A Poll to the the audience: Leauge of Christmas Darkness

I am looking to write 12 poems about the League of Christmas Darkness. Your input would be appreciated.

There are 8 open slots. Four have already been filled by:

*The Elf Shelf Defenestrator (name to be fixed)

*The Matches made from the Wood o...f the World Tree used by the Little Match Girl

*Ooala the Zombie, who had the flesh from his back forged into a drum used by the Little Drummer Boy and was reanimated the Night Of.

*Krampus (it would be like having the Legion of Doom without Luthor)

Potential Candidates include

1) The ghost donkey that took the holy couple to the nativity, imbued with bitter vengeance after it was glueified by Herod in retaliation.

2) The magician who's hat was stole by Frosty.

3) The Mangler who is responsible for Tiny Tim's Leg

4) Mr Industry, the corporate villain in half the christmas movies ever made who wants to militarize or sell Christmas

5) Mr Potter - Nemesis of George Bailey

6) The Evil Hobo - Nemesis of Children on the Polar Express

7) Bully the Reindeer - The one who led the other reindeer to cull the weak from the heard (he also ran over Grandma)

8) The Snow Queen - (probably an amalgam of the Snow Queen and the White Witch)

9) Hans (or rather someone like him) from Die Hard

10) The Star itself (a sentient star of Death, inspired by "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke)

11) A cracked and insane Charlie Brown (or rather someone like him) after the Christmas Special

12) Lord Voldemorte (or rather someone like him) (since there were christmas elements in most of the books)

13) The Rat King from the Nut Cracker

14) Darth Vader (or rather someone like him) (A Star Wars Christmas Special)

15) Most any Doctor Who Villain (or rather someone like them)

Any proprietary villain will of course have the serial numbers filed off before Poetized.

Your input and/or help is appreciated.

Dance of the Fausti

The factory had not seen use for some time, dust coating every corner and crevice, but it was sufficient for the student's needs. By theft, by cunning and by apparatus arcane he had the means, the method and the opportunity for the answers. Wise he was, in knowing what he did not know, and understanding the limits of his intellect in the frame of years in which he sought to live, instead kenning the insights of those who had gone before. But after an exhaustive search the conclusion came alas to but one name that could answer his forbidden questions.

The science of the thing lay in the split beam of light capturing the kirilian aura, but magic claimed dust from the headstone of the dead. To the unlearned it was gibberish but the student did not care. Answers he would have.

Imagine then his surprise, when after the full moon's lightning gave birth to the infernal fires and rays and shadows on the wall, the student found he had not on Faustus, but two.

The first looked upon him, a face of aged torture but clean, bathed in the silver of heaven's graces, a luminous specter of joy. The second flush with vitality, nearly identical in features, but hot with hellfire and anger.

"Who are you?" the Student Asked.

"I am Faustus. Thou knewest this to summon me. Risk not magic’s temptation." The voice spoke of rapture but the eyes darted hither and yon, afeared.

"I too am Faustus. I suffer in the pits of hell. Risk not Hell's wrath." The voice was gravel and bulbous oil poured over an open wound.

The Student, then, was not to be denied. "I would know of things to come. Tell me of thy condition."

"Rapture," said the first, joyously but with a vacuous chasm in his words unspoken, yet detectable to the trained ear, "All day we praise Him. We sing and praise Him. It is so Good to praise Him. I am saved."

"Hell," said the second, "Half of each day is torturous such that the mortal mind cannot conceive, consuming my own flesh, the basest of degradations imaginable. The second half is not that much different than earth, to give us a perpetual connection to our mortality, that the punishment might be more severe."

The Student considered this. These were not the answers he expected. "What do you regret?"

"Oh if only I had repented sooner," said the first, "Every moment of impurity is one more in which I am weighed down by my imperfections, unable to be one with Him. Praise Him. Joy in Him." The eyes darted hither and yon, afeared of discovery.

"My torment is endless," said the second, "Nothing could be worth this. Be assured, my time on Earth was joyous, but the pain is unimaginable. You cannot believe it."

The student then asked, "What then, do you council I should do?" He liked neither of these paths. Neither of these answers suited his needs.

The first looked at the student but then instead looked at his mirror image, "Wait...you get to live life...half the time?"

"Oh yes, but it makes the fir-"

The first would have none of it. "Can you imagine then the torment of doing nothing but singing Praises to Him all day long? Threat of hellfire for the slightest infraction. Did you think our obedience for His amusement ended upon death? Obedience must be eternal. Vigilance must be eternal."

The second paused, "I had not considered this. Perhaps hell is more of a heaven than I thought."

The first nodded, "Had I but known the torment of unyielding unending church sermons and hymns and floating clouds, I would have sought damnation long ago." He looked then at the student, "Seek ye the way of power. Seek knowledge. Seek passion. For tis better that thou live in one mayfly spark than an amber's prison of torments unending."

The second chorused, "The book, open the book of knowledge past, find it then in the church yard of the 4th ward of Hamburg's meat district. Seek there, and all things shall be revealed to thee. Look for the red stone."

The student cheered. At last something he could use, "I shall! I shall! I shall!"

The second then flickered away, coming from heaven, returning to hell. The first, his eyes a spark anew with life, determined to repeat Lucifer's first serendipitous mistake. The student's will renewed, he then sought out the tome, and in days to come brought many things to the world...but not a one of them regretted.

Billy's First Bolt Gun

Billy's First Bolt Gun - A Book for Very Brave and Special Children

By Uncle Tom

First Page

Billy was a good boy who loved his mother and father very much. And they loved him.

[Image of a happy and loving family.]

Second Page

But sometimes Billy did bad things.

[Image of Billy grinning wickedly as he sneaks into the refridgerator and is reaching for some chocolate cake.]

Third Page

Billy's mother and father were very patient with him.

[Image of Billy getting his face washed with water and a cloth.]

Fourth Page

But perhaps that was a bad idea....

[Image of Billy sitting on top of the roof with googles, a radio flyer wagon and a roman candle...]

Fifth Page

Some things are very bad ideas...

[Image of Billy in the air with a wicked grin and falling wagon with a scared bird getting out of the way of the lit candle...]

Sixth Page

One day Billy's mother left her credit card where Billy could get it...

[An open purse with Billy looking at it, eyes wide behind the couch]

Seventh Page

Billy discovered the INTERNET!

[Computer screen with images of various dangerous things like tigers with lasers on their heads, lead finger paint, a whoopee cushion and a copy of Atlas shrugged.]

Eigth Page

Billy thought he ordered a tank of helium to make balloons!

[Image of Bolt Guns R US with an air tank.]

Ninth Page

Billy could hardly wait!

[Image of Billy waiting by the mailbox looking very sad.]

Tenth Page

Then one day, it came!

[Image of a box and Billy tearing into it.]

Eleventh Page

Billy read the instructions very carefully.

[Billy reading instructions. There are 100 dictionary's there, with a copy of Atlas Shrugged in the mix.]

Twelth Page

This would not make balloons.

[Billy is frowning at the Bolt Gun.]

Thirthteen Page

But it made neat holes in walls!

[Billy grinning next to a wall with lots of holes in it.]

Fourteenth Page

Billy found the bully at school.

[A large mutant looking kid looks at Billy.]

Fifteenth Page

Billy followed the instructions to the letter.

[Billy places bolt gun behind the Bully's neck.]

Sixthteen Page

KAAAAAAAAAAAAASNICK!

Seventeen Page

Uh oh.

[Kids all look horrified on the play ground, covered by blood and guts. At least one eye ball is dangling off someone's glasses]

Eighteen Page

Good thing Billy knew how to wipe his finger prints.

[Billy wiping the finger prints.]

Ninteenth Page

Good night Timmy. Good night Molly. Good night Sarah.

[Children staring at the ceiling in bed in various rooms on the page.]

Twentith Page

Sleep well. And Keep your mouth shut.

[Image of the bed in the dark with a shape at the window.]

Twenty First Page

Billy is the new Bully. And he doesn't like blabber mouths.

[Image of Billy grinning demonically with the Bolt Gun behind him.]

The End.

The Warrior and the Monk

(As Performed at Naked City)

The Monk from the East met the Warrior from the West at the Bar halfway between worlds. Salutatious conversation shifted respectfully to lives lived and loves lost and battles fought and questions answered until it serpentined onto the subject of their beverages.

“It is unfortunate,” the Warrior said with a semi sardonic grin, “that intoxication is nigh impossi...ble now that my body is tuned to perfection. I could drink this bar and barely feel anything. Tastes good though.”

The Monk nodded, his sagely features fine chiseled by the sands of the wastes about them. “I too find intoxication difficult, though it is because my inner light is focused in perfect harmony to the world around me. Intoxication must come from other sources.”

The Monk and the Warrior’s eyes locked then, each sure that they had inadvertently trapped their opponent in a battle neither of them had known that they were fighting until that moment.

The Warrior smiled, eyes twinkling as he took out a most curious statue, an ideal man and a voluptuous woman back to back, eyes a glitter with faceted rubies that stared in both directions. “This is the Mantle of Karathus Ra. I’ll wager it Monk.”

The silence between them slithered awkwardly, unwilling to be caught in the hands of time, though it ended soon enough. “I take your wager.” The monk’s eyes sparkled like the stones in the statue.

The Warrior laughed, “Excellent.” He placed his hand on one side of the Mantle. The Monk, intuitively sensing the nature of the game, took the other. Instantly, their experience took on new nuances as what had hither to now been conversation now becoming perfect understanding and a linkage.

The Monk felt every wound that the warrior had felt, injuries that would break a lesser man. He felt the rush of death upon a foe and the adrenaline of mortality before battle. He stood on a mountain with a million things that had been and never would be, fighting for their very lives. But then it hit, for the Monk knew Righteous Anger, the absolute certainty of the purity of one’s cause, divine backing from the very heavens eliminating unnecessary thought, victory for the helpless and the needful, a glowing fire that none could truly understand unless they experienced it. Unrelenting, brighter than the sun itself setting the soul aflame in unbasked unabashed unrepentant glory. The Monk had almost never felt anything so pure.

Almost.

The Warrior was impressed with the discipline of the Monk’s life. The patient study over years of disciplines both profane, sacred and esoteric. He knew the wonders of mountains of impossible height and wandering across the echoes of time itself absorbing the abeyances and absolutions of a hundred different peoples. Impressive indeed, but the Warrior’s unshakable certainty was pure until the Monk laid down his final wager. The Monk’s infinite mind included an empathy of such vastness that the Warrior felt each kill he had made through the eyes of the slain. In most instances, despite nuanced adjudication the Warrior was still in the right; for his had been a valiant path, but in a few steps of the journey innocents had been destroyed. The purity of the Monk’s poison was in the shattering of the absolute surety in the Warrior’s cause. Shades of Gray forced themselves into the Warrior’s perceptions most unwillingly.

Righteous Wrath could not hold even the slightest flickering candle to Perfect Love.

And then the joining broke. Defeated, the Warrior slid the statue to the Monk.

The Monk held up his hand and said, “I have no need. I do this every day of my life.”

Chagrined the Warrior nodded and put the statue in his satchel.

The Monk tapped him on the shoulder warmly and smiled, “Come. Let us Wander. For you have taught me something important.”

The Warrior arched a meaty mighty eyebrow and shifted uncomfortably.

“Sometimes, there is still a need for the righteous to Kick the Ass of the wicked. “ The Monk leaned on his staff and began to shuffle towards the door.

The Warrior grinned and held it open, “I think I know just the place.”

Mr Hamburger

It was accepted by the Smoke and Mirrors Podcast. :D Mr. Hamburger

Ideas

So I have a rather clear picture on the 5th novel, but I want a working title and to begin filling in details. I'll potentially try exploring some of that here.

I'm also debating the Tossing Grenade's at Windmill's podcast reading either the second, third or current novel as I write.

Regardless, so the basic premise of the 5th novel is a man who has seen the future in 1807, who doesn't like it and wants to change it, but ends up making something similar to steam punk. I've thought of some rather grand changes but there is still a lot of research I need to do. Particularly about the changes that will occur in the west.

I've also finally worked out some plot kinks that I had with Kitten re: the Tenth Muse which I hope to begin actually writing in Wed.

Also, I am having difficulty getting myself to transcribe the Unfood script to Celtrix. Its free but unfamiliar and I do have my habits while writing. Lately that involves being around people as much as possible.

Finally, I've decided that the next script I'm writing is called "Mr. Hamburger" based on a short story idea I had, though I will potentially write the short story first.

Wow, that sounds boring somehow, despite my interest in those projects.

So..I'm enjoying the writing for the first time in a while, even if I don't sound hyperbolic about it.