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NaNoWriMo Book Announcment!

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This year I have decided to participate in NaNoWriMo and attempt to write a book of 50,000 words or more during the month of November. You can follow my progress at LoridiansLab at NaNoWriMo

Recently I surveyed some of my followers on three different books. Today I am announcing the winner of that Survey and the project I will be working for the month of November.

So here it is:

By Starlight Cover

 

Elian Anvil is a freelance Master Star Forger from the planet Rolantuz in what humans know as the Pleiades constellation. Armed with the science to turn a gas giant into a sun and provide limitless energy to all mankind, for a very modest fee, of course, he sets out to change the world.

Or is he? Locked up inside a psychiatric ward Elian, who the banal doctors insist that his real name is Peter Thompson, is just waiting for the right time to take action, or whenever his damn ship arrives.

 

If you’d like to be a part of future surveys and updates on any or all of my projects, you can sign up for my bi-weekly Newsletter.

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Thank you for your response. ✨

 

Persist???

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Persist?

Persist

Oh but what of my beating heart?

My legacy?

My primitive suspicion that I am never who I think I am?

Would I stop this tidal flow of my blood?

Coursing like rivers through rivulets.

Or would I rivet steel to the exterior of the structure?

To strengthen it artificially.

Who does that armor really hold up?

Something must give.

Me or the Way.

The Way or Me.

The desert is long with sandstorms brushing my teeth with the gritty taste of my ineptitude.

What does it take,

To let me join the rest of humanity?

I let my blood drip in the sand,

Smeared from where I raise my feet.

Bloody footprints, Bloody memories, Bloodshot eyes.

Swollen fat tongues drooling with arrogance like circus clowns so simply certain

Persist!

A great command.

One foot in front of another!

A great sentiment.

But what if there is no blood left when I arrive?

I am cacophony.

 

The Quality of Autumn

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The Quality of Autumn 

Quality of Autumn

 

Pangs of the heart come as the days shorten with a kind of softening bitterness.

What will this end bring?

What will any end bring?

Something new?

For me?

I suspect more of the same.

Wheels upon wheels of an endless autumn, not one step further.

Where is my spring? Has she been lost in the depths of the winter?

A wandering widow who never again finds home?

I lay in the browning grass.

I feel the crunch of leaves in my palms.

I squeeze to feel the assemblage of their wreckage.

Bittersweet memories.

Sleepless nights.

I open my palm.

I am the fragments of leaves scattered on the backs of the wintering winds.

Naked.

Beneficial Flame

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Beneficial

There are moments in our lives when we feel the fire of rage.

All is in a fog, all is unclear, all is distorted. Yet in the center of that rage, we believe that there is clarity, that we know what the right course of action is.

We confirm our truth.

We allow our preconceptions to build on perception and solidify. It becomes tangible. To us, there is a kind of beauty in that anger. We lust for it.

Like a flower, it seems to have bloomed from some place righteous, some place justified. And those who will be the victims of our rage will receive their just reward.

Yet after, what does it make? How was it of benefit? Did the flame burn truth into the brow of our enemy?

Most often, anger burns the one who wields it, like one who lit a match and held it too long. Scorched fingers.

Patience douses the fire with water.

Sit in the center of the flame and watch it. Let it burn but do not feed it.

Sit in the center and whisper the sacred syllable, Hung.

Watch it transform.

Watch you transform.

Give it space.

Rest in Mind.

Return

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Return

Return

It is beckoned by gravity’s song,

Pulled ever forward, ever along.

Dodging left and right,

Hoping to stay out of sight.

The secret is here, in the act,

In the movement, in the contract.

Down it goes, it jerks, it resists,

Until it mergers from a single kiss.

It kisses some more and increases its speed,

It becomes heavy, weighted down, a larger bead.

It clings tight, to the metal, all it knows,

But it cannot grasp forever, it must let go.

It loses its grip and cascades down,

It lands in the water but does not drown.

Instead, it merges, it melds, it becomes,

Connected existence, it succumbs.

And remembers it forgot all that it knew,

Connected and one, the only real view.

Space and potential, potential and space,

Here, at last, it knows a joy it can embrace.

The Mastery

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The Mastery

The Mastery

It’s all there,

What we once were,

What we are.

It never left the heart.

I assure you.

 

Patient Shadows can abide in darkness.

And As we walk forward on the grated metal path,

Can you hear that echo against your feet?

It means you’re moving.

It means you’re making progress.

But what progress is needed,

When it’s all there already?

There’s no need to deny it.

I assure you.

 

Patient Shadows burn in the brilliant light,

They don’t mind.

There’s no pain.

I assure you.

 

Do you see the path yet?

It’s outlined,

it’s obvious

What’s the matter?

Don’t you trust it?

Your eyes don’t deceive you.

It’s safe,

I assure you.

 

The shadows is in you,

Why do you run?

Turn,

Stop.

Smell the sweet scent of the flowers.

Or the Fucking Roses.

Does your heart quicken?

It should.

There’s no puzzle,

No pieces missing.

It’s all there.

I assure you.

 

But don’t listen to me.

Maybe I’m a lying bastard.

Look up,

Walk the path,

See the shadows,

Smell the roses,

Find the fuck out for yourself.

That’s the only way you’ll know.

I assure you.

The Language

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The Language

The Language

Like scratches of the mad prisoner,

The symbols take shape.

Emergence…

Whispering like ghosts,

My ears only hear,

Their maddening consistency.

Beginning…

Pressing forward out my eyes,

Soft black tears,

Dripping downward.

Then…

Running down my arm,

The ink creeps forward,

Towards its destiny.

Form…

It splashes onto the moth

As colorful as its wings may be,

Black ink still stains,

Keeping forever echoes.

Tattoos of transformation,

Touching timidly

Until,

At Last…

 

Of What Mountains Are Made

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Of What Mountains Are Made

Of What Mountains are Made

Heartbeat,

Heartache,

Heartbeat,

Heartache,

Round the circle,

It forms from further away.

Shadows casting nets,

Masking my face,

They don’t let me see through their gaping holes.

All I see is the rope that binds me.

It’s is a beautiful rope and bares further inspection.

See the weave?

See the loom that made it?

See the origins of the great net in which we are bound?

Bound or unbound?

We need only stand.

We need only move.

And the weave unravels.

You have a choice,

Heartbeat

Heartache

Heartbeat

Heartache

Are they different?

Wisdom Sits

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Wisdom SitsWisdom Sits

 

Some of us chase it.

Like a lioness stalking a gazelle

We hope that after many failed hunts,

We will learn that right moment to strike,

We will learn that effortlessness,

So that we may gorge ourselves,

And feast on the entrails of the great masters.

 

Some of us read and study

And spend endless days tallying terms and ideas

Like accountants during tax season

We hope that one day,

The great epiphany will rise,

Like a snake’s head in tall grass.

And all the words will belch,

Their great secrets,

Granting Enlightenment

 

But often,

When we find it,

Its simplicity confounds us.

Some have a glance or receive a cursory nod,

But those who merge with it,

Who like butter on bread merge and meld for a better taste,

They understand its simplicity.

Wisdom Sits.

 

Door to Nowhere

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Door to Nowhere

Door to Nowhere

Down the hall and to the left

Then back round again

The door stands before the dark corridor

I look

There is light there

But Vision is blurry

Legs are tied

Will is waning

No time now

How many more doors to nowhere?

Was this the last dead end?

Only one way to know