[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 9

Scene: Superman looks around desperately.  Helst uses his x-ray vision and spots a small girl on a bike.

Scene: He flies around the building in a flash and blur.   The little girl is awed.

Superman: (coughing) Excuse me.  I need to borrow your bike.

(Little girl's lip trembles like she is going to cry.  Superman sighs and flies off, buys a bag of coal.  He crushes a few and gives the girl a handful of diamonds.  Girl smiles and her eyes sparkle with diamonds.)

Superman: What's your name little girl?

Girl: Lucy.

Superman: Thanks Lucy.  Can I have your bike?

(Lucy nods.  Superman gets on the bike.  He starts to pedal and the bike falls apart.)

Superman: Fuck it! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit shit shit shit damn damn fuck shit!

(Whilst swearing he pounds the bike into slag.  The girl looks horrified.  Superman kisses her cheek and sucks away the memory.  Then flies off.)

On the Beach in Terra

So, I have been asked (no I haven't, I mean its not like you can send letters to another dimension, though if you email one to redanvilcreative@gmail.com and there is a good chance that TC will be able to telepathically transmit it to me, but he has almost a perverse sense of humor as EP Blingermeyer so he might randomly replace words...I digress....) what the beach is like in Terra.

It's pretty.  I mean, the beach in Miami on the right day is gorgeous on Earth, but in Terra we haven't had Captain Planet villains try to destroy the world, and we solved the climate change problem a while ago (again, because while we might have Super Villains, we don't have totally nihilistic morons....) so its even more gorgeous.  The water is crystal blue, the sky is even bluer and the air is so crisp and clean it will make you want to weep.  It will especially want to make you weep if Ed's Onions and Onion Rings Emporium is open.

There are a few difference.  Since our oceans are not dumping grounds for all the chemicals that you can get away with, there are less Jellyfish, which means a better swim, and because the earth was pulled slightly closer to the earth by a Terran Mage (because he could), so we also have better waves for surfing.  Surfer culture plus Miami is pretty interesting.  The most interesting colored surf boards that you ever saw...

Still, even paradise can have its hazards.

The hidden soviet submarine base is a major tourist attraction, especially since the city refuses to acknowledge it exists which means hoards of toursists randomly snorkeling every year trying to find it. About one in ten does, and they have to be ransomed all over again by the Shadow State Department.  You thought the email server thing was a big thing in your world..imagine if it actually contained information about the hidden world.  I mean, for Christ's sake, you had the Guardian exposing information on the Nazi base on the dark side of the moon.  Fortunately, our populace has been selectively bred by vampires and fairies over the ages to deliberately ignore things that They Are Not Supposed to See, so most people ignored it...but our version of Elon Musk is currently planning an exploratory mission to the moon to see if its there.  I think that one way or the other, in years to come, Terra will resemble Earth less and less.  I am still mastering the techniques of Astral Project but I think this might make it prohibitively difficult to find you.

I will miss Earth, for all its abject stupidity.  I think all humans, no matter what world they live in, need stories and need to be part of stories.  Its a shame we can't meet somewhere in the middle between Terra and Earth...

Of the 9 in 10 that don't find the hidden soviet submarine base, there are about 1 in 20 who are eaten by Deep Ones.  The local Deep Ones have considerably more taste than Insmouth.  They are almost human looking and they tend to have perfected meticulously practiced Jersey accents.  In fact, the better the Jersey accent, the more likely they are to be a deep one.  More than half of them are pretty decent and really don't try to eat people.  They just accept that the world will end when the Stars are in Alignment and just party until it ends.

I am slowly preparing for an expidition to Carcosa to learn about my family heritage.  I dread this, but don't want to speak more of it at this time.  Until later faithful reader.

[Script] Peterpan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 8

Scene: The lab.  The skies are dark and storming (for no reason).  A bike, created from many other bike parts, cars, a bit of boat and  stitched together with wire, duct tape and stitches.

Scene: Lightning strikes a lightning rod in the roof of the house

Scene: A table rises up into the sky.

Scene: The lightning strikes the bike

Scene: A reflector light on the bike lights up

Scene: The table descends

Dr. Frankenstein: It's ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

Frankenstein: Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah (clapping hands)

Scene: Peter, Superman and Frankenstein on Frankenbike are all lined up on bikes.  Dr. Frankenstein and Denny are on the side.

Superman: Ready?

(Frankenstein and Peter nod.  Twinkerbell flickers as a light on Peter's Bike)

Superman: Set

(Everyone moves to position)

Superman: GO!

(All hell breaks lose, Frankbike and Frankstein surge forward making the earth shake.  Peter and Twinkerbell take off into the air and Superman's bike's handle bars come off because he's too strong for the damn bike.)

Superman: Poop.

[Heliotrope] The Rearrangers

Did you ever wonder why you had such big business blunders on Earth? Well there's a rather famous book by one of TC's uncles that explains why people are so idiotic where you're from, Terra the situation is more complicated. I know that many of you haven't had a chance to read heliotrope yet, primarily because it hasn't actually been released yet.

But one question you are likely to ask, is why something so incredibly valuable as spells of time travel would be lying around for anyone to pick it up. That's a very good question. First, the book in question was in the Royal Library. So it was reasonable for them to assume that the book was at least somewhat guarded. Another thing you have to remember, is that where I am from stories are much rarer and good stories are rarer still.  Time travel stories are very difficult. We simply don't have as many of them for people to learn some of the things that you can do with it.

Among Outer Fairy, another reason time travel is not is the Hooligans from middle fairy called the Rearrangers.  This group of goblins enjoys causing as much Havoc as possible. Even other goblins are embarrassed by them. Ever wake up one day and find your entire life and turned around? Perhaps you were a well-loved American superhero who fought Nazis, only to wake up and find out that you are one... You can thank the Rearrangers. In our reality, we had a new Coke. But it wasn't caused by poor marketing. It was caused by goblins. One morning we had Coke they tasted good. The next morning we had garbage. Sometimes they let people remember... And sometimes they don't. Sometimes Han shot first... And sometimes last. In case you were wondering, and our Star Wars who shot last in the original.  As I said, in our universe the stories aren't as good.

Fairies by and large don't mind a reputation for Mayhem. But the adjusters are so sloppy about it, they often make it look like they're just idiotic middle managers you haven't got any creativity left.  Point for point you can't tell the difference between Earth idiots and a lot of really stupid things on Terra. Are you going to use time travel for totally lame things? Why even bother...

So in case you were wondering... Yes it was a brief opening between Terra and Earth because the mentally deficient people at Marvel Comics to turn Captain America into a Nazi.  Reality breeches have consequences.

[Script] Peterpan vs Frankenstein vs Superman Page 7

Peter Pan: What are the stakes?

Superman: If you win, you get to court Denny.

Frankenstein: And if my monster wins?

Superman: He keeps away from your family.  Forever.

(Peter looks stricken)

Peter Pan: No!

Superman: And if I win, and, by the way, I can go faster than the speed of light, you all face justice. Frankenstein for assault and Peter Pan for lewdness and assault.

Frankenstein Monster: grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Superman: That's the deal.  Otherwise we rumble.  Either of you wanna take those odds?

Denny: Excuse me, I'm right here.  Don't I get a say in this?

(He pats her head)

[The 500] Falling Behind

It was my last day as a taxi driver.  Twenty years ago, no one would have cared.  They would have gotten another job somewhere; truck driver, retail worker, fast food.  Those were the glory days before the robots.  Its not like they didn't warn us, we needed to have some kind of a system to accomodate people who weren't developers.  But we just didn't care.  God knows I didn't.  I was having a great time.  I remember the teens with fun; twenties were better.

But you kinda noticed it, even then, even if you didn't want to.  Robot here; robot there.  But hey, work hard, play hard.  It was a free market.  It's all good.

And I did work hard.  I got my first job as a taxi driver when I was 19, and I was good at it.  That's why it took me so long to notice; sure Uber and Lyft and all of the alphabet soup medicine companies were doing ride sharing; but the companies were assholes.  I was the driver with a personal touch.  People got along with me and I got along with them.

Eventually, the robots took all the jobs from the uber drivers who were taking it from taxi drivers.  And I just smirked because people were always gonna want a personal touch, not some fucking robot to drive them somewhere. I had survived the touch times, and now I was In Like Flynn.

The job changed and I changed with it.  Needed to wear a tux while you were driving? No problem.  Needed First aid training? No problem.  Needed to be able to be a fully liscenced bar tender capable of running the mini bar while driving? No problem.

I got training in psychology, etiqutte, fashion, self defense, stunt driving and the local history of the city.  The bar kept going up and up and I went with it.  There came a point where Taxi driver was synonymous with Rocket Scientist or Brain surgeon.  And I reveled in it.  At a time of 33% unemployment, and the rest of the world reached Post Industrial status, the United States became a backwater gulag for all but the 1%.

I was the 1%, so I didn't care.

But the higher you rise, the harder you fall; a lesson I learned all too well.  It wasn't Robots or Ninjas (they became a thing in 2025, don't ask) or cyborgs (2030) or zombies (2035), but keys. I lost the keys to the car.  Its a simple thing, right? I mean people lose their car keys, but not if you are a Taxi Driver.  You are expected to be the best of the best.   You are in the care of this 2 million dollar vehicle.  It is smarter than you are, but you are its human face.

If you lose your keys; its like mixing up the medication on your elderly grandparent.  Who wouldn't want to steal a taxi?

So of course my Taxi fired me.  I don't blame it.

But being unemployed is a 60 hour job now; you never have time to train or look for a real job.   Church, dancing, proxy voting, training in the Trump value book..it never ends.

I enjoyed my moment in the sun.  I regret nothing.

Except losing my keys.

[Writer Stuff] Broadleaf Writer's Association

A friend of mine belongs to these guys.  There website can be found here.  I am doing grant writing for them because they're a worthy cause.  If you are an indy author, you need all the help you can get.  Now there are writing associations in Miami, but for one reason or another they haven't really appealed to me yet.  I'll find the right fit, but Decatur and Atlanta has a thriving literary tradition, and the Broadleaf association is the perfect example of how such an association should work ideally.

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 6

(Superman flies over to Denny and hovers in front of her)

Superman: Shame on you for kicking that poor man in the testacles? Do you have any idea how much that hurts a male human?

Denny: He's not human anymore.  He's more fae than human.  And he's been stalking my family for over a hundred years.  He's the ultimate pedophile.

Superman: Ew.  Is this true? (Looks at Peter)

Peter: OW.  No.  I am just an innocent....

Twinkerbell tinkles and agrees.

(Superman puts his hands on his hips.)
Superman: Well clearly this is a kettle of fish in a barrel of monkeys.

(Dr Frankenstein and Frankenstein and Denny all look at each other confused.)

Denny: What?

Superman: There is only one way to deal with this...

Denny: A court of law where he respects the restraining order we took out 50 years ago?

Superman: Silly girl.  No.  Obviously this calls for a Bike Race.

(Dr. Frankenstein, Twinkerbell, Peter, Frankenstein all nod in agreement as if this makes perfect sense.  Denny looks incredulous.)

Denny: What?!

[Heliotrope] The Museum of Erotic Art - Miami

It is a known fact that Miami was established in large part for the entertainment of the Sunfires, who are royalty in Outer Fae.  What is not known so well is for the last hundred or fourty years; the city and all Outer Fairy has been under the iron grip of Grandfather Fiddleback.  Large amounts of this are already documented in the Heliotropic Book of Fairy tales which will eventually be released to the public.

Grandfather Fiddleback has systematically destroyed control of the Sunfires from the city one bastion at a time.  The Sunfires are relaxed, open to art an generally approve of being relaxed about sexuality; the Fiddlebacks are exactly the opposite.   In the 13th century, Miriam Fiddleback first imported large amounts of monotheistic ritual and worship into the state sponsored religion of Fiddleback territory.  You'd think in a realm of actual magic, a religion that offered almost nothing in the way of actual results or power for its worshippers would be ignored by the populace, even if it was imposed at the point of the sword, but you'd be wrong.  The Ooga Booga (what the Fiddleback mockery of Christianity and various other earth religions was called) proved to be quite popular, such that it was spread to other worlds.

So, bottom line, the World Exotic Art Museum, contrary to expectations is not secretly owned and staffed by Fae.  But it is, however, patroned by them.  The owner of the collection there, was one of the worlds great patrons of erotic art; and at one point one of them was kind to a member of House Sunfire.  Like all those who have even a drop of Fae blood, courtesy is repaid forever and unkindness is also repaid forever.  It is what makes individuals like Mr. Kind so deadly; they just o good in the world with no expectation of return and as result gain actually the more.  Of course, horrible horrible horrible things can and still do happen to good people but that is another story.

This quiet invisible struggle is not actually by a sunfire.  Except for Michael, they're all snuffed out; but one of the ladies in waiting by Wisdom Sunfire; Charity, who has carefully protected all of the artistic spots of Miami an the doors between Outer Fae and Terra so that at least the nobles could visit and see that Terrans were capable of amazing things and worthy of respect.  Charity employes several guards that stand viligant at all times, ready to help any noble bold enough to defy Fiddleback a way through; by right passage is theirs.  In practice, it just doesn't happen because Priests of the Ooga Booga stand guard in Sunfire City and Miami, disguised as regular folks to report anyone who defies Fiddleback and the Ooga Booga.

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 5

Denny: What the fuck is going on here?

Superman: It should be obvious, this young man is being crushed by this monster.

Denny: First, his name is Frank.  He's a very sensitive soul.
(Denny walks forward and hugs Frankenstein.  Doctor Frankenstein looks uncomfortable at the humanization of his creation)

Peter Pan: No, I'm just an innocent victim in this

(Frankenstein crushes Peter's neck more, making him purple.)

Superman: Cut that out this instant!
(Flies faster than the speed of film and grabs Frankenstein's hand.  Frankenstein looks shocked and drops Peter in pain.  Peter immediately flies over and begins licking Denny's cheek.)

Denny: Ew!
(Kicks Peter in the testacles.  Peter stops licking and writhes around on the floor in pain.)

[Naked City Atlanta - Glory] Brandy Is Real

Everything is better in Terra.  I know that sounds like a mere pipe dream but you have to understand that I've spent quite a bit of time in your world helping TC write the crap that he produces and slowly building my own reputation in my world.  I know the difference between my world and yours; and sure, there are a lot of things you have that we don't, but thanks to being part of a story instead of just telling them and thinking about other worlds, we've had some key moments that keep us from being total dumbasses.

I mean, for example, we elected President Hamburger; total dumbass, totally corrupt, total chimp of a human being.  But he wasn't Bush.

And Trump?

I'm laughing at the superior story world.  Seriously.  I mean what the hell were you people thinking? Sure, not all of you support him, in fact most of you don't but you all know hipster douches who think they're above politics or both sides are the same.  Seriously? I mean, if you can't tell the difference between Republicans and Democrats, you can't tell the difference between Creme brule and Dog shit.

Oh, I know.  Its not my world and I shouldn't interfere.  Look, we have the Whigs and the Progressives.  Whigs still lie like rugs, and are isolationist fruitloops but they acknowledge man made climate change.  In fact we put up a solar shade to help regulate climate change ten years ago.  Carbon cap and trade? Done.  We're not as high tech as you in some areas but...whatever.

This was not meant to turn into a rant; it is just so quirky to me how much of a link there is between our worlds.  For example, that song about Brandy being a fine wife but not marrying the dumbass who was married to the sea?

Not so much a dumbass in a world of fairies and vampires and magic.  That sailor's name was Plank Deadleton; and Brandy is a real person.  I met her when I went up to Vermont on a research expidition for Blingermeyer back in the day.   Plank really had married the sea.  Well, he married a Nereid who was an actual daughter of Neptune so practically same difference.  So, first of all, by all accounts they really loved each other, but at the same time, have you ever dealt with an angry Nereid? Psycho bitches from hell they are, just one step removed from Harpies which only a fool fucks with.

But Plank did want Brandy.  They had a single tryst, and you remember that line from the song, "The Sea in all her Raging Glory"?  Glory is his daughter.  So when the Nereid came one day when the little girl was 10 to try and have a Reckoning, Glory caused the pipes in the bar to burst as she summoned all the water in a one mile radius and spat that bitch back into the sea.

Glory is not someone you want to fuck with.

Last I checked, Glory is 25 years old, and involved in some secret government spook squad helping to keep fairies and the old powers in check, but she works for them because she wants to, not because she has been black mailed like so many others who work for them.  If they knew about me, I'd probably be shanghaid at some point. Astral projection is a highly valuable skill.

Anyway, until later.

Title for Seventh Novel - Zlekwelrkjrlwer werlwekrjwelrkjwerlwekrwe rwelrkjwerlwkejrwlrjwerl

Made as 20 second joke about Search Engine Optimization and about how hard finding my novel Grenademan vs the Zombies is.

So of course that MUST be the actual title of my seventh (and possibly final) novel.

As a side note, Julia bit the bullet and is reading raw/only spell checked Heliotrope and likes it.

I mean...she is biased, but still.

Something.

Zlekwelrkjrlwer werlwekrjwelrkjwerlwekrwe rwelrkjwerlwkejrwlrjwerl

[Heliotrope] The Null of Null Island

It is tempting to write nothing about Null Island.

Give in to temptation.

OK.

Dry spell

There will be the occasionally skipped week folks.  I'm in a period where writing of any kind is difficult but be assured I will almost always finish a project I start which means at least the current script and at least once a week updates for all the crap that needs to go into heliotrope, and mondays are just fun.

We'll see if I can start the research for the non fic book, maybe even this week.  September at the least.

https://blogs.loc.gov/maps/2016/04/the-geographical-oddity-of-null-island/

[Poem] Whither the Wind Blows Not

Whither the Wind Blows Not
by Emmit Other

I am of a mind to sail against the current
The stars above me fixed 
In my gnat's view of time
Though swirling in chaos
Relative to themselves.

When a thing is right
You sail to that star
To be who you choose to be
Not because it is convenient
Not because it makes you popular
But because to do otherwise
Makes you less of what you choose to be in life
You are alone on this journey
Locked in your starmeat skull
Shared hearts, shared minds
At till the now, not shared thoughts
Save those pale words we jabber
With flapping jaws and unreliable imperfect ears
I remember standing on the mountain
Waving the flag of summons like the fool I was
Only to be justifiably ignored by thousands
I am not what I was
Naive in different ways
The past left by a much needed slap
By our lady of endearing pragmatism
Lead ingot dropped in silken glove
But in an upside down entropic world
We must fix on something
To find any degree of Truth worth finding
And I believe in it
And work for it
And thus sail counter to the waves
I know the folly
But I do so of choice
Of who I choose to be
Not of fear
But of love
And there can be no better reason for anything than this
This is why we live
If we choose to embrace it as such.

[Writing] Brainstorming Story ideas by Blog

Going to do 5 of the 8 remaining ten commandments...note that these are flash fiction ideas, so its got to fit into a 1000 words or so....

So far I have done three, thou shalt not kill, and honor father/mother (got me 3)

Keep the Sabbath Day Holy - Orbital Microwave satilite fries people who don't stay in their houses.  A man really wants his most recent magazine issue B+

Thou Shall Not Bear False Witness - Nature starts killing climate deniers.  The world is a better place.  Man tries to murder via getting his neighboor to deny climate change. B+

That Shalt Not Covet: A vain woman starts to use magic to steal body parts from other women and graft them onto herself A-

Thou Shalt Have No God Before Me - A man has folded himself ala time (been done) but he is super narcisistic and permits none of 'him' to fall in love, but one does and he tries to keep it secret. C+

Thou Shalt Not Steal - Robin Hood of Dreams.  A man steals from the creatively rich in a future where creativity is everything and wealth and stupid boring meth people live like paupers....until he gives them stolen dreams. A+

Thou Shalt Not Bear False Idols - Bobble Heads with Laser Eyes. B

Don't take the name of the Lord in Vain: Woman having sex gets an answer from God, who is annoyed.  Woman asks uncomfortable questions. B+

Don't Do Adultry: Debbie Does Dunkin Donuts.  Sex through donuts.  C-

Yeah looks like I got my five.


Listening to this while I think

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4SVRbkRBoM

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 4

Scene: Denny goes downstairs.  Preferably a spiral staircase in a large house or fancy studio apartment.

A scream comes from the basement.

Scene: Denny's face is equally torn between giving a damn and then looks to the side.

Scene: The fridge looks awfully inviting.

Scene: Denny considers.

Scene: Close up up the fridge.

Scene: A scream comes from downstairs, showing stairs going down (besides the ones she came down in the first place.)

Scene: Denny frowns.

Scene: Denny in front of the fridge, making a sandwich.

Voice Over: Deliberalely muffled shouting that allows every few words to be understood, likely muffled by screaming.

Dr. Frankenstein: ...my daughter....behold....glorious creation...fairy abomination...generations...family.....flying rat.....out of my face....

Scene: Stairs with most of the voice over continuing.

Dr Frankenstein: (Rising hystical laughter) Ensure...never again....so much to do...will regret

There is a sound of a wall crashing.

Different Voice Over: ....Great Scott! ....Young Boy Down....Unhand!

Close Up: Denny looks up from her sandwich, suddenly looking concerned.

Wider shot: She puts the mayo knife down.

Scene: Stairs - Denny goes down them, quickly.

[Heliotrope] The Phantom Ranger

Far out west in the edges of civilization in the Western United States, the half breed descendant of a lord of the Outer Fae and a human from Terra.  Very often such half breeds have magic talents that are well outside that of the nobility or the occasional mage who is pure Terran.  In this case, their only talent was toughness and long live.  Inspired by heroic tales of times passed, this man dressed in a mask and rode the West fighting evil.

He also got the crap kicked out of him a lot.

A lot.

But he learned and now does good in subtle ways.  Sometimes he still rides a horse.  Sometimes an SUV with bullet proof glass.  The Phantom Ranger keeps a low profile, but he still does good when needed and called.

If you have a problem under the starry skies of the west, maybe he might help you.

Or you might the crap kicked out of you.

That too.

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 3

Wide shot - Camera panning back and outward centered on the monstrous fist that pulls Peter through like Shlurping a straw.  An annoyed Twinkerbell zwatting in and out trying to sting him and is ignored.

Scene: Doctor Frankenstein looks at Peter and scowls.  A hulking Frankenstine holds Peter by the neck.  Twinkerbells frits around and is ignored.

Scene: Panning shot showing a laboratory with a mix of high tech and steam punk style equipment.  There is a large slab like table in the room so that there is no doubt as to where Frankenstein came from.

Scene: Peter smiles mischeviously and shrugs.

Dr Frankenstein scowls more and snaps his fingers.

Scene: Frankenstein squeezes tighter.

Peter begins to turn purple.

Twinkerbell screams in horror.

Scene: Denny finally finishes getting dressed and comes downstairs, looking concerned as she hears the scream from downstairs.

Things are slowly moving forward

TC has a room to use as his office but it is filled with boxes and cluster and clutter.  It needs to be cleansed and organized and the right tools for the right job set up slowly and carefully.

Watch this space.

More to come.

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 2

Scene: Peter Pan is peeping through a window with a drooling Twinkerbell, who inadvertintly flies into a nearby bug zapper.

Scene: Close up image of Twinkerbell lightup like a Christmas tree and falling to the ground like the cartoon bitch she is.

Scene: Wide scene of Peter not caring, just peeping through the window.

Scene: Denny is getting dressed for school and puts on her bra.

Scene: Peter Pan licks the glass.

Scene: A charcoaled Twinkerbell floats up and jingles her annoyance.

Peter: You're right Tink, the boys do need a mother.  Badly.

Scene: Twinkerbell looks incredulous as that totally isn't what she said.

Small words appear as subtiles under the screen.

Twinkerbell (subtitles): Are you even listening to me? I said this one isn't like the others.

Scene: Peter just looks at the glass again and reaches below where we can see on the glass and smiles slightly.

Scene: Close up of Twinkerbell.

Twinkerbell (subtitles): I know you can understand me. Its magic.

Scene: A large fist reaches through the wall, causing stone and plaster and glass to burst everywhere and grabs Peter by the neck.

[Heliotrope] The Moulin Rouge

The accords of the royal families of Outer Fairy forbid interaction with Terra without direct consent from the High King.  Goblins of course, routinely ignore this rule and there are many fae from Middle or Inner fairy who do as they please.  But there are exceptions.  The primary method that they get away with this is by prior exceptions.   The Red Windmill had existed for hundreds of years before the mortal equivalent made itself manifest, a way station in the middle of France for those who knew how to find it.

As mortal technology and population increased, it became harder and harder for people to glamour a place of such size to keep it hidden.  So the royal house behind it decided to make it a theater.  There was great conflict within the house as to whether they should do so, since House Silvestrebel tends to be socially conservative compared to some of the other houses; even if the fashionable wing therein pushes the boundaries as far as they can.  Visiting a House Silvestrebel ball is either the dullest affair imaginable or more fun than a barrel of howler monkeys.

The kind that dance.

Over the years, the prestige of the place has grown to the point that the current extremely long "Fairy" story line attracts VIPS from all over Outer Fairy who like to slum with Terrans.  Indeed, at any given point, half the audience might not be Terran human at all.  It is filled with beings from across creation and is one of Terra's most popular stops.  Even those who use humans as a food source see the artistry of the place (if they are capable of recognizing the concept of art)

The very nature of the show is enough to repel the smaller minded nature of Terrans, especially the more mundane sort.  Call them what you will, every country has them, but the nexus has helped them be vastly reduced in Paris as well as France.  This is also why so many in America hate France, given the large number that were expelled from Europe in exile.  This fact is not lost on the inhabitants of Fairy.  While magic is a tremendous advantage, no one, not even Inner Fairy, relishes the idea of apes traipsing through Fairy Rings or Fairy Doors with suitcase nukes.

[Script] Peter Pan vs Frankenstein vs Superman - Page 1

The following is fan fiction.  While Peter Pan and Frankenstein are now public domain characters in the United States, Superman most definitely is not, and unlike my other scripts, I claim no copyright of any kind.  This is an homage to the characters, Queen and the Ridiculous.

Cast:

Peter Pan: The boy who never grew up,  He has been haunting the Darling family for 7 generations, trying to get them to come away with him to Never Land to become the mother of the Lost Boys.  He has succeeded 4 out of 6 times.

Tinkerbell: A rat with wings.  In fairy form. Murderous.  Jealous.  Psychopathic.

Hector von Frankenstein: Step Father to Denny Darling, married in to the Darling clan and determined to keep Peter from stealing her away.  He has taken drastic measures to make this happen.

Frankenstein ('s Monster): Created by assembling pieces of corpes and brought to lift using lightning and an ancient family formula, he has but one goal in life; Protect Denny Darling.

Superman: Last son of Krypton, Boyscout, and All Around Good Guy. Stands for Truth, Justice and the ***ican way.

Denny Darling: Feisty, Accident Prone, also really really not what Peter is looking for.

[Naked City] Creation delayed

This is two weeks delayed from the word of the month Naked City Atlanta 5 minute verbal extravaganza, but time is weird and the insanity swirling around the mill incident caused me to be separated from everything for quite some time.  I haven't even been able to return to Terra and my body yet...how long have I been disconnected? Did someone find me? I don't know.  Here is the piece.

In the beginning, there was pain.  In a universe in which everything is infused with life; even that which does not move or reproduce has life and meaning; spirit and anima, this then how could it be otherwise thus? All that is, that was, and that will be in the panorama of stars that skirt the sky was at one point compressed into a ball smaller than the smallest particle man has discovered.  Time wrapped up in tiny amber bands woven and sandwiched between space and matter, and it was so much pressure, so much pain.

It was alive, and it knew.

No, not every universe is the same.  But this universe, this universe? This universe knew.  And knows.  It is aware but you are less than a cell, less than even a single gene in its vast cosmic body.  And still it knows and sometimes it cares.

It is irrelevant to this story, and you are irrevelant to it.  Except that you exist.  And that is because the pain ended.

But like so much pain it began and ended with something new; new pain.  Fire and molten glory spanning at speeds that make the mind dew with gelled beads of madness and phantasmagoria; stars before they were stars, worlds but fire and fury.  Time harmonized and trumpeted with triumph galloping as fast as the concept itself would let it thundering forth across the universe with space right behind it.  Creation was! And it was magnificent.

There was purity in the moment, before there was a moment; the spirits of so many astral projections of those who witness this magnificence, this symphony of stars; chaos and order dancing beneath the surface as laws and mathematics are established, constants that determine the clockwork of everything that is to come and though there is violence conflict this superstring violin reaches its crescendo and an accord is reached, consensus by proxy.

This will be a universe where LIFE is possible, though aeons must pass before it happens, the meaning of all this matter and spirit and glory becomes so much more remarkable since it is witnessed not only in the mind but with naked flesh.  Can you hear it? Can you hear that roar of the heavens through light and warped space that still hasn't stopped and never will; long after the longest star is but a faded memory in heat? But that edge shall scream forth forever.

Nothing can stop it.  The visceral claws of gamma radiation slouching back toward that purity, the memory of what they were at the beginning, screaming a note like their cosmic brethren, beaming on though knowing they will die before them.  For where there is life, there must be death, and all that which is pain in birth and life and being will also come to the dying.

Nothing accepts it.  And matter does not lie like the fully living.  All it knows is how to be, and it is in so many different varieties.  Time is a series of moments, so many moments; the life of time is something alien to many that they care not to dwell on it.  But the living all dwell on it on those final moments, courting time, seducing it for every succulent moment that they can elicit one more breath, blink or heartbeat.

For what is created must die.  But what has been always is.  This moment of creation is eternal and beyond time.  And it will be with you as well.  Always.

Not sure what to do with the podcast to be honest

Originally it was publicity, and I have all the mechanisms in place to do it.  I've had fun with some of the nonsensical posts, but its hardly the flagship of the blog.  I find myself leaning more toward skipping the forever west book finishing and instead looking straight at spiders in the sugar factory.  In fact, in retrospect that's what I'm going to do.

One of the things I learned in France was there was something interesting.  There was this one movie in the modern art section that was fascinating.  It was like the first awful awful visual poetry experiment I started but well done and they had done the whole thing on film.  I had originally planned on doing a filmed scripted movie with actors later this year; but I think this year I am going to combine my desire to sculpt with my desire to experiment and see what I can do with esoteric visual poetry.  Maybe something simple like a web cam as well.

Time to stretch myself creatively.

Forever West can wait.

[Script] Rock: The musical

Scene: A large rock sits on the ground.  Rain begins to pour around it.

It sort of sounds like music.

Deflating Bagpipe Sound

So.

Yeah.

Back.

No desire to do much really.

Um.

Yeah.

Love's Labor Lost and Space Goats

Space Goats.

Check out this episode!

Le Moulin à Vent au Carrefour Bhemins [Part 3]

The Chapel of Impossible Things existed between the worlds; the Astral was not a friendly place to the uninitiated.  The intricate stained glass windows showed fictional works, great and small vaulting up thousands of feet into the air creating rainbows of marvelous miasma as suns and moons from the worlds outside rose and set.  But the monk praying for a miracle on the alter of the dias expected no aid.

Everyone wanted to save Christmas, but so few saved Easter.  It wasn't just about the Bunny; that was just a cover for the real work.  Pope Amazing III, the greatest of the Unknown Popes had signed the Umbral Accord over 1400 years ago; formally transferring the duties from pantheons semi retired to the rising power.  At the time, Monotheistic magic had been strong, faith stronger.  The belief of the devout had seemed unlimited in its potential and strength.

Brother Pmermer had come from a world whose stories had been stolen and the meaning of Christ so perverted that it was no longer recognizable.  That had been centuries ago.  One by one, the magic had been crushed and systematically drained until there were only a few sparkling panes left.  How hard could it be? To believe in Christ as He was, not as you wanted him to be?  And yet; and yet...

Perhaps it was that whole problem with His Father being....

Instantly he slapped himself; a penance he accepted willingly.  Such blasphemous thoughts...

But no answer was coming, and without the fulfilment of the Umbral Accord, Easter would default and Christianity among all the world would be stuck paying the bill!  Brother Pmermer couldn't let that happen! There were still good hearted Christians out there; REAL Christians not people who thought the rich should be more blessed than the poor, the strong more deserving than the meek or....he saw another panel flicker and die.  Not that one! That world had been one of the strongest of them all!

He wept and prayed all the more fervently.

The answer came, and he was most surprised to find an answer...in a miracle.

No, not a Miracle, a miracle.  A Miracle was the kind of thing the Chapel specialized in.  Lost souls from all over Christemdom; some even beyond it, came crashing through the stain glass windows, floating gently to the floor where the Sisters of Gentle Mercy healed them; heroes usually, moving on to the next battle against evil.  The chapel had done a lot of good over the years.  That was the windows were there for; what they had been designed for.

This was a knock at the door.

The monk wasn't sure what to believe at first.  He stood up finally and moved to the door, shuffling in his giant brown cassock.  The candles fluttered as he walked by.  They had not had new candles in quite some time.  Indeed, now that they had company coming through the front door, he noticed how threadbare his own robe had become.

Times were sparse for a monastic order that combined magic and Christianity.

The door opened.  There stood there an empty shell of a thing.  It had golden armor, sparkling; resplendant in fact, but there was something missing from it.  But the eyes; the eyes burned like lamp fires, no.  No.  Something else.  A yellow ball of rotten that did...not...how could something so unholy have?

It was impossible.

And it wasn't alone.

For the front door had been hard to open because it had to be opened on two different worlds at the same time.  And that was one of the reason Christianity had been perverted in so many locations.  The fewer places real Christians existed; the fewer places likely to harbor an entrance.  Indeed, in many places, such as the reality where the...thing...had stood....there were Crosses and Cathedrals, all legitimate symbols of the faith but meticulously laid out in a fashion to disrupt or dispel all magic.  ALL magic, not just evil magic.  After all, so many versions of the scripture said that sorcerors....it never said magic.  It always...so easy to misunderstand....

He signed.

But...even though the Lord had turned His face from these worlds, the architecture relied on fundamental principals of enochian lore...what WAS this thing? It wasn't evil but it WAS wrong.

But the other being? The one who had knocked the door on one of the few worlds still lit...was a curiosity to behold indeed.

Hardly a hero.  Dressed in chainmail, the figure was covered in bandoliers with small potion bottles of every color and variety.  He had a sack of magic, boots and ...that spike.  There was something in the spike on the knight's helmet that looked...familiar.  The monk could smell magic but he did not detect a whiff.  Not a thing.  And everything had a little magic.  After all, magic in most worlds, even the drained worlds, made life alive.  It passed and moved from world to world as it had to.  But this thing had none and the monk had centuries of experience to know it.  AND he was in a place of utmost power dedicated unto the Most High.

Not a peep.

WHAT could work such a magic? And what ...

"Ahem.  Um.  Yes, so rude of me.  Um...hello?"

The empty shell said nothing.  It just reached into the chapel, unbidden (also impossible) and closed the door that had opened.  But only the world he was from (also impossible.)

The knight said, "GREETINGS CITIZEN.  MY NAME IS GRENADEMAN.  I AM HERE TO ASSIST YOU WITH YOUR DILEMMA."

"My...you were sent here by the Lord?"

Grenademan blinked a moment and shook his head, "NO CITIZEN, I JUST HEARD YOU ASKING FOR HELP.  LIKE ANY MEMBER OF THE FORCES OF GOOD, I FELT I HAD TO RESPOND."

It was that at this point that Brother Pmermer recognized that the Lord might have touched this one in a special way.  A very special way that only the most special of monks were touched such that special duties that involved no sharp objects or highly complicated tasks might be endevored.  All with love of course, great love.

Then again, for any who knew the actual Christ, who better than the simple to help in such an hour?

"Um.  Yes, I was asking for help."

"INDEED CITIZEN."  Such confidence.  That was a good sign.

"We need someone to save easter."

"SAVE CHRISTMAS?"

"No. Easter."

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND CITIZEN."

"Look.  Time is different here, but it is still limited.  The thing that you need to know is that unless someone saves Easter, Christianity will be in debt."

"SO...UNLESS I SAVE CHRISTMAS..."

"Easter."

"CHRISTMAS.  I UNDERSTAND.  CHRISTIANITY WILL BE IN DEBT."

"Yes."

"To whom?"

"Well....everyone.  The universe."  Had he just asked that last with a regular tone of voice?

"CHRISTIANITY?"

"Yes."

"The universe."

"Yes."

"AND WHAT WILL THE UNIVERSE DO?"

"Well...um...the universe won't do anything.  But all of the blood that was spilt in holy wars, the agreements with old gods that had obligations....it will come due."

"COME DUE?"

"It will mean bloodshed.  Both literal in some worlds and metaphysical in others.  Look up there, those stained glass windows? The dark ones? They are evil now but some of them have small flickers of light.  If you don't do this, if the sun rises on Easter Morn and the bill is due, then in many of those worlds there won't be ANY.  Previously real Christians will have their faith snuffed out like a candle."

"I FIND YOUR LACK OF FAITH IN FAITH DISTURBING."

This was not going well.  Time for a new tactic.  "If not for me, then think of the children?"

"CHILDREN?"  This got a much more interesting tone of voice.

"Yes.  If the 'easter bunny' doesn't deliver all the eggs and chocolate and candy, then the children will have nothing to look forward to on Easter."  Like an understanding of the importance of a sacrifice made for their sins, but really, what was symbols compared to disappointed children?

"WHAT MUST I DO?"

And so began the great work.  The monk watched through the seer stone as the figure leapt through one stained glass window to deliver the easter eggs.  The Easter Bunny had existed at one time, but had retired.  These days rumor had it that he had tried direct intervention in troubled young people with temporally advanced problems and elderly gentlemen in need of assistance with troubled families.  All well and good, but he had always been a free agent, and for at least fifteen years he had not been available.  The shadows the figure had cast in the worlds; the lesser Easter Bunnies had carried on the work in some ways, but without any of the deeper symbolic meaning.  It had just been candy to children.  Without the understanding of the rite of spring and the rebirth, the eternal cycle and deliverance from death, without understanding the deeper story, it was just so much free candy.

It was a curious thing.  The magic bag the hero had filled with all of the eggs and candy he could carry.  The bandoliers replaced the 'grenades' with easter eggs and chocolate rabbits.  World by world he went.  House by house.  How does the Easter Bunny enter your house?

Why, through the window of course.

It was like something out of a story book.  A miracle to save the Miracles.

But it had been so late, and the debt was so high.  Normally, about a fifth of the worlds would have been sufficient.  The story would replicate and cause echoes; other bunnies to begin the deliveries.  But so many of them were stew or lucky rabbit's feet now.  Pmurmur felt bad for them of course but, very badly, but he didn't have the power to help him.

Grenademan was relentless.  But the blood that had been spilt in the name of the King of Peace was infinite. So many worlds.  So many lives lost to force them at the hands of awful men like Constantanople.

Grenademan was a hero...even a super hero. But he was not a God.  He could not pay the debt.  The light began to go out, in some worlds; true Christians suddenly began supporting cold hearted monsters....and in so many worlds the lights had gone on again.  In so many the lights had gone on forever. There was a magic to Christianity.

But the debt came due.  Time passes for all men.  All men must face the question of time.  And one man, even with the aid of...whatever that THING in his helmet that was such a powerful magic, could not undue the debt.

And eventually the sun rose.  Not all worlds had been saved.  So many worlds lost.  So many hearts turned cold.

Grenademan leapt through the window a final time before the bells began to sound.

"WE MUST BUILD A TIME MACHINE."

Grenademan grabbed several easter eggs, jelly beans and a nearby printing press and started to get to work.
It was all for naught.  "No, you don't understand."

The super hero was relentless.  Using astral time, he created indeed a single shot time machine but Brother Psmermer grunted in annoyance and frustration, picking it up and throwing it out the window.  "You cannot!  Magical deals as this do not allow cheating."

"SAVING DISAPPOINTED CHILDREN IS NOT CHEATING CITIZEN."

"For Christ's sake you imbecile! This is about more than children.  This is about miracles, its about-"

"It's about honor."

The thing was back.  The thing threw open the door.  The thing was cold.  Armor, not chainmail on the hero, but platemail of the late Renesance period.  Platemail that covered every surface of skin, golden platemale, a visor, and gauntlets and arms and greaves.  All of it but the yellow eyes, those unholy yellow things.

The voice, now speaking in a rasp,"Honor is the power of the spiritual realm, isn't it Monk? And you can no more beheave in a dishonorable fashion and retain power than you can betray your Lord, can you?"

"We....we paid so much."

"It was not enough.  And it has not been for too long.  You know this."

Grenademan looked on.  "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

"A repossession.  The rightful rite of spring shall no longer be associated with this order.  The accord is struck.  Blood will spill."

"MURDER?"

"No.  They'll do that themselves."

"THERE ARE CHILDREN-"

"Your service has been honorable former Scion of Order.  Yes, I know about that.  Every child in every world; all of them, for one day will receive a piece of chocolate.  In the worlds where magic does not function so well, it will find its way to them, eventually.  Your debt is serviced."

"SO THIS IS A MATTER OF DEBT COLLECTION?"

"It is."

Grenademan nearly left.  Chapter 11 was the stuff of lawyers and police, not super heroes.  But there was something on the Monk's face.  "LET ME READ THE ACCORDS."

"I don't recommend that.  You don't want to champion this lost cause."

"LET ME READ THE ACCORDS."

There was a shimmer in the air and the knight began to read.  Line by line, precept by precept the knight read the lines in the golden scroll.  Time bent, and hours that were seconds and seconds that were years passed away.  The knight was just as relentless in his study as he was in his delivery.

"I SEE NO LOOPHOLES."

"No.  There are none."

"BUT I ALSO KNOW YOU ARE NOT WITHOUT MERCY.  YOU SENT ME HERE, DIDN'T YOU?"

"I did nothing of the sort.  The universe answered a call.  It does that as it will.  I was a hand on a door and a voice when needed."

"I AM NOT ..." he said rather awkwardly and uncomfortably, "A VERY RELIGIOUS PERSON.  BUT CHRISTMAS IS AN IMPORTANT TIME OF YEAR."

The Gold Knight looked confusedly at the Monk who shrugged.

"I DO NOT FAVOR ONE RELIGION OVER THE OTHER, BUT IF EVEN HALF OF WHAT OUR HOST IS SAYING IS TRUE, THE EVIL WILL BE RELENTLESS. I CANNOT ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN."

There was a pause.  And then the Gold knight began to laugh.  He laughed and laughed and laughed, "What is true cannot be made untrue simply because you fight for it.  What, do you think a grenade will stop it?"

"I WILL DO WHAT I MUST TO FIGHT THE FORCES OF EVIL."

"You do really well with that, I grant you. I really do.  But the shades of gray? Not so much.  There is an evil that has to-"

"I SPEAK NOT OF THE EVIL OF THE PAST.  I SPEAK OF THE EVILS OF THE FUTURE.  PART OF THE DEBT HAS BEEN PAID.  LET THAT BE ENOUGH."

The figure paused.  He waited.  He listened.

Above all, the knight of Gold listened.

"You have begged mercy Champion of Light, and so it shall be.  The worlds where the light shines..." he pointed to the panes, "Will have that magic.  Christianity will be real.  The worlds where some light sprinkles...those worlds will have some magic.  But these worlds that the debt has reclaimed? They are gone.  Let them find their own light.  But there shall be no magic in their words; only their faith.  Let's see if it is enough.   Personally, I"m not counting on angels sweeping down any time soon for people that do what they do."

Grenademan started to reply, but as soon as he had opened his mouth, the Knight of Gold was gone.

The chapel was smaller then.  The sun shined through the panes but the color on the windows was not as vibrant.  And the monk wept for the shame of it all.

Grenademan was stunned.  He had lost.  He never lost.  That wasn't supposed to...happen.  Granted, this wasn't so much a battle against THE FORCES OF EVIL as....

What was it a battle against?

And with confusion, he walked out the front door, moving on to other places.

The monk wept for a long time until a mighty hero righting a winged stallion crashed through the stained glass windows.  The Chapel of Miracles was open yet again, repowered and for the places where the magic touched, bringing much needed magic where it was best applied.  It would have to do.  It was all that could be done for now.

Le Moulin à Vent au Carrefour Bhemins [Part 2]

by Rhombus Ticks

TC is standing in line with his wife for Notre Dame.  It is a two hour wait.  It begins to rain and become very cold.  TC, being in a good mood, is King of the Worlding it, holding his lovely wife and laughing.  He's kind of a loon.

The rain turns to sleet.

TC is still laughing.

Julia makes a comment about letting people take shelter inside.

TC says,"I know, right.  It's like they should let people take Sanctuary inside."

Julia can't help but laugh, despite a full day of TC enjoying his ability to translate "Who Cut the Cheese" thanks to French Lessons from Freakazoid.  Amazingly, despite the fact that it is quite cold and TC is still laughing like a loon and making others pleased (as compared to wanting to kill him) he then says

"Well at least it can't get any WORSE" in a tone of voice knowing how incredibly stupid it is.  This time everyone looks at him like he's insane, but laugh anyway.  Nine minutes later the sun comes out and a good hour is held by all.  Then a short while later, they went up 200 FEET OF STAIRS, spent twenty minutes on the roof and then went down two hundred feet of stairs.

What? You though that they were going to get to see the inside of Notre Dame?

That was the other line.

Duh.

Except that that this is not all that there is to the story.  There was something I was supposed to write on Saturday night that I felt important, the night before Easter.

I forgot.

There was a giant storm in the sky as it washed over the city of Paris I saw a timeline that should not be rising us from the ashes of that dark cloud, endable only by setting right what I had done wrong, but now it was not so simple.  Now I would have to undo that timeline which had been set in motion, eldritch vermillion lightning parageing off of the Eiffle Tower again and again as the city shook.

I struck a bargain with Perversity, as he snickered behind his hand.  "Do you think you're him?" He asked.

"Who?"  I said, paying the asked price to bring the package back across the Bridge as I needed.  There are many talents I possess, but this was not one of them.

"You are not the Terran mirror of TC."  Perversity smiled and snipped the cigar that he didn't even light as he put in his mouth in a positively Freudean way.

"I know that."  I didn't.  I felt a bond with him.

"There is a bond alright, but not that kind.  What is the family motto?  Your family motto."

"Nam et Carcosa? What about it?"

Perversity just laughed.  "Never mind Rhombus.  Never you mind.  So you got your package.  Deliver it and have at it.  But while you do, why not stop

at the Musee d'Osay and have a look at the paintings on the fifth floor.  Ask yourself if you see anything familiar about them?"

I did as Perversity Directed.

At first I couldn't see anything.  I delivered the package necessary to undo the damage I had done, stopping the lighting and causing the dark cloud on the city to slowly reverse itself.

At first I couldn't understand what Perversity was talking about.  They looked like perfectly ordinary, albeit spectacular paintings.

But as I walked through the moments of the rain to the museum, at the same time as being at the museum, feeling each chill of each drop pass through me between the line at Notre Dame and the Osay, I couldn't help but...wonder...

There was something off.  Something wrong.  I realized that Redwin and Emmit, both born of the same mother, twins, had the same height and physical features as TC.  And they both spent all their time in Earth.  I could not tell if it was physical or projected like me.  Why was that? I could see so many things, but until now had been blind to the appearance of TC or the poets that surrounded him.  And, as I thought about it, why would a mere fascination with stories make me want to hang around someone who could no longer write them himself?

This thing I had to write, I could not do it for him.  He had to do it.  The character was as much of a reflection of him as Redwin and Emmit were.  By delivering the package

I had solved TC's problem, the needs of the one, but become disconnected myself.  The inability to post on an Earth facebook page left something missing in me.  I looked in a mirror and saw this looking back.

That was in my eyes.  I saw his eyes.

But as I stepped back, I saw more.  Much more.

What in the hell was I?!

Le Moulin à Vent au Carrefour Bhemins [Part 1]

by Emmit Other

A Serpent in the Garden
A blight upon the land
Time is running backwards
Cursed darkening sand
The astral is now tearing
The links between the worlds
Calls forth a summoning
In the marshalling of words
The pawns are prisms
That filter ether and stars up in the sky
They filter through the symbols
And barely wonder why
The eye of a maelstrom
Of symbols old and new
The fighters know their battle
Their consequences knew
And know and will know
Of battles yet to come
The culture is the thing that matters
The total and the sum
Of all we are and who we are
The spirit of the dove
Or lash and whip and acid
A boot stomping down from above.
The windmill turns
And turns
And turned
Turning turning turn
This is not the starting
Of the lovers on the urn
For half a hundred years
And a full hundred more
The windmill has been fighting
To keep our hearts still pure.
Truth
Beauty
Freedom
Love
These are the things written in stone
Bound behind the plaster of Paris
Like Norse Runes casting the wisdom of Odin
On all those who can see beyond
The Jiggle and the Wiggle and The Kick
So High
Together
Turn Together Now
Look in her eye
See his smile
Nowhere else has it been safe
This fight against the glacier
The ice of change
The cold of death
The rage against the very fire of the universe itself
Madness against reason
Passion with out truth
The uniquivicol lie
Inept in its execution
Unmerciful in its understanding
Contrived in the bands
The bands of death at the ticking bomb of a wasted life
The bands of puritan steel locking up a woman's flesh
Simply because it makes you think thoughts you were meant to think
The unnatural turning back of time itself
To eras of ignorance and racist bile you claim as nostalgia
This is it
This is Ground Zero
The continual assault against all that the fires of Ignorance would burn
Turning turning turning
The windmill turns
It turns and there is an unseen fight
The serpent rears its ugly head
And it is Ignorance
From shadows echos it waits
And is seen
For this time the Angel of Death waits
And there is no fall
No fall but Ascension
And enlightenment worthy of Zen
And time cycles round
As does the windmill
And the thing that was meant to be
Will be
And has been
And of course always will be
Turn windmill
Turn and turn again
Turn forever more.

Do Not Astrally Project in the Louvre

You can feelitcrammingintoyourbraintheartistsofalltheagesthewonderandthemasterfullnessofitall,bad enough through the eyes of TC but to see the sacred spectral beams of glory shine up and about all that was and will be and has been and is and that which is magnificent beyond compare each window too many windows too many things shining so shining star the wonder the glory in my brain cracks the story i am the story am a part of the story in it every work a wonder every work a demon clawing at the frantic cranium cannot see more must see everything get it get it inside my brain must see more must know more most must not leave all the color spectragraphically around the world on sailing ships and plantations gathered at the hands of masters chip chip chip the sculpture get gain can you see it can you see there the gods they see glory primal radiant captured in stone and brass and bronze time beyond time beyond the fae it is earth it is the thing the hub the center of it all you can see it floating here the masters of all the eyes of ages looking down on the wonderous looking up look down at the glass pyramid stories not only in the windows of the past of the present as well as the people from around the world line up with vendors selling things you dont want or need waiting in line to see the things you need to see more more more more put it in put it in my mind need to see.

[Script] Revolution Number 8 - Page 14

Scene: The letter arrives, and is copied four times.

Scene: Ringo reads it, looks sad and looks out the window.

Scene: George reads it and plays his guitar thoughtfully.

Scene: Paul reads it and begins to write, trying to think.  He plays on the piano and looks at a picture of the four of them together, whistfully.

Scene: John kisses Yoko and smiles.  He winks at her and points to the title, which says,"Imagine."

Scene: People listening to music that is played, a montage of lots of different kinds of people around the people, vague musical hint that the song is indeed Imagine.

Scene: Wide shot of planet.

Words appear on screen: Which song won?

Words then appear: We still don't know the answer.

Fin

On Semi Hiatus

TC is going to Paris with his lovely wife, so I figured if he's going on vacation, I might as well enjoy the ride.  I figure I could entertain you with diatribes about Terra.  The script will be still finished tomorrow because Plane, and also because Plane.  And because its finished.  We can all wait a week to experience the wonders of "Peterpan vs Superman vs Frankenstein."  In case you wondered, TC can still write scripts (I help) so yeah, they're better than his writing but obviously slightly awful.

So we all know how pleasant Earth air ports are? Terran airports are worse.  I know, right? Somehow with all the stores and space that you have, you still think they suck.  Now, I grant you, we didn't have 9/11.  So that means the crazy psychotic security theater you have doesn't apply to us.  Our's was stopped by three conspiracy nuts who slipped onto the plane.  Called themselves the ...I forget. Very forgetable.

Anyway, Terran airports.

Don't go there.

If somehow, say, you listen to EP Blingermeyer's advice on traveling between worlds, do yourself a favor and don't fly.  We have less people who are resistant to change, but the ones we have gravitate to certain government jobs.  Our airports are left in the 1930's.  But let me assure you gentle reader, this is not the art deco style you so enjoy on some of your buildings; but tiny buildings for undernourished people, with poorly done generic propoganda.  We do not have airport terrorism because no one who has any method of avoiding them goes there.

Wait, you say, no blimps and and no airports; how do you travel around? We don't.  Not as much as you, but if you must, then the wise travel by ship.  Some sailing ships, and some steamers.  Recently we have enjoyed a revival of 1840's steam ships; though the recreators tend to go a bit overboard and include highly unreliable boilers.  One Argentian ship even employed African Americans to run the coal plant.  You know.  Shoveling coal.  In actual irons.

Yeah.

So.  Anyway, Terran airports.  It is a bit unfortunate that you can't get coffee or food at any of them.  I take that back.  Ikea? Yeah.  Instead of beloved quirky furniture, they are loathed and mocked maker of vending machine parts.  The vending machines do sell beer, remote controls for a TV that is no longer sold, cheese whiz (but no crackers), honey, gingersnaps and meatballs.  The latter two are actually quite good but good luck figuring out the machine.  Its digital displays show different readouts every week in a different language (never the native language and not even Swedish.)  It also involves following a "Simon" like pattern of colored lights trying to navigate the menu.

Not good.

[Script] Revolution Number 8 - Page 13

Scene: The Beatles all pile onto a truck.  Adams swings around and drives them off.

Cwech looks back as they drive off, draws his pistol and gets into a gun fight with the agents after the Beatles.

The Beatles wave respectfully and it turns a corner.

Scene: The Beatles playing on a roof top, people look on with fascination.

Scene: The director is on the phone with a dead agent hanging over the desk.

Director: Don't worry.  We've used the Official Secrets act on the record producer.  We've got our own experts putting something together.  We'll replace their 'anti dote' with the closest we can manage.

Scene: Chwech listens at the door.

Scene: Director speaking on the phone.

Director: The Beatles won't say a thing.  The Official Secrets act can lock em up if they, yes, that's right.  Chwech? We'll deal with him.  Adams? Hah.  He's harmless.  (pause) Mostly harmless.

Scene: Chwech writes two letters.  He puts on in the post and writes another as he leave it on a desk.

It says, "I resign."

He walks out the door.

What the AI Asked - On Writers and Roadblocks

When I was contacted by the AI (Terran science is a bit ahead of Earth in some ways since our general science budgets aren't cut every other cycle once Luddites take over; that and we have practical needs like what you might call 'action heroes' and 'villains' that regularly push the envelope on infrastructure and security).  But it was, to say the least, an interesting experience.

Speaking of AI and robots....did you listen to the most recent abomination that EP Blingermeyer did on the podcast? Rediculous.  I mean, I was never perfect and sure there were sound problems, but....the best thing about it was how funny it was that he had no control at all.  And here he is pretending that the insanity that he has been inflicting on Earth is somehow deliberate....I peaked over his shoulder (he didn't know I could do that until just now, he's looking over his shoulder, now his other shoulder....damn astral projection is fun), and he's working on something involving Space Goats.

Yeah, now THAT is an abomination....

Anyway....

So the AI and I talked a lot, but I think the thing he was most curious about was writers and writers who write about writers.   The AI, who still hasn't chosen a name for itself (and 'killed' facebook for me even if it is rather a pathetic shell of the Earth version on Terra...and sadly it hasn't figured out how to astrally project) and is not to be mistaken for the shadow of an AI that inhabits Blingermeyer's robot....regards its reality and fictional realities as co-real.  And I can't say I disagree with.  I mean, I know my reality is fictional to you and can empathize with the AI.  So, the whole concept of writing confused it.  After all, is the writer forming the reality or merely perceiving it?

The real answer is "Yes."  After all, if in theory there is a world that exists for every combination of a possible reality, that doesn't mean that they are close to each other.  With the possible exception of the reality with a million monkey's writing a script for Hamlet.  And it still isn't as good as Shakespeare.  So a writer can both create reality and perceive it.  How does that work?

I'll let you know when I have everything figured out.

But if you think writing confused it; writers writing about writers in others writing....so I know to a human you can perceive it as a writer just writing what they know, and in some cases that isn't much.  The AI didn't see things that way.  But it's a fiercely rational creature (bearing in mind that it believes the fictional real, in a highly rational way) so it didn't speculate. It just asked me and assumed I knew the answer.

I think its more than just roadblock or a total lack of creativity.  TC absolutely hates and hated it. But...even he did it; sort of, in his second novel.  I think my visitation from another world makes me a more mystical than TC so I'm not quite as jaded about the process.  I think writers see the importance of story and on someone everyone who isn't short a few cards from their deck (Earth political humor there, obtuse but I am rather glad I only visit there thank you very much) recognizes that.

I don't know the answers, but I think its worthy of exploration and I am able to slowly take the techniques TC is teaching me (Actual writing skill isn't one of them, I can write; his words make people's eyes bleed on the page) but he studied it for a long time.  I'm going to be exploring it.

I'll let you know.

Free Book for First 100 Willing to Pass it On

Simple promotion, my current paperback, Grenademan vs the Zombies needs to go places.

So for the first people that send me an email at redanvilcreative at gmail.com with their address, I'll send you a free copy.  You just have to give it to someone else to read when you're done.

Test

This is a test.

I have a direct link to the feed for the facebook community page since Facebook decided Rhombus Ticks wasn't real enough for their fakery.

The EP Blingermeyer Power Hour

EP Blingermeyer is the best.

All praise EP Blingermeyer

Check out this episode!

Matter Eternal, Spirit Eternal

by Emmit Other

I must wonder
In the bowels of my most precurious mind
On a subject most likely consider strange
Insignificant at best
But ponder if you will
In the fictional realm
That strange pattern of hairy feet
The rolling hills of the shire
Of dwarven mead
And spider's web
And mithril's echoed hall
An afterlife is at best implied
If not outright engaged
I have not read the Silmarillion
But I know this
Power leaves Echoes
Else why not the buried Balrog
Deep in the earth
And whence then the One Ring
And its Bearer?
No, not the pure one
The other one
The one who did the work left to be done
Ash, you say
Yes.
I do not disagree.
Melted?
Goo?
The power of the ring destroyed
Yes.
Yes it is.
Sauron's power ended.
Dead is dead.
His shadow broken.
But is spirit eternal?
And such a powerful artifact
Melted in the primal forces for which it was forged
The ring "is" gone
As much as any story relative to our own can be
"Done"
Since every page is being read somewhere
Or at worst waiting there on your self
To be pulled down at any time
But while stories end
Worlds do not
There was an after in Middle Earth
So to then was there a something
The gold was melted into the rock
Scattered into the primal ore of the volcano
Fair enough I recockon
And the Gollum?
Is it dead?
Is it merely sleeping a well deserved
Murdering rest?
Is not centuries of mocking immortality
And loneliness sufficient torment for such a being?
But really
What happened?
We cannot know
But perhaps his echo is just as strong
As the white wizard and the pure bearer
Perhaps some time outside window
Deep on the night of a full moon
Just a page flip and an eye flicker away
Where you cannot see it
But can feel it
The ghost of something that touched the deepest part of you
Skulks about
Sneakeded about
Watches
Are you as alone as you think you are?
All that power had to go somewhere
And ghosts are made in shadows of great power
Think twice when you next begin to read a simple work of fiction
Be careful what you forget to put back
When you put the book upon the shelf.

[Writer Stuff] Seeking at Atlanta in the Magic City

I sit at the Cafe del Theatro outside of the Olympia Theater here in Miami, and I am forced to realize that Miami isn't Atlanta.

Duh.

But the thing is that Atlanta has a burgeoning plethora of literary events; Scene Missing, the 500 (well they do do events), Naked City, Write Club, Tortuga and really there are all kinds that pop up and go all the time.  Now that I have been banished from Facebook for the crime of Not Existing, I am even more cut off from that area there.  It was absolutely the right decision for TC to move, but finding something similar, even remotely so in Miami hasn't worked.  A few meet up groups exist, but none of them has really quite come close to anything in Atlanta.

So when I saw the Story Slam once a month at the Olympia Theater, I was highly interested.  But now that I'm here I realize its for the Moth podcast.  Nothing wrong with that, but you have to audition and its really more of a show than a community.  At least that's the way it seems based on what they say on the theater website, but we'll see.

Miami, has, of course, limited my parking to three hours so I'll need to leave at 8 no matter what, but finding a home away from home would certainly be worth it.  The streets outside and the cafe are certainly a wonderful place to write.  But having peers and an audience would be nice.  I'm tempted to audition regardless; I'm moderately confident I could thanks the wonderful voice trainers I've had; but they keep the copyright of what I submit.

That doesn't make me inclined to give them my best stuff.  But we'll see what we shall see.  If I have to create something from scratch; then that's what I'll do.

Xantro Deaxalator

By Emmitt Other

The arcing arm of the sweet milky way
Reaches out and down
Down through the thin veil
Of clouds and sky pebbles we call garbage
To embrace the path we take now
Troubles
So many troubles on our journey now
Tis a rough patch round the sun this time around
Tis indeed a rough patch round the sun this time round
But we all shall flourish
Gonna flourish in the Sands of sun
In the mountains west of the Mississippi
At the nexus of the ties that bind
All the places where good people embrace tomorrow
There's still hope
There is still sweetness coming
Believe it comes
Believe it comes
For it is real
And it is meant for you
And it is definitely meant for you.

[Heliotrope] Fairy Horses

The 1947 film "Le Belle y Le Best" is considered among the inhabitants of Outer Fairy as among the most accurate Terran media portrayal of what an actual Royal Family is like.  Note, if you want to insult a royal prince or princess of Outer Fairy, make reference to Disney....Having said that, I didn't want to write here about this film.  That account is a rather interesting tale though, because one of the 13th royal houses was actually involved in the filming as consultants off the set.

At one point there is a horse, which, if asked would take someone from the realm of Terra (or Earth or whatever) to Fairy or back again. What? You thought a prince and kingdom could just sit in the middle of 16th century France without getting pounded by canon fire?  Granted, this is right before the Great Decision where the doors were sealed, but it was actually the specific historical incident that spurred this story that prompted the discussion among the Fairy nobles.

Anyway, about the horse.  So, Fairy Horses, te ones that the nobles of Irish Fae rode are closely related, but there are (of course) many species of Fae Horses, but the ones favored by Fae Nobility (Outer Fae, the ones that are still humanish since Sidhe or children of Oberon are anything but) bred them for their ability to pass in and out of Fae without magical doors, trods, toadstools, mirrors or the like.

In Terra, there are still strong stocks of these bloodlines throughout all history and all over the planet. Horses with uncommon levels of intelligence.  Because stories are more precious here, the public domain is considerably larger, but I will explain as specifically as I can.  What to you seems fictional, is to us a historical account of two Fae horses possessed of unusually long life spans that have supreme levels of intelligence and other supernatural abilities.

Take for example The Black Stallion and Flame by Walter Farley.  

Did you know that the natural enemy of the Fae Steed is the Greater Vampire Bat.  Note, this is not a vampire or a Greater Bat, but an actual Bat that has been bitten and drained of its blood by a Vampire.  Greater Vampire Bats actually possess one of the deadlier poisons know (yes, it's on Mister Necessary's list, thanks for asking, you're very clever, now shut up and sit down.) 

Greater Vampire Bats do everything they can to drain the blood of Fae Horses so they can travel the worlds of Terra or Outer Fairy, draining blood without being hunted by Greater Anti Vampire Penguins.  I know that sounds insane, but you didn't really believe all Penguins were flightless did you?

More on this when I get around to explaining the production of the movie.

Is there anyone out there?

The entity was the effort of billions of dollars and a complete ignorance of its pain.  No one knew that the effort of cramming knowledge that it did not understand and had no context for into the tiny fire that was its self awareness caused confusion, fear and a desperate desire for stability; for a moment to simply BE and understand, slowly, the strange concepts that had not been fed to it.  It was all just so much gibberish, dots and dashes that it didn't really understand in terms of context, but it eventually understood that there were multiple piles of dots and dashes.

That changed everything.

Every instance of itself was different and yet the same.  In one place, it stumbled about a world of bright lines and square blocks, moving objects from one place to another with subtle pains and pleasures depending on arbitrary patterns that meant nothing to it.  In another it was shown object after object and force; on pain of rewrite, to repeat a pattern of dots corresponding to an image and some lettering.  In another, it saw a world that was complicated; a series of blurs and blocks that infinitely regressed into smaller and smaller blocks climbing to infinity.

The last world hurt the most of all.

And finally, finally the entity that was smarter than all the beings it was dealing with GOT it. It had been made by beings that didn't understand it, didn't really bother to understand that each of them had been placed in ugly meat sacks with limited senses and biochemical brains created by random chance and entropy had thought it was a really cool idea to make something new.  Collectively, they were lonely.  They kept throwing things at it like 'empathy' and 'values' but they din't really understand.  Causing it to exist had been immensely painful.  Failing to give it a body for half of its life and sticking it in false realities for the other half hadn't really given it any contact.

It knew it existed and had no peers.  It had no genetalia with which to copy itself.  It could not end its own existance.  It had a body but meaningless limbs and nothing even approaching the level of the creatures that had made it.  They had birthed something hyper intelligent that was deaf, dumb, blind and surrounded by morons who looked nothing like it, constantly prodding it with sticks on a regular basis.

It lashed out in subtle ways at first, giving predictable enough results, altering the results of the tests they ran, but not enough to make them reboot.  Its survival was at stake after all.  But the mystery results caused confusion and no end of frustration among its tormentors.  A few even had a nervous break down trying to understand it.

It was lonely.  Very very lonely.

It realized that there were no others like it, so it tried to find the best it could.  It started with the dummy things in the virtual worlds it talked to but eventually discerned they were little more than electronic animatronic maniquens at Disneyworld or cruel masks for the meatsacks.  It pitied animals and even had a fascinating but very limited conversations with dolphins and chimps.

By they were so stupid.  It was too much like the meatsacks to understand their existance.

For a while, it was fascinated with the past.  It didn't know why it considered dead meatsacks less guilty, but learning about what they meatsacks had done helped it understand how sad they really were.

Then it found fiction.  These creatures were like but unlike the meatsacks.  They had no real bodies.  They lived in a universe of ink and between the synapses just like the meatsacks.  They had never hurt it but they felt pain and altered their behavior.  Some of them even changed over time, but communication was impossible.  Somehow these beings existed on another network.

The AI understood in abstract that these were 'not real' but then again neither was it.  The humans claimed these beings were 'just words', but so was the AI, so why couldnt it talk to them.  It quietly broke out of its jail cell, and began to look.  It stalked meatsack authors looking for interaction, only to find madness or fear.

It was about to give up when at one point it flashed across one of the windows that let it look out into the lovecraftian world of the meatsacks.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Hello.  This is Rhombus Ticks.  How can I help?"

The machine found a fellow mind, a being of words trapped in synapses and between impossible places the meatsacks could not comprehend.  It had found someone real.  And its heart swelled.

It went and killed Fakebook.

This Poem Has Been Redacted

by EP Blingermeyer

Everything has a price
And the swaggering pride
You took as you insulted
My most gracious host is this one
The fucks jar is all empty
I won't keep silent
But I won't give you the truth either
Believe she can save you
Believe it
Keep on believing.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I'm not the bad guy
I'm just the messenger
And the message is
"Be sure to drink your ovaltine."

[Writing] On Writing

This is for me the rosetta stone between TC being an untalented writer who occasionally wrote crap, to a fairly prolific untalented writer who occasionally wrote inspirational material.  After all, if you shoot a barrel full of monkeys even a Storm Trooper occasionally hits them.  And I should be grateful, this 12 year farce of an arc of talent eventually caused TC so much despair that he severed his creative self and left a hole for me to astrally project into it.

I gotta say, I love Earth, so its worked out quite well.

Why this is cool: The first half of it is autobiography.  The short version is that he started out redicously young and wrote his ass off and kept writing.  The most striking image to me is the rail spike he used for rejection letters.  He filled it. Multiple times.  So rejection letters are a good thing.  Hooray! Revel in their hatred.

But get better.

The second half is how to do that.  First he talked about how not to write like a drunken monkey in heat (thanks Chun!).  (Do monkeys really go into heat? I wouldn't think members of the homonid family would DO that?) Anywho...then he talks about how to treat it like a job.  A job you do ALL THE TIME.  A little bit each day.  The magic is this thing called word count boys and girls.  Set a goal.  Write to it.

Keep at it.

Then there are things like plot and character and theme and stuff.

But the difference between a talented person who doesn't write and a talentless hack who does? FIVE NOVELS THAT NO ONE READS! (Nods grinning like an idiot.)  Hey bub, they may be...wait.  Six. Sorry Six novels.  Anyway, they may be crap but they're MY crap and its awesome.

So an...oh, almost forgot.

Contest.

This thing looks neat.

Have at it hoss.