated
Where? home
Music: My 600-lb Life on Hulu

I don’t think I have ever made a comprehensive list of the influences that helped in the creation of Cadmus Pariah. If I can explain without sounding like an utter loon, I will also write out my reasons for their involvement in Cadmus. The list is really not in any order, except for the first three or so, which are ridiculously obvious and I’d just be a prat if I didn’t put them first. So, without further ado.

Barry Andrews: Well, duh. He gave Cadmus his looks. Aunt Tudi thought Barry had the most angelic face she’d ever seen. That, combined with a half-sleep nightmare that involved him, heavily influenced Cadmus’ appearance and dichotomous demeanour.

Carl Marsh: Carl Marsh gave Cadmus his name. Think about it. He was the collected companion of the menace of Barry’s priest in the video for Nemesis. That knowing stoicism he exuded gave Cadmus the needed cap to his misunderstood rage, and is often the only thing that keeps the Pariah from falling into mindless depravity.

Tim Curry (in character as Gaal from Earth 2): Gaal was a manipulator and a murderer with a silver tongue. He gravitated to endearments like “pet” and “poppet”. His voice, along with Barry’s dramatic whisper on many of Shriekback’s best songs, comprise what Cadmus sounds like in my mind.

Ed Kowalczyk: Cadmus became a hardcore hedonist thanks to Ed Kowalczyk of the band Live. His performance in their video for the song “Freaks”, along with the fact that his nails were painted, was like a Cabaret for the damned. It was perfect. Before Tom Hardy, I wanted Ed Kowalczyk to play Cadmus in my movie.

Tom Hardy: This was an odd one, because Cadmus was already fully-formed and developed by the time Tom Hardy railroaded into my world. I see my stories as movies in my head and, before Mr. Hardy, Cadmus’ appearance was a very effeminate, Egyptian, alien version of Barry Andrews. Then I saw Star Trek: Nemesis (aptly named) and beheld one of the best actors to come along in a very long time accurately interpret the ravages of child abuse on a young adult, and BOOM, he was anchored to Cadmus. As a result, Cadmus adopted a more sullen affect, at times, and was also graced with an eloquent viciousness, devoid of any bothersome conscience, because conscience was for the weak. Tom Hardy also allowed Cadmus to properly express anger with dignity, inadvertently contributing what I called his “crazy eye” to my character. Cadmus’ change of mood, indicated by just a single subtle expression, can turn a situation of civility into one of slaughter in literally the blink of an eye.

Annie Lennox: Her techno-domme persona has pretty much affected all aspects of my writing and character creation, but she touched Cadmus in particular with her stoic command of everything around her in the “Sweet Dreams” video, combined with her perfect androgynous image. I’ve never put Cadmus Pariah in a suit before but, if I ever do, it will be because of Annie Lennox.

Rob Dougan: His song “Clubbed to Death” teamed up with Shriekback’s “Deeply Lined Up” to create thematic sound of Cadmus Pariah’s soul. Everything and everyone belongs to him, and he dispenses with his possessions as he sees fit.

Darth Maul: Prior to The Phantom Menace, Cadmus was devoid of any sexuality. He was a creature of destruction, not affection, love, or lust. Then came Maul. Wrapped in dark flowing robes that were incredibly Cadmusian, this soft-spoken warrior was a physical poet. His poise and grace enhanced Cadmus Pariah, and gave him the ability to experience sexual gratification.

Pryrates: From Tad Williams’ trilogy, Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, Pryrates was the red priest who dabbled heavily in dark magick and alchemy, eventually uniting with the Storm King in his quest for dominion. Like Cadmus, Pryrates is small and bald, but his fierceness and determination affected the development of my character, and I must admit the influence. Pryrates is the reason Cadmus maintains an altar, despite his lack of faith.

Pinhead: This should be obvious to anyone. My Cadmus aspires to reach the levels of poetry and slaughter Pinhead has wrought in the written world. Everything about him is beauty, dread, desire, and suffering. It is Pinhead who inspired Cadmus to say, “Survival is the parchment upon which the Law of Nature is Inscribed.” Like Cadmus, Pinhead is dedicated to his ideal, his focus is an exercise in perfection. He, along with Barry, gave Cadmus his eloquence.

Hannibal Lecter: His command of the language deeply inspired the development of Cadmus. Also, his abiity to manipulate through nothing but words is something I felt Cadmus would be perfect at doing. There is also the Shriekback/Hannibal connection that gives me episodes of frisson. I love it.

Randall Flagg: I admit that my fascination with Randall Flagg is probably incredibly unhealthy but, when I read The Stand in 1980, I was drawn into this charismatic entity, and his spirit dwelt within me for a decade before Cadmus was born. Randall Flagg is a natural leader and a master manipulator. He exudes the perfect combination of fright and desire. This absolutely influenced Cadmus Pariah.

I’m sure there are other influences that I just can’t think of right now, but these folks/characters are the core. Writers often say that their characters are figments of the imagination and not based on any real person, but I beg to differ. We write what we know, and we are constantly bombarded with inspirations and influences. It’s inevitable that they come out in our compositions. In my opinion, it’s perfectly natural, and the primary method by which information is passed on from one generation to another.

Mood: sore
Where? home
Music: Matthew Sweet - We're the Same

After a long absence, Rob Dougan's Clubbed to Death decided to make a special appearance on my iTunes. Where Rob Dougan goes, Cadmus Pariah follows. That said, this drabble fell out. I still feel horrible about his childhood, but Cadmus wouldn't be Cadmus, were it not for Nissius of Rome.

The young Gaelic Tarma kept his dark head bent in silence, his hair hanging in his huge liquid eyes, as they shimmered like stars from the agony. He would not even dare a single tremour of any muscle in his frail, white body. He knew that this, just like everything in his life, was a test, a trial, and that every tribulation he survived would make his small body impenetrable to any ill, and would sharpen his mind to diamond precision. When the time came, all this woe and horror would transform into a glorious power, and that power would be all his.

The strap drew another red gash across Cadmar’s exposed back, the fourteenth one. Just six more to go, and Cadmar would be left to his own devices for the rest of the night, to hunt and replenish his strength. That is, if he did not lose consciousness. Should he succumb to the pain and blood loss, he would go hungry that night, and receive 25 lashes at sundown the next sundown. Each night he could not withstand the trial added five more lashes the next night, until he hardened to it, accepted it, welcomed it.

Cadmar welcomed the night when his power would eclipse that of his master, Nissius for, on that night, it would be his head bowed in silence, awash in the ecstasy of suffering known only to the Elect.The old man spoke of Hell in the after life, delighted in promising Cadmar an eternity of what the Elf already had a bellyful of on Earth. But Cadmar did not believe him. Cadmar was learning that you create your own hell, just as you create heaven, right here, right now. And he believed his current hell was well=deserved, for Cadmar was not yet strong enough to remove himself from it. Once he was, Cadmar planned to create his heaven, awash in the blood of this filthy creature of the Apostate. And he would continue to build his heaven on Earth. His bricks would be bones and his mortar the very marrow of the creation itself.

Mood: hungry
Where? home
Music: Rob Dougan - Clubbed to Death

Despite breaking into a clumsy trot, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt not to succumb to his boot toe catching on a rise in the sidewalk pavement, Flint felt himself topple in slow motion, sprawling across The Osmond Family’s star on Hollywood Boulevard.

“So much for Vampiric grace,” Flint grumbled, pulling himself from the ground as tourists studiously ignored the spectacle before them. Why were there so many tourists out at 2 in the morning? Flint wondered. Raising his voice to where he could be heard, Flint groused, “Hey, shows over, eh? Pictures’ll cost you extra!”

The tourists widened their berth around the irked Vampire, as he brushed the grime from an outfit that already looked grimy and unkempt. The clothes weren’t dirty, they were just old, well-worn, and much too large for Flint’s slight frame. It was his wardrobe that was responsible for his fall, because the size discrepancies weren’t reserved to just Flint’s threads, but also his shoes. Flint’s proper shoe size was between a 9 and 10, depending on the make of the shoe. The boots on his feet were size 13, and the sole of the left boot was loose and floppy. Flint called it his rubber flapjack.

Satisfied with sorting himself after the tumble, Flint reached into one of his overcoat pockets and pulled out a wretched-looking cigarette, along with an even worse-looking book of matches. Without moving from the middle of the sidewalk, Flint struck a match, and cupped it to the cigarette, taking a long drag, then exhaling slowly toward the night sky.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flint caught the disapproving glare of bearded young man approaching him, probably on his way to the subway station nearby, given his non-tourist appearance. He was in just the perfect mood to not let the silent judgement go without comment.

“Calm down, it’s not like I’m a corporation belching filth into the air around the clock. I think you’ll survive having to pass me on your way to whatever hipster convention is eagerly awaiting your arrival. They surely can’t get started with their hardcore smugness without your retro arse in attendance!”

The man stopped in his tracks, his scowl deepening. But when Flint flashed his fangs in a predatory smile, the scowl turned to dismay, and the young man hastened away, no longer concerned with the peril to his lungs. Funny how people forgot minor dangers to their person, when they realised their throat could well be on the cutting board. Flint chuckled, his mood buoyed by the brief encounter. He began to walk again, puffing away and humming to himself.

Mood: content
Where? Home
Music: Some You Tube Video
Crossposts: http://tinhuviel.livejournal.com/2771271.html

For the past two weeks, I’ve been watching nothing but the Tolkien films. This occurs occasionally, in my Arda-saturated world. The tales JRR Tolkien shared with the world are as ingrained in me, in my soul, as they are in anyone who has ever been moved by a myth or a legend. These are stories as old as time, at least as it is perceived by humankind. You can call it ancestral memory, cellular memory, genetic memory, whatever it is, the remembering experienced by people when immersed in the epic accounts of a nation or race is what drives every generation to redefine the stories to fit their times, and to make sense of the world in which they find themselves.

On the recommendation of my sixth grade English teacher’s son, who was a year my senior, I checked out The Hobbit from the school library, and absorbed it in three days. Before I returned it to school, I read it again, this time more slowly, taking a week. I loved it, but hated the musical abomination that was the Rankin-Bass adaptation. Normally, I loved their TV specials. Not so with their version of The Hobbit. I did, however, love Return of the King, primarily because of Glenn Yarbrough's beautiful song, "Roads Go Ever On."

Even though I had loved the book, it didn’t compel me to pick up The Lord of the Rings, which Gregg also recommended, or The Silmarillion, of which I doubt Gregg was aware, based simply upon his age and how difficult it was to be privy to information, literature, music - basically everything - that wasn’t in the realm of the commonplace. LOTR and The Hobbit were popular enough to be well-known and easily-obtainable in the South. The Silmarillion, on the other hand, had only been published for approximately two years at that time. Even if Gregg knew about it, it was highly doubtful the school library had book!

On the day I took my SAT, in my senior year of high school, Aunt Tudi found a box set, which I still have, of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit at a yard sale she and Granny visited while they waited on me to finish my test. I still did not read LOTR. I was busy with other things at the time, like getting through my last year in high school, preparing for college, and writing this odd collection of mythic stories that were born out of my lighthearted science fiction shorts, originally inspired by the Electric Light Orchestra’s Time album.

In my first year of college, my Humanities professor was impressed with my assignments and asked if I was a writer. I told him I wrote stories and poetry, and had been active in the literary and drama clubs in high school. He asked to see some of work, so I opted to share with him some of the stories of the Rhyllans, and how they came to be.

A week later, Dr. Miller, who happened to be a Tolkien scholar who had taught classes on the old professor's works, asked if I had read The Silmarillion. When I asked why, he informed me that I could be sued for some of the material I had written, if I ever tried to clean it up and get it published. I did not understand but, instead of reading The Silmarillion, I opted to read The Lord of the Rings, under the incorrect assumption that it came before The Silmarillion. Publishing-wise, it did, but I was thinking of the timeline of the narratives themselves.

Of course, I fell in love with The Lord of the Rings, and promptly went to B. Dalton Books and purchased a copy of The Silmarillion, which I still have. When I read the Ainulindalë and Valaquenta, I finally understood Dr. Miller’s warning, and I reconciled with the fact that my Rhyllan myths would never be published in any complete capacity. The one thing I couldn’t understand was why I was unable to make myself change much of anything in my myths, even though their current incarnation would get me chased around by the Tolkien posse.

This is where I want to make it very clear that I am, by no means, comparing my writing to that of JRR Tolkien’s, who far surpasses the greatness of the likes of Clive Barker, and he greatly surpasses even my wildest dreams of scribal skill. The essence of the stories, in particular the Music of Creation and the diminishing of the Dėaghydge, was exceedingly Tolkienesque. Even the Goddess Kessilon, the Dėaghyden Star Goddess, was nearly identical to Varda, albeit a tad more sci-fi in her relationship to the stars. My mind was boggled, and it still is, even though I came to learn the root of the similiarities.

It wasn’t until three years later, when I began to study theology and various theories, one of which was genetic memory, that I understood the connection between my stories and those of JRR Tolkien’s. It wasn’t a connection that involved just myself and Mr. Tolkien; it was one that encompassed a great swathe of the Fantasy literary world and the whole of human myth, be it supposedly dead myths of ancient Greece and Sumeria, or the living religions like Hinduism and Judaism. They are all retellings of a very tiny collection of stories that speak of humanity’s commonality. And the connection doesn’t affect just nations or tribes, or even families; they affect individuals. We all have the capacity, and often the compulsion, to create our own personal myths. This is what I was doing with the Rhyllan folk, and their sister races, the Tarmi and the Thranodiena ~ all three of whom comprised the descendants of the divine Dėaghydhe.

In 1993, I was tasked with deciding on a Craft name, because I had decided to become a Dedicant in the Temple Hecate Triskele. I opted for Tinhuviel, adding the “h” for numerological purposes. Artanis was a name for the Tarmian Goddess of the flora and fauna, tightly connected with bears, owls, and lizards. It wasn’t until about a year later, I discovered that Artanis is also Galadriel’s father-name! So this is why I feel that Tolkien’s works aren’t simply fiction. They have an ancient magick within them. They have the power to bring people together and, sadly, because of their religious nature, they also have the power to pull them apart. Such is the way with spiritual works. JRR Tolkien wanted to create a mythology for England. He certainly did that, but he did so much more. He enriched the mythologies of people around the world, so much so, that scientists have named an entire ancient human race after one of his own. That speaks volumes to me, and it should to any student of JRR Tolkien’s work, or human memory in general.

I know it’s an impossibility, but I would love to know the origins of the stories that are obviously of such great import to our species, that they have been retold for thousands of years, and are as beloved today as they were from time immemorial, with no small thanks to JRR Tolkien.

Where? Home
Music: That buzzing sound insomnia makes in your afflicted skull
Crossposts: http://tinhuviel.livejournal.com/2770865.html

I am officially migrating from LiveJournal to Dreamwidth. The transition is going to be difficult, but it's past time. If I'm unable to transfer all the massive contents of The Cliffs of Insanity here, I'm going to leave it up in an archive capacity, but I will no longer be posting there, except for the occasional Twitter update, until I discontinue that as well. The Cliffs will have turned 15 years old in June, and I was thinking of making the transition at that time, but I have much to write about and many events to account, so the change must be made sooner rather than later.

Mood: numb
Where? The House
Music: Depeche Mode - The Sweetest Perfection

On 3 June, 2002, a fellow Shrieker and longtime tribeswoman sent me an invitation to join LiveJournal. Fourteen years, and an assload of comedy, tragedy, weirdness, and wonder later, I am still here.

The only thing that will stop my association with LJ would be my death.

Or The Alpaca Lips.

Mood: stresed
Where? the house
Music: Shriekback - In the Pylons

Five Problems with Social Media

Grammar and spelling. It wasn’t, and generally still isn’t, that evident on social media sites like LiveJournal and Dreamwidth, but social media sites that limit the size of posts have the unfortunate side-effect of encouraging people to make spelling and grammatical shortcuts, in order to get the most bang for their posting buck. Twitter, I’m looking at you, here. Sadly, it’s beginning to bleed over into “real life” writing habits, breeding a new generation of illiterate morons who will spell wait as w8, even when they have no word or character limits.

Keyboard Warriors. Not everything on Earth or in the virtual world is a fucking trigger. Get over yourselves and stop making everyone who is unfortunate enough to attract your attention miserable.

Selfies. We’ve all made them, yes. But you don’t have to make them every day, much less more frequently. Instagram has got to be the best thing to happen for narcissists, and the worst thing to happen for everyone else, in the history of Teh Intarwebz.

Emojis. This kinda ties in with #1. On many social media sites, you don’t have to use words to express how you’re feeling anymore. You need only post an image of a thing with a face that best represents you at that moment. Even though it comes in handy, when you don’t have the ability to say “I’m feeling a little sniffly right now. I may be coming down with a cold”, when you are able to write out how you’re feeling, using emojis so much may dull your ability to go beyond adding what is essentially a cave painting to a message board.

Lack of Fact-Checking. I’m guilty of this just as much as anyone else, even though I try to be as attentive as possible. In a world where anyone can claim they are a journalist, and images can so easily be manipulated, you really can’t completely trust anything you see, especially on social media. The problem is exacerbated by people blindly reposting misinformation, based solely on the headline, often without even reading the article itself, much less double checking what’s being reported.

Mood: headachey
Where? the house
Music: Rob D - Clubbed to Death

I haven’t done one of these in about 10,000 years, so let’s get this show on the road.

1. Full name: Tracy Angelina Evans
2. Nicknames: Tin, Tinhuviel, George, Darth Shriek
3. Birthplace: Asheville, North Carolina USA
4. Birthday: 10 September, 1967
5. Where Do You Live Now?: San Diego, California
6. Parent(s): Father Unit has passed. Mother Unit is here in San Diego.
7. Sibling(s): ZERO
8. Looks: Better off invisible.
9. Favourite Animal(s): Anything non-human, except for millipedes and centipedes. Like humans, they can go fuck themselves.
10. Favorite TV Show(s): Impractical Jokers, Better Call Saul

11. Favorite Kind(s) Of Music: Most everything but Country and Opera.
12. Favorite Movie(s): Sci-Fi, Unusual, Conceptual, Foreign
13. School: Some college, focusing on English and Veterinary Assistance
14. Future School: I’m too old for this question. The Chapel Perilous

15. Future Job: Testing new, effective sleep aids.
16. Boyfriend/Girlfriend: nah
17. Best Buds: I’m a bit of a hermit these days.
18. Favorite Candy: Milk Dud
19. Hobbies: Music, reading, writing
20. Things You Collect: Grudges, CDs, movies, moments in time.

21. Do You Have A Personal Phone Line: Yes
22. Favorite Body Part Of The Opposite Sex? The eyes and brain
23. Any Tattoos And Where Of What?: Red & Black Triskele on right hand, Green Shriekback logo on left hand, Mwanza Flat-headed Agama with green and blue hues instead of pinkish and blue.
24. Piercing(s) And Where?: not anymore
25. What Do You Sleep in?: clothing
26. Do you like Chain Letters: aw HELL NAW.
27. Best Advice: Reality is peripheral.
28. Favorite Quotes: Hope for the best, expect the worst. - Mel Brooks.
29. Non-sport Activity You Enjoy: sleep
30. Dream Car: A transporter

31. Favorite Thing To Do In Spring: Avoid the sun.
32. What’s Your Bedtime: Whenever I’m lucky.
33. Where Do You Shop: Wherever I can.
34. Coke or Pepsi: Cheerwine

35. Favorite Thing(s) To Wear?: Something loose that will allow me to blend into my surroundings.
36. Favorite Subject(s) In School: English and Creative Writing

37. Favorite Color(s): Green, Red, Black
38. Favorite People To Talk To Online: People with brains and a wicked sense of humour that has set them on the road to Hell.

39. Root-Beer or Dr. Pepper? Root beer

40. Do You Shave? I’m too old for that bullshit.

41. Favorite Vacation Spot(s): I don’t do vacations. My favourite place to BE is England.
42. Favorite Family Member(s): Smidgen
43. Did You Eat Paint Chips When You Were a Kid? WHAT?
44. Favorite CD you own: Currently Without Real String or Fish by Shriekback
45. The ONE Person Who You Hate The Most: Going with an old standard here and saying Pat Robertson.
46. Favorite Food(s)?: Potatoes
47. Who Is The Hottest Guy or Girl In The World?: I have a very short list.
48. What Is Your Favorite Salad Dressing?: Bleu Cheese.
49. When You Die, Do You Wanna Be Buried or Burned Into Ashes? I don’t care, as long as I end up on Craggy Dome.
50. Do You Believe In Aliens?: Absolutely.

51. If You Had The Chance To Professionally Do Something, What would You Do? I’m already a Professional Misanthropist.
52. Things You Obsess Over: Various artists, ideas, philosophies, theories, general weirdness
53. Favorite Day of the Week: Don’t bloody care.
54. An Authority Figure You Hate: The Feudal Mistress still tops the list.
55. Favorite Disney Movie: Bambi
56. What Is Your Favorite Season? Winter
57. What Toppings Do You Like On Your pizza? Cheese, with extra cheese, and cheese on the side.
58. Do You Like Your School Food Itself (As In The District Food): I never ate it.
59. If You Could Live Anywhere, Where Would You Live? Avebury, Wiltshire, UK
60. Favorite Thing(s) To Do On Weekends: Sleep, if I can accomplish it.

61. Favorite Magazine(s): Don’t have one.
62. Favorite Flower(s): White rose

63. Favorite Number(s): 5

64. Favorite Ice Cream flavor(s): Ben & Jerry’s Wavy Gravy

65. What Kind of Guys/Girls Are You Attracted to?: Dangerously intelligent, beautiful, talented, and hilarious.

66. What’s Your Most Embarrassing Moment? I inadvertently introduced myself to someone as his wife.

67. If You Could Change One Thing About Yourself What Would It be? I would be fearless.

68. Do You Eat Breakfast First Then Brush Your Teeth or Brush first ten eat breakfast: breakfast first.

69. Favorite Time of Day: Whenever I get to sleep.

70. Can A Guy and Girl Be Just “Best Friends?”: Why not?

71. Do You Ask The Girl/Guy Out Or Do You Wait For Them To Come To You?: I don’t go there anymore.

72. Do You Mind Paying For Sex? I never would.

73. What’s The Most Important thing In Someone’s Personality: Sentience

74. Do you have a pager or cell phone? Cell

75. Favorite Sport: Flambodious Butt-walking

76. What Was the Best Gift You Ever Received? Love

77. How Long Did This Letter Take You To Finish?: Not very long.

78. What Did You Listen To While Completing It?: Electric Light Orchestra’s Alone in the Universe.

79. Are you or would you like to be married in the near future (next 5 years)? NEGATIVE

80. Don’t u just hate how psychics never win the lottery? I hate it more than I don’t win the lottery. I hate psychics, especially the ones who claim to talk to your dead relatives. They’re grifters who should be drawn and quartered. The End.

Mood: cranky
Where? the house
Music: Jeff Lynne's ELO - All My Life

On occasion, I have been asked how I get anything done, because it seems I’m doing everything all at once. Well, I am doing everything all at once, but it’s really all about what a person gets used to. It’s also about how a person’s mind works.

My mind has always been way too busy for its own good. Many of my teachers in school allowed me to doodle as I took notes, because the only way I could fully focus on the work at hand was to allow my mind to drift in other matters. I know that seems counterintuitive, but it worked for me, and I soaked knowledge up like a sponge. The same concept applied to reading for me. I have to be reading more than one book at a time, and I have to read each page at least twice, because the first time is a kind of overall imprint, and the second review is more of an in-depth absorption. I read by paragraph, not by sentence.

I think faster than I can write, even with typing, so I often skip words, which can be frustrating.

When I began working in Quality Assurance at BMG, we were all allowed to do as we pleased whilst auditioning new releases, just as long as we could remain focused on identifying sound and technical issues with the recordings. I got into the habit of writing and working on art while I listened. It took the pressure of having to listen to shite. When we began testing video games and upgraded to computers, my focus had to change. I could audition new releases while testing new games. I was also tasked to teach myself the computer, then give instruction to my boss and coworkers, so I would often find myself listening to an album, playing a game, and learning the PC by trial and error, all at the same time. It was never an issue for me. I adored it.

After BMG decided it no longer cared about the quality of its products and I ended up in the Pit (Special Orders Services/Point of Purchase promotions), my need to multi-task came in extremely handy, garnering me a lot of praise from a lot of labels, and some really nice raises. There were days I would be working on a dozen different promotions projects, and still be writing on my own stuff. When we got plugged into the Internet at work, I was introduced to LJ and created the Cliffs of Insanity to help me deal with the madness of working in the music business. Even though the coping mechanism only partially worked, as is evidenced in my obvious madness even today, it further developed my multi-tasking skills, allowing me to be able to listen to music, talk on the phone, communicate via email, process orders, organise promotions, bitch in my journal, and write on my fiction simultaneously. The more I did, the more I could do, and the more I needed to do.

I never had any capacity for patience, though, and what little patience I had, began to deteriorate. I am now pretty much devoid of any patience, but the mind is still on overdrive, and I often find myself incapable of doing just one thing. I feel incomplete and lazy. I feel disconnected, not only from the world as I perceive it, but also from myself. I also need some distraction in order to keep Cadmus in his Tulpa form at bay. If it weren’t for multi-tasking, Cadmus would have driven me the rest of the way mad as a hatter long ago.

I know a lot of people find multi-tasking to be a pain in the arse but, for me, it is a blessing for a mind that will sleep when it’s dead.

Mood: busy
Where? the house
Music: Ahrix - A New Start

Four days and three nights passed before Cadmus’ house went quiet. Out of desperation, Flint had resorted to Vampirising his fellow rats, as he waited for his chance to flee the Plenipotentiary’s lair. It was shoddy cuisine, but desperation made the blood taste much better than it actually did.

Even though the place had fallen silent, Flint was more than a little frightened that Cadmus was still present and waiting for him to attempt an escape. If Cadmus was a master of one thing, it was absolute stillness. Flint had never been more afraid in his life, truth be told, and that fright conflicted with his impulse to flee immediately. He fought the urge, however, knowing that it was all too likely that Cadmus was waiting silently for Flint to reveal himself so that he could sacrifice the young vagabond Vampire to his Harming Tree.

He could sense the sun sinking beyond the mouldy stone walls of his dungeon hide-out and decided to give the silence one that night and the following day before he attempted to spirit himself away from the hidden keep. After draining another rat, Flint slept, curled up in amongst his living brothers, but still shivering from cold and trepidation.

For most Vampires, patience was something that came with the territory of immortality. Waiting for anything was like blinking your eyes in the scheme of things. It all passed so quickly, the endlessness and variety.

For Flint, however, patience had always run thin. Although he almost always was of a mind to shrug off the world and walk his own vagrant path, waiting for anything he wanted or enduring any situation that was not ideal to his whims of the moment were both nigh untenable, especially if he did not have anything else to busy his mind whilst forced to exercise a virtue that simply was not part of his make-up.

Flint opened one beady rat eye and glared at his brothers, who all seemed content in the deep crevice shared by the colony. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic and irritable. It had been 24 hours and, still, the keep was silent as death. Raising his nose, Flint sniffed the stagnant air, and caught no scent of the Dark Child of Night. Cadmus had to be gone. This could be Flint’s only chance to escape the horrors of his killing ground.

Rising from the dank floor, Flint stretched, emerging from the ancient gash in the stone wall. Instantly, he became his human form once more, immediately crouching in a defensive position. You just could not be too careful with a creature like Cadmus Pariah. His powers were boggling, and Flint felt he had been nothing more than lucky to have escaped the Plenipotentiary’s lethal wrath for this long.

Mood: busy
Where? the house
Music: Ahrix- Snowbound

Things have been going on, so this may be a bit of an update from Hell, compared to my usually non-updates.

First off, my phone has been on the fritz for who knows how long. It’s not actually the phone, but the Cricket network. I went yesterday to try to sort it, but the folks at the store couldn’t even troubleshoot it, so they had to put in a service order, which means up to 72 more hours of no service.

Since the first of the year, my health has been shite. Recurring migraines with the most vicious nausea I think I’ve ever had, has beaten down my body more than I could have ever imagined. In the past month, I have lost 10 pounds, and spent three days in the hospital, thanks to these fucking headaches. I’m thinner now than I have been since I was 12 years old. It has gotten to the point where I can’t even walk to the bathroom, which is right beside my room, without my having breathing difficulties and a pounding heart. I feel like I am dying.

But, I might get to tick one thing off my bucket list before heading into the Void, if I’m lucky. Jeff Lynne is bringing ELO back to the American stage on September 9th, 10th, and 11th of this year, at the Hollywood Bowl. When it was announced, I emailed a bunch of people with a proposition that, if they could get the tickets, I’d try to arrange us a place to stay. My old high school friend, Andy, has always dreamt of attending a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and he bit. We’re just waiting for the tickets to go on sale, if I can’t finagle them earlier than 1 May. The target day is September 10th, as that’s the best day for Andy. It’s also my birthday, which would be perfect.

Speaking of Jeff Lynne, David Bowie’s unexpected and untimely death made me come to grips with a truth I’ve known for a long time, but never truly verbalised, even to myself. I decided to accept it and to come out, to use the term in a wholly different manner. I wrote Barry Andrews and told him that he was the single most influential individual in my life, more so even than even the godlike Jeff Lynne and JRR Tolkien. I wanted him to know it, in the event either of us kicks the bucket. You should tell people how they affect you before it’s too late. It could be too late in the next five minutes. No one knows what each second will bring. No one.

A few weeks ago, there was a huge shake-up in the format of the Work in Progress that officially made it into a full-fledged novel in the works instead of a collection of short stories. I don’t even know what brought it to mind, guessing it had to be some kind of divine inspiration. The long and short of it, though, is that Flint steals the New Hive’s first - and currently only - relic, Cadmus Pariah’s Harming Tree. The story will revolve around Cadmus hunting down Flint, with possible help from Orphaeus Cygnus, and will include the stories and vignettes I have already written about the Harming Tree. As The Blood Crown was essentially a Vampiric Hope & Crosby Road movie in book form, The Harming Tree will be a bit of a book version of a hunt and chase movie, kind of in the vein of Mad Max: Fury Road and the like. I have asked Barry if he could drum up a photo of his harming tree, which is seen only briefly in the ‘Captain Cook’ video, and is obviously the benign inspiration, despite its name, for Cadmus’ dreadful tool of agony. It would be good to have a very clear image reference as I continue this mad journey into the Darkness. I need to jog his memory, though, as it’s been two or three months since I asked him. I’m sure he’s forgotten, and I keep forgetting to remind him. We are old as fuck.

The end.

Mood: cranky
Where? the house
Music: Leslie Wai - Paradigm

About an hour or so ago, I came across the best Creepypasta, as well as one of the very best short stories, I've ever read. I chanced upon it on You Tube, listened to it, then had to go to the original Pasta to read along as I listened for a second and third time. It's both a disturbing and beautiful story. The poetry of the fiction's language wraps around a visceral tale that will linger in the peripheries of your subconscious. If you like horror and/or science fiction, you'll love this.

For the best experience, I suggest you listen to the narration, which is flawless, whilst reading along. It makes for quite the unsettling experience, which means the insanely talented writer and the subsequent skillful narrator achieve what they each set out to do. I'm embedding the You Tube narration along with a link to the short story. You need only click the passage I copied from the story to be taken there, so you can read along. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. I've bookmarked everything, but wanted to make sure I would know where to find the story when I want to revisit, because I know I will. Often!

It's talking to me. Cooing sing-song layered words packed with image and smell and sound. Destruction, charred flesh, crying babies, the static deafening, holocaust fast and slow, some die in flames, in quakes of reality, in molecular disease while others die in camps, farms, zoos and labs. There are holes in the sky. Out of them come exterminating angels, servants of a distant and inconceivable Lord.

Also, have a picture of a cube UFO, as allegedly witnessed in El Paso, Texas, in July. I'm including it because it just adds to the creepiness of the above passage, and I won't be happy until you are as disturbed as I am!

Mood: impressed
Where? the house
Music: Peter Gabriel - I Don't Remember

The band have posted an hour-long interview, answering fans' questions. Take a gander, and don't forget to pick up a copy of Without Real String or Fish.

Mood: pleased
Where? the house
Music: Electric Light Orchestra - Confusion

The past couple of days have seen me regain my lost focus on things I needed to do. Along with it was a wonderful spurt of energy, which I have tried to utilise for best effect possible. Yesterday, in particular, resulted in a great deal of Shriek dissemination. I'm thinking knowing I'm going to be taken off life's stage for a goodly portion of the weekend that spurred the flurry of activity.

Late tomorrow morning, I'll be going back under the knife - and "sander" - at the dentist's office. "But why?" you may ask. "I thought you got a full set of dentures!" And you would be more than justified in any confusion this has imposed on you. My permanent teeth never fit me correctly, but I was waiting for the gums to heal more before I went for any adjustments. The problem only got worse over time, though. The dentures are too large for my mouth to rest with my lips closed. I have to work at keeping my mouth closed, which gives me a distinct chimpanzee appearance. If I don't close my mouth, I look like this dog.

(Click the pic to learn more about Tuna)

When I laugh or smile, Tuna is replaced by Mr. Ed. But it's not the aesthetic that distressed me as much as the health concerns. Because the teeth were so large and ill-fitting, I couldn't use them to bite food, and there wasn't enough room in my mouth to even chew properly. The act of grinding the teeth together in an effort to chew was not only unsuccessful, but excruciating. Being a GBS patient, I have to chew my food beyond thoroughly. Any small amount of unchewed food can get caught in my tiny digestive track, which means it will come back up. My inability to chew resulted in a lot of vomiting so, almost a year out, I'm still on a soft food diet. Let's just say I'm fortunate to love potatoes and cottage cheese so much.

Then, there was my speech. I've always been very self-conscious about my speech, because of the variety of accents in my family and, upon entering school, being teased for having a lisp. At the age of 6, I began speech therapy with myself. I obsessed over tongue-positioning to cloak the lisp and, a couple of years later, I was almost lispless. That didn't stop the kids from doing what kids do, though, so speech became an issue for me early on. Obviously, without fangs in my face, and because of my almost life-long practice of tongue positioning, my impediment is magnified. With the teeth in, I have a whole new set of speech problems, from sounding like Gopher in the Winnie the Pooh cartoons to slurring my words to the point of sounding like a drunk zombie politician on the campaign trail. I have to repeat everything I say, all the time. This is particularly frustrating when I go see Dr. Harrington. He's deaf as hell and my unintelligible blarghing is counter-productive to a successful talk-centric session.

The combination of pain, inability to properly eat or speak, and looking like the ugliest Osmond in all of Utah drove me back to the dentist last week to hopefully get them adjusted enough to where I could lead just a fraction of a normal life. I saw a different dentist in the office that day, one Dr. Habashi, who is hubba-hubba-level handsome. Unlike the dentist who took me on after my first dentist, Dr. Preber, moved to Northern California, Dr. Habashi listened to everything I had to say, noted by areas in my mouth that I was not exaggerating, and gave me a thorough exam, including another full digital imaging of my head. After gathering all the evidence, he gave me the bad/good news. The bad news is I'm one of those rare individuals who, instead of having the occasional, inevitable bone shard still in my gums work its way out as the gums healed, some of the shards established residence and began developing spurs. Even though I did have a couple of shards work their way out, which is quite normal, it turned out that I had a few more that remained, forming hard knots all over my gum lines, top and bottom. This was keeping my gums inflamed and made wearing the dentures pretty much impossible and agonising.

The good news is, this can be fixed! He set me up an appointment for a second oral surgery to basically "sand down" my gums and remove any bone left behind from the first surgery. I will then have to be refitted again for properly-fitting dentures. Thanks to b_bopper55, I will be able to pay for the second surgery, but the new teeth are obviously free, considering they were not made correctly, and did not function in any way dentures are supposed to work. So, hopefully soon, I'll stop being left-side Ren and finally transform into right-side Ren.

I'm thinking that this surgery may be worse than the initial extraction surgery. There's an image of a NYC high-rise construction worker ambling into the operation room after I'm put out, revving up his industrial electric sander and wearing a grin that can't say anything but "Serial Killer in Training." So, I'm trying to get as much writing and advertising done today as I can. I've already alerted the band that I will probably be incommunicado for most of tomorrow and all of Sunday, and I am finishing up a rudimentary outline of the five main characters of The Harming Tree. I've been writing a lot of late, but all of it is currently disjointed, as I write what is "given" me, and that process is never a consecutive narrative. So, yeah, I may be posting a good bit about Shriekback today, as well as posting my 5-character study with accompanying anchor images.

Mood: busy
Where? the house
Music: Bear McCreary - Wander My Friends

Calling all Shriekback Fans!

The new album is right around the corner and the band need
you to spread the festive news like warm butter.

Be sure to pass on everything and screen cap it.

Your involvement will not only help fund more music,
you will also enjoy exclusive freebies for your loyal service.

And who doesn't want that?

Mood: cheerful
Where? the house
Music: The Shamen - Move Any Mountain

So far, the week has certainly been an interesting one.

Yesterday evening, You Tube's All Seeing Eye, placed this little gem in my recommendations - Contemporary Acoustic Buddhist music, courtesy of Mantrasphere and record producer, Barry Andrews. Listen!

Today has been a little less productive because I went to get a nerve block injection for the left side of my lower back. They gave me a giant shot of dilaudid and phenergan to relax me, and they said it would last a few hours after the procedure was finished. That was this morning at 9 o'clock. I did not go to sleep, like so many other patients do, according to the staff, but I did zone out for much of the day, only recently snapping out of the catatonia. So far, I've been satisfied with the block's effects. I can stand up straight now, instead of looking like a human comma. After months of really hideous pain, any change for the better is welcome to the point of my turning into this little old lady.

Since hearing the new Shriekback album, the ebb and flow of my current Work in Progress has changed tidal behaviours and set my writer brain on fire. Big changes are in the offing, and I'm eager to get to the revisions and rewrites.

But first, I need to finish the song-by-song review of Without Real String or Fish so it will be ready to share, if approved, when the album is released. The problem I'm having with it, though, is the brainmeats begin conjuring new themes and possible directions for the book, when I'm trying to focus solely on whatever song I'm discussing at the moment. What I'm having to do is limit the work on the review to two or three songs a day, with each song on perpetual repeat until I collect my "sanity." I am halfway finished with it, and am about to work some more on it, since I haven't touched it at all today, for obvious I'm-drugged-the-fuck-out-of-my-mind reasons.

I figured I would visit the Cliffs before proceeding, because I'm committed to being more present here, my favourite and preferred dot on the Internet map. It's now time to make a concerted effort to maintain my "critical brain" as I beat back the "creative brain" for a little while.

I'm gonna be writing like a damned maniac.

can't stop writing or my muse will eat me

Mood: busy
Where? the house
Music: Shriekback - Man of Foam

Over the course of about a day now, I've had one character get resurrected in my current narrative and another new character get added to the same narrative. As it stands in my brainmeats right now, after Cadmus kills Baptiste Chenier, a solitary Vampire whose Hive alliance is still a mystery to me, resurrects him. This would make him the only Vampire to ever be decapitated, but still be saved. The only thing I know about the female Vampire is that her name is Pandora, and she renames the film maker Cadmus just killed Lazarus. The feeling I'm getting from this new and unexpected turn of events indicates to me that they are going to be of special importance to the new story. So, to celebrate, I made a crap Photoshop manipulation whilst waiting for my words to return.

baptistewlighthouse

Mood: amazed
Where? the house
Music: Shriekback - Man of Foam

I'm posting these primarily for ladyana5, with whom I was discussing images on the Internet. I figured I'd make it a separate post to keep the band current in search engines, because Shriekback. The first image is the unaltered scan from a Creem magazine article that was printed during the Big Night Music period. You can click this image or the Photoshopped one to see them at the original size.

When I began work on the old Shriekback Digital Conspiracy site, I had never used Photoshop. The Father Unit gave me his version, whichever the latest was in 2000. Even though I'm still horrible at Photoshopping, I'm a thousand percent better then I was then. Behold the smeary rock where the lettering used to be! Horrible, horrible manip...

This is one of my favourite pics of the band. The only way it could have been better was if Carl had been in the shot. I will make note here that this image actually inspired an entire chapter in one of my books. A picture has never played a role in that kind of inspiration before, and it never has since. As I'm more auditory when it comes to Muse activity, I don't see it happening again, but I will never say never. You just can't know such things.

Mood: dorky
Where? the house
Music: Sunscreem - Love U More

Here is a passage from a manuscript I never incorporated in the Relics Trilogy. It's the last entry in a journal found on a bank of the Po in Turin, Italy. The entry is incomplete and the Canadian journalist and paranormal investigator, Isaac Steugler, has yet to be found. I was considering making it a sub-plot of 'The Augury of Gideon', but I think it may better fit the new book. We'll see. In the meantime, here is Isaac Steugler's last known writing.

Rarely does an investigative journalist have the honour to stumble across something so incredible that he questions his own sanity at discovering such revelations.

Such is the joy and plight of this writer.

In the past, I’ve investigated and written texts about the hidden mysteries of The Talmud and Kabbalistic traditions. I’ve researched the source of the majority of our modern belief systems: the Sumerian society and their interactions with beings they considered to be gods. I’ve delved into the many traditions of Celtic worship and their latterday descendants, Druidism and Witchcraft. And I have walked the secret halls of the Freemasons and their Hermetic and Enochian brethren.

I thought I knew all there was to know about the occult, the arcane, the obscure. But I was wrong.

Since I found some ancient scrolls tucked away in one of the Cathedral's caverns, my life and all in which I thought I believed has turned upside-down. If these scrolls are legitimate (and all evidence points to the fact that they are), I have found absolute proof that Vampires exist, and have long been a part of some arcane conspiracy that reaches all the way to the world governments and dominant religious institutions. They may even solve the mystery of the Shroud, given their close proximity.

I'm returning to Ontario tomorrow, getting in touch with an associate of mine who should be familiar with this text. She can hopefully translate what I can't, and twig me onto someone who can run tests on the scrolls' antiquity.

These are exciting times for

Perhaps Mr. Zeugler ran afoul of Cadmus Pariah...

cpthface

To learn more about and, if you wish, purchase The Vampire Relics, please click on the picture below.

Mood: bouncy
Where? the house
Music: Andy Partridge - Another Satellite

dferguson, the word sorcerer who maintains the blog, Blood & Ink, put on the virtual thumb screws the other day, and had me answer a few questions. This was the direct result.

DF: Why write about Vampires?
TAE: I write about Vampires because I was raised on a steady media diet of vampirism, thanks to watching 'Dark Shadows' in my playpen whilst the mother unit toodled about.

(click pic for full interview!)

While you're at it, explore the blog. Derrick is a fantastic writer and reviewer, so I'm sure his insights will tickle your fancy.

Mood: okay
Where? home
Music: Isaac Sprintis and Ned Clark - Vibrational Ecstasy

This isn't showing on Amazon, yet, so I'm sharing it here as well.

I've long held the opinion that oral traditions were not entirely dependent on repeatedly telling the tale and memorizing every nuance that the story contained. I am of a mind that there comes a point where spoken and written communication becomes embedded in cultural and racial consciousness. Even if you've never heard a song or a tale before, sometimes you still recognise it. Something within you resonates with an ineffable sense of truth that, to quote Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars, "surrounds and binds" you. More often than not, such transcendental familiarity can be associated with a person's ancestry. You are experiencing a kind of sacred sentience that scientists, particularly in the field of genetics, are only now coming to understand.

This expansive consciousness is not limited to humanity. It involves everything we think we know, and emanates far beyond the boundaries we have yet to imagine. Our fellow Earthlings perceive existence in ways so alien to us, we can't even grasp the enormity of such a concept. The more we learn about the world around us, the more obvious it becomes that our knowledge and understanding don't even skim the surface of the mysteries of creation. One thing we have begun to accept, though, is the power of DNA. Within DNA rest infinite spirals of information that can be accessed as needed and enhanced by the epiphanies their current vessels' experience in their lifetime. Looking at it from this perspective gives rise to the idea that sentience doesn't reside within us; rather, we reside in sentience. Everything we know, or think we know, has been discovered countless times before, and will continue to do so as the universe, or multiverse, seeks its own definition.

What does all of this have to do with The Augury of Gideon? Everything.

First, the definition of "augury" as found on Dictionary.com:

A great deal of the books of Daniel and Revelation are auguries in the Abrahamic religions. Many Shamans, from the ancient past to the present, are augers, their knowledge, often acquired by rote, are auguries. Some auguries are so old, their wisdom have become organic, inscribed upon the very atoms that comprise the spirals of DNA. An augury can be quantum graffiti, the wall upon which it is written, creation's tabula rasa, eternally craving the to be filled with poetry, whale song, the repetitive patterns drafted in the path of stars and the whispered constructs of a virus. It is known and understood on innumerable levels and in dimensions that may never be proven by humanity.

That said, an augury can be anything, not just a spoken tale or a series of letters chiseled into stone. Pull away the veils that conceal its stories, and it will be revealed in an infinity of forms. It can be the symphony of what will come, encrypted and replicated in every tiny cell that makes you you.

I first encountered the word "augury" when I watched Earth: Final Conflict in 1997. One of the main characters, played by the brilliant Richard Chevolleau, had the nickname "Augur," which he acquired because of his almost supernatural computer skills, which included hacking and virtual linguistic gymnastics that helped the resistance better understand the true intentions of the alien Taelons. Being a student of the prophecy, omens, and various forms of divination, I instantly loved the word and mentally bookmarked it for possible use in the future. I got my chance two years later while I was writing Cadmus Pariah's biography, Sui Generis, which became one of the chapters in the first Relics book, The Chalice. I started the story out with a strange little phrase that had been looping in my mind for days: "The desert shakes with the footsteps of the Jinn, ascending for the perishing sun, owl and serpent alike." After completing the bio, I attributed what looked to be a prophecy to one of the Original Ten Vampires, a Tarmian wood-worker, who became known as Gideon. The name was based on a bit of confusion on my part, at the age of 9. In 1978, I watched an old Jack Benny movie called The Horn Blows at Midnight. Mr. Benny played an avenging angel whose duty was to sound his trumpet to herald Armageddon. I don't know how or why it happened, but up until I gave the Tarmian-turned-Upyr the name, I had always thought Jack Benny's name in the film was Gideon. Even though I discovered I was mistaken, I still kept the name.

During the time I was writing Sui Generis, I was learning more about Shamanism and the use of hallucinogens in various Shamanic rituals around the world. Ever since I'd learned Syd Barrett's tragic story, I became resolute in the opinion that by way of LSD, Syd became hyper-aware of how vast and incomprehensible reality truly is and, because he apparently had little or no training in Shamanism, he was unable to process that which had manifested, and it drove him mad.

I could easily see that as a possibility, considering the presence of the archetypal mad man or fool making itself known in cultures throughout the world over the span of millennia. Two modern examples of this would be the character of Gabby Johnson in Blazing Saddles, and Matthew Silver, who is a performance artist in New York. He's the perfect modern example of the archetypal mad shaman. Watch him in action, and you'll see what I mean.

So, taking the components of a Gene Roddenberry sci-fi show, a case of mistaken identity involving an old B&W film from the 40s, the tragic story of Syd Barrett, the theories of cellular and racial memory, combined with cosmic consciousness, I added the Fool archetype, and anchored the character to Dean Haglund in his role as Ringo in The Lone Gunmen to further flesh Gideon out.

Gideon was the mad Vampire shaman, and his prophecies were known to exist by the entire Hive, but no one knew what all of them were. No one could say if they came in the form of scrolls or were passed on in oral traditions. His foretellings were collectively called The Augury, and it is this that became the third Relic, which was actually seen and held by at least two characters in the first Relics book, The Chalice. Even though Gideon is seen only in retrospect throughout the series, he and his message became two of the most important factors in resolving the arc story.

About half of the book was influenced by a song called 'Planet' by Shriekback, a bonus track on the now impossible-to-find "Cormorant" egg. I don't know what the true meaning of the song is; rather, I wrote a large portion of The Augury of Gideon based on my interpretation of the lyrics. It certainly triggered thoughts of martyrdom and sacrifice in my mind, with some unexpected results.

As is expected, the final book of the trilogy brings a few storylines to close, and says goodbye to some of the Vampires at its end. Given that The Augury is firmly based in the cyclic nature of existence, the immortality of genetic memory, and the indestructibility of sentience, I would suggest you compare the last story to one of Cadmus' favourite things: a black hole. Going into a black hole may very well seal your doom, based on what we think we know about how the universe works, but it could also be a tool of cosmic transformation, giving credence to the Pagan concept of the Goddess' womb to tomb aspect. Who knows what may happen when you come out the other side of the black hole?

Perhaps we can find out together. Until then, I hope you enjoy this book and the characters that told the story. If anything in any of the three books inspires you to learn more about some of the concepts, traditions, cultures, music, and philosophies that helped inspire them, then I'd say my work is done. You have the secrets of The Augury now. It's time to pass it on to others.

Mood: tired
Where? Home
Music: Syntax - Thorns and Roses

Yesterday, Barry Andrews uploaded a new blog entry on the Shriekback Tumblr. It's a great read, obviously, but I saw a lot of what he wrote could also apply to other musicians, artists, writers, dancers - basically anyone who produces creative content. Over the years, I've come across artists who work in all creative mediums who say they were influenced and/or inspired by Shriek music. I was especially pleased to read two particular statements in the narrative.

Barry wrote:

Shriekback has long enjoyed a cordial, if intermittent, rapport with the film business. The reason is not hard to discern: we do seem to be good at creating ‘atmosphere’. Evoking feelings; establishing a mood. I’ve no idea why this comes so easily but it does. Music can sidestep the conscious, critical mind and make emotions happen in a way that visual media have to work a lot harder to do.

Later on in the blog entry, he wrote:

It’s always a nice moment when you get an email asking to use a piece of Shriekback music in a film: firstly it means you get paid without doing anything (though you always seem to have to chase the money- doubtless for some film biz related reason). And also there’s an implied compliment in that someone saw something in your work which they felt would enhance their own.

Of course, I had to share the entry to my Vampire Relics Facebook page, adding my own opinion about the nature of creative expression. Here was my take as the writer of The Vampire Relics:

So what do you think? Do you think Shriekback's treatise on the nature film-making and its relationship with music is a valid perspective? Do you believe how what he says could apply to any creative effort? If you have opinions and/or insights regarding this, please share them. Also, if you have drawn, written, painted, filmed, photographed, recorded, built, or made something that came into existence because of Shriekback's influence on your imagination, I'd love to see it. If you do share something with me, be sure to let me know if I can pass it on to Barry because, as quoted above, he considers such activity to be "an implied compliment in that someone saw something in your work which they felt would enhance their own."

Mood: productive
Where? Home
Music: Mr. Big - To Be With You

When it comes to keeping my Goodreads account current, I am woefully lacking, both in logging the books I've read and sharing information on the things I've written. I'm trying to rectify that. Just click on the picture below to be carried to my wee spot on that fabulicious website.

Mood: a tad jittery
Where? Home
Music: Oingo Boingo - No One Lives Forever (1988 Boingo Alive Version)

Here's the biog, which can also be seen on my Amazon page. <--- click for that link magick to happen. No html fuckery was allowed for this, so things that should be in bold or italics are not. Sorry about that.

Tracy Angelina Evans was born on 10 September, 1967, in Asheville, North Carolina, into a small family that had more in common with the Addams Family than the Waltons. Her father was a slightly off-center Jack of all artistic trades (radio DJ, photographer, writer, journalist, singer/songwriter, comic, and Japanese commercial actor - go figure), so it was convenient that his nickname was Jack. Her mother is a first generation Hippie, who adores artistic/crafty endeavours, reading, watching horror movies, and anything to having to do with nature and the animal kingdom. Her grandparents were Big Band Jazz musicians and singers (maternal grandparental units), painters and storytellers (paternal grandmother unit), and CIA operatives (paternal grandfather unit) in what was then West Germany. She was raised by her eccentric aunt, Tudi, and paternal grandmother unit in Asheville and, later, in Duncan, SC. She began artistic pursuits at the age of 4, when her grandmother told her to go draw flies. Too young to get the joke, her first pictures were of flies. The spiders came later to eat the overpopulation of flies. Webs were really fun to draw. She began writing animals stories around the age of 7, but switched to human-centered sci-fi stories at 13, when she heard the Electric Light Orchestra's album, Time.

Language and mythology became an important part of Tracy's education at an early age, and she was fascinated with religion. Early on, she wanted to be a preacher, but was told only men could do that. Then she wanted to be a nun, going around with a towel held to her head with a plastic mixing bowl to signify her cornette, but was told only Catholics could do that. Her mother was Jewish and her father was a non-practicing Southern Baptist, so the natural progression from these lofty origins, along with the dashing of original spiritual aspirations because of denomination and gender, is for the offspring to embrace Pagan and Pantheist philosophies, which became intertwined with her sci-fi sensibilities, the music prevalent in her life, and what little she could grasp of actual science, particularly physics and psychology.

In her junior year of high school, she chose to do a research paper on anti-Utopian societies, or Dystopian worlds, using A Brave New World and 1984 as the frame work for her paper. This turned her into a conspiracy theorist and affected the general tone of her writing from then on. During this time, too, she began building a personal myth around an ancient alien race that came to Earth before the rise of humanity. Part of the process of this creation was the invention of a new language, based loosely on the Indo-European family of languages with a hint of Finno-Ugric. (How, really, did two countries so far apart from one another end up sharing a root language, anyway? Finland? Hungary? What say you?)

At the age of 19, Tracy's genuine love of music, combined with her knowledge of a wide variety of musical genres, gave her the opportunity to work in the music industry starting in 1987. She left Wofford College to pursue this career. For almost a decade, she literally (using the correct definition of the word) got paid to sit and listen to music, during which she was allowed to read, write, draw, or anything else that did not deter from her job in the quality assurance department of what was then BMG/RCA Music Service. Another nine years with the company saw her going into music promotions, which drove her clinically mad.

Her Tarmian mythology got a metaphysical shot in the arm when Tracy began studying ancient Pagan religions and dabbling in the then still fresh New Age philosophies in 1990 and going forward.

Also in 1990, she discovered what would become her favourite music band, Shriekback. They would end up having a profound effect on every aspect of her own artistic endeavours. Thanks to her entering the virtual world of the Internet in 1998, she got to eventually meet some members of the band, and help to promote them and their music since 2000. They were kind enough to allow her to use lyrics from their songs as chapter lead-ins for her books.

After the death of her aunt in 2011, Tracy moved to San Diego to be closer to her mother, taking with her, her non-human friends Smidgen (a giant cat with a partially erect furry penis for a tail) and Toby (an obnoxious deer Chihuahua who had been abandoned at the veterinary hospital for which she briefly worked as a Vet Assistant), her music, book, and DVD collections, a few clothes, and her computer.

She is quite active online, maintaining a 12-year-old blog on Live Journal, called The Cliffs of Insanity, and sharing amusing and/or infuriating bits of info and images on her Facebook page. Besides writing and devouring copious amounts of music, she enjoys drawing badly, and is trying to learn how to use an art tablet. She also loves to read, watch movies (any genre but romance), make videos for You Tube (some vids for Shriekback, some vids to share songs that might not otherwise be available, like the more obscure Celtic folk tunes of Dougie MacLean and Talitha MacKenzie, and some funny bits and bobs, like The Tim Roth Tutorials), going to drum circles on the weekend to work out her djembe and get a contact high, and enthusiastically waiting for the End of the World. Over the past few years, comedy has also become of great import to her mental health. There's a reason why we have the cliché "laughter is the best medicine."

Tracy has a strong affinity for non-human Earthlings (camelids, reptiles, birds, and mantids, in particular) and was involved in cat rescue for some time in Duncan, SC. At one point, she was seeking homes for about thirty cats she had tamed and nursed back to health, earning her the title of Crazy Cat Lady in her neighbourhood. (All the cats were re-homed.) She has worked to rehabilitate many species, including a hypoglycaemic hummingbird, a family of opossums to whom she gave epic Nordic names for no reason whatsoever, and a variety of lizards. She is in love with a planet she sees aching under the yoke of human oppression, and would do anything to see that change. She claims to be a professional misanthrope, which is most often channelled into Cadmus Pariah, but she likes you. To the best of her knowledge, her lineage includes Welsh, Scottish, English, Jewish, Dutch, Hungarian, African, and Cherokee genes, making her a class A mongrel.

After years of change and countless reassessments of her belief system, Tracy is now more comfortable with the concept of Jungian archetypes and how they are recurring themes throughout human history. As it stands at the time of this writing, she's working on a fourth Vampire book, she's still a diehard Star Wars/Star Trek sci-fi/fantasy nerd, an apostle of JRR Tolkien's and Robert Anton Wilson's, an opinionated grouch, and a constant victim of synchronicity, which tends to spread the wealth of weirdness with anyone in close proximity. She has a short list of heroes that include Jeff Lynne, Carl Jung, Barry Andrews, Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Starhawk. She is also one of the 14 remaining people on Earth who dislikes Joss Whedon and that for which he stands, and has actually lost friends because of her opinion. If she had her druthers, Tracy would move to Avebury, Wiltshire, and groove on the ley lines' vibrations for the rest of her life.

She's absolutely certain that she is uncertain about everything, and that is most certainly a statement loaded with uncertainty.

At Buckingham Palace in 2006.

Mood: mellow
Where? home
Music: Malcolm - Moonshine

For some idiotic reason, I had no clue that such a thing as an author's page existed on Amazon, so I'm playing catch-up now. I've uploaded a blurb about The Chalice, which will be live in 3-5 business days, according to Amazon. My page URL is http://www.amazon.com/Tracy-Angelina-Evans, if you're interested to see how I fare in filling in so many long-standing voids. For now, though, here's what I wrote about book 1:

From the Author

The Chalice was originally born in 1987 from a dream I had about Vampires that involved the songs 'Mercy Street' by Peter Gabriel and 'Theme from Harry's Game' by Clannad. In my dreamworld, Vampires defined in equal measure both blasphemy and sanctity. Even though I grew up with Vampire myths and legends, beginning with watching Dark Shadows in my playpen with my mother, I began a quest to learn as much about these beings as I possibly could, from the perspective of the many global cultures from which they sprang. One of the most influential books in my research was A Dream of Dracula by Leonard Wolf. Combining his profound scholarship with the myths of an alien race I had been writing about since 1983, I wrote my first short story about a Vampire turning a human to the night over the course of three days. This was my first Vampire character, Vasily Tenin (Thiyennen), who became one of the main characters in the book series. Also, in 1987, I read the book Holy Blood, Holy Grail by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln. The idea of the Grail not actually being a cup set fire to my imagination, as did the subtle references to a centuries-long conspiracy that involved the Knights Templar, Freemasonry, and the Illuminati. A fascination with Romani and Jewish culture also had a major hand in the formation of what would become the first book of The Vampire Relics.

Even though I was doing a great deal of research and myth "redefinition", I still struggled to write anything with which I was comfortable. The main female character in the bones of The Chalice, Kelat, did not fit my idea of a proper antagonist, especially after I became involved in Goddess worship. Kelat, for me, was an ideal - a character that accepted herself for what she had become, but never lost her divine identity. She was an archetype of Kali or the Cailleach made manifest. I could not make her evil. So the story languished until 1990, when I discovered Shriekback, whose song 'Deeply Lined Up' gave me my first visions of who would become the primary antagonist in the stories, Cadmus Pariah.

Writer's Block haunted me for years, though, between 1990 and 1999, at which time I began to write Cadmus' biography, which became the chapter in The Chalice entitled 'Sui Generis'. From there, the writing and myth-making began in earnest, and produced the first book of The Vampire Relics, which was completed in 2005.

My hope is that, when someone reads The Chalice, they are inspired to do their own research on the Vampire phenomenon and its apparent presence throughout the world, despite nations and cultures having no contact with one another at the time rumours of Vampires came to the fore, and seek to learn more about cultures like that of the Romani, as well as mystery traditions practiced by Kabbalists, Gnostics, and Cathars. It would be heartening to hear of people leaving the book with more questions than answers, so that they might expand their knowledge and the realm of possibilities in this incomprehensible world. And I would also be very happy to have been instrumental in the broadening of readers' musical tastes by introducing them to artists like Shriekback, Concrete Blonde, ELO, XTC, Oingo Boingo, and composers Antonin Dvořák and Johann Sebastian Bach.

Lastly, I hope that American readers come out of The Chalice with the realisation that America has an incredible treasure of strange tales, and a newfound interest in those legends and mysteries, like that of the Roanoke Colony and Virginia Dare.

Please enjoy The Chalice and The Vampire Relics. Pass the tales on to those you love. Everyone in this book and the others in the series were written to encourage people to never turn away from the Magick contained in this crazy reality we all share because, if you imagine it or believe it, whatever you believe or imagine exists on some level, and may already be imagining you back.

Even monsters like Cadmus Pariah.

Illustration for the first Vampire story I wrote in 1987, called Vasily's Kiss.

Mood: jumpy
Where? Home
Music: Deborah Harry - I Want That Man

Book Tweeter has made a splash page for The Augury of Gideon. Click the image to check it out!

Mood: optimistic
Where? home
Music: Excision - Ohhh Nooo!

Activities in this post will have already happened by the time I get to upload it to the Cliffs of Insanity, just so anyone who reads this knows.

I'm currently on a Frontier Airline airplane, headed for Denver. debrafortune contacted me about a month ago, wanting to know if I would come out to Boulder for the Halloween weekend. I have no idea why she wanted to fly me out to visit, but I think it's incredibly kind of her.

I met Debra in 2002, when I joined Live Journal. She was the first Shriekback fan I met. I can't believe we've actually known one another for 12 years. What is the time/space continuum coming to?

A couple of days ago, I added her phone number to my phone - or thought I did - so I could call her when I landed. Unfortunately, the phone didn't take the contact information. This is the second time that's happened with this phone. On top of that, the wall outlet charger stopped working overnight, when I was trying to charge the phone. This phone is my alarm clock, so it's a miracle that the phone had enough juice to cue my electronic rooster this morning. I found my USB charger, and am currently charging the phone. I put a call in to the Mother Unit, asking her to go into my Facebook account to retrieve Debra's number, and I messaged Debra on FB to let her know my contact dilemma, and tell her I was wearing my Grumpy Cat tee-shirt, so she'd know what to look for. Also, I asked her to text me with her number.

Some days, it just seems that nothing goes exactly to plan...

Anyway, I'm going to be landing in the Denver airport, at which time Debra and I are going to tour the bizarre art work and architectural oddness it boasts. There is a conspiracy theory that the design of the airport indicates that it is a secret headquarters for the Illuminati and/or Reptilians. There's also supposed to be Masonic symbology worked into the sight to so "Those in the Know" will will know they're in the right place, and direct them to the underground base where all the Eyes Wide Shut crowd can have their masques and rituals, Colorado style.

After we eyeball the airport, Debra's taking me to the sauna. We've never met in person, but the second thing we're gonna do when I get there is get naked, because that's what you do with friends. It's only logical. You can say a lot of things about my friends, but you can't deny their free-spiritedness and overall groovy attitudes.

I'm not sure what else we'll be doing, but I'm sure it'll be fun, strange, and super-mega-awesome, because that's just how we Shriekers roll, dig?

I'll be flying back to San Diego on Monday, at which time Smidgen will probably have a total emotional meltdown to see I have returned after probably assuming I've abandoned her in my room with minimal contact with anyone other than Obnoxious Chihuahua Extraordinaire, Toby, to keep her "company". Toby will be fine without me. He's bonded with Matt, who would be an Obnoxious Chihuahua Extraordinaire, if he were a dog. The two of them grok, especially on the manic level.

There's a bit of a scheduling thing I need to do on Halloween. I'll be announcing the official release of The Augury of Gideon, even though it's technically already available for purchase on Amazon. I'm hoping to coordinate with Kristen on this, so we can bomb all the appropriate social media sites at the same time. The key to getting attention in the ever-growing virtual world of Teh Intarwebz is attempting an information Big Bang, then following up with a ridiculous amount of repetition. That said, I would deeply appreciate it, if any of would reblog the announcement and relevant sites you hang out on.

At this moment, I am listening to my Vampire playlist, and attempting to write more on The Harming Tree. I'm contemplating bringing back Rebekah and Mephistopheles, because I've always been quite fond of that ghastly couple, their obvious love for one another entwined with their unbridled lust of blood and death.

Speaking of all these Vampires, I finally got to finish a picture of Cadmus I started four years ago. I'd scanned what I had then, and attempted to enhance it in Photoshop with absolute crap results. But using the Wacom tablet, I was given the luxury to fix the flaws that were already in the original drawing, then complete the rest of it. I'm a little (no... I'm a lot) self-conscious about posting it, but I may break down and make it a Friends Only post.

So there you have it. One part business as usual, one part adventure. I'll post more about my visit with Debra and her family, when I have the opportunity.

Mood: tired
Where? Boulder, Colorado
Music: Liquid Stranger - Hexed And Perplexed

STABBITY_by_Shakahnna
It's been one of those days.

Everything is irking me right now. Frustration levels are in the plaid zone.

I can't access very old video files with the tools I have at hand, and won't be getting any help via the two PCs in the house. Not without a 4-hour long sermon on everything I'm doing wrong from someone who seems to not know diddly-shit about Mac and how different it can be from the realm of PC-dom. I did find the original VHS tapes, though, so I'm biding my time until I can get them converted to DVD and MPEG. I need to do that to preserve them anyway. There's a place in LA that charges $10 for the conversion, but I'm not certain I want to send the tapes away. I'm gonna hunt for someone local, so the vids will be in my possession at all times, or most of the time.

Yesterday, I read an article about that dick cheese, Pat Robertson. I shared it on Facebook. Earlier, I got a comment from a long-time friend, a lady with whom I worked at BMG, who found me on FB a couple of months ago. She was a titch defensive, not of Pat Robertson, but of the church as a whole, and its tax exempt status. We got into a tiff about it. I don't mind differing opinions or beliefs, but the whole religion thing is one of those hot-button topics that will send me spinning into a fury.

So, yeah, I'm enjoying an emotional repast of Sithly rage today. This might help me write today, though, so I'm just gonna ride the wave, and see what happens.

Mood: pissed off
Where? Home
Music: Oingo Boingo - My Life

“Just because the world thinks you’re a monster, doesn’t mean you have to live up to the reputation, you know,” Orphaeus said offhandedly.

“This, coming from someone who collects finger bones...”

Cadmus’ barbed response needled along the peripheries of Orphaeus’ growing exasperation with the Plenipotentiary.

“All I’m saying is, the world is already a shit-hole. Why not try to make it a little better or, at the very least, don’t make it any worse?”

Cadmus cut his eyes to Orphaeus.

“Do you know what the world is to me, Swan?” Cadmus said quietly. “It is a stable, packed with animals waiting for their turn for slaughter. It is a wilderness aching to be bled out. I have no desire to make it anything more than it is.”

“But you don’t have to glorify your hatred of everything around you!” Orphaeus argued.

“I am not glorifying anything, and you are forgetting that I am not in thrall to the trappings of emotion –“

“Yet!" Orphaeus injected. "You can feel, Cadmus. I can see it now more than ever before. The singing of the Augury has changed you, you can’t deny that.”

Cadmus returned to watching the vastness beyond Milky Way’s cradling arms. Orphaeus was right about the change in him, but that did not mean Cadmus had to aggressively seek out experiences that might trigger emotion.

“I see no need to confirm or deny anything for you. Perhaps you are over-emphasizing your importance in relation to me, and anything I do. Think upon that hank of ginger hair I cut from your skull, lo these many years ago, and kindly remember your place.”

Mood: Getting my Dubstep on
Where? Home
Music: deadmau5 - Raise Your Weapon

( He sat in silence for the rest of the night and the following day. The candle died long before Cadmus moved, plunging him into the inky blackness in which he found comfort. The peace he had nested in at The Poison Rose was magnified a hundredfold. Some would call this a holy experience, but Cadmus carried no such misguided notions. There was no god. The closest to a deity anyone could come was encountering a Vampire, him in particular. It was then that they realised that their god was a murderous and bloodthirsty creature, always seeking out a sacrifice to sate his desires. )

Mood: Kinda freaked out.
Where? Home
Music: Scott & Brendo - Synthia

It is cloudy today. I don’t know how long it will last, so I’m looking out the window occasionally to enjoy the lack of sun. Smidgen and Toby are here with me on the bed. I am rifling through a couple of old Shriekback articles I need to transcribe, whilst following various news sources concerning the chaos on several continents, mainly the Gaza tragedy and the Ebola outbreak. But I’m also taking mini-breaks from all that to aggressively seek out stuff that will make me laugh. Laughter is sometimes the only thing that will convince me I’m going to make it through the day without killing myself or someone else, or both.

Some new health issues have come up, but I’m not going to delve into that until I see my doctor on the 7th of August.

As is evidenced in my post last night, I am still writing. I don’t know when The Augury of Gideon is going to be released, but I promise it is complete and ready, for anyone who might be interested. Also, I started a Facebook page for The Vampire Relics. Please click the title to go see and join up. I’d love to have you.

For the past few days, I’ve been missing Todd a great deal. I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing him, and I do worry about him a lot, given what I assume to be some serious emotional upheaval in his life this past year. One of the things I liked about coming out to California was to have a better chance of seeing him again, since he’s also on the West Coast. It’s safe to say that won’t be happening.

Also, I’m deeply frustrated in regard to helping people effectively use the power of the Internet that is right at their finger-tips. I am by, by no means, a computer or network expert, but I’ve dabbled, explored, and worked damned hard to learn what I have over the past 15 years, and I would like to think that my efforts will not be vain, but I’m beginning to think I’ll always be the one to “set the time on the VCR”, so to speak.

Janice is finally getting her knee replacement, I think next week. She was wonderful at taking care of me after mine, so I feel a bit guilty not being there for her. She said she’d be okay, and she does have Johnna, Michael, and the kids. Blake is going to be staying with Uncle Michael during her recovery. I hope everything goes as smoothly for her as it did for me. I know her doctor. He was Aunt Tudi’s orthopedic doctor, so I have no doubt she is in very good hands.

I am thinking about committing to “paper” some accounts from my childhood that haunt me to this day. There are four, three of which have to do the paranormal or alien engagement, and one that I think was the Mother and Father Units fucking with me when I was in my crib. When I sufficiently gathered my thoughts about that, I’ll begin posting about them. I need to see if anyone else has ever experienced anything similar.

The Mother Unit is going to Costco later on, and I need to go with her. It’s time to restock cat litter and the fur-kids’ vittles. I don’t know what she and Matt have planned for tomorrow. Maybe we’ll go drumming, if the timing is right and we all feel like it. It would probably do me a little bit of good to get out of the house, at least as long as the sun isn’t trying to incinerate me. It’s not that it is hot, but that is almost always present. I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

Technorati Tags: Writing, Books, The Vampire Relics, Health, Memories, Family, Friends, Current Events

Ů sa dorken na’aaůlor kenropfehli
And I remember well in the distant realm of memory…..

Listen well, Child of Star and Child of Tree, to the youngest tale in the Cycle of Moon Myths. This is the last tale that humans know was told by the Tarmian folk for, with this tale, the last of the Tarmi veiled themselves from the World of Man, knowing that the time was not yet come for humanity to truly live the mystery.

It has been over a millennia since the Apostate had conjured upon the Dol-Princess and her Prince Thiyennen the Bloodlust, thus planting a seed of distrust between human and Tarma.

And now the Apostate had suggested that the Tarmi were the Fallen Ones so often mentioned in the Eastern Legends of humanity, and they would bring only grief and woe to the good people of the world. Days were dark indeed and the people began to live in fear of the ancient Dalni and the Teachers who answered to them. The Tarmi retreated to the mountains and forests of Europa. They abandoned Khemeth, for it was awash in confusion and strife, the kind they were unable to quell or cease altogether without looking like the tyrants the Apostate portrayed them to be. Much anger was directed at the Tarmian progenitors of Khemeth. The old symbols could no longer be read and were held in contempt by the humans who dwelt there still. But the Apostate read and understood the history of the Ancients, and he learned of the Twin Force of futility known only as Belien Tuthalidon.

And, from the fortress of temples and chapels contained in what was once Troy, the Apostate spread rumours that the Tarmi had brought with them the undying evil of which they themselves were an intrinsic part and worshiped without question. And they held humanity in thrall with their blasphemous teachings.

“See ye the true power of the Tarmi as they lurk in the night, feeding upon the blood of your Kith and Kin,” he proclaimed, using Kelat, Thiyennen, and their Vampire Hive as examples of his twisted truth. “They are indeed Satanspawn, born of their black gods. They fell to Earth by their own admission, these fallen angels, with the stain of evil tattooed upon their very spirits. They wish to enslave us with their magicks! The Bible says suffer not a Witch to live. Can we passively sit by and let these alien creatures take over the lands rightfully ours? No! I say no!”

And, to the shock of the Tarmi, more and more people began to believe in the Apostate. He built armies of Holy Men who marched throughout the country converting the folk to hate and fear the Tarmi and their human followers.

A great hopelessness fell upon the land for, as the Apostate spoke of Belien, Belien's futility awoke, their dark star a smear far above Eterah, drawing into it the negative adoration of humanity. And Belien Tuthalidon grew thrice stronger than before, being redefined by the words of the Apostate and the blind faith of his followers, and the Twins of Futility struck down Omanola and Thessalonika with plague and starvation. Humans throughout the countryside praised God for this act against the Evil Ones even as they themselves fell to pestilence, while the Apostate smiled, knowing that he had won.

And so the Tarmi of the fields and forests fled Westward toward the sanctuary of Meybhelahn, their human companions fleeing with them. But the Apostate desired the Tarmi utterly destroyed, so he called forth a great army composed of his most devoted servants
The leaves were painted and fell on chill days as the men came from throughout Europe. They were tall and pure zealots, untouched by woman and clad in the white of the Apostate. And they pursued the Tarmian procession, seeking to crush them before they reached Meybhelahn.
Two weeks did the White Army follow the Pilgrims. And it was that on one cold evening, as the Tarmian Pilgrims reached the Silver Gates of Meybhelahn, the White Army fell upon them. Immediately both Tarma and Human blocked the Gates so that none of the White Army could enter. A great slaughter ensued as the White Army laid waste to the Pilgrims. But the Tarmi would not fight. Through their tears and their terror, the Tarmi sang, returning to the Language of Old.

For it was song that was the first language and would be the last for any sentient being ever conceived in Existence to utter or to hear.

And Meneterah heard their beautiful music, and tasted their blood upon Her bosom, and She wept for what was lost. Now, it was always said that when people can hear the Earth cry, great and terrible things occur, for the Earth is our Mother and weeps always for Her children in times of joy as well as in times of sorrow. Eterah's weeping was heard throughout the land. The White Army ceased their purging to stop and listen to the ethereal weeping.

Never before had such an incredible sound been heard amongst the mortals of the Earth.
A heavy full moon illuminated the tragedy below. It was the first Moon of Autumn in the year 762 c.e. And as the Earth Mother wept, the blood of the slain ones rose in torrents and bathed the Full Moon. Before the Pilgrims and the White Army there appeared the Mother Mnemiva, Starry Kessilon, and Dark Vaadel, Mistress of Death.

Kessilon, Patron Goddess of the Tarmi, drifted to the Pilgrims and, enveloping them with starlight, sang. But Vaadel hovered over the cringing White Army, paralysing them with Her terrible beauty and the promise of swift and terrible vengeance.

Mnemiva spoke and Her voice was as a song:
"Ye of Eterah, remember always what it is that thou hast beheld on this night ~ the Night of the Blood Moon ~ for this ends the Age of Wonder, where Human and Tarma lived in harmony and magick. The Tarmi and their people shall pass from this realm to a place where only the faithful may someday follow. Humanity must relearn what it has lost under the dominion of the Apostate. But know this, o ye followers of Futility and Fear: the Full Moon before the Festival of Summersend shall forever be named Luma'Rhos, the Blood Moon, to remind thee of the Age thou hast ended with thy swords of hatred and spears of distrust. It is to remind thee that no one ever kills for God, but for those who deify themselves for the sake of power over others. With this crusade, thou hast sealed the fate of thy kind to always walk in darkness and fear, to be once-borne, to never see the Mantle of the Universe save by My Grace. Go ye back to the Apostate and tell him that his reign shall thrive for now, but that the Blood Moon shall loom yearly as a promise that My Children shall return to replant the Groves and sing to the Spirit which embodies All."

Mnemiva bade Vaadel release the White Army and they ran screaming and weeping into the hills, dropping their weapons as they fled.
And, as Mnemiva turned to the Pilgrims, Kessilon opened the Silver Gates of Meybhelahn, the Blessed Isle of the Tarmi.

"My Children, My Kinsfolk," Mnemiva whispered. "For thee Luma'Rhos shall represent thy fallen comrades martyred here by those grown blind to thy beauty. It shall herald a time when the Faithful may reach thee, for it will be when Luma'Rhos shines that soon the Veil shall grow thin and the Gates shall be revealed to those who can See. Welcome those who remember Our Ways, for it shall be these stray away children who may pave thy way back to this realm in some future bright with music and magick. But for now, go ye into Meybhelahn, be safe and happy, for the Andera love among thee and within thee always."

And so, under the moon awash with their blood, the Tarmian and Human Pilgrims entered into Blessed Meybhelahn ne'er to return until Humanity reclaims our beauty, our magick, and our Inner Song. So look ye to the Blood Moon, the full moon of October. The Veils grow thin and, in the Darkness, there is a Song.

Mood: depressed
Where? Home
Music: Syntax - Destiny

There may be people out there who have the impression that I’m a misanthropic asshole with no sense of gratitude.

It’s true, I am a misanthropic asshole, but I am grateful for a lot of things and beings, including people. I thought it might behove me to step out of “character” for a few minutes and make a list. So here we go.

( cut for courtesy )

1. The Mother Unit - for rescuing me from myself last year, and having more patience with me than I ever would with anyone, including myself.

2. My friends. Even though I’ve lost a few since 2011, I’ve retained many very important souls in my life, many of which I met here on LJ. Despite my general dislike for our species, I harbour much fondness for my Tribe. Many of you stuck with me through the darkest period of my life, often saving my skin and literally saving my life and sanity when I did nothing to deserve such kindness, and there’s really no way I can ever sufficiently repay you for that. I just hope that I can do something for each of you someday, that might properly express how much you mean to me.

3. Smidgen and Toby. They cradle my soul like no one else would be willing to, or could. The unconditional love cats and dogs give us may well be the primary way god/dess is trying to tell us that we aren’t alone, that we count in some way. Despite my agnosticism, Toby and Smidgen are the ones who keep me from full-on atheism.

4. Music. Music is the closest thing to the concept of Force that we can get. I’ve long believed that the multiverse in which we dwell is a song that is still being composed. It is the purest form of communication, and it is something that every living being expresses in one form or another. We are all songs, we are the music of creation, we are the mathematics and art of dreams and concepts.

5. Fey Publishing - for taking a chance on me and my strange tales. My third book will be available soon, thanks to Fey’s original owner, Sophie Childs, and its current sovereign, Kristen Duvall. Click on their names to learn more about these brilliant women. I owe them both a great deal, for their initial and continued faith in me, and for their patience as I struggled through my own personal bullfunky to finally get the third Vampire Relics book to Dark Fey’s door.

6. Shriekback, in particular Barry Andrews, for letting me have a ringside seat to their ongoing awesomeness. Since 1990, they’ve been an almost constant source of inspiration and comfort, soundtracking my life’s highs and lows, and everything in between. If we lived on Arrakis, I would owe Barry a huge water-debt.

7. The Impractical Jokers and The Epic Rap Battles of History. My entire life, I’ve been a huge supporter of all brands of humour, but my quest for things that would make me laugh became a desperate effort following Aunt Tudi’s death. Of all the things I explored in my quest for laughter, The Tenderloins (Impractical Jokers) and the guys behind The Epic Rap Battles were the only ones who never failed to bring me a joy that was otherwise almost impossible to find.

8. You Tube and Netflix. When you don’t have a TV, these two wonderful services are a wonderful, and often preferable, alternative.

9. Dr. Harrington. Of all the therapists I’ve had over the years, this is the only one I’ve ever felt actually listens to me. His wry wit, proclivity to play devil’s advocate, and his willingness to swear are just three of many things that impress me about the man. And he’s a good person, a genuinely good person.

10. The Internet. When someone asked me how I felt about the Internet back in 1998, I told them that the Internet was the universe’s largest library. You could find out anything by exploring the endless halls of virtual books. You need only be aware of the pervert at the end of each aisle and act accordingly to avoid them.

11. Sleep. When you’re a chronic insomniac, the value of sleep increases a thousandfold. I was never one of those kids who balked at bedtime; I was always a fan of slumber, mainly because of my vast dreamscape. Being able to achieve lucidity at times only added to the wonder of it all. After I began suffering from insomnia, those rare occasions where I’d achieve a few hours of really good sleep with a possible bonus of now rare dreams, reached a level of miraculous for me. I am never not profoundly grateful for sleep.

12. Drum circles. I’ve always been fond of them, but rediscovering drumming and, in particular, trance drumming, has reconnected me to deity on a level I thought was no longer possible. There’s something about surrendering to a group rhythm that is both spiritual and therapeutic. Thankfully, drum circles in San Diego are never on short supply, unlike the Upstate of South Carolina.

13. Earth. I try to never take my home planet for granted, especially now that my species seems hellbent on destroying the only home we’ve ever known. In vast expansiveness of the multiverse, this magickal sphere upon which we all live makes it seem more likely than not, that life is more prevalent than we can imagine. And Earth is teeming with it, in mind-boggling varieties throughout an inconceivable history. This “pale, blue dot” may be tiny in the scheme of everything, but the planet is unique and precious, a work of divine art, from the towering trees of the Amazon to the majesty of the Smoky Mountains, all resonating with the subtle song of water, that which gives life as we know it. We have no right to visit so much suffering upon the body and spirit of our galactic mother. Throughout every day, I am stunned by the miracle of our home, and I grieve for everything that has lost in the wake of our destruction. I walk through life, grateful to Earth for her presence, and therefore ours, and I hope that my fellow humans and I can find some semblance of forgiveness for our transgressions.

So there it is. Thirteen things for which I am very grateful. I’m sure there’s more, but these are the Big Ones in my life, at this moment. What do you treasure? For what are you grateful?

Mood: sleepy
Where? Home
Music: A Elbereth Gilthoniel - LOTR Elves

I had forgotten about this poem. It's from 2001. I rather like it. I hope whoever reads this likes it. as well.

sanctity

Mood: blah
Where? Home
Music: AWOLNATION - "Sail"

Last month, under the advisement of Matt, who had heard me talk fondly of playing the Doumbek and Bodhrán, the Mother Unit ordered me a surprise gift of a Djembe, carved out of mahogany. The design is called Celtic Labyrinth, and the drum was made at X8 Drums.

Shortly after that, I learned that Mickey Hart was doing a free demo, and wanted drummers to come out for a kind of impromptu drum circle. Okay, this is Mickey Hart of Grateful Dead fame. That Mickey Hart. I RSVP'd and stressed the importance of not just my attendance, but the presence of both Matt and the Mother Unit. So, when the time came, we went to the Mainly Mozart's presentation of Rhythm and the Brain.. I can't suggest strongly enough that you click the link. It was truly an amazing experience, made even more inspiring by the fact that Mickey Hart essentially turned it into a public Shamanic ritual, calling for rain. Oddly enough, it rained the next day, albeit very lightly and briefly. At least it was something.

I think Matt caught the drumming bug, as he is now talking about getting a drum of his own. Who knew that he and I would finally find a bonding pointing in beating the shit out of things? Better drums than one another. I'll take it.

I'm still unhappy with Xjournal. It doesn't have all the features I got so used to, and truly treasured, over the years of blogging on The Cliffs of Insanity. I think I may have found a way to use Semagic on this Mac. If I am successful, I'll probably be much more present here, as Semagic was how I used to read my friends' entries without having to visit the site proper.

This is going to be a bit cryptic. I need to rant about something I can't really rant about in a completely open forum, but I need to make it present so I can reference it later on. Since 1995, when Timothy placed a computer in front of me at work, and said "learn everything you can about this, then teach the rest of us," I have had a very proactive attitude about exploring what computers and the Internet can do, then passing on what I've experienced to people who ask, or who are just starting out in certain arenas about which I may be knowledgeable. I never hold back anything, and I try to be as helpful as I possibly can. I teach with visuals, words, and by example.

But, lately, I think that my willingness to share what I know, and enthusiastic teaching by example, are actually serving to be a detriment to some, who may feel that if I'm doing it for them, they needn't worry about making the effort themselves. I would stop, but I am compelled to make it all right, with what little resources I have in my vault of knowledge and experience.

I'm not saying I know everything. Far from it. I'm still learning the ropes in places like Twitter and Tumblr, and I don't even have an Instagram. But I at least try. It's the only way I can improve, and move on to the next uncharted space in the vast virtual universe. But am I holding others back by doing what I'm doing? If I stop, there's a good chance their primary goal will not be reached, and I can't imagine anything worse. I literally (and I'm using that word properly here) can't bear to entertain setting them up for failure by my withdrawal of know-how and resources.

But there's only so much I can do. And I am troubled by that.

The writing has hit a snag. The character I created to be murdered by Cadmus Pariah, is anchored to Richard Ayoade, and Ayoade is just so genuinely sweet and humble, I'm finding it difficult to place his anchor in a situation where he's slaughtered. He doesn't even get to be food. Cadmus has to dispatch him swiftly, mercilessly, and with no regard for him as anything more than a mosquito-like irritant. I created the character as a plot device to get Cadmus in Los Angeles, where he encounters Flint. It's a primary plot point that cannot be avoided.

So, for now, I'm waiting it out until I'm not so queasy about envisioning Richard Ayoade gutted and beheaded.

Speaking of writing, The Augury of Gideon is in the last stage of publishing. So I'm gearing up to try to promote it and the previous two books, with as little self consciousness as I can muster. I can promote the hell out of anyone else, if I am in Quest Mode. Just ask a Shriekback band member or a Shriekfan, or ask Rancid Rainbow, or Scott McClure. But when it comes to my shit, my first inclination is to shimmy under a stone and mumble incoherently. Anyway, once I have a release date for book 3, I will post it here. I also encourage anyone who reads this, to visit the Vampire Relics Page on Facebook. It's swell.

So that's about it. Wish me luck with Semagic thing. And everything else. I need it.

Peace out!

Mood: dorky
Where? Home
Music: Dukkeripen (Slavonic Dance) - Antonin Dvorak

BLINDING THE VISIONARY

A convincing meditation On the splendour of the night Giving out, giving out, radiating More heat than light
Shriekback – More Heat than Light

Like the whispering promise of infection, Cadmus arrived in Los Angeles. Slicing through the insistent fog, the airplane finally came to rest in a cradle of the garish light upon which humanity seemed so dependent in their fruitless effort to stave away the dark. They denied the stars. They denied the velvet night. They feared that which could not be seen, because the artificial light blinded them to any possibility beyond that which was illuminated. Let them take comfort in their obliviousness. It often served Cadmus Pariah well.

He brought with him one small bag, just large enough to hold a change of clothes and his computer. Cadmus did not plan on being in America for very long. He still had connections to the entertainment empire, mainly on Wilshire Blvd. It should not take much effort to locate the offending filmmaker and dispatch him with haste.

Like quicksilver, Cadmus moved through swelling throng of travellers, his disdain for them growing with every nimble step he took. The stench of their skin was only made worse by their pathetic attempts to mask their natural odours. The only thing remotely pleasant about humanity was the dizzying effect of their blood. Despite their general unpleasantness, human blood was still a sublime intoxicant.

Cadmus was hungry.

No one saw anything, and his dinner never knew what hit her. Cadmus stepped out of time and whisked her with him, draining her of most of her blood as people marched by, burdened with concerns or basking in the illusion of hope. She had a child, who was left standing beside her mother, crying in the belief that the woman had instantly abandoned her little girl. She could not see the female crumple to her knees, still locked in Cadmus’ trans-dimensional embrace. Only when he let the body completely drop to the floor of LAX, did she once again become visible to mortal eyes.

The child’s cries turned to a great keen, and Cadmus peered at the little human, feeling nothing but, perhaps, a vague scorn. Let the airport authorities sort it out, he thought. Let the child become emotionally locked to this moment in time, wracked with a trauma that will only serve to grow as she grows. The sooner anyone has the epiphany that life is but a treasury of agonies, the better off they shall be. What horrors will this little one collect over the course of time?

It was still early evening on the Pacific coast. Cadmus knew, though, that the business that controlled all forms of entertainment never truly slept. He had no doubt people would still be diligently working to perfect their propaganda for public consumption. As he turned away from the inconsolable child and the growing herd of curious and distressed humans, Cadmus attended to his cell, and found the phone number of Neil Beiser, one of the executives who oversaw the dissemination of movie score recordings under the Sony umbrella.

Neil picked up in the middle of the second ring.

“Sony Pictures, this is Neil.”

“Hello, Neil.”

“Christian? Is that really you? Where the hell have you been, man? What’s up with Magnificat? You still doing that gig?”

“Ahhhh, no. After Mary passed, it just seemed a bit pointless,” Cadmus said, perfectly imitating a person who was dealing with grief.

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry to hear about that. So, what are you doing these days?”

“Writing primarily. Lying low, you know. Keeping to myself. Right now, though, I am in town and was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Name it, Christian.”

Neil still knew Cadmus as Christian, because that was the name he had originally gone by with the forming Magnificat. Even though he knew Cadmus’ real name, he preferred that particular cognomen. It didn’t faze Cadmus. Names were nothing but transitory identities to be used and dismissed in accordance to one’s needs in that moment.

“Word has it that a young director is engaged in a project about various Vampire sects. I’d heard he might be interested in using some of Magnificat’s music for his film. Do you know anything about this, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re probably talking about Baptiste Chenier. He really gets into his work. I’ve heard he’s only filming at night, to maintain that particular undead vibe.” Neil barked out a cynical laugh, setting Cadmus’ teeth on edge. “He started out directing music videos, mostly for alternative bands, nothing like what you guys did. But yeah, I can see where he might be keen on getting the rights to use some of your songs.”

“Do you know how I might connect with him about this?” Cadmus asked politely.

Mood: thoughtful
Where? Home
Music: Signs - Shriekback

((woefully rough, but I'm posting anyway))

And here he was, in his home away from home, the nearly immortal Poison Rose, watching the ginger boy dance with flat, black eyes. Anyone prompting memories of Orphaeus Cygnus ran the risk of Cadmus’ ire. Even though anger was certainly no stranger to the Pariah, this irritation had crept into his bones when he had been focused on the sublime stillness that so often defined him in these times. The ginger was an intrusion for which he had no taste. He must pay for this indiscretion.

Rising from his seat, disregarding the fawning acolytes who invariably assembled in his shadow, Cadmus moved to the dance floor. He took no notice of the leather and spandex-clad bodies that parted like the Red Sea as he approached them. He saw only the ginger boy, moving in tandem with his pale, plump girlfriend. Even the girl shied away when she saw Cadmus, leaving the boy at the center of attention.

He looked at Cadmus Pariah, he brow knitted in a mixture of confusion and awe.

“’Sup, bra?” he shouted, trying to impose his voice over the din of electronica that permeated the air.

Cadmus’ ire increased. These children spouting American slang instead of embracing their own heritage splintered his patience like cracks in endless ice.

“This,” Cadmus said, his seething eyes lidded with determination. He could feel the boy’s blood pressure rise to meet the level of his anger, and could not deny his dark satisfaction when the boy dropped dead at his feet.

Instantly, Cadmus knelt and looked up at the girl, pulling a face of concern. “Call emergency! Something is wrong with him!”

As she frantically dialled 999, Cadmus brushed his fingers along the boy’s hairline, and took a tiny bit of his flesh with the hair still attached. A fine trophy indeed to add to his Harming Tree, a kind of miniature version of Orphaeus’ own scalp, which still graced the Pariah’s altar, resting in the depths of his veiled castle home.

He remained at the boy’s side until emergency crews arrived. They took one look at Cadmus, and dismissed him as a suspect. He exuded a sense of opulent command that made most believe that he only took control of unfortunate situations, being the best candidate to help out until authorities arrived. A police officer actually thanked the Pariah for his help. He stood back and watched the paramedics attempt to resuscitate the young man, to no avail, and he felt the skin on his face tingle with secret satisfaction at the thought of the bit of skin and hair tucked away in the folds of his priestly robes.

“What is this here?” One of the emergency workers asked. “What is that? He’s missing a little bit of his scalp here, right behind the ear.”

“Do you think that’s what killed him?” The officer asked.

“Ma’am, do you know if he bumped his head recently?”

The Goth girl the ginger had been dancing with shook her head, crying silently.

“It’s possible that he banged his head at some time during the day, and it somehow affected a brain injury. We will have to let the coroner decide that, though. Let’s get him to hospital so we can make a proper declaration of time of death, then hand it over to investigators.”

“We’ll need to close the club for the rest of the night,” another officer said to the owner of the Poison Rose. “Probably have it closed for tomorrow, too, until we survey the entire area. Just to be on the safe side. I don’t think foul play was at work here, but we have to canvas the area, just to dot our I’s an cross our T’s.”

The club owner nodded grimly and set to clearing the rooms of customers. No one objected, as the atmosphere was particularly grim, even for a Goth crowd. Cadmus was one of the first to leave, entering his car and instructing his thralled driver to take him back to the West Country. His tree was waiting for a new offering.

Mood: awake
Where? Home
Music: Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

Over the course of the past month, I have had a Dexter marathon on Netflix. For those who may not know, Dexter Morgan is a serial killer who focuses his urges to kill on those he feels deserve it, such as murderers, rapists, drug dealers, etcetera.

He refers to his need to kill as the Dark Passenger. This is who takes over when Dexter is at work in his kill room, with a victim on his table.

His relationship with that part of himself was truly epiphanous to me. I deeply related to Dexter on a number of levels.

No, I'm not a serial killer. I can't even eat meat anymore without feeling like a murderer by association. I try to leave as shallow a footprint as possible in this world. It's the least I can do, considering how my species is the worst thing to ever happen to planet Earth.

But I do have a Dark Passenger. I think everyone does, but some seem to encounter their Dark Passenger in a very real way. In the show, Dexter finally accepts his Dark Passenger as being a part of him, and that the things he had always attributed to the Dark Passenger were actually his doing. I think I'm coming to grips with that right now.

Over the past few days, I've been in a frenzy of writing, my vision of Cadmus Pariah sharp and undeniable. He talked a young woman into killing herself, he bludgeoned a Great Egret to death with the driftwood that would become his Harming Tree, and he departed the Cygnus family without a single word of gratitude for their saving his life. He is beginning to experience emotion, and he has decided to cope with this new experience by murdering humans and Vampires and adding pieces of them to his tree, in commemoration of each feeling he encounters.

He has no remorse, no empathy, no regard for anyone, unless they serve a purpose in his life. Any minor transgression on the part of people in his orbit earns the offending party a death sentence.

And that reminded me of something that happened when I was 5 years old. I was on my bicycle, riding down our long, dirt drive way, enjoying myself, when my cousin Johnna, who was there for a visit, kept getting in my way. After the third time of her not moving, I turned my bike in her direction, with the intent of running her over. She jumped out of the way just in time, but I did clip her a little.

The Mother and Father Units were displeased to say the least, and I was duly punished for my attempted murder. But I never regretted what I did. I regretted the punishment, and I remember thinking that I wish I had been more successful in my aims since I was being punished for it already.

And it occurred to me that, all this time, I had simply been transferring these dark thoughts of mine to my demon child, so I could walk through life in as much harmony with those around me as I could muster. I'm very empathic, and it hurts me to see others hurt, especially animals. I can't fathom trying to run Johnna down now. It's not part of who I am.

But it is. I wonder now, if Cadmus had not been born that Summer of 1990, would I be a radically different person? Would I be a Dexter, or worse? Clive Barker once said, "Be regular and ordinary in your life, that you may be violent and original in your work." Is that what I am doing with Cadmus Pariah? Am I treading lightly in this world, and letting Cadmus do the things that, in the most secret chambers of my heart, I wish I could do?

The art of creation often comes from an act of destruction. It's a cyclic law I've long honoured in my personal philosophy. The creation of black sand beaches is the direct result of the destructive properties of the volcano that rises far above them. Destruction is a thing of beauty and terror, and the song first sung by the universe as it exploded into life. From the void we came, and to the void we must someday return. And by filling up that void with the snuffed-out lives of biological awareness, we will become something entirely new, and entirely different.

All that said, I think I understand Cadmus Pariah and his function in my life more than I ever have before. And I understand that other people's violent and original art exists so that they, too, can live a kindly life, and achieve their own kind of harmony.

And I'm cool with that.

Mood: creative
Where? Home
Music: Daft Punk - Give Life Back to Music

Very rough, but I kind of like it.

A stillness had manifested within Cadmus Pariah, since he had crossed over into full Vampirism. No longer did he rove restlessly, perpetually hunting for something, anything, to fill him up, gorging upon the blood of assumed innocents, and the Blood of the Endless Night. He rested within a rhapsody that only he could hear, a musical phrase of completion that had eluded him when he had been a slave to the Apostate, and a captive of a destiny that he had no part in writing.
( The peace residing within )

Mood: angry
Where? Home
Music: Peter Gabriel - "San Jacinto"

I have a stick.

The lovely and talented Ruth Davis Hays gave me an assignment last Monday, and I feel very honoured to be in her company, and that of all the other writers involved in this round robin interview. The task is simple in theory, but not so much so, when I began it: answer four questions about your writing, then pass the baton to other writers. That said, here's what I eventually concocted. And away we go!

4 Questions before the baton can be passed on:

1) What am I working on?
What is currently only a stand-alone book documenting what transpires after the events in The Vampire Relics trilogy conclude. The working title is the name of an actual thing in our world, a kind of musical instrument that is anything but, in the new story. I’m also still immersed in character development of a Vampire that was only supposed to show up in a short story, wherein he would be murdered, but the little bastard had other ideas.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I would like to think there are moments of humour dotting the landscape, especially with the second book of the trilogy, The Blood Crown, which I have often called the Hope & Crosby Road Pictures, if Hope & Crosby had been Vampires and the film was a book instead. I’m hoping to bring that humour back in with the current book. Also, I think the combination of Pagan and Christian myths, science fiction and theory (specifically the idea that our teachers came from another world – yeah, cue Giorgio A. Tsoukalos ha!), conspiracy theories, and playing fast and very loose with etymological notions might be a first. I could be wrong about that, though. You tell me.

3) Why do I write what I do?
I started out wanting to write a kind of fable, or long-form metaphor, for my soulmate’s and my story, based on a dream he and I both shared that indicated a shared past life, probably one of many. This started in 1987. But I could never capture a good stride for the tale, because I had no villain. All that changed in 1990, and the story became less of an attempt to hold on to who we were and are, and more of a way to purge a demon. Over the years, that demon, my Child of Night, just kept getting larger and grander until he overtook the story and made it his.

4) How does your writing process work?
Almost always, it begins with music. I’m a child of the 80s, so I think in music video. Not music videos already made and out there, but ones I see. The clearer the video, the more solid the writing prompt. What became my main character was seen glancing at a person who defied instead of deified him, saying under his breath, “bleed.” The unfortunate rebel died as if she instantly fell victim to a hemorrhagic fever. I recreated that pivotal moment in the first book, The Chalice. Each character is assigned or takes a theme song. For instance, Cadmus Pariah’s theme song is ‘Clubbed to Death’ by Rob Dougan. Also, I have the bad/honest habit of anchoring characters to people, or people to characters, then I inhabit the story and feel everything they feel in order to get a better idea of what they’re going through. A friend and editor made the observation that I was a “method writer,” after the story of Faust almost drove me crazy. I tend to have "conversations" with many of my more-developed characters, so my plots start out rather loosely, and they help fill in what I can't early on. And, sometimes, it feels like I'm just taking dictation from Cadmus, which can be disturbing at times, but it seems to usually work. As the cliché goes - "if it ain't broke, don't try to fix it."

Now, onward and upward to some rare talents whose mission, should they choose to accept it, is to answer these questions and pass the baton on to others with stories to share. And, if they don’t accept the mission, you still get to hear about them.

First is the lovely and insightful Heidi Bowles Ellis, whose one of many online presences can be enjoyed here: http://musingraven.wordpress.com. She is quite at home with both original and fan-fiction, and truly has her finger on the pulse of what makes us all dream, often darkly.

Then we have Jay Smith, our resident scriptwriter and producer of the podcast equivalent of The Walking Dead, except HG World predates the eponymous AMC series. You can find all manner of goodies here: http://zebrapix.wix.com/hg-world-entry. Be prepared for brilliance!

And lastly, there’s the lethally wry Bruce McRae, who is a poet, songwriter, musician, videographer, and all-around Public Enemy #1. If you’re unsure about him, you need only read just a little here: http://www.bpmcrae.com, to see how fabulicious you are. After reading some of his body of work, if you’re still curious, you need only click this to see what you’re up against: http://www.bpmcrae.com/photo_gallery/photo_gallery1/img15.html. Abandon All Hope.

Hopefully we’ll be hearing from all three of them a week from today. Anyone can participate, though. Don't be shy. You need only answer the four questions and post them next Monday, with links to some writers you admire. The rest will take care of itself.

Mood: dorky
Where? home
Music: Rob Dougan - Clubbed to Death

I wrote a poem week before last, my first in ages. It's obvious I'm rusty. Grievously rusty...

REDWING

It was not the melody.
In those times, the birdsong was secondary.
The plumage of the urgent warbler,
Black upon black upon black,
Splashed with Atlantic hues and the promise of scarlet devotion.

It was not the melody at that time,
Marked molten in place,
In that delightful delirium.
It was primal essence woven in
Undiscovered Celtic paths.

The knots that bound my destiny,
The silent eyes screaming an undeniable command,
“Love me, only me.
“Adore all that I am
“And sing my song, like lullabies in dreams.” (3-13-2014)

Mood: irritated
Where? home
Music: birdsong, ironically

The Mother Unit and I attended a writer's group at a coffee house. There were seven of us total. The first thing the moderator immediately asked if I were from the South. So much for trying to overcome my vocal pronunciation! Rick, the dude who created this Meetup, is originally from Mississippi. Pretty spiff!

We talked about our writing styles and read some pieces a couple brave souls presented for our critiquing ability. I'll be taking the Redeye Grandé story, along with some material from the Vampire Relics.

What would be cool, is if Kristen Duvall could come next time. The next meetup is 15 March, so here's hoping I can poke at her with a sharp stick, to prompt her attendance.

So far, it's been a pretty groovy day.

Mood: pleased
Where? home
Music: Whistle Stop - Louis Prima

Yeah, I'm writing kind of slow, but at least I'm writing!

Orphaeus laughed. “Well, it warms the cockles of my heart that the feeling is mutual.”

“Why, then, did you come back for me on Brown Mountain? Why did you not just let me die there?” Cadmus asked, and his voice was almost plaintive.

“Cadmus… I don’t know,” Orphaeus replied, splaying his fingers out before him in an unconscious expression of dramatics. “I just felt it was the right thing to do. You and I, we had been through so much, I couldn’t imagine a world without your predatory presence, I guess. Or maybe it was ingrained in me to do it along with all the memories Kelat passed along. Maybe she knew you wouldn’t die immediately. Maybe that was her plan all along.”

The Pariah cut his eyes to Orphaeus and smiled grimly and briefly. “That is exactly something like what my Mother would do. And I am certain her hope that the redemption I suffered on that accursed mountain would carry over into my new life as a full Darkling. She was wrong. She was wrong about many things. If she were responsible for your returning to save me, then she is responsible for the suffering the New Hive experiences now, and will experience until all of you are but the myth and legend most humans think we already are.”

Mood: creative
Where? home
Music: Shriekback - "I Want to Go Home"

"So is that why I'm here? You've decided to dispatch me?"

"No," Cadmus Pariah whispered. "I summoned you because tonight marks five years since we retrieved the Blood Crown."

"You mean to tell me that you are celebrating an anniversary?"

"Do I look like a celebrant, Swan? No. I wanted to see if you could summon up the ancient memories on this night. I need to feel connected to that part of me, and I do not know why. Perhaps the memory you summon may shed light upon this mystery, so I might find some peace."

"I could only tap into those memories when I drank Kelat's Blood from the chalice, Cadmus. Both of them are gone. I don't see how you think I can help now."

Cadmus returned his gaze to the heavens hanging over Dubai. The swirls and collisions of the cosmos sang to him, and he wondered if perhaps Vincent van Gogh had possessed some of the Tarmian blood, for his Starry Night was the closest a human had ever come to realising the truth of the night sky. Pieces of broken poetry filled his endless mind, inspired by what he beheld above him. Eventually, they may show up as songs, a voice in the night reaching out to souls who felt most at home when the sun hid on the other side of the world.

“Have you not thought that my Blood may work, Orphaeus? I am her child, after all. It would be worth trying, in my opinion. And I am willing to share my sacred elixir with you, in the hope that you can tap into those ancient memories.”

Orphaeus was flabbergasted. “You want me to drink your Blood? Your Blood…”

“You would be only one of two Darklings to do so, and I feel compelled to do this thing, so much so that whatever gifts you receive by drinking from me would be worth the surrender of my normal control.”

Silence grew between them, as Orphaeus tried to make sense of a situation that bordered on insanity. In the normal world he was used to, Orphaeus would never have been given the offer of Cadmus’ Blood. To Orphaeus’ knowledge, the Plenipotentiary had never engaged in a full Ambrosciata, taking the Blood he wanted just before the orgasmic exchange, and killing the Vampire unfortunate enough to trust him to the point of opening up to such an experience.

“Will you do it, Swan?” Cadmus whispered, his voice cutting into the night sky above them like a scimitar. “Will you help me on this, our anniversary?”

Orphaeus weighed his options, then asked, “We won’t be engaging in Ambrosciata, will we? Because I do not trust you enough to engage in that.”

“No. No, Orphaeus. I could not bear to think of being intimate with you. I am unsure what our relationship truly is but, to be brutally honest with you, I despised you from the moment we met, and I despise you now."

Mood: creative
Where? home
Music: Shriekback - Bernadette

So where did I leave off on the whole changing roles subject? I think I was just addressing Orphaeus’ relationship to Kelat.

I will freely admit that my giving into Danny Elfman love was what created Orphaeus Cygnus. I’d always enjoyed his singing, but something about his score and vocals for A Nightmare Before Christmas triggered full-on obsession for me. As a result, Orphaeus became a former Austrian opera singer who was brought over to the Hive of the Beast by Rebekah of Judea, Thiyennen’s blood daughter, a Dhampir, who was turned by her Blood Mother Kelat, making Orphaeus Kelat’s grandson.

Because of that, I always saw him as aligned with Kelat, and he would have actively sought out her prison tomb to release her. Of course, the prison tomb scenario never came to fruition, but Orphaeus’ connection to Kelat was seemingly etched in stone. It became part of the story arc, and the core reason for her choosing him to become the first Father of Memory.

His closeness to Kelat also dictated an unmitigated enmity between Orphaeus and Cadmus Pariah. Actually that, combined with Orphaeus’ desire to reconcile the Hive of the Beast with the Great Hive, pretty much put the last nail in the coffin as far as those two were concerned. Beasts were for Cadmus’ use until he was ready to dispose of them, and they had no other purpose. For them to become upstanding citizenry within the Great Hive would be counterproductive to Cadmus’ motives, so the attempts of Orphaeus to redeem his tribe met with violent reprimand by Cadmus, and led to Cadmus being named Pariah, as was prophesied by Gideon the Mad.

At first, though, Orphaeus was only supposed to have a short appearance in The Chalice, and possibly be slain by Cadmus in the end. But that honour fell to Paine Bryerson, who was the character anchored to my best friend Todd. When Todd read about Paine, his first reaction was “You write about me, and I will sue your ass.” To which I responded, “You threaten me with litigation, asshole, I will kill off your character. In fact, he’ll be the only main character to die in the book. And Cadmus will kill him, ‘cos I know how you hate Cadmus.”

Of course, all of this was joking between us, but Paine did turn out to be the one killed. That was no joke.

I was so enamoured with Orphaeus Cygnus, though, I decided to thrust him and Cadmus together in a much closer proximity to one another in the next book, just to see what would happen. At that point, Cadmus was already writing himself, and Orphaeus was close to that zen state of character development. The Blood Crown was established almost solely on this premise, and it became my Vampiric answer to the Hope & Crosby Road movies. Of the three books, even though The Chalice is my baby, The Blood Crown is my favourite, because it centers almost completely on my two favourite characters, Cadmus and Orphaeus.

During the time I was writing The Blood Crown, another incidental character of mine, who was mentioned only in passing in The Chalice, flared to the forefront as my friendship with Scott, of The Joker Blogs fame, began to develop. Faust, the Disco Darling so brutally murdered by Cadmus during the Summer of Sam, demanded that his story be told.

And this turned out to be the most difficult and agonising piece of writing I had ever tackled. I ended up soliciting impromptu therapy sessions from Megs and [Bad username or site: ”gunslingaaahhh” @ livejournal.com] during the long nights of my writing what would become a novella inside The Blood Crown novel proper. I also profoundly apologised to Scott on more than one occasion. Faust went from being a Vampire with a cameo appearance, to an actual Vampire saint who would prove to be of great importance in the third book, mainly because Megs couldn’t bear to think he had actually been slaughtered. Thanks to her, Faust got to live, albeit in a different incarnation, but live he did.

And now I’m working on The Harming Tree, which was initially going to be a collection of short stories on how Cadmus came to grips with his newfound emotions, one by one, with the help of his “new relic” for the New Hive, the dastardly and bloody Harming Tree. But the writing of one of these short stories, introducing what was supposed to be another throwaway character that Cadmus would get to destroy, turned everything upside down.

Enter Flint.

This time, the character was one I couldn’t bring myself to kill. And this pissed me off, because such a new character shouldn’t gain so much creative power in such a short period of time. But there it is, and his existence has turned the original plans for The Harming Tree upside down. I’m now thinking that it may be a fourth novel set in my Vampire world, dealing primarily with Cadmus’ assimilation of emotion and his repeated conflicts with a young Vampire he can’t seem to slaughter.

Needless to say, Flint pisses off Cadmus as much, if not more, than he does me. And something tells me that his role in the arc stories of Cadmus Pariah is far from finished evolving. Time only will say for certain what the future holds for the Relics characters and how they interact with one another. One thing’s for certain, though; Orphaeus will definitely be making another appearance in the new stories. In fact, I’m playing around with one right now.

Mood: awake
Where? Motel 6, Willcox, Arizona
Music: silencia

What eventually became The Chalice started out as a poem and a milky vision of a story that would help me deal with coming face-to-face with my Soulmate in 1987 only to find out he was married in this latest incarnation. The poem featured at the beginning of the the book with a dedication to him.

If I were a Vampire
To live in the night
And partake of forever
On an eternal flight,
I'd take you up with me
Beyond all human sight
You could drink from my chalice
Then I'd be your light,
And we'd fly through the centuries
In passion and fright
For we'd both be Vampires
To live in the night.

I had already written a short Vampire story about Vasily Tenin back in 1986, so I had the idea that the new story would incorporate the poem and bring back Vasily, who would battle an evil Vampire hellbent on taking what she felt was rightfully hers, her soulmate. I knew how it would end, with her entombed in a mausoleum forever, lost to the world and longing for her ancient lover. Yeah, it was sort of autobiographical. This is how I felt.

The first song to help flesh out this character was "Something in the Air" by Information Society. It's when I first saw my character, with her long dark wavy hair and Gypsy-style clothing, dancing in night clubs and hunting for her next victim. It was during this time, also, that I was reconnecting to my Jewish heritage, and first learned about Adam's first wife and her association with owls and succubi.

So Kelat's first name was Lilith. This is why today, her full name is Lhihlhishian Kelat'menan, and her primary residence was Jerusalem. Ohhhh, and she was a real baddie, killing her prey most of the time, but also creating new Vampires when the fancy struck. Night clubs were not safe when she was in town. No one was safe. She was the most powerful Vampire on Earth, matched only by Vasily himself. It was natural that they became siblings.

I tried to write what little of the story I had, but just couldn't. Something was blocking me, so I set it to one side and dreamed of the characters, and what they may be like.

Two years passed and, during that time, I discovered Witchcraft and learned the true nature of Lilitu. It just didn't seem right anymore, that Lilith would once again be relegated to the realm of the demonic, so the story suffered a little bit more while I tried to make it so She did not have to go down that road. But now I was without a villain.

But not for long.

I won't rehash how Cadmus came into being. Suffice it to say, he did, and he took on a lot of traits I once attributed to Lilith, most importantly making night clubs his happy hunting ground. I had a brand new band to listen to, and their music lit a match under the dry kindling that would eventually become The Chalice. A prologue was written, and kept safe for when the real work would finally begin.

Over the course of the next three years, I did even more research on Vampires, and collected more Vampire music to help me on my quest. During that time, I had the idea that Vasily would be misled by Cadmus into completely turning on his sister Kelat'menan and imprisoning her in a marble tomb. It was also during this time that I first saw the Oingo Boingo video for 'Dead Man's Party.' Even though I'd known about Boingo for ages, and loved Danny Elfman's movie music, it was this video that triggered the creation of Orphaeus. I really didn't have much to go on, but the name and a vague idea that he was scalped by Cadmus and that he banished Cadmus from the Hive of the Beast as a result, essentially making him a pariah. Then it occurred to me that maybe Orphaeus is the one who finds Kelat'menan and rescues her from her tomb. Maybe he was actively hunting for her, but why? Maybe he was her grandchild.

More on this tomorrow...

Mood: tired
Where? Home
Music: Men at Work - Down Under

I started writing it day before yesterday. So far, it's been fueled by Sacred City, Big Night Music, and Cormorant, all by Shriekback. I do know it feels good to have Orphaeus Cygnus and Cadmus Pariah back together again.

"Do you know what I find most gratifying about being able to see into the depths of the cosmos?"
Orphaeus Cygnus sighed in mock resignation. "Why can't you just say, 'Do you know what I love'?"

"I do not love." Cadmus Pariah said simply. He narrowed his vast eyes as he cut them to the ginger-haired Vampire lying next to him on the roof of the skyscraper far above the city of Dubai. He wondered why he was even spending the evening with this, his long-time nemesis. His behaviour since his resurrection into full Vampiredom mystified Cadmus on many an occasion, and this was one of those times. He asked himself why he did not just slaughter the Swan and be done with the irritation. But something stayed his killing hand, and that something was what confused the Dark Child of Night.

"Whatever, dude. So what do you find so gratifying then?"

"The myriad of colours. The multitudinous hues. Humanity can never behold what wonder surrounds them. And you previously human Vampires can only grasp hints of the incredulous kaleidescope that makes up Creation. My Elven eyes can see colours that are beyond your comprehension, so the symphony of the universe is laid bare before my sight. It stirs both elation and humility."

There was an interlude of silence as Cadmus' poetry settled into their bones. Orphaeus may not like Cadmus, he really couldn't with the dark history they shared, but he did appreciate the way Cadmus sculpted words to create another reality for those around him. His voice and his mastery of language never failed to hypnotise. This was one of his many gifts, and he used it with sublime perfection. Was it any wonder people flocked to his music and behaved as though it were a religious experience? Was it any wonder they spilled their blood for him during concerts?

"That's fascinating. As a former human and, apparently a limited Vampire for it, I really never thought about colours that I could not see existing."

"People usually do not. You are quite satisfied with what you can see, and have little regard for the hidden wonder beyond your vision. I surmise this is a natural behaviour for, if you were to ponder upon that which you can never see, your dissatisfaction would grow exponentially, and you would never be able to appreciate the beauty that you can see."

"You're waxing philosophical this fine night. What's got into you, Cadmus?"

Cadmus Pariah turned his head away from the infinity of space to face Orphaeus Cygnus. The Swan exhibited nothing but innocent curiosity along with his question. He was genuinely interested in what was going on with him, though Cadmus had no idea why he would be this way, given the enmity between them. Still though, there had been a kind of bonding between them during their quest for the Blood Crown. And it had, after all, been Orphaeus who had returned to the Brown Mountain and helped to resurrect Cadmus after his self-sacrifice in the ecstasy of the Relics' union. Cadmus still vividly remembered the holy song he shared with the Sainted Confessor, that mortated Vampire child who inspired such violent rage within him. At least now, he was not haunted by that persistent spirit. He was not certain he could maintain any shred of sanity if the ghost tormented him in his sleep whilst, at the same time, that nasty little titch Flint roamed the world, hunting Cadmus as though he could ever overcome the Plenipotentiary and exact vengeance for his beloved Gareth. When it came right down to it, Cadmus simply wanted to be left alone, to hunt and slay prey the way he pleased, and bask in the warmth of his worshippers.

"Nothing really has 'got into me,' as you say. I have just been pondering my Elven progenitors and wonder if I shall encounter them again."

"Meybhelahn is barred to our kind, Cadmus. The Vampires who chose to remain, chose the curse over any kind of redemption."

"I had no such choice," Cadmus said, his voice a low buzz. "I was used as a doorway, as a healing tool, in spite of myself. I was broken. No choice was ever presented to me."
Orphaeus felt stung by the raw bitterness in Cadmus' words.

"I'm sorry, Cadmus," Orphaeus said quietly. "I never thought of it that way. Do you miss them, then? The last Elves, the Original Ten?"

"Miss them?" Haughtiness spread across Cadmus' visage. "No. I would have killed them, had they remained. Just as I will eventually slay all of you. It is what I was born to do, and shall someday fulfill my destiny, especially now that I can drink the blood of humans."

"So is that why I'm here? You've decided to dispatch me?"

"No," Cadmus Pariah whispered. "I summoned you because tonight marks five years since we retrieved the Blood Crown."

"You mean to tell me that you are celebrating an anniversary?"

"Do I look like a celebrant, Swan? No. I wanted to see if you could summon up the ancient memories on this night. I need to feel connected to that part of me, and I do not know why. Perhaps the memory you summon may shed light upon this mystery, so I might find some peace."

"I could only tap into those memories when I drank Kelat's Blood from the chalice, Cadmus. Both of them are gone. I don't see how you think I can help now."

Cadmus returned his gaze to the heavens hanging over Dubai. The swirls and collisions of the cosmos sang to him, and he wondered if perhaps Vincent van Gogh had possessed some of the Tarmian blood, for his Starry Night was the closest a human had ever come to realising the truth of the night sky. Pieces of broken poetry filled his endless mind, inspired by what he beheld above him. Eventually, they may show up as songs, a voice in the night reaching out to souls who felt most at home when the sun hid on the other side of the world.

Mood: creative
Where? Home
Music: Shriekback - Sea Theory

Unfortunately.

My beloved Alpaca Lips did not follow through as I was so desperately hoping.

Obviously. Since I'm making an update here.

There's a lot I'd like to write about, but I just don't feel ready for that right now. Honestly, the only thing holding me together at the moment is my unending and apparent desperate quest for laughter. I've actually found that for now in a show I've been watching since late 2011 when it debuted, but have only really come to appreciate and cling to like a freckle in the past couple of months. It's called Impractical Jokers and may well be the funniest show in the history of television, I shit you not. It was developed by the Staten Island Comedy Troupe called The Tenderloins. I would marry every one of these guys at once, if given half the chance. No ifs, ands, or buts. Of course, I do have a favourite, but I'm not really getting into that right now.

Just wanted to touch base and let any readers I may have left know that I am still here, still alive and kicking (myself and anyone in close proximity). I'm still struggling with editing, writing, and getting The Augury of Gideon ready for publishing, which I hope will happen this year. We'll see. I'm still working on music videos for Shriekback, Barry, and hopefully future related projects. I'm still making the Tim Roth Tutorials, of which there are 150 as of today.

I'm taking things one day at a time, although I think now more than ever, it's an uphill battle, and the only way I'm ever going to be able to move forward is to move away from this place. But I don't want to even think about all that right now.

All I want to do is laugh, and forget everything else.

Mood: apathetic
Where? home
Music: silencia

Author Interview: Tracy Angelina Evans

By Wendy Van Camp

I met Tracy via a writing group on facebook where we discussion the little details of marketing our books and the joys and frustrations of being an author. I’m happy to add a fellow science fiction writer to the list of authors being interviewed here on No Wasted Ink. I hope you’ll enjoy her interview as much as I have.

The rest of the interview can be found here.

Mood: bouncy
Where? home
Music: Jeff Lynne "Point of No Return"

About Tin

Tinhuviel Artanis

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February 2019

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Syndicate

Summary

My Silence
The Creation of Cadmus
Before Cadmus, there Was Cadmar Goidelica
Flint Drabble
Tolkien Mood
The Cliffs of Insanity
Fourteen Years
Five Problems with Social Media
A Rare Survey Sighting!
Each Arm
Ever Closer to the All-Important Theft!
Brick-a-brack
In Between the Static
New Shriekback Interview!
No Rest for the Wicked and the Righteous Don't Need It
Without Real String or Fish Release Announcement
Spine, Music, Writing, etcetera etcetera, yadda yadda yadda
Lazarus and Pandora
Creem - Before and After
The Disappearance of Isaac Zeugler
Blood & Ink Interview
The Story Behind 'The Augury of Gideon.'
Spreading the Creative Wealth
Goodreads
Amazon Biography
Amazon Author's Page
'The Augury of Gideon' on Book Tweeter
On a Jet Plane
Damn, I Will Kill Everyone in zee World!
Orphaeus, stop being annoying...
Before the Altar
Drifting
Since We're Enjoying Four Blood Moons this Year...
Gratitude
The Sanctity of Shame
Beats and Bobs
More of 'The Harming Tree'
Don't Be a Ginger around Cadmus Pariah
The Dark Passenger
The Beginning of "Tree."
Passing the Baton
Redwing
Storytellers
Even MORE Cadmus and Orphaeus
More of the Cadmus/Orphaeus Story I'm Playing with
When Roles Changed, Part 2
When the Roles Changed, Part 1
I Do not Know where this Is Going
Still Alive
I've been interviewed!

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