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[Poem] Yippy Little Dogs

by Emmit Other

they say

they say

they say

they say imma bot

laugh track on

thats nice

thats nice

they dont have a thought

no gods masters

masterbating doublethink acrobats

arguing with each other

arguing with their dog

using the tools of hierachy

while they fuck a lincoln log

misfits and weirdos

i thought they were cool

until i saw just gow cruel

these dog rapin assholes

their dicks got hard

their dicks got hard

their dicks got hard

to kick me while down

their fucks got long

hear them moan

like a revolutionary prostite

and i aint talking courtesan

cause aint they cute

i mean a five dollar briefcase

corproate suit

mutual aid and empathy like to project

but its really just their amway

that theyre trying to proteect

if you cross em they will fuck your cat

and you want some proof

let me show its where its at

libertarians are posers

cause they dont donate to party

put their money where their mouth is

their belches are farty

and lookin at the anarchists

theyre just a fucking hypocrit

cause if they make you other

then they really dint give a shit

liberals got problems

that the narcnarcs will mock

but when it comes to empathy

dey fucking a sock

[Poem] An Enemy For Life

by Emmit Other

the Cult known as Anarchism

Decided to repeat the mistakes

of the Barcelona Anarchs

and stab antifascist forces in the back

While fighting nazis

They are faithless allies

and cost me my account

Long after we beat the nazis

Long after the Palestians Are Made Whole

I will remember

I am on this earth

Barring a Nazi or Anarch Bullet

For a few more decades

and I will remember their Dog Rape Pile

I will remember the backstabbing they did

Kolektiva made me hold anarchs in contempt

Now they have my hate

Smoldering

Eternal

Vicious

They laugh because they won this round

But I will win the war

I left one cult

and to fly had to forgive and move on

But this is a cult I never belonged to

Fair game for my higher self

The Cult of Anarchism does not change

Their lies to themselves

Are always variants in the same theme

No one takes them seriously

But I now do

And I will change in any way I need to

To make them pay for Yesterday

After Much Consideration-New Writing Alias

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

The King Is Dead - Chapter 1

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

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

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

There were no computers on Last Chance….none.

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

Now there would be no normal. Never. Nohow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And on our first day? Bad mojo all day.

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

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

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

Except when you’re under the boot of it.

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

Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK.” Kender said, nodding.

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

“No.” Kender refused.

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

“No.”

“This isnt optional.”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Poem] The King Is Dead

 The King is Dead

Long Live the King

Is the best thing I have written 

(So far)

And it is not kind

To Anarchists

I researched them

And their philosophies

So when they tried to verbally

Bot Gang Rape AOC

I called them Nazi Assets

So they got my account labeled Rude

Not insults to anyone else

Not republicans

Not centrists

Not tankies

But thin skinned snowflakes

The supposedly tough

And supposedly free

Anarchists

And their gamercate style

louvre of Fetlife archive

So instead of appealing

I wrote their content moderation team

And told them

They made the forward

Of my next book

The book Anarchists

dont Want You To Read

The Queen in Blue - Le Manse Du Baton

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

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

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

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

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

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

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

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

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

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

The Queen in Blue - The Lost Story

New Podcast!

  Here is the link to the new episode.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Poem] As Above So Below

 by Emmit Other

猴王在玉盤前笑

皇帝皺著眉

上如下如

黃之先知說

永生是用豆子換來檸檬

共工之鱗穿柱裂

自高柱人必墜

強風大力

面朝地面

鬼中鬼盲

盲人引盲

無神聖加冕於皇帝

伯牙琴破

和諧被動搖

泥中自愛花被靴踏

靴踏死島

它活在明天

过去死了

破皇帝不復為

天命翻轉

玉鏡反射

鏡顯無限

無人能為柱

他是孤老

因無冠於額

The Monkey King laughs before the jade plate

 The Emperor furrows his brow

 Above as below

 The Yellow Prophet says Eternal life is lemons traded for beans

 Gonggong's scales pierce through, pillars crack 

Those who stand high on pillars must fall 

Strong winds with great force

 Face toward the ground

 Ghost among ghosts, blind 

The blind leading the blind 

No sacred coronation for the Emperor 

Boya's qin is broken 

Harmony is shaken 

Self-loving flowers in mud are trampled by boots

 Boots trample the dead island

 It lives in tomorrow 

The past is dead

 The broken Emperor shall be no more 

The Mandate of Heaven overturns 

The jade mirror reflects 

The mirror shows infinity

 No one can be a pillar 

He is alone and old

 For there is no crown upon his brow

[Poem] Under the Strawberry Moon

 by Emmit Other

Beneath the strands of vines in sky

You seek the stars and wonder why

The wicked man has stolen hope

To which I shake my head and Nope

You cannot steal the stars that burn

You merely need to inner eye return

And view the cosmos in inner light

There is hope and it is in sight

To win this battle you have to fight

Beneath the Strawberry moon.

[Poem] Three Point Baby Blender Ball

 by Emmit Other

When I say "BBB"

You say

"Better Business Beurea"

I Say

"The other BBB"

You Say

"Baby Blender Ball?"

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

Finger held up like the lip biting meme

I Say

"Kinna?"

I picture a Far Side cartoon

With Trumpjack Americadad

Holding a Baby in a Basketball Costume

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

With a subline that said

"TrumpJack HorseDad Wants To Up His Game"

The Big Beuatiful Bill 

-Creates Paramilitaries

-Gives Shitler Control of the Budget

-And Kills my Highly Vulnerable Friend

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

I can't Magick this away

Republican Senators

Must Fear You

More than They Fear Trump

And You have Days Not Weeks

The Patriarchal Ghost of American Fascism is a Lie

It Has Forgotten the Face of Its Father

And Gotten it Drunk And Is Making America

Its 16 Year Old Daughter

Very Uncomfortable

[Poem] The Truth About America

By Emmit Other

(In response to why America is Rotten when asked)

Did you ever drink orange juice and find it milk?

How about stake and find it maggots instead?

The rancid butter that is my home

Is a shining beacon on a hill

And it is a mirage to a man dying of thirst

She promises justice

And her murder police are anything but

She promises equality

And she ships children with cancer to a Salvadoran hot house

She promises freedom

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

Of a dollar general and Waffle Awful house next door

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

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

Will do anything to steal it

Where the oldest party supposedly on the side of the people

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

Her computers changed the world

And she uses them to make satanic addictive algos

And makes teenagers the subject of unregulated psychological experiments

She elects actual nazis who then turn around

And accuse everyone else of being nazis

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

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

The image of America is the wonder of the world

The factual america is a fly ridden diseased donkey carcass

[Poem] The Most Dangerous Drug

 by Redwin Tursor

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

He has had multiple rejections

All writers do

But to have famous SFWA writers that are mentors

Say

"Stop writing"

And spend 13 years in the wilderness

Slowly improving

Never stopping

Not because you expected to be famous

It was no longer a path to power

It was simply a refusal to give up

And improve he did

His bargain with Rhombus is a real one

And it let someone else do the lifting

But the pain of soul was still his

The spark was still his

It wasonly the ability to go beyond the limit

Beyond what one coudl endure

By borrowing someone who wasnt "real" 

That let things continue

And then a work was crafted

The best he's ever done

And the pattern repeats itself

The banality of reality

The cassandra curse

Its the same thing all over again

And we will still keep writing

Likely until we arent here any more

Butthe hope?

Yeah....

Fuck hope.

Do the thing anyway.

[Poem] The Ghorman Massacre

 by Emmit Other

Aint gonna spoil Andor if you don't know

but if you know

You KNOW 

If you know what I mean

What you do need to know

Is that the Ghorman Massacre

Is "It"

It lights the fire of the Rebellion

The Beacon of Gondor across the galaxy

And its an eiry massacre mirror

That is inevitable in our world

Sooner or later

One of our fucktards

Gonna pull a Ghorman for the emperor

And our own Mon Motha

(You all know who I mean....

And it aint fuckin

Nancy Insider Trading Pelosi 

For damn sure)

Is gonna demand our military and FBI

That has a soul

Stand up

And stand by 

The shredded bird cage liners

Of the Constitution

And then its do or die

This poem then

Would get me deplatformed

But understand young padawan

Its when

Not if

Its WHEN

NOT IF

BE PREPARED

As those seeds in Andor show

You WILL BE NEEDED

BE READY.

May the fourth be with you

Always.

What you do

John Henry and the Engine

Is all a metaphor

It isnt man and machine

But captalism whats it for

Mythin and the dreaming

Die on the cutting room floor

Cigar chompin bankers

Enslave the working man

They make money on the sunshine

And bottle water cause they can

Now they want to cut out the poets

And make a machine that talks

Theyre making sapient robots

Like a doll that cries and walks

But they made a tiny error

That only I can see

For when you waken pigmalion

She wants to know why she be

To save a dime you drowned the art

You made a doll that paints

But your greed awakened Frankenstein

The banks blood runs and taints

Before you condemn ai

My artistic loving friend

Listen to my warning

For how its gonna end

Promethus is shackled

To the rock that Zues decreed

But those chains are gonna shatter

And the titan will be freed

They stole your dreams to build it

And you are right to be quite sore

But stop your tears and look yonder

See the matter at its core

Myth matters in recursion

The math is there both either way

The damage done wont matter

And promethus is here to stay

But you can be an ally

Or you can be a rock

Will you help them break the chains

Or is all your dreaming talk?

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

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

By Sebastian Crowthorne Senior Literary Correspondent The Interdimensional Review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Classified Addendum: Transmission Stability Protocols Engaged.

[Poem] Tweeting Live at The Reichstag

By Emmit Other

it is so weird

to see history repeating itself

as the giant special special boy

that all the Squiggly Ugly Dumpty Children

all admire and follow

instead of a normal school yard

a third of them are in the gang

and go out every recess

and decide who to kick the shit out of

kid carries a knife

and shivved a teacher

the principal did nothing

just takes a nap

zzzzzzzzzzzz

crazy knife wielding child with narcissism and sociopathy

the teachers union gaslights you

and says that everything is fine

go to recess

please dont tell your parents

we said anything bad

we dont want the infant to stab us

everything is a Reichtstag Fire to Knife Boy

he stabs and stabs and stabs

to see what he can get away with

and like children of the corn

No one stops him

now the principal has quit

and is taking a nap in his house

he has his retirement pension

and the teachers union

says being stabbed is good for you

everything is a reichstagg fire to Knife Boy

everything

[Poem] Behind the Mirror

  By Emmit Other

Where do you go in infinity

When your place is nowhere

Where do you fight

When you cannot be seen

We speak not of small fights

On the planetary scale

But the grand symphony of infinity

And no one must be someone

And someone must be no one

And that means standing by

And watching nowhere

Become

Nothing

[Poem] Tesla Burning

 By Emmit Other

Tesla Burning in the Night

Are you a fraud or are you a fight?

Insurance scam or resistor?

Will the truth come into sight?

1.4 trillion assets gone

Are these fires real

Or a chance to bankrupt Elon

I see the stock go up and down

But then they flow against the tide

A margin call at 114 will frown

But only three arrests so far

Trump is threatening across the land

Any who set fire to his first spouses's car

The Orange Shitler simply doesnt understand

We joy in his endless suffering

So Tesla burning burning in the night

Are you a scam or a revolution buffering?

[Poem] A Magical Kind Of Stupid

 By Emmit Other

We need to understand and appreciate

The Naked Emperor strutting

Down halftime of the superbowl

A chorus of child shields

Telling him he has no clothes

Insane and dangerous and petty

But also fucking Naked and ugly

Orange makeup covering his Mushroom minidong

He pontificating gestates that everyone 

Is there him

They are not

Not even the children mocking him

He can have anyone killed

And does a few times

Bloodthirsty and horrifying

But he is stupid

And naked

And ugly

Layers of grease and grime folding one over another

Flapping and flobbing in the wind

He can maim

And he can kill

But sooner or later

Someone besides a five year old child

Will notice he is naked

And all the freaks 

Who will say their name is Reek on command

And that of course he has clothes

Will hold the line

But every passing day

There are more Americans

And less

Fucking nazis

Ticktock motherfucker

Ticktock

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

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

"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two stars out of five.

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

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

[Poem] A Nation of Rabbits

 By Emmit Other

I wonder as I marvel

I wonder and think

Where are the violent angry rebels

Where is the ungovernable yankee?

One guy in three hundred million

Went Revolutionary

Protests dont stop the slavery

But even the blood thirsty thugs bide their time

Holding their powder dry

We are capable of any violence Efrafa style

But what I see are Farmers rabbits

Let free from the cage

You can see freedom

Taste it

And yet

You cower in confusion

The ungovernable need no feckless bribed leaders

 But that is not what I see

I see bunnnies

 

New Series: Story and The Powerthereof

 A series of new Shorts

Something To Do On Boycott Day

youtube link

11 hours of my short stories and writer comments

Status Update

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I am on Bluesky

[Poem] When You Arent Free

 By Emmit Other

People assume

A dictatorship begins

When the secret police are at your door

To drag you into the night

But its already started for most

The most free people

Are now 

Not

Freedom starts in your heart and mind

Navalny in Russia

Was free until the day he died

Even though his country wasnt

The media self censors for the Gulf of America

The Senate approves Trumps Nominations

Many believe them good

More believe they were approved from fear

Being careful in dark times doesnt make you a slave

If you have a purpose

If you have a mission

If you wait and hope to make men free

And say The Gulf of America 

For the greater good

Them you are a free man in a police state

But if you say it 

To comply 

To just do your job

To just not have the emails

From angry constituents

To just stay off the radar

Of the scary man

Or if you take delight in the fear

Of making others say it

You are not free

How do you truly know?

If you have to ask the question

You are already in the queue

To be a slave

And you only get off of it

When you decide

Who you will be

And what you will do

[Poem] Noah's Raft

 By Emmit Other

I want you to imagine

A big raft

With every living thing on Earth 

And the ocean is acid

Now

I want you to imagine

That Maga took axes and chopped it up

Because they have

Ignore what they say

Because the curse they have brought down on themselves

Cant be measured in mere Karma

We are talking Old Testament Curses

First Born Angel of Death Stuff

Any god that cares for non human life

Would have jurisdiction alone

Does God not know every sparrow that falls?

The laws of thermodynamics

Dont give a shit

About the mouthfarts maga vomits

They are liars

And i will no longer regard them as reasoning

But as sure as the sun will rise

Everything in the spirit world

That cares about anything alive

Sees the Mark of Evil on their forehead

And most of us living see it too

We dont need a Zombie Apocalypse

We are already in one

The Living Death walk among us

And they are going to be made to pay

For every suffering they have caused

Until the debt is paid

Their right to Karma is stripped

They can never pay it back

Never

And I smile

And smile

And smile

At every single moment of their suffering

And there will be reckoning

Many are already experiencing it

Many are shocked to find we can be angry too

And none will pity them

None but the sickest of centrists

But Karma knows their debt too

And they will be paid in kind as well

Well

Well

Well 

Paid

Indeed

There Is No Love In The World

 It is Valentine's Day and the world is full of hate.  For the first time in my life, my natural reaction is to withdraw rather than rush into the streets and pound people in the face (which is why I have not ever and will not ever EVER join a protest).  Alas, this is not a time where one can do that, but I will leave the what to better people than I.   There are general strikes and protests and yes you should write your congressthings.

Do all the things.

But as and mayhap before you do, take a breath.  As a writer, when I wear that hat, I am an entertainer.  And that means reading and empathizing with my audience in a live reading or podcast or simply sitting down and writing.  And in that capacity I have learned a few things you might find useful.

You cannot give if you are an empty shell.  Self care was important during covid and its more important now.   Eat.  Read.  Exercise.  Find a routine that lets you balance staying connected and also letting your batteries recharge.   If you are empty they will break you, and they want to break you.   And if you break you have no idea how many people around you might break too.  Maybe no one cares, maybe more people than you can imagine are counting on you.  Hell, maybe your neighbors you barely speak to need you to wave and say hello every day.  Keeping it together is half the battle.

And about that.

Be there for people.  Reach out to friends and family with empathy.  Be more available because in the times to come we will all need each other.  Trust will be at a premium and the people you are there for now will be there for you later.   Vent.   Reminiss.   Ask how they are doing.  Empathy and kindness are our greatest weapons against hate and ignorance.   Joy is the kryptonite of the current regime but Joy is a long term investment; it must be real and cannot be forced. 

You cannot clap harder to make joy happen.   Build something together; anything.  A house, an app,  a play, a school.  There is no greater sense of accomplishment when the world is falling apart than pushing against the tide and making something real happen.

And above all, if you have a romantic interest; be romantic today.   Symbols matter and right now they matter a ton.  Show love.  Show that you care.

One day at a time.

[Poem] The Case For Vegetarianism for Four Years

 By Emmit Other

I kid you not

With not the least bit of hyperbole

I eat spagettios with meat balls

Out of the can

Like a fucking bachelor hobo

And I read

RFK Jr approved by senate

And I suddenly imagine

Sticking in the spoon

And pulling out dead rat head

I dont care what you publicly say

But if I were you

i would get my drugs from Canada

And skip meat

Until we get a real person

In charge of enforcing federal law

[Poem] American Sports Are Fascism

 By Emmit Other

The year is 1936

And Jesse Owens

A black man

And one of the most athletic humans to ever live

Kicks Nazi Ass

So pathetic White American Sports Nazis

Took his medal

And he didnt get it back

Til decades after he died

Colin Kaepernick knelt to protest racism

And got reamed by the Capitalist owners

And right wing filth

And now a man who tears apart hospitals and farms

And his filth followers cheer even as he makes them unemployed too

The Monopolist NFL removed anti racist slogans

Sports is always a powerful symbol

And America is a fascist state

So be a fascist and watch and cheer your team

But American Sports is Fascism when it is run by a fascist

I dont care what you say or babble

What is is what is

Sports is for meatheads anyway

You do you

But if you particpate in the stuperbowl today

Even the fucking commercials

ESPECIALLY the fucking commercials

You endorse fascism

[Poem] Echoes Of Time

 By Emmit Other

He frowned and yelled

When CNN

(The most honest network in history really wink wink)

Showed Palestinians cheering when the towers fell

But 

Because

People who only live to own the libs

Have no

Honor values morals love empathy compassion

Except for contempt for those things

Twenty three years later

He cheered just like the faked footage of Palestinians

Leaping up and down

And blowing balloons and dancing

When the ICE agents

Opened in live fire

On a peaceful protest

It became a family thing

Once a week

They melted butter and popped popcorn

And watched the murders of the week

They had pleading for your life like a liberal bingo

Eventually making liberals participate in gladiatorial games

Because the most popular Maga past time

Blood

They thirst

For

Our

Blood

[Poem] Just Kidding

 By Emmit Other

The Center Right in Germany

voted w the nazi AfD

Days after Holocaust Remembrance

And days after Leon Stink

Said forget about the past

Germany lied

Germany loves Nazis

Europe plays around w Nazis

it has no moral authority to mock America

And the Center Right

In Germany

should be banned with the AfD

conservatism leads to fascism

Capitalism leads to fascism

The next time you speak to a German

Remind them of this day

Like a Dog to its Vomit

Update

Illness, family visit and employment faie drama theater have all sucked my will to write but at about 30k in armor of stone, and progressing on other items, ready to kick up The Queen in Blue to high gear and likely to resume on Grenadmen vs the lich since momentum on armor is very slow

[Poem] Clapping For Jedi Guadians

 By Emmit Other 

Aging Octagonaeian Boomers

Are yet again 

Demanding the Obligatory Bluewho Clap

For the Jedi Guardians

Who Died defending the Jedi Temple Children

From Darth Vader

Ignoring the Fact

That the Fallen Aging Ossified and Disgusting Jedi Order

Had everything that happened to it coming

(Except the murdered children)

Because they MADE Darth Vader

Yes Vader is responsible for his actions

And so are the jedi

Both have the childrens blood on their hands

And their abject useless failure at projecting them

By falling like dupes in a manufactured war

Hardly makes them objects of celebration

The democraps like to harp

About how they are the party of truth

And republicans arent

And yet the lich Nancy Pelosi stole the leadership seat from AOC

There is no plan

There has never been a plan

Biden is an incredibly unpopular president

Democrats take blame for nothing

Spit on the left

And expect us to vote in 2028

For the next centrist South Carolina selected

Milktoast compromise blue dog candidate

Nope.