Pridecraft and a Couple of Sins

April 20, 2012 § Leave a comment

Pridecraft came out at Beneath Ceaseless Skies yesterday, while I was bustling about and a little bit hurried to post about it. (Exciting further news in that front is that it shall be appearing in audio version in issue #94)

As for a couple of sins- mostly that’s connected to gaming. I’m starting a Vampire the Masquerade game next week. Certain potential plotlines, and the nature of games, and various news involving nuns – put the Catholic church on my mind.

Which brings me along quite neatly to the fact that after finishing the draft of my Foundling story, I’ve been doddering quite slowly to write anything else. Which has resulted in four pieces quarter or less complete. One set in the same world as Pridecraft, another an advance of character’s life from my Foundling story, a story set in a Kingdom at the Edge of the World and something that popped half formed into my head this morning: a future vision of the Catholic church in a world of space travel, ansibles and technology so advanced that science is synonymous with miracle.

Regardless, editing is progressing on Foundling and I’m determined to finish a draft for at least one of these floating about stories this weekend.

February 13th – It is Called Pygmalion

February 13, 2011 § 1 Comment

A man is the last of his kind. He finds himself near death. What are his last acts?

Tara’s story can be found here.

A foreign atrous sky oppressed the freedom in his hands. The clock hoarded his last breaths with hardening, each minute tick sending him closer.

Last crafter, last shaper.

The hardening to stone sank spikes into the nerves, skin chipping off. Still Symparo’s hands moved smoothly, running over the surface of his clay.

His tears, happy ones, and the blood seeping from his dead-ended fingers soaked into the clay and colored it with pocks. His fluids combining with the strange soil a ponceau color emerged, red as the poppies dictated in its name.

His lips formed the words of a People song, a maker’s song, but he did not give them voice. His hands continued their subtle movements, breath playing out in complex waves about the shapes.

The citizens of Mezanine traveled over their planet’s surface, whether the sky was melanic in night or the lovat mix of greish greenish blue that hovered in the day, to see the last shaper on his hill.

Doctors of the arts, professors and historians attempted conversation for the role of Symparo in their history was a well known thing. He refused most, shaking his head as they began ascent upon his hill.
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February 12th – Folded Word

February 12, 2011 § 1 Comment

Recount a religious ceremony of a population on another planet.

Tara’s story can be found here.

“And once…” said the pulpit’s voice.

Peach mists rolled in, fogging up in rivers about the pulpit. They passed along the narrow walks of every pew, issuing from vents and golden faucets accompanied by deep bells.

The pulpit itself was an octagonal thing, crossed by metal braces and centered squarely in the hall. The assorted faces, antiq-human and caloric both, stared intently towards a glowing shard.

“A Word begat…”

Their eyes angled up for the Word.

In the ceiling it compounded, fracturing light from the shardcarry pulpit and sucking in the mists into an omni-chromic mass. The antiq-made memorials and murals atop the chapel’s dome were lit , and lit through. Transparency became their color, opaque existence sundered in the memory of birth.

Bataan’s red sky above glittered and soon faded into a white with the Word. Skeletons and organs glamered through the skin of every parish member as they let out an ecstatic sigh of self-relief. Sins dropped away, tattered paper symbols dropped and ripped to the ground in rejection of them.

Below the pulpit were eight Syllables, dressing themselves in robes of brilliant color and black. The robes were made as white again; invisible in each step. The Syllables were ghosts, became ghosts and like spirits.

They whirled, dervishes in a brilliance. In the first brilliance.

In unison they approached, stepping jerkily to an unestablished beat. The hearts of the parish beat in time, the world was jarring. Set to coalesce again.

Eight palms set upon each side of the pulpit, a carryshard stuttered and the Word disappeared – fading from the tips of tongues.

Last memories spoke from the Syllables.

“The world and every other,”

“The stars and space between,

“The dark and light,”

“Life and its beyond,”

“Morality and Wisdom,”

“Order and its Opposite,”




December 3, 2010 § Leave a comment

"Gran calavera eléctrica" (c. 1910)

First published at Nevermet Press.

The Mexican Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a day dedicated to celebrating and remembering loved ones who have died. Altars adorned with offerings, called ofrenda, are created to honor the dead and help “guide them home.”

The word calavera, the Spanish word for skull, can be interpreted in many ways in relation to Dida de Los Muertos. Calavera are edible sugar skulls set out on altars, they are also depictions of skeletons and skulls going about daily life and finally are a form of poetry meant to poke fun at the living.
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City of Roy: Some History

December 1, 2010 § Leave a comment

In the dark a seed. In the light came flower. Petal folded o’er petal and the first rose gave birth. That is to the word. The word touched o’er what was empty and filled it. The word brought meaning to the void and tore out the heart of it. The first word, the first equation babbling over through the void bounding and boundless and forever. « Read the rest of this entry »

Tenuous Undeath

August 28, 2010 § Leave a comment

The savior stumbled from a hollowness of heart.

His wrists bled, but not from nails.

His ankles chafed, but not from ropes.

His father cackled, but not from joy.

He returned, But not from death.

Where Am I?

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