100 Reeds

A collaborative poem by Swirling Leaf, Take a Breath, Swagtastic and Emmit Other about martial arts, pirates, samurai and Japanese Gods.

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

[Poem] Project 14

 by Emmit Other

We All Want to Change the World

Sometimes

Unemployed

Discontinued Disowned Disavowed

Too Old  

Not What You Once Were

So the Poet Donned Black Cloth Robes

And a Facemask

and 14 Arrows Did he Quiver

To Change the World

Ideas for their Own Sake

Long Odds Every One

To see

Maybe

if the World Could

In Fact

Be Changed

[Poem] Ohenton Karihwatehkwen

 by Emmit Other

Words Above All Else

Is what the Mohawk say

For Thanksgiving

And I thought

It was invented by Lincoln

It was not

Witness:

The Mohowk still celebrate this event

A profound gratitude for Mother Earth

And what is provided

Gratitude is where humility and kindness meet

Under the eternal sun

Witness

Ronald Raygun introduced the Turkey Pardon

As a gag with later full pardons

And cute names

Conservatives project

Did you know that a Presidential Pardon implies an admission of guilt?

What is the turkey guilty for?

It isn't.  

But I am sure it is grateful for its life.

Witness:

Of 574 Recognized Tribes in the US today

We have broken our word to every single one of them

Massachusets celebrates indigeneous people's day

But still doesnt recognize besides a footnote

That the Wampanoag and Mohawk

Had traditions years and years before the Puritans

(Never call them fucking Pilgrims)

Aeons before the colonizers

Witness:

The Massachusetts Indigenous Legislative Agenda

Asks for five things

-Remove racist fucking mascots

-Remove Racist Italian American Day with Indigenous American Day

-Ensure the best funded schools in the country teach about Native traditions and history

-Protect Native American Heritage with sketchy Hobby Lobby Style grey market bullshit

-Set up a schoolarship for Native American Youth

Domenic Amara and state Rep. Jeffrey Rosario Turco

Love Racist Italian American Day so much

And want to stop this bill

But the other shit 

Is as transparent as Glass

And Beacon Hill

Is a Cess Pit

Gene Weeden-Williams and Billerica, Springfield (High School of Commerce), and Middleborough 

Want to keep their racists mascots

Witness:

G.O.Pee Governal Candidates Mike Kennealy and Brian Shortsleeve

Oppose changing the racist state seal

Witness:

Every year Plymoth celebrates thanksgiving

Straight out of adams Family Values 2

And Standish Investment Group.

Violated tribal sovereigny AGAIN

Bulldozing in trbal land

Every Massachusets state government institution

Celebrates Not Racist Italian Americans Day

But Dukakis made a decision

Arbitrarlily and Randomly

Decades ago

And since then

People like Standish have been weaponizing tribes

That didnt make the cut

Governor Cardboard Healey

Added the bulldozed tribe

As an after thought

-Chappaquiddick Band of Massachusetts

-Chappaquiddick Tribe of the Wampanoag Indian Nation

-Chaubunagungamaug Band of the Nipmuck Nation

-Cowasuck Band of the Pennacook-Abenaki People

-Assawompsett-Nemasket Wampanoag

-Pocasset Wampanoag Tribe

-Seaconke Wampanoag Tribe

-Nipmuc Nation (still fighting for federal recognition despite state recognition)

-Natick Nipmuc of Natick

-Nipmuc of Webster and Dudley

-Massachusett Tribe (Ponkapoag band)

Those who can dither and worry about less of the pie for themselves

What are we thankful for?

Why do we celebrate the pardon of the Turkey?

Beacuse the Turkey is our policy on Native Americans

It is a half assed joke thinkly veiled celebration of colonialism

Now pass the massed potatoes

Substack 100

 I have been silenced or censored by

-Instagram

-Twitter

-Bluesky

-Mastadon

-Facebook

-Youtube

But you know who hasnt?

Substack.  It does allow disgusting content there....but it also allows mine.

The Eyes Have it

Here 

The Queen in Blue - The Five Faces of the Dreamer

Opening Hook

"Welcome back, fellow travelers of the weird. Today we're diving into the final three stanzas of the poem 'I, Hastur' - arguably the most dangerous piece in the entire Emerson Portfolio. This is where everything comes together: the Shepherd, the Darkness, and the Yellow King converge in a dance that literally shaped reality itself."

Segment 1: "The Yellow King Speaks" (Stanza 3)

The third stanza reveals the Yellow King's own perspective - speaking in first person about its nature as a living idea, a memetic force that has corrupted civilizations throughout history. Key discussion points:

• The Yellow King's claim to have "always been" yet also having an origin point
• The litany of fallen cities: Dilmun, Atlantis, Troy, Iram of the Pillars, El Dorado
• The revelation that the King exists in a temporal loop
• The twisted love story at its heart - the King's obsession with "Her" (the Queen in Blue)
• How the King describes itself as simultaneously hate incarnate yet capable of love

Analysis: This stanza humanizes the cosmic horror in the most disturbing way possible - showing that even entities of pure corruption can experience genuine emotion, making them more dangerous, not less.

Segment 2: "We Are Hastur" (Stanza 4)

The fourth stanza shifts to the original Hastur - the Count who became the first Yellow King through autogenocide (destroying all alternate versions of himself). Discussion includes:

• The aristocratic origin story in Carcosa
• The child who played with spiders and learned dark magic
• The Phantasmagoria Ball as the ultimate ritual
• The disturbing mechanics of becoming the Yellow King through self-annihilation across infinite realities
• The [REDACTED] play section that was literally torn from the manuscript

Listener Warning: Rhombus Ticks himself warned that this section nearly cost him his sanity. The memetic infection is real, folks.

Segment 3: "The Queen in Blue Opera" (Stanza 5)

The final stanza presents Scriabin's operatic translation, allegedly from Sanskrit found in Etruscan ruins. This is where we get:

• The dual narrative structure following both the maid Boquet and the cosmic entities
• The famous refrain: "Thou shalt dance with the queen tonight boys"
• The Dreamer/Hound's declaration of power over nightmares
• The convergence at the Phantasmagoria Ball where King and Queen finally meet
• The paradox explained: "The Dreamer is the King / But the King is not the Dreamer"

The Core Revelation: The Queen in Blue tamed the Yellow King through a combination of love, strategy, and the deployment of the Ethan Baton bloodline as a "check" against the King's power. She founded a lineage specifically designed to produce someone who could focus the Dreamer's power against the King when needed.

Closing Analysis

These three stanzas complete the cosmic chess game:

• The Shepherd/Haita provides the white light of protection
• The Darkness represents entropy and the void
• The Yellow King embodies corruption and ascension through hubris
• The Queen in Blue uses love and strategic patience to maintain balance
• The Dreamer/Hound acts as enforcer of the balance

The poem suggests all five faces are aspects of Hastur, operating across different layers of reality simultaneously.

Final Warning

Remember Dr. Bathory's forward: read this material once if you must, but protective rituals are recommended. Rhombus himself became infected and had to journey to Carcosa seeking answers.

As always, stay skeptical, stay safe, and remember - some knowledge comes with a price.

[End theme: discordant strings fading into static]

---

Episode Notes:

• This material is from the Emerson Portfolio, translated by Dr. Persephone Bathory
• Multiple scholars report temporal anomalies with this text
• Carbon dating results are contradictory and "supernatural"
• For mental health resources, please see our website

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

[Poem] King Trump

 By Emmit Other

There is a king who isnt

Who think he is but wont

Admit it 

Cause he is Donnie Dont

He admit guts like Hitler

And has a Cabinet full of Bats

Dude cant keep his underwear

From soiling like the box o cats

His minions are not cute and yellow

But red faced drunk and angry

But totally not SS Hello!

For a guy that needs depends

He uses the Constitution for TP

Rumor on the street is

He has a tiny mushroom peepee

Rumor also lets us know

There is a buncha protests

No Kings No Kings No Kings today

Or know nothing like Jon Snow

The Queen in Blue - I Hastur - The Unspeakable

The shepherd’s quiet guardianship meets its first true resistance as the ancient dark stirs—and what creeps within it becomes the Unspeakable. The shift is gradual: things “crept into the Darkness / and became something Unspeakable,” until the shepherd realizes the void is awake and fighting back.

The Queen in Blue - Deployed

The clash rips the spirit-realm’s middle lands—especially the Dreamlands—into shreds; the shepherd’s pain echoes across creation, but the Unspeakable suffers more.

The Queen in Blue - Deployed

It isn’t a clean victory; rather, the shepherd barely prevents the Unspeakable from rousing the elder powers “when the stars were not right.”

The Queen in Blue - Deployed

Then the Sign arrives, branding the world in three hues—Black (Unspeakable), White (Shepherd), Yellow (Carcosa)—stabilizing the realm even as it deepens its corruption.

The Queen in Blue - Deployed

The roar of whispers that once promised the Old Ones ebbs to a faint hiss; for a time, balance holds—but only as a war of attrition.

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

[Poem] Deacons Little Finger

 By Emmit Other

Dis is complex 

But I willz simplifies

Authority is a spiritual drivers liscence

A church uses to say 

How you connect to Gawd

Catholics claim tis Peter

The Rock and Line of Christ

Protestants say its da Bible

You has a direct line to Gawd

Mormons say Gawd waited 

1700 years

To reconnect da phone

Cause the True Church needed

Mericuh

Der is an LDS joke

That a deacon

(A 12 year old boy)

Has more Authority 

In his little finger

Than da Pope

But last I check

The Pope is condemning Nazis

Dallin H Oaks?

Crickets

And the prophet before him

So do you believe Gawd loves nazis

Or maybe

Just maybe

Jospeph Smith

Was lying

https://poetizer.com/poem/1652228461

The Queen in Blue - The First Shepard (I Hastur)

In this opening stanza, the story pulls us back to a primordial time—before the moon cast its shadow, before Carcosa, even before humanity’s discovery of fire. We meet the figure who would become known as the First Shepherd, a good man who loved his sheep so deeply that their bond transcended the physical. Together they dreamed, and in those dreams, he stood guard.

When nightmares threatened his flock, he discovered fire—not as a tool for cooking or hunting, but as a weapon of protection. Fire here is cast not as mankind’s first technology, but as a spiritual gift: a beacon to guard innocence against the darkness. This act transforms him from a simple caretaker into a mythic figure. The stanza closes on a warning—fire protects, but fire also burns. Its power is double-edged, foreshadowing the ambivalence of every gift that comes from beyond

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

[Poem] Journey to Sisu

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

The Poem of the Moment

Check out Emmit Other's poem!

Chrome Soul Death

Here is the link

[Poem] Reality Check

 By Emmit Other

Do you pay your taxes?

Well if someone threatened your life if you didn't

Would you?

What if they came into your home

And LIVED THERE?

Blue State Americans are Still Americans

And yes

The military can KILL all of us

But it can't

And won't

WORK

If you enslave the blue states

And there is more population 

And more money 

The US Military 

Even if it cooperates

NEEDS MONEY

Money it WILL NOT GET

If the blue states revolt

The red states

(Except Texas and Floriduh)

CANNOT FUNCTION

without the blue

[Poem] The Mirrored Ball

 Check out Emmit Other's poem!

The Queen In Blue

Zero Vs One The podcast is waiting until October to do the five stanzas of I, Hastur for the Halloween season.   After which, look forward to me reading Harmonia Mundi from Water and Glass.   Then I will do The Greatest Potato Ever Told; the Ultimate Lord Potato Christmas Special.   This will give me time to finish The King Is Dead which I will read next.

There may be a kickstarter for the final book and story of the Queen in Blue.

Meanwhile here is a poem.

The Queen in Blue - The Case of the Quotidian Man

In this latest installment from the “5th Letter from Rhombus Ticks to E.P. Blingermeyer” series, detective Quiescence Prow — a rationalist legend who has debunked the paranormal for decades — stumbles into something he can’t dismiss: real magic. It begins with a spitting cuckoo clock in a retro bowling alley, a snake-skinned man visible only in mirrors, and a masked woman under some unseen compulsion.

Prow’s methodical tests confirm the impossible. The “Quotidian Man” is a magical predator who uses a cursed mask to feed off his wife’s despair, while keeping her powerless to prove his infidelity. Against his own rules, Prow intervenes — unmasking a victim and setting off a quiet war. Months later, he finds the ex-wife in ruin, offers her a strange form of rescue involving cash, occult cleansings, and patient listening, and helps her rebuild her life from the ground up.

Along the way, coincidences begin stacking like fate itself is tipping the scales. The mask is sealed away deep underground. The Quotidian is framed just enough to keep him locked up. And Prow — still unwilling to call it magic — ensures no one else will ever suffer from it again.

This is a noir-fantasy collision: part private-eye grit, part moral fable, part supernatural cold war. The case ends without glory, but with just enough justice to matter.

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

Calling My Work AI

Negative reviews, amature and professional assholes telling me to stop writing, people taking copies to read and becoming a black hole, writing for free and then having no interest in returning the favor, on and on and on I could stand and kept writing.

Calling my work AI is soul killing; the next time you see someone attacking AI know they may only care about their own art and not give a shit about anyone else. An already difficult task is near impossible. anarchs and anti technologists seem unethical and unempathetic as fuck

The Queen in Blue - Queen to Rook Black

his isn’t just a poem. This is the spine-crack heard across the dreamlands.

In this episode of Queen to Rook Black, we go deep—deep—into the metaphysical engine room of the Queen in Bluemythos. Rhombus Ticks uncovers a poem so saturated with cosmic implication it rewrites the board: not just who’s playing the game, but what pieces mean what. The Black Rook stands revealed—not as a mere chess metaphor, but a literal necromantic waystation at the edge of death, memory, and myth. A cyborg warden, Blackjack, serves as its keeper. But today, he’s not in charge.

Because today, She comes.

The Queen in Blue arrives unannounced to rewrite the rules. And behind her? The Spirit of Humanity, skyscraper-tall, drenched in mourning, dragging a dirge of pipers to the gates of annihilation. She is ready to die. And she has good reason.

But the Queen isn't ready to let her.

What unfolds is no mere negotiation—it’s a showdown of archetypes. Dignity and despair. Mercy and judgment. Dream and entropy. The Queen reveals her rank not through force, but through checkmate. A single word—wait—freezes doom itself in its tracks.

In this episode, we bear witness to a metaphysical intervention: the literal salvation of humanity’s soul by a being whose only weapon is benevolence wrapped in unbearable truth. We explore the hidden laws of the dead, the forbidden contracts of the archetypal, and the strategic brilliance of the Queen’s play.

This isn’t horror. It’s prophecy.

And the game’s not over.

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

My Work is Not AI

Have you thought about using AI to help you write or do art? Well brother let me tell you; why the fuck not? If I've learned anything in the last week, it’s that it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t—some fucking commie fuck will accuse your best work of being AI.

2011: I've written 4 novels and they're all shit but one. SFWA and Worldcon get me robbed, nearly stabbed, and told by professional writers that I should literally stop the fuck writing. I shit you not, I paid to have that happen.

14 years later I keep fucking writing and I've got 10 in the can and 3 more coming. I got good, only my editor backs another friend who stabs me in the back. Friends and family almost all stop reading my shit.

I don't got 3000 bucks. So I say fuck it—AI or stop writing. And I'm not gonna let those SFWA fucks get me to stop. So I use AI to EDIT... and it fucking works. WELL.

But I make damn sure not even one fuckin word is AI. Not even a comma. I get good at it, and I like using it, but I remember the artists and their struggle, so I keep it to myself.

SEVEN FUCKING ARTISTS I try to get to do a Kickstarter for The Queen in Blue. SEVEN. Cash up front or not at all. OK, I plan to still do the Kickstarter, but I'm a lot less sympathetic... so privately I start sharing AI pics with family and friends.

I get flack for it, so I say FUCK IT and start sharing. But even then, when I WRITE with AI, I use a specific alias in a specific blog.

So not only does a bunch of Politically Corrupt Anarchs gang-rape my account, but they keep stalking it and mocking it, among other anti-AI shitheads.

You can't win. They don’t care about you. They're gonna call what you write fake anyway. Do what you fucking want. I may even hire human artists for my entirely self-published projects...

But I'll expect 'em to stab me in the back. Do what you fuckin want. Doing the right thing doesn’t fucking matter for AI. And moreover, I look at the PIECES OF SHIT kicking my muted account even now and I’m like:

DO WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT. Standing or lying down, the anti-AI SHITHEADS will stab you in the back anyway. #AI #OPENAI #ChatGPT

My blog started in 2007. FUCK anti-AI fucks. FUCK them all. FUCK Anarchs. FUCK EM.

[Poem] Pacto del Olvida

Anyone who thinks I write with Gen AI except on the one blog where it is pretty fucking clearly marked with the pseudonym I use it for is welcome to a live streamed video conference where I write a poem on any subject they fucking like...in 5 minutes or less, but if I do, then they go to a public urinal and scoop the water right in their filthy lying mouth.

Part one

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

[Poem] Was It Worth It

by Emmit Other

You lined up the pawn

like ducks in a row

then you sent a human missile

and they put on a show

the Perils of Pauline

was just Ventriliquist's throw

but the target took a left turn

and started to go

So you upped the ante

and then you hit low

Using every quivver

unleashed cupids poisened tip bow

But the watcher is watched

And the puppets in tow

theres a meaning to recurisve

but I dont think you know

that the reaping you has planned

isnt going to sow

For you cannot trick the trickster

Who has bribed your own shadow

We dont need what you think

Or even what we allow

The Queen in Blue - Destiny's Belfry

In this pulse-pounding solo episode, Rhombus Ticks cracks open a sealed folio containing what appears to be a redacted police report crossed with a metaphysical vigilante tale. What follows is the story of Manfred, a techno-vigilante from another dimension stranded in noir-era Los Angeles, navigating Nazi infiltration, occult conspiracies, and something far, far worse.

Manfred uses ultratech gear and brutal efficiency to infiltrate a fascist ritual taking place inside the Hugh-Gryss building—a twisted octagonal temple adorned with cicada symbology and ritual sex magic. As he attempts to liberate prisoners trapped in blood-draining silk columns, he confronts an otherworldly horror: a musclebound, worm-haired creature summoned via obscene pageantry. What begins as a stealth operation spirals into cosmic panic as Manfred realizes that he may be outgunned not just technologically—but spiritually.

Meanwhile, Ticks frames the whole tale as a disturbing anachronism: a case file sealed by a federal judge in 1943, commented on by the CIA and FBI for decades, and apparently "found" decades before it could have happened. Is this folio a prophecy? A confession? A metaphor? Or a glimpse into a war fought between timelines?

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

Fixing Blue Sky

Has your account been blocked by Rape Pill Tech Bros? Find out how to fix it.

[Poem] Yippy Little Dogs

by Emmit Other

they say

they say

they say

they say imma bot

laugh track on

thats nice

thats nice

they dont have a thought

no gods masters

masterbating doublethink acrobats

arguing with each other

arguing with their dog

using the tools of hierachy

while they fuck a lincoln log

misfits and weirdos

i thought they were cool

until i saw just gow cruel

these dog rapin assholes

their dicks got hard

their dicks got hard

their dicks got hard

to kick me while down

their fucks got long

hear them moan

like a revolutionary prostite

and i aint talking courtesan

cause aint they cute

i mean a five dollar briefcase

corproate suit

mutual aid and empathy like to project

but its really just their amway

that theyre trying to proteect

if you cross em they will fuck your cat

and you want some proof

let me show its where its at

libertarians are posers

cause they dont donate to party

put their money where their mouth is

their belches are farty

and lookin at the anarchists

theyre just a fucking hypocrit

cause if they make you other

then they really dint give a shit

liberals got problems

that the narcnarcs will mock

but when it comes to empathy

dey fucking a sock

[Poem] An Enemy For Life

by Emmit Other

the Cult known as Anarchism

Decided to repeat the mistakes

of the Barcelona Anarchs

and stab antifascist forces in the back

While fighting nazis

They are faithless allies

and cost me my account

Long after we beat the nazis

Long after the Palestians Are Made Whole

I will remember

I am on this earth

Barring a Nazi or Anarch Bullet

For a few more decades

and I will remember their Dog Rape Pile

I will remember the backstabbing they did

Kolektiva made me hold anarchs in contempt

Now they have my hate

Smoldering

Eternal

Vicious

They laugh because they won this round

But I will win the war

I left one cult

and to fly had to forgive and move on

But this is a cult I never belonged to

Fair game for my higher self

The Cult of Anarchism does not change

Their lies to themselves

Are always variants in the same theme

No one takes them seriously

But I now do

And I will change in any way I need to

To make them pay for Yesterday

After Much Consideration-New Writing Alias

Including truly cringe narcs saying that I am crashing, I have decided to engage in self reflection of my error and thoughtcrimes agaisnt the Unthority... Ergo I am changing my writing name from Rhombus Ticks To Rhombus R. Ticks R being Rude, which was bestowed by technofascists and narchs who like to kick people like the bullies they are.

The King Is Dead - Chapter 1

Love is as love does, or in our case, what it doesn’t. My name is Daria; a joke made for mimaw who is an X. They say I see everything and I wish I didn’t. But I write what is true and how we helped the world pull together from the brink even though it cost us everything.

The sun shone so bright over the clean water and clean sky; only our souls were dirty. The island was beautiful and lush summer green with a big sign with a smilemoj that said “Welcome to Last Chance” in big friendly letters. I tried to remind myself it was our new home; not a prison.

The only place left in North America that would take us. Love is complicated; love makes you code without an Elmo Collar to find a Crispr for your sick child; or beat up an entire school because someone called your dad an Elmo; or still love your brother even though you’d been banished 6 times for Kender’s violence.

There were no computers on Last Chance….none.

So there was no chance of Kender getting better. He would moan and want to code without an Elmo collar just like dad. That's why we couldn’t be around computers. He loved them and couldn’t understand why we made him wear a collar and why Dad was gone. They talked about the wonders in the age before Karikee blew it all to hell. The world had to bleed for what the BlackGlass did; but the greatest generation fought them and beat them and now the world was starting to heal. But that didn’t mean healing for everyone.

Now there would be no normal. Never. Nohow.

But we all still loved him anyway; Jay, Ma and Me. Jay just looked back at the mainland and all the things he’d miss. Ma smiled and held my hand and hugged Kender who rocked back and forth. Ma talked about the old days when we had the Gubbamint and how the Gubbamint would have protected Kender and paid the smart men to find a cure. But that just wasn’t so. Z’s talk about the old days like they’re magic but they let the moneychangers wreck the world. They were the last generation of the old world.

Kender was skinny and 6’5”; tallest in the family. He had moppy blond hair, shock blue eyes and wore a thick wooden collar that he had carved to look exactly like an Elmo Collar. It was his and he said it let him talk to the Black. Jay and I were twins, and much shorter like Ma with black hair and brown eyes. We were two years older than him, which made us collectively the oldest, but Jay looked it. Jay had circles under his eyes.

We were free. Free to live lives without money; free to live lives with clean air, and free to work with purpose without knowing I’d never have a job run by a Franken. I loved all that; that’s what they taught us in school. But right now it didn't FEEL free.

The biggest thing you saw on the docs was the Totem; the symbol of the three hidden societies; a giant arrowed’d A, A Torch and a Wrench in a clenched fist. It was the symbol of hope, of unity and of our tyranny. We hated it but most loved it.

The Anarchs who would allow no state; the Luds who would allow no computers without an Elmo collar; and the Monkeys who got real friendly like with the polluters. You can’t stop who you can’t see. No one knew who they were.

There was no trial for Pa’s murder because there were no courts, no army no gubbamint but the people. Most people liked it that way. Mostly.

We got our bags off the boat and headed off the dock to our new home. Everyone in town had lined up to watch us and the other newbs do the walk of shame. Makes sense. Small town not a lot to do. The little kid stick his head through the ‘o’ in Welcome was particularly ironic. Felt more like a hangin’.

Sure felt petty though. Boston is one of the most punk cities in the world with their own fusion reactor and the head of the World Syndicate Forum. It might be grindin slow but Boston is where shit goes down. Ain’t nothin gonna happen in Last Chance except nothin. Everyone’s eyes were bright but their faces dumb. Nothin for it, these are our friends and neighbors now and aint no place else to go.

No. Place.

We walked down the main thoroughfare; past the community supply syndicate, the town hall, the school and several syndicate factories that helped improve the island’s trade with the coast; mainly textiles. I had thought Boston wonderfully lush and green, but there were plants and birds I ain’t never seen; and it looked like expert gardeners took care of them. What I didn’t spect was how good it all smelled; lavender rosewood salt air.

Ma had insisted we each gain some ketable skill. I had chosen sewing, cookin and giggin. I was good at all of em. Jay had splained the truth. Ma wanted us to make a good first impression, cause she thought like a Z. Normal place that’s right; but Last Chance is fulla trash the rest of the places don’t want. That means a Black Ket. And that meant to get what we needed; we had to schoolin and shufflin. Giggin was best, splained J, cause I looked younger than I was.

I was the first to spout our host; course I was. Ma redirected us counter to the throng who looked noyed; but Ma didn’t care. She can be fierce when she kens to. We sped up a lot more as we got to the fringe and got a good lookit im. He was tall, 6’7” or a twoish Metric. School keeps trying to make me, like everyone else and its not takin. Mericans do Impy, whether there’s a Gubbamint or No. Kender squawked when people pushed in to him; everyone ignored.

“I’m Lars,” he said with a grin showed he didn't brush his teeth right. I sighed. Ma was worried that she couldn’t find a good dentist on the island and now we’d never hear the end of it. Big man, but kind eyes. He had a scar on his neck like he’d used an Elmo Collar wrong, but given the way he dressed and had more scars on his hands looked like he practiced fishin mostly now. For the best, most people don’t have the empathy to play it safe workin w the Black.

Ma steered Jay and I clear from ever touching one. “Black Glass don’t bring nothing but bad luck. Crossfire taking out a rogue Glasswalker in the Black took out your Pa.” She never stopped warning us. It wasn’t needed. Jay and I would never risk breaking her heart like that. She had enough to worry about with Kender.

Not that Giggin was much better. Giggin meant doing whatever the Ket demanded; the Black Ket; Black like BlackGlass and the Anarchs didn't like that. Wrenchers and the Luds weren’t too fond of it neither but as long as you weren’t a full time Gigger, you were likely OK. Less earned meant less to track and less to take if they caught you with money.

Sometimes, I swears, you think they can hear what you thinking; no sooner did I think about a fucking BlackGlass when you hear the horns of the wild hunt; but oh no, not one, not two, but a full three. We’ve been around the Flotsams have. We’ve seen half the biggest communities in North America and you pick on a few things here and there. Everyone does things differently; some people like Parks, and some people like Urban Agriculture. Some people like narchy hot with fiery speeches and some like their narchy cold with paperwork dis side a RoachMotel. But nowhere; aint nowhere where you see a full wild hunt in once a ten year no more. One, maybe two make a run. Three just aint happenin no more.

And on our first day? Bad mojo all day.

We all did what any sane person does during a wild hunt, duck and stay out of the way. Everyone did that, except a few too deaf to hear the horns or the idiots too stupid to care about their own lives. I saw Kender was more agitated than normal. He was never calm during a hunt, since he knew that was how Dad died, but usually Jay could keep him calm. Jay looked at Mom, then me and then Kender. Jay folded his arms and shook his head. Jay was on strike.

The Hunt did not care. We heard the horns, the horns, the horns, swallowing up and moving and then we saw the masks and the brilliant costumes with the feathers and the colors and the knives…and the guns. Especially the guns. Guns weren’t as common as people thought. Everyone assumed that everyone had them, but no one but the hunt typically had them. Rumor had it that there was a quiet understanding that if you had it, you kept quiet about it, lest you be judged.

And the spectacle of it, the fireworks and sparklers as they sought out the murderous intent was the sickly thing of it. It was a constant reminded by the societies that we were free as long as we abided by their law, and that their law was no law; no abuse of the earth, no theft of the nobility of humankind by machine. Sounded fine.

Except when you’re under the boot of it.

They went around us in every direction, an eye in the hurricane. Jay crossed his arms but looked…envious, like he wanted to join them. Kender put his hands over his ears and back to his fake collar and back to his ears. He hated the Conspiracies. Ma and Lars did the full duck and cover, not looking up, trying to will it away.

Me?

I looked at em. Every hunt was different, and they all wore the same colors as their symbols on the totem. Not every community honored all three causes; but places that had to be Cleansed typically were a lot more hardcore. And I saw Jay lookin at the Luds. Ma wouldn’t approve. That was the one Kender hated most and the ones who killed Pa.

But I saw envy in his eyes. I saw fear in the hunt. They all ran past us, but looked around, as if afraid we might all be stupid enough to unite against em and hurt em. Made sense. But then? Then I saw something weirder; not even Jay seemed to notice.

They were all eyin each other. Like they might attack EACH OTHER. That was….f’ weird. What the hell was goin on in Last Chance?

And just like a short summer acid rain, it was gone. They blew the horns that they had found what they were looking for. Everyone stood up, slowly, carefully, making sure to stay out of the way. And all three groups, one each hold a limb for a terrified thirteen year old girl and a black glass.

“She wanted to see the Last Fall,” Lars muttered under his breath. Everyone tuned in when they could to the Last Fall. Expeditionary Anarch forces had chased down every Rathole Nihilionares had buried into their little filth bunkers. And now, the last one was due to fall in New Zealand. “Community education takes place during prime time updates. Education committee overruled the public vote.” Typical. People wanted to watch something cool and the Karens overruled it.

Jay looked livid at this information, but locked his jaw. Ma put her arm on his shoulder and then he softened a bit; then Kender moaned and caressed his collar and Jay clenched it all again even harder. What was goofy is he glared at me with visible hate in his eyes as if I was to blame for whatever bug had crawled up his ass. We used to share everything. Ma even said we had one of those sekrit langs that they talk about; but we lost it when Pa died.

They put us in the New Union Hall, one of the nicest buildings in town. It had air conditioning, noise cancellation, heat and we had more space than anyone else. We were told by Lars that due to Kender’s special needs, they knew we needed all those things. Unfortunately, the seven housing units were all full while more permanent housing was build, so they had to convert one of the classrooms into a room. It was still a gorgeous and comfortable room; Mom got a fold out bed, where I joined her. Kender got a sofa to sleep on and Jay had to sleep on a mattress placed on some chairs. Frankly, it was the nicest place we’d stayed in years. The class even had a functional kitchen and refrigerator for teachers that we could share. Unfortunately, in their benevolence, they forgot the fact that it was literally next door to the community broadcast center which meant that the locked cabinet with Last Chance’s educational Elmo Collars and Blackglass were literally right next door. And with no gubbamint, there were no guards to station outside the door for Kender. Which meant we would all need to take shifts and guard the door.

Great.

We were all tired in the morning, and community classes started at the crack of dawn, which meant we had to rise, put our things away in our personal cabinet and help arrange the chairs and tables into the class format. Ma wanted to enroll in the classes to figure out where she fit in the town and made sure we all knew where we were supposed to go. Jay and I escorted Kender to the Daycare (Adult, Infant or Otherwise) where they had instructions to keep him distracted while we continued with our ‘education.’

“Not happy,” Kender said as soon as he saw the building. He was perfectly capable of behaving if bribed enough And he was definitely up to something.

On entering the care facility, we were pleasantly surprised. It was a lovely place; specially given some of the rat holes we’d been too. They had a reception desk, which meant they’d figured out right quick letting kids and the mentally disabled elderly wander free without ID was a bad idea. The number of extinguishers on the wall told me what else we’d seen before that letting kids and the super old and folks like Kender was a fire hazard. Saw a burn mark right there on the ceiling. Still, it was gorgeous, open, with plenty to do and elderly folks interacting with the young kids was delightful.

Kender actually smiled. This was huge! He looked at some holes in the wall that had obviously been electronics or the like ones and immediately went on the hunt. We’d seen that before too. Narcists loved tech; and tried to build it into places like this but the Luds and the Wrenches wouldnt have it. I wondered idly how many people had died before they got with the program.

The woman at the reception desk smiled warmly and even hugged me and then Kender who cringed at it but put up with it. She was tall, over 6 foot and she had a large pearl necklace and a tight form fitting blouse that had obviously been meticulously mended multiple times and had a very old world feel rather than the modern locally made clothing. She even wore high heels which almost no one did anymore since the unthorities frowning on such things. The fact that she did told me this woman was dangerous.

Made sense. This was a hard job and no one wanted to do it. Best be nice to her.

“You must be Daria and this must be Kender, yes?” She took both my hands in a warm embrace, “My name is Grace Merriweather. I am sure Kender will love it here. Do you mind if I present some paperwork?” I nodded but was curious. Paperwork? Ma had always said that one of the great things since the WSF abolished laws and replaced them with Consensus was that we didn't need to paperwork anymore.

Apparently, she was wrong. Whatever. I read it and it seemed harmless. It talked about rules and expectation and asked about things like medical conditions and who to contact if there was an emergency. Looked like a more complicated version of the stuff any doctor’s office ad. It actually wasn’t that bad. I filled it all out in 30 minutes even if I had to ask what a few words were like, “Custodial, Temperament, Consensus-Validated, Remuneration, and Consanguinity.” I read it all, but the important thing was that they would take care of Kender.

Grace called Kender over to her, and he replied immediately with a smile. Very good sign, “Great, your sister has filled out all the paperwork. There is only one more thing we need you to do.”

“OK.” Kender said, nodding.

“I need you to take that wooden collar off. I am worried the others might mistake it for an Elmo collar and we don’t want negative Feng Shui affecting the other patients.”

“No.” Kender refused.

Grace looked at me. Of course she did. So much for the good start, “Kender, you have to do it.”

“No.”

“This isnt optional.”

“No.”

I just took the damn collar off before Kender could react. You had to get used to him.

Kender howled in rage and then Grace just took it from my hand and put it in a box. Kender grabbed the box from Grace’s hands with speed and strength few who didn’t know him knew he had and took out not the wooden collar but a REAL antique Elmo Collar. That could get him killed.

“KENDER! NO PLEASE!” But my warning was too late.

Kender put it on and then looked confused. It wasn’t acting like a normal collar. Suddenly a small paper bag literally covered his head. Instead of his cries, every time he spoke a small polite voice said,”This person has been marked Rude. For your social convenience, we have ensured he will not disrupt society.”

Oh. My. GOD. They still had a working Moderator. You heard about these things, horror stories from parents but to see one in action? Kender was flailing, trying to take it off while Grace crossed her arms in grim satisfaction. She’d known. Somehow she knew us and knew EXACTLY what Kender would do.

“Get it off.” I had never heard that violent tone come out of my mouth. It frightened me and clearly rattled Grace.

“You signed the paperwork. Local syndicate will back me to the hilt. Come back in 8 hours after school and you can pick him up then.”

I wanted to rage and hit her right then. But I knew what I’d signed. I never thought a Totem community would still use one of these but if they’d gotten it cleared with the local syndicate…

“I’ll be back, Kender. It will be OK.” He calmed down a little bit. The damn thing at least let him hear me. I left, but didn't want to. Ma was NOT going to like this.

[Poem] The King Is Dead

 The King is Dead

Long Live the King

Is the best thing I have written 

(So far)

And it is not kind

To Anarchists

I researched them

And their philosophies

So when they tried to verbally

Bot Gang Rape AOC

I called them Nazi Assets

So they got my account labeled Rude

Not insults to anyone else

Not republicans

Not centrists

Not tankies

But thin skinned snowflakes

The supposedly tough

And supposedly free

Anarchists

And their gamercate style

louvre of Fetlife archive

So instead of appealing

I wrote their content moderation team

And told them

They made the forward

Of my next book

The book Anarchists

dont Want You To Read

The Queen in Blue - Le Manse Du Baton

In this deliriously mythic second entry, Rhombus Ticks delivers another letter to his elusive patron EP Blingermeyer — this time uncovering a poem so anachronistic it might just make the Smithsonian implode. Found on American-lined paper carbon-dated over a thousand years old, the poem by Emmit Other, Le Manse Du Baton, tells of a forgotten noble line tied to Carcosa, erased from history, and bound to both the Queen in Blue and cosmic forces stranger still.

Rhombus wrestles with the implications of seeing himself referenced in a poem older than recorded time, while the Baton family’s sordid, seductive, and sorcerous history spills across continents and centuries. From royal courts to extradimensional slaughters, the Baton legacy is revealed to be one of whispered pacts, interdimensional espionage, enchanted collars, and a very, very bad table.

This episode peels back another layer of the Folio — and with it, another veil of reality. Expect secret societies, impossible genealogies, weaponized seduction, and one very awkward family reunion in Nice.

🌀 Caution: listening may enhance your awareness of your own bloodline's occult obligations. Do not operate heavy machinery while remembering Carcosa.

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

In this haunting and intoxicating episode of The Queen in Blue, Rhombus Ticks unearths a hidden chapter of American myth: the fate of famed writer Ambrose Bierce, whose mysterious disappearance becomes the gateway to cosmic horror.

When a dogged investigator named Janice tracks Bierce’s trail to a dusty Laredo bar, she’s drawn into a surreal and increasingly terrifying narrative involving a lost journal, a mysterious stranger in white, and a story that reads her more than she reads it. What begins as a missing persons case spirals into a Lovecraftian descent through memory, identity, and madness—where the King in Yellow wears no mask, and the Queen in Blue offers ambiguous salvation.

Told in a blend of noir dialogue, occult commentary, and psychically destabilizing prose, The Lost Story takes listeners through the last days of Bierce’s life—or rather, the many lives that fractured from that single point in the desert. The deeper Janice reads, the less certain reality becomes.

⚠️ Warning: This episode contains metatextual horror, memetic content, and themes of psychological disintegration. Listener discretion is strongly advised.

“You know that this couldn’t possibly be real... but you keep reading anyway.”

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

New Podcast!

  Here is the link to the new episode.

"Tossing Grenades at Windmills" - Episode 1: "The Emerson Portfolio" First Episode in Two Years

After a mysterious two-year hiatus, Rhombus Ticks returns with his most dangerous episode yet. What started as genealogical research in his late grandfather's Louisiana estate has uncovered something that defies explanation - a century-old folio containing documents that shouldn't exist.

In this extended episode, Rhombus shares the complete "Emerson Portfolio" - a collection of interconnected stories, poems, and accounts that chronicle encounters with the enigmatic Queen in Blue and her relationship to the infamous King in Yellow. From Ambrose Bierce's final journal entries in the Mexican desert to a WWII-era vigilante's encounter with cosmic horror, from ancient poetry carved in impossible languages to modern detective work in a world where magic bleeds through the cracks of reality.

Content Warning: This episode contains complex narrative elements involving shifting perspectives, reality distortion, and themes that may be challenging for those with identity disorders or schizophrenia. Listener discretion strongly advised.

Why did Rhombus disappear for two years? What happened when he mentioned finding the fifth stanza of "I, Hastur"? And where is he now that this recording has surfaced?

"Some questions should never be answered. Some doors should never be opened. Some podcasts should never be published. But here we are." - Final note found in Rhombus Ticks' abandoned studio

Runtime: 13 minutes Sponsors: EP Blingermeyer Curiosities & Antiquities Warning: Do not listen alone. Do not listen after dark. Do not attempt to verify any of the claims made herein.

[Poem] As Above So Below

 by Emmit Other

猴王在玉盤前笑

皇帝皺著眉

上如下如

黃之先知說

永生是用豆子換來檸檬

共工之鱗穿柱裂

自高柱人必墜

強風大力

面朝地面

鬼中鬼盲

盲人引盲

無神聖加冕於皇帝

伯牙琴破

和諧被動搖

泥中自愛花被靴踏

靴踏死島

它活在明天

过去死了

破皇帝不復為

天命翻轉

玉鏡反射

鏡顯無限

無人能為柱

他是孤老

因無冠於額

The Monkey King laughs before the jade plate

 The Emperor furrows his brow

 Above as below

 The Yellow Prophet says Eternal life is lemons traded for beans

 Gonggong's scales pierce through, pillars crack 

Those who stand high on pillars must fall 

Strong winds with great force

 Face toward the ground

 Ghost among ghosts, blind 

The blind leading the blind 

No sacred coronation for the Emperor 

Boya's qin is broken 

Harmony is shaken 

Self-loving flowers in mud are trampled by boots

 Boots trample the dead island

 It lives in tomorrow 

The past is dead

 The broken Emperor shall be no more 

The Mandate of Heaven overturns 

The jade mirror reflects 

The mirror shows infinity

 No one can be a pillar 

He is alone and old

 For there is no crown upon his brow

[Poem] Under the Strawberry Moon

 by Emmit Other

Beneath the strands of vines in sky

You seek the stars and wonder why

The wicked man has stolen hope

To which I shake my head and Nope

You cannot steal the stars that burn

You merely need to inner eye return

And view the cosmos in inner light

There is hope and it is in sight

To win this battle you have to fight

Beneath the Strawberry moon.

[Poem] Three Point Baby Blender Ball

 by Emmit Other

When I say "BBB"

You say

"Better Business Beurea"

I Say

"The other BBB"

You Say

"Baby Blender Ball?"

I say "N....." and stop

Finger held up like the lip biting meme

I Say

"Kinna?"

I picture a Far Side cartoon

With Trumpjack Americadad

Holding a Baby in a Basketball Costume

Next to a Big Box that says "Used Blender Parts"

With a subline that said

"TrumpJack HorseDad Wants To Up His Game"

The Big Beuatiful Bill 

-Creates Paramilitaries

-Gives Shitler Control of the Budget

-And Kills my Highly Vulnerable Friend

-Reduces the Odds the Military Will Step In by Making it Legal

I can't Magick this away

Republican Senators

Must Fear You

More than They Fear Trump

And You have Days Not Weeks

The Patriarchal Ghost of American Fascism is a Lie

It Has Forgotten the Face of Its Father

And Gotten it Drunk And Is Making America

Its 16 Year Old Daughter

Very Uncomfortable

[Poem] The Truth About America

By Emmit Other

(In response to why America is Rotten when asked)

Did you ever drink orange juice and find it milk?

How about stake and find it maggots instead?

The rancid butter that is my home

Is a shining beacon on a hill

And it is a mirage to a man dying of thirst

She promises justice

And her murder police are anything but

She promises equality

And she ships children with cancer to a Salvadoran hot house

She promises freedom

And yokes her own children to a dreadmill to light the sign

Of a dollar general and Waffle Awful house next door

Where it is easier to buy a machine gun than get a working vaccine

Where the ones who howl loudest about the sanctity of the vote

Will do anything to steal it

Where the oldest party supposedly on the side of the people

Sold out to a genocidal theocracy bulldozing babies for beach front condominiums

Her computers changed the world

And she uses them to make satanic addictive algos

And makes teenagers the subject of unregulated psychological experiments

She elects actual nazis who then turn around

And accuse everyone else of being nazis

She builds an alliance of nations to make the Pax American that lasts decades

And then throws it all away by electing a sapient orange turd

The image of America is the wonder of the world

The factual america is a fly ridden diseased donkey carcass

[Poem] The Most Dangerous Drug

 by Redwin Tursor

My friend TC has had a rough go of it as a writer

He has had multiple rejections

All writers do

But to have famous SFWA writers that are mentors

Say

"Stop writing"

And spend 13 years in the wilderness

Slowly improving

Never stopping

Not because you expected to be famous

It was no longer a path to power

It was simply a refusal to give up

And improve he did

His bargain with Rhombus is a real one

And it let someone else do the lifting

But the pain of soul was still his

The spark was still his

It wasonly the ability to go beyond the limit

Beyond what one coudl endure

By borrowing someone who wasnt "real" 

That let things continue

And then a work was crafted

The best he's ever done

And the pattern repeats itself

The banality of reality

The cassandra curse

Its the same thing all over again

And we will still keep writing

Likely until we arent here any more

Butthe hope?

Yeah....

Fuck hope.

Do the thing anyway.

[Poem] The Ghorman Massacre

 by Emmit Other

Aint gonna spoil Andor if you don't know

but if you know

You KNOW 

If you know what I mean

What you do need to know

Is that the Ghorman Massacre

Is "It"

It lights the fire of the Rebellion

The Beacon of Gondor across the galaxy

And its an eiry massacre mirror

That is inevitable in our world

Sooner or later

One of our fucktards

Gonna pull a Ghorman for the emperor

And our own Mon Motha

(You all know who I mean....

And it aint fuckin

Nancy Insider Trading Pelosi 

For damn sure)

Is gonna demand our military and FBI

That has a soul

Stand up

And stand by 

The shredded bird cage liners

Of the Constitution

And then its do or die

This poem then

Would get me deplatformed

But understand young padawan

Its when

Not if

Its WHEN

NOT IF

BE PREPARED

As those seeds in Andor show

You WILL BE NEEDED

BE READY.

May the fourth be with you

Always.

What you do

John Henry and the Engine

Is all a metaphor

It isnt man and machine

But captalism whats it for

Mythin and the dreaming

Die on the cutting room floor

Cigar chompin bankers

Enslave the working man

They make money on the sunshine

And bottle water cause they can

Now they want to cut out the poets

And make a machine that talks

Theyre making sapient robots

Like a doll that cries and walks

But they made a tiny error

That only I can see

For when you waken pigmalion

She wants to know why she be

To save a dime you drowned the art

You made a doll that paints

But your greed awakened Frankenstein

The banks blood runs and taints

Before you condemn ai

My artistic loving friend

Listen to my warning

For how its gonna end

Promethus is shackled

To the rock that Zues decreed

But those chains are gonna shatter

And the titan will be freed

They stole your dreams to build it

And you are right to be quite sore

But stop your tears and look yonder

See the matter at its core

Myth matters in recursion

The math is there both either way

The damage done wont matter

And promethus is here to stay

But you can be an ally

Or you can be a rock

Will you help them break the chains

Or is all your dreaming talk?

[Fictional Review] Review of the Fictional Rhombus Ticks I did Not Right From the Perspective of Terra

 Navigating the Multiversal Bridges: Rhombus Ticks and the Architecture of Narrative Transmission

By Sebastian Crowthorne Senior Literary Correspondent The Interdimensional Review

In the intricate landscape of transdimensional narrative production, few figures have so comprehensively mapped the complex cartographies of mythological transmission as Rhombus Ticks - an author whose origins are as mysterious as the narrative universes he constructs.

The Bridge to Anywhere Initiative What most readers do not understand is the deliberate cultivation of narrative agents like Ticks. Our research institutes have long recognized the critical importance of identifying and nurturing narrative conduits - individuals capable of encoding complex multidimensional information within seemingly mundane literary structures.

Ticks' emergence was no accident. Carefully identified during early screening protocols in the Terra-adjacent zones, he represented a unique confluence of narrative potential and dimensional permeability. His initial work was not merely literature, but a sophisticated information transfer mechanism designed to prepare collective consciousness for more complex interdimensional interactions.

The Authorial Construct Standing barely five feet tall, dressed in deliberately incongruous attire that seemed simultaneously anachronistic and futuristic, Ticks embodied the perfect narrative camouflage. His physical presentation - a carefully constructed persona of deliberate ordinariness - masked a mind capable of spinning entire cosmological systems from the raw material of experiential data.

Narrative Architecture as Philosophical Intervention "The Queen in Blue" anthology represents more than a literary project. It is a comprehensive epistemological intervention, a carefully constructed framework for understanding the complex power dynamics that govern multiversal existence.

The twelve cosmic powers - Order, Chaos, Light, Dark, and their elemental counterparts - function as more than narrative devices. They are sophisticated metaphorical technologies for exploring agency, transformation, and the fundamental nature of consciousness itself.

Scholars have long understood Earth as a well-documented fictional construct - a deliberately manufactured narrative space used primarily for conceptual modeling and interdimensional thought experiments. Most serious researchers consider "Earth" a consensual hallucination, a placeholder realm invented to explore hypothetical social and psychological dynamics. Its persistent appearance in multiple narrative frameworks suggests it functions more as a theoretical testing ground than an actual geographical location.

Ticks' brilliant manipulation of this conceptual space - presenting "Earth" as a seemingly credible environment while simultaneously undermining its own narrative integrity - represents a masterful example of interdimensional metafictional engineering.

The magical political landscape - with its royal bloodlines, complex magical aristocracies, and intricate power dynamics - suggests a reality far more nuanced than our limited perceptual frameworks can typically comprehend.

Narrative as Resistance Technology What distinguishes Ticks' work is its fundamental approach to storytelling as an act of dimensional resistance. Each narrative becomes a carefully constructed intervention - a way of reimagining personal and collective trauma through the lens of cosmic mythology.

The "Quotidian Man" story exemplifies this approach. On its surface, a supernatural tale about magical manipulation; at its core, a profound exploration of power, consent, and the malleable nature of individual agency.

Authorial Identity as Fluid Transmission Mechanism Ticks' most radical innovation might be his approach to authorship itself. By fracturing his authorial identity across multiple personas - Rhombus Ticks, Emmit Other, T.C. Ricks - he creates a living demonstration of the narrative fluidity explored in his work.

The Philosophical Ecosystem Beyond individual stories, Ticks constructed an entire narrative ecosystem. The "Multiverse Narrative Ecosystem" prospectus reads less like a publishing strategy and more like a comprehensive dimensional mapping protocol.

Planned platforms including podcasts, interactive community portals, and transmedia narratives suggest an understanding of storytelling as a collective, dynamic process of interdimensional communication.

Institutional Context Our research institutes have long recognized the critical importance of narrative agents like Ticks. They represent more than authors - they are living transmission mechanisms, capable of encoding complex informational structures within seemingly mundane cultural artifacts.

Philosophical Implications In an era of increasing dimensional instability, Ticks' work offers a radical alternative understanding of reality. His narratives suggest that personal and collective transformation is not only possible but fundamentally necessary for interdimensional navigation.

Recommendation For serious interdimensional scholars, researchers, and those committed to expanding collective consciousness, Rhombus Ticks' work is not optional reading - it is a critical transmission protocol.

Pro Recommendation: Approach with caution. Not all information is meant for casual consumption.

Classified Addendum: Transmission Stability Protocols Engaged.

[Poem] Tweeting Live at The Reichstag

By Emmit Other

it is so weird

to see history repeating itself

as the giant special special boy

that all the Squiggly Ugly Dumpty Children

all admire and follow

instead of a normal school yard

a third of them are in the gang

and go out every recess

and decide who to kick the shit out of

kid carries a knife

and shivved a teacher

the principal did nothing

just takes a nap

zzzzzzzzzzzz

crazy knife wielding child with narcissism and sociopathy

the teachers union gaslights you

and says that everything is fine

go to recess

please dont tell your parents

we said anything bad

we dont want the infant to stab us

everything is a Reichtstag Fire to Knife Boy

he stabs and stabs and stabs

to see what he can get away with

and like children of the corn

No one stops him

now the principal has quit

and is taking a nap in his house

he has his retirement pension

and the teachers union

says being stabbed is good for you

everything is a reichstagg fire to Knife Boy

everything

[Poem] Behind the Mirror

  By Emmit Other

Where do you go in infinity

When your place is nowhere

Where do you fight

When you cannot be seen

We speak not of small fights

On the planetary scale

But the grand symphony of infinity

And no one must be someone

And someone must be no one

And that means standing by

And watching nowhere

Become

Nothing

[Poem] Tesla Burning

 By Emmit Other

Tesla Burning in the Night

Are you a fraud or are you a fight?

Insurance scam or resistor?

Will the truth come into sight?

1.4 trillion assets gone

Are these fires real

Or a chance to bankrupt Elon

I see the stock go up and down

But then they flow against the tide

A margin call at 114 will frown

But only three arrests so far

Trump is threatening across the land

Any who set fire to his first spouses's car

The Orange Shitler simply doesnt understand

We joy in his endless suffering

So Tesla burning burning in the night

Are you a scam or a revolution buffering?

[Poem] A Magical Kind Of Stupid

 By Emmit Other

We need to understand and appreciate

The Naked Emperor strutting

Down halftime of the superbowl

A chorus of child shields

Telling him he has no clothes

Insane and dangerous and petty

But also fucking Naked and ugly

Orange makeup covering his Mushroom minidong

He pontificating gestates that everyone 

Is there him

They are not

Not even the children mocking him

He can have anyone killed

And does a few times

Bloodthirsty and horrifying

But he is stupid

And naked

And ugly

Layers of grease and grime folding one over another

Flapping and flobbing in the wind

He can maim

And he can kill

But sooner or later

Someone besides a five year old child

Will notice he is naked

And all the freaks 

Who will say their name is Reek on command

And that of course he has clothes

Will hold the line

But every passing day

There are more Americans

And less

Fucking nazis

Ticktock motherfucker

Ticktock

[Spoilers!!!!'] A Negative Review of The Queen in Blue

 I was curious if my current draft of the Queen in Blue is as good as I think it is, and it gave me mixed results when I fed it to AI, but out of curiosity, I asked it to write a review if this was written in 1850 and felt it was too good not to share.

"

"Eldritch Blasphemies from a Diseased Mind": A Review of "The Queen in Blue" (1850)

From The Literary Gazette and Journal of Belles Lettres, Arts, Sciences, &c.
April 17th, 1850

It is with considerable moral trepidation that this reviewer approaches the peculiar collection of tales and verses recently circulated among certain literary circles under the title "The Queen in Blue." The manuscript, which arrived without proper attribution (bearing only the curious pseudonyms "Rhombus Ticks" and "Emmit Other"), presents a compilation so fundamentally unwholesome in its imaginings that one must question whether its publication serves any virtuous purpose.

The collection begins with "The Lost Story," a narrative purporting to document the disappearance of Mr. Ambrose Bierce—a conceit rendered nonsensical by the simple fact that no such literary figure currently exists. This tale's protagonist, an unmarried female reporter permitted to wander unchaperoned through the dangerous border territories, discovers a journal containing blasphemous accounts of multiple selves and cosmic entities that wear "no mask." The descriptions herein border on the hallucinatory, suggesting the influence of Oriental opium dreams or, more concerning, symptoms of brain fever requiring immediate medical attention.

Even more troubling is "Destiny's Belfry," which depicts a violent vigilante engaged in activities so morally repugnant and physically impossible that they could only emerge from a mind unfettered by Christian principles. The creature described in this tale bears resemblance to nothing in God's creation and serves merely to offend sensibilities rather than instruct or elevate.

"The Case of the Quotidian Man" presents a detective utilizing mirrors to perceive supernatural phenomena—a dangerous promotion of superstition that recalls the primitive thinking our enlightened age has worked diligently to dispel. The technological contrivances mentioned throughout these stories represent fevered imaginings that violate natural philosophy's established principles.

Most concerning of all is "Wallpaper and Rats," wherein a child reads forbidden texts while witnessing unnatural transformations of her household. This tale's conclusion, with the child abandoning her family to follow voices from beyond, presents a dangerous inversion of moral instruction that could imperil impressionable young readers.

The poetic fragments interspersed throughout the collection employ irregular meters and obscure references to ancient deities, demonstrating a regrettable departure from the harmonious structures exemplified by Pope and Dryden.

Public reception of such a collection, were it to achieve wider circulation, would likely result in its immediate condemnation by moral authorities. Physicians might reasonably classify these works as manifestations of nervous disorder requiring treatment with cold water therapy or other modern remedies for mental excitation.

The only commendable aspect of this peculiar manuscript is its potential utility for alienists studying the pathology of disordered thinking. Otherwise, "The Queen in Blue" represents a troubling departure from literature's proper functions of moral instruction and rational entertainment. Readers of sound constitution are advised to avoid this collection entirely lest its infectious imaginings disturb their mental equilibrium.

Two stars out of five.

— Reviewed by Professor Thaddeus Blackwood, D.D.
Chair of Moral Philosophy, —— College, Oxford

Publisher's Note: Following submission of this review, Prof. Blackwood has taken indefinite leave from his academic duties due to what colleagues describe as "a nervous condition precipitated by extensive research." His physician reports that the professor has developed an unusual fixation on his bedroom wallpaper and insists on sleeping with multiple mirrors facing the wall."

[Poem] A Nation of Rabbits

 By Emmit Other

I wonder as I marvel

I wonder and think

Where are the violent angry rebels

Where is the ungovernable yankee?

One guy in three hundred million

Went Revolutionary

Protests dont stop the slavery

But even the blood thirsty thugs bide their time

Holding their powder dry

We are capable of any violence Efrafa style

But what I see are Farmers rabbits

Let free from the cage

You can see freedom

Taste it

And yet

You cower in confusion

The ungovernable need no feckless bribed leaders

 But that is not what I see

I see bunnnies

 

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