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Upon Stilted Cities and Inkshares…

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CroppedCityWeb
It’s been a long time since I have shared any news on Upon Stilted Cities so here are a few pieces.

 

 

 

1. I have launched a page on InkShares, a website that is a mix between a publisher and Kickstarter for Upon Stilted Cities. For now, I am just building a following and have not launched an official campaign. However here’s where the news comes in.

A new chapter from Upon Stilted Cities is now up on their website for free. Some of you may have read the prologue. So you will find Chapter 1: Designation Runner 17 up at the following link. Upon Stilted Cities It is likely that in the next few weeks I will place several more chapters up there from the book that will introduce several other main characters. The book is going through one final edit and if I am not able to get published via this website, it will be up before the fall season, self-published.

2. Mimi of the Nowhere, a prequel to the events of Upon Stilted Cities will be serialized on this blog later this month. The text is a novella and is also going through one last round of edits before it goes up on here. I will publish a chapter a week, once it begins. Mimi’s story will give readers a look at the life of one remarkable homeless women, living in the belly of the giant walking city of Manhasten.

3. I have several other pieces in the works. Some of them are related to the Upon Stilted Cities Universe (which I am currently calling the series: The Chronicles of the Great Migration as it will be a trilogy) and some are more stand alone.

In any case, the reason I haven’t posted much is because I have been busy writing and making pretty significant progress. For more news, you can follow this blog or visit the Upon Stilted Cities page to enter your email and sign up for my soon to launch newsletter.

A Few Thoughts Before Dreaming

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Thoughts Before DreamingA Few Thoughts Before Dreaming

Pigeons shitting on the car.
Streaks of white,
Cleaned off,
To happen again,
So much for the car wash.

The gum I stepped in,
A faithful passenger,
Creating sticky situations,
And semi-sucking noises.
No ninja here.

The beautiful stranger who smiled at me,
Sending transmissions like shockwaves.
Envisioning the possibility of love and marriage and happiness,
A tale of forever…
Followed by inevitable divorce.

Socks getting lost in blankets.
Tossing.
Turning.
Mind wandering to extravagant places with unfortunate problems.
A sigh,
An unpaid bill.
A sigh,
Things left undone.
A sigh,
Things left unsaid.

Then,
A deep breath.
I listen,
For the stillness,
For the wind,
For the hint of raindrops,
For the naked air wrapped in a cloak of day and night
In it, I find the beating of my own heart,
Matched with the music of the leaves outside,
Gently rustling.
Just a little song.
I remember beauty.
I remember love.
I remember life.
As my eyes slip shut.

 

Hope

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hope

Hope

Hope

It takes a child,
To measure our pride,
To softly know of simple love.
What wonder is finite
In the universe of imagination?
By what measurements can we justify
The boundless design of simple curiosity?
There is hope beyond the ‘me’ and ‘mine’ of early ignorance.
An amalgamation of then and now.
It is the breaking lose of joy that accompanies compassion
It is the skipping of rocks across a pond,
And the simple sharing in water in singular moments.
Yes, it takes a child,
To show me the way back.

A Reliable Cycle

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A Reliable CycleA Reliable Cycle

Car stalls.
Stillness in the early morning.
No sun yet.
Fog and cloud mingle with the full moon like tendrils grasping for possession.
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The moon devoured.
A sky bound feeding frenzy.
Deep darkness.
Car stalls.
5 miles to go
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The moon escapes the maw.
It makes a dash for freedom.
The tendrils lose their grip.
Moon slides behind a mountain.
I am jealous.
No reprieve for me.
Car stalls.
2 miles to go
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The sun paints the sky with its morning yawn.
Color at war with the vast armies of the night.
A reliable cycle.
A predictable outcome.
Car Stalls.
A half mile to go.
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The sun douses me with its first light.
I am radiant.
I am blinded.
I am almost there.
50 feet to go.
Car stalls.

 

 

 

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.

Subscribe Here

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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.