You read that right. Everything I’ve published since 2018 is free for the next seven days on Smashwords. Trying to kick your amazon habit lately? Well, you can buy all of my books on Smashwords instead… or rather, just add them to your library because they are totally free. Even if you already have copies elsewhere, why not pick them up on a different service?
Good News! I’m almost finished Shades & Shapes in the Dark, the first novel in my dark fantasy/horror series. The first book is getting one final readthrough before it goes to the editor. Expect a release date and preorder launch soon.
But as I am wrapping up that one, I’m already almost finished the first draft of the second book, and I have written a large portion of books 3, and 4.
Sometimes when I’m working on something, the image of the cover is so clear to me, that I just have to sit down and bring it to life. But first, I thought it might be good to tell you a little more about the forthcoming series.
The four book series, Shades and Shapes in the Dark is the story of 9 year old Clarissa Lamont accidently unleashing something sinister from an ancient ritualistic site in the middle of a forest in the suburbs of Philadelphia, and her four decade long struggle to first understand the nature of this shadow monster, and then find ways to fight it.
The first book, Shades & Shapes in the Dark focuses on her first encounter with the shadow monster, she names Demon, and her early attempts to defend herself from it’s relentless hunger.
Book 2, Through An Endless Darkness Gleaming focuses on Clarissa’s teenager years and her attempts to forge a weapon and find new tools and knowledge to combat the shadow.
Book 3, An Illumination of Extraordinary Madness, focuses on Clarissa’s 20’s as she finds new knowledge and skills to protect the people she loves.
Finally, Book 4 titled, The Nature of Twilight At Dawn, deals with Clarissa’ growing into herself in her 30s, and her final confrontation with the monster in her 40s.
I’ve already released the cover for Shades & Shapes in the Dark, but today, I’m excited to release to you the cover and cover art, for book 2, Through and Endless Darkness Gleaming. Each chapter of each book contains a poem that tells a truth about Clarissa’s world.
Through and endless darkness gleaming,
Where time ceases flowing and streaming,
And the wicked things are dreaming,
In the sea of the infinite more.
The white raven’s feathers flutter,
Over a child’s head who has no rudder,
Lost in despair so utter,
As she walks across the bone strewn shore.
For Whosoever shall borrow a favor,
Will forever savor, the flavor
Of the first science’s power of darkest, blackest lore.
For that power always has a price,
In contracts made with language precise,
Made with the devils forged in the fires of the forgotten before
But perhaps a bargain made can be broken,
For her power, is only a token,
Of the loss she suffered, and the pain she made others endure
Unbound is that magic that came with the pact,
Another hidden clause in the contract,
For power seeps from the very cracks,
The cracks hidden in the earth’s deepest core
Oh friend,
Be careful what you say,
Or what you give away,
Because reader,
The danger
is greater
than before.
Preorder for my novel, Shades and Shapes in the Dark will begin soon! The book is headed off to the editor next week. The nove is a dark fantasy/horror story set beginning in the 90s and span 40 years. The story is about a dark force, that follows the main character Clarissa through her life, and how she must learn to fight back, ultimately drawing on ancient magic and wisdom. The first book begins when she is only 9 years old, and encounters the shadowlike creature for the first time.
Each chapter in the novel has a poem that opens the piece. Sometimes this poem is something to do with the character, sometimes narrative information for the reader, sometimes foreshadowing, and sometimes it includes a bit of the lore of the world.
Chapter 10 is titled: The Shadow of Samhain. It takes place on Halloween and, of course, since it’s the season, I thought I would share that opening poem.
Come all ye, gathering shades,
The time of Samhain is at hand,
We will rise to rot and scatter,
Our blight across the land.
For the first of us comes at witching hour,
To seek his contractual prize,
Lust for power brings him strength,
With every victim’s demise
But a bargain struck will not go unpaid,
A boon of power is owed,
It matters not who is struck down,
Nor the depth and breadth of your woe
More news of the novel, including the release date and more is just around the corner!
Hello everyone,
I decided to launch a Substack to connect with my fans of my work. I will still continue posting here on this website as always, but additional content will available on substack. The content on there will include my artwork, poetry, blogs about writing and worldbuilding, personal growth, anthropology, philsophy, YouTube Videos, Podcasts, and Recorded discussions and more.
The vast majority of my posts on substack will be free to anyone, you need only sign up for a free account. But, I will also have paid subscriber content as well include free access to every short story I publish and sometimes advanced review copies or audiobooks versions of my work. So, if you enjoy my work, consider heading over to my substack and signing up and supporting me and the things I create.
You always hear… wherever you go there you are. But who are you?
They say, Wherever you go, there you are
But I am no where to be found
I circle round all day looking
And find nothing even remotely profound
The when of me isn’t looking much better
For I will die again soon
But if I am willing to die every single moment
I can dance with the spirit of the moon
The urge to transform I cannot suppress
Nor is it a journey light of heart
To delve deep into myself in all it’s intimacy
Is to tear my ego apart
Wherever I go is not where I will be
But a moment just past recognition
I slip away so suddenly
Beyond the unknown and into a permanent state of transition
I cannot grasp the formless
And certainly not my mind
For I am not an individual
At least, nothing so easily defined
It turns out I am made from simple things
Contexts and conditions of endless configurations
To know them well is to know the source of all things
And get closer to some kind of liberation
It requires a little madness to begin
To start the process going
So I will let go of the ways I think and feel
And consider another way of knowing
This pair of poetry and art come together as a pair. The poem is titled, I Sat And Watched The Pronouncement Of The King For The Last Time and the artwork it inspired is titled Ruin. More recently, I’ve been putting the poems up on Tiktok but unfortunately this one is a bit too long for that format.
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
From a tower up on high
Little rose pedals cascaded below, showering corruption alongside their scent
From the eager promises lolling on the lips of a lunatic dictator
The crowd hung on every word
Oh my!
Could he rally such a cry
From tears and jeers of all those who loved him,
And loved to hate him.
But no one seems to be able to get enough of his blather
They consume his every word,
And let it bring warmth and hate to their hearts
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time.
For the queen held no power these days,
A living, moldering corpse, propped up by high fashion
Her distraction lives in the expectations of pomp and circumstance
A role model?
No.
A comedy,
A farce,
A prop.
Her righteousness is twisted through a veil made of her undergarments
We lust after her curves and seek to suppress her for our lecherous gaze
So we can make use of her body and discard it when finished
She’s not expected to perform anymore,
For her silence is more desirable.
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
When art hung in tapestries like dead hanging flesh on a rotting corpse
Its soul depleted for the pleasant, the normal, the expected,
Its lukewarm flavor brought to you by your favorite sponsor
Did you see them?
There, below the dais, the mistrals sat in rows of confused passion
Blowing trumpets, bent by the will of the dictator, to change their sound for his delight
And soon their skins will be stripped by the costs of commonsense
Their only sin, to create,
Instead of creating profit
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
When horses were quartered to feed the starving in the streets
So that the poor could dine on the less desirable entrails
And “use the whole animal.”
Undercooked and underpaid they gobble without napkins and nod in agreement when told,
No one wants to work anymore
All the while, the dictator’s allies swim in rivers of gold and blood
With naked slaves serving their whims
And women and children work in foreign lands to satisfy their superficiality
The lords and ladies dance until their decadence destroy all civility
And the enemy is exaggerated to hide their own extravagance
Squandering potential, they let others bet on a maybe, as they cross borders,
For More Empty Promises
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
As fires consumed forests faster than fracking could till the blood of the earth
And men sat in armor on pale horses, blaring lights and sound in the spaces where hope is barren on the storeroom shelves
Where those who protect water were doused and drenched until the last barriers crumbled
And no decency was left
They will die thirsty,
Drenched in the water they needed,
Sucking water from cloth, they will taste the dyes as their eyes close one last time
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time.
When the dictator’s corruption grew to great heights and fed on the flesh of all the loathsome worshipers,
As they cast the names of gods around like so many useless hens clucking
When outrage was worth its weight in gold among the bards of the king’s courts, where they made empty promises to capture a captive audience
And whispers of ‘Gods’ will” gagged those who would speak against his crimes
For what is divinity but tyranny,
When they quack about “the Secret”
When change is promised at every step if you just visualize harder,
But theft was the only true golden rule.
I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
For the torches are already burning in the hands of those who see the truth
And the trumpet trumps his lies when blown from below
Where the wisdom of crowds grows in magnitude
And so, I sat and watched the pronouncement of the king for the last time
For his end is at hand
It’s release day for my newest (and sixth) book, A Luminous Liminality: A Collection of Poetry & Art. The book represents 10 years of my artwork and poetry and is my very first collection of poetry and art. This last week I got the first proofs of the book and I’ve included some pictures of the final product. A Luminous Liminality has both an ebook version and a paperback version. I recommend the paperback version to get the full experience of all the color images. Please note that prints are always available for my artwork. You can find my artwork at this page if you’re curious about it.
The book is broken down into three seasons. A season of sentimentality (poems and art about emotional life), A season of reflection (Self reflection and reflection on our culture) and, A season of transformation (realization, personal growth, change). I really wanted to show many sides of my life and experience in this book. There are poems about love, loss, hope, bitterness, frustration, hope, persistence, growth, and meditation. Oh, there’s even a poem on anthropology. The book is really about my journey over the last ten years.
I hope you enjoy it. You can find it on Ebook from all your favorite digital stores and on paperback via Amazon all at this one link. Simply click whatever service you’d like to use.
Hello everyone,
For those of you who have been following this blog and website since it’s inception, you know that I post a lot of my digital art and poetry here. Well, I decided it was finally time to create a book of both my poetry and artwork from the last decade. I’ve been working on this more in secret for the past three months or so, though if you follow me on facebook (where I do most of my posting) you’ve heard me hint about it. So today, I am not only revealing the cover, but the preorder link. Now, keep in mind, if you want a paperback copy of this, you will have to wait till release day, because unfortunately, at the moment, Amazon won’t allow paperback preorders. But the ebook preorder is live and you can find the link here.
A Luminous Liminality will be released on September 17th, 2022. Some of the poems (but certainly not all) are available on the Poetry page on this website. You can check them out for some samples.
A piece of poetry and artwork both titled “How To Lose A Debate On Purpose.” A quick note, a number of these pieces of artwork and poetry are being compiled into my first poetry book at the moment. It will be out before the end of 2022. More news soon!
It’s time to lose,
To concede,
To let the important human connections supersede
Our need,
To. Be. Right.
Our need to be right?
All that does is cause endless fights.
Until we cut the power and turn off the lights,
On. Our. Rage.
We can never get on the same page.
It’s easy to forget that the world is full of our siblings,
And get caught up in all the quibbling.
It’s all our relations beyond just sisters and brothers.
From other fathers
And other mothers
Hurting them means we will never recover..
All. Our. Souls.
And If winning is always your goal,
Then all that says is that you have a desperate need to take control
Rather than roll,
With the punches.
There are no free lunches
There are only connections,
And they are clear,
Upon. Further. Reflection.
Everyone wants to be happy,
No matter how confused,
They are in it to win it and never want to lose.
So you must be soft and yielding aligning with Taoist-like views.
Flow like a river and you will find a way to defuse,
These culture wars before people choose to…
Take. Up. Arms.
Our whole culture is sounding an alarm.
Whether you live in a city or a farm,
You need to learn to listen to prevent harm.
Listen. To. Understand.
That’s the best plan.
If you listen to win all you do foster opinion.
You never get below people’s skin ,
In a way that makes the space for compromise to begin.
Listen. To. Understand.
Instead of making demands,
Choose to lose in conversation,
When it makes sense to understand someone’s fixation.
Their obsession isn’t going to go away,
If you just block them and ignore what they say,
That way just leads to more disarray.
Listen to practice empathy
It doesn’t mean you have to agree
It doesn’t mean you will ever see
Eye. To. Eye.
But you cannot deny
The people come to their views to try and feel satisfied
And to avoid pain,
Even if they are driving in the wrong lane,
Or maybe they just got on the wrong train.
People are people wherever you go
And most just want you to sincerely know
Who. They. Are.
A Narrative poem titled A Wintered Heart. The artwork I created goes by the same title.
A heart of winter, a wintered heart,
She lay quiet, the letter torn apart.
Her tears streamed, like rivers to the sea
And she tried to make bargains, and made endless pleas
An age had past, and cold crept in
No smiles, no warmth, and no new life could begin
The fresh dark tears of the next mornings song
Rose up her cheeks and sapped her strength so that she could not go on.
There she lay, no warmth and no light
A mistress of time, without the slightest delight,
Waited, she waited, with her breath deeply bated
But once the cold crept in, her permafrost was fated
An act so unkind had birthed her present dread
And soon, she had sores from her long days in bed
That act of greed, and a lust for glorious stone
Had left her heart broken, now widowed and alone
She sat there all winter, in endless defeat
She lay so still, mice nested at her feet.
And as the spring time came, the sun drew in
And pressed on her face, lighting her skin.
It planted a seed below her dread,
And as the sun shone that morning, she swung out of bed
Her pain, had nested rot in her heart
And she could not bear the thought of no more love
AND no more art
And so that day, she made her demands
At the canvas she threw red paint and smoked contraband
But from her mess, came a new kind of love
A love of life, hard won, from travels above
Her wintered heart still, held great sway,
But she got a little better with each passing day
And new mediums of art caught her attention,
And she found small victories with her creative affections
So she took one step, and then one more
And one day soon she found herself outside her front door
And found a new canvas to shed her grief,
Though when she spray painted her mural, the cops chased her, called her a liar and thief
Though she had not finished and ran and hide
She planted a new seed on the cities west side,
New murals sprung up in tangent with her own,
And she started a club, and though at first people groaned
About the “grafetti” and the murals, it became a place for many to call home.
And though many of the wealthy had made their gripes
Soon the color that flooded the city brought new life
Community gatherings of collaborative art,
Helped her to get a kind of political start
She found that art brought so much relief
To help people shed the weight of their tragedy and grief
She started centers all over her city
And named them Wintered Heart, to make light of her season long self-pity
For she knew that seeing the signs swinging above
She would always remember her long lost love
And She would honor him with every stroke of a brush
Or spray can, or clay, or charcoal or the burning of sagebrush
Her wintered heart had planted a seed of hope
In place where so many felt at the end of their rope
And they loved her, and taught her a new kind of joy
That’s found in friends hearts, without any romantic ploys
Winteredheart… they chanted her name,
With love and respect and begged her to enter the political game,
Soon after elected mayor she made the city her new project,
Used art, music, theater, and poetry to help them remember self-knowledge and respect
Through her acts, she brought great change,
For the city filled with color and it helped her to rearrange,
The divides and the differences that people perceive
And she taught them that it was, in each other they should believe.
Still her wintered heart held great sway,
For she barely forgot about her lost love for more than a day
Her heart still long for his eyes and his lips
Or to run her hand through his hair with her fingertips
But she smiled, and felt, the joy of all she’d done
Many victories, in her community, she had won
And her heart was frozen but happy at the same time.
For even a Wintered Heart, can find new rhythm and new rhyme.
Loridian's Laboratory 