Body Cage – a poem

For those processes necessary to life

We are held enslaved, confined in time

Like puppets consigned to fates inexorable,

Inevitable, their nature illimitable, unchanging

Apart from the dire and disastrous, drowning

In our own excesses to be free from breathing,

Processing all that which keeps us alive,

Free to be bound in chemical chains; survive.



A Fellow Writer – a recommendation

Today…I have a recommendation for you, dear friends (:

A wonderful artist with a surprising twist to her work. Please check her stuff out.

Shanikah Montay.

Her short stories depict lives that seem wonderful…but keep reading 😉


The Valley – To Pluck the Ruby – a poem series


As I grasped that ruby, more than red, wonder fruit

I heard the whispers of the flowers, speaking

Of deals and what I could gain, an anodyne

For mine pain. I started for there was none

Nearby that may have broken my reverie, no body



With the whispers that rode the zephyrs through

The wondrous valley, I was told that I would

be given a deal beautiful, give up all of my pain

For a bite of this fairytale poison opiate apple,

And never see the sun again, shine or even dapple.


I paused, though not over long, and they returned

With more urgent whispers, saying thus that

I need not take the whole of the Faustian deal

Offered now to me, but a part only, half mayhaps

And in return would a service fulfil for

This valley.


I waited and heard that they would cure my pain

Although only in brief fashion, temporary,

So that I would need to return time and time again

For ever, even past my day of dying, but my life…

It would stay mine and I would do with it

Whatsoever I would…


The sun would still shine down upon me, free

And warm, Ra bathing me, but I must go forth

And draw others into this valley, of which facet

First was what I saw now, and not the end, devil

Traps abound as one went further within…


It was plain that I had thus stumbled somewhere

That defied all ordinary logic, made mock

Of those traditional logicians who rare

Can admit to the esoteric, the arcane

Traits of existence, both sublime and profaned.


I grew hungry for the Faustian prospect on offer

And ascertained from those nodding trumpets,

The shining black spiked leaves and all others

About in the verdant valley, that most I brought

Here would be eaten, morsels to feed the flowers

So bright here.


Not yet was the deal struck when I asked further,

Speaking with my palm around the ruby delicious

Apple, if I might see, mayst know, what else

Those hidden facets of the valley were, the flowers

Allowing me to see their heart of hearts,

Secret devilry.


A pause, as of considerations made by titans

Larger in spiritual mass than even the stars

Themselves…then they told me as I was as none

Which had come before or would ever come again,

And I was warmed in my living body cage crucible

Of pain, mollified.


The spirits inhabiting, pulsing within, the valley

Of colourless dreams assented at last, and I

Smiled, sun beating down a gold light tattoo

Upon my agonised and ever healthy looking flesh,

Plucked the apple with a sigh from the tree, fresh,

And held it aloft.

What we Call Humanity – a prose poem

I feel myself

Cut loose,

From the throng,

A wanderer solitary.

I find myself

Cast adrift,

Bobbing on strange seas,

Black sky burning.

Cut loose,

Cast adrift,

Tethered by only the most

Essential qualifications

Of humanity, or what is

Called as such by many.

I am floating far beyond

The pale and timid morality

That binds, one person to another;

A road long travelled

Is no easier to swim than walk.

In a dream I saw a man

Cast from the shore, bound

In chains of iron, wrapped like

Houdini or another magician,

Struggling to get free

As bubbles rose with screams

Of horror trapped within,

Released onto the surface

Of the lake calm despite what sinks

Deep below its still surface.

Thrashing, clanking, wrenching at iron,

I watched him struggle in his chains,

Wondering why I did not help

Then realising twas my reflection

As I looked up to the lake surface

From below, already too deep.


The above is a description that I’ve been thinking of for quite some time, in particular the image of watching myself drowning while wrapped in chains. Given my recent health problems I feel it is quite apt. All that I write is cathartic, so do not fear. I’m not about to jump into a lake wrapped in iron chains. 🙂 Thanks for reading!


The Tyranny of Reason – a quote

“To shake off the maddening and wearying limitations of time and space and natural law—to be linked with the vast outside—to come close to the nighted and abysmal secrets of the infinite and the ultimate—surely such a thing was worth the risk of one’s life, soul, and sanity!

The Whisperer in Darkness, H.P. Lovecraft


Death of a Star – a novel excerpt

Greetings from the aether.

(yes, I have a picture at last :p)

To go with the more regular posting I want to endeavour to post more of my prose work. The item below was written all the way back in May of this year. Much has happened in the novel since that time however there is far more to go!!

In the extract we see a new character, soon to be central to the plot, be transformed and not necessarily by choice. Later in the novel it will be a part of the sobriquets that the lead characters are often known by: Star Eaters.


Please provide feedback if you have any thoughts! 😀


Diablo Ex Machina

Part 4 – Playtime

Chapter 75 – Death of a Star

…Blood and power both, feeding him, nourishing the empty hole where he had once held a reservoir for food and drink. It filled to maximal capacity and then kept increasing. More, more, more, more….MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE.

It was too much. Raviz looked out of his hellish isolation within the burgeoning apotheosis that he was fearing would cast him astray from the dimensions of logical space. He met Lordan’s eyes again, saw his ragged jaw and sharp, animal teeth forming a litany of unholy smooth noises that washed over him. He bent over, groaning, tried to close his eyes.

It made no difference.

There was no salvation in the void behind his eyelids, the fear kept on building, building, fears upon fears upon fears, and the star pulsed on. He thought that he could hear it, the forces at work within the giant ball of hydrogen tearing, the flow of particles splitting from their normal process of activity, that penumbra so huge that it was eclipsing all he could take in with his eyes. The corona was lost to that black, that surrounding darkness having grown till it had become the world, everything he knew, the colour of fear and how often our fears are realised, becoming true in silence and screaming together, the juxtaposition of horrors come true in the melting pots of our minds.

Orange, flaring madly, poured from the star in huge gouts that could have swallowed entire planets in illogical jets, ruptures that were sending magnetic energy and radiation far out from the star system. The star was dying, and its system of 4 worlds would die with it. The nova which would result from this sorcery would be contained, channelled, fed into Raviziel.

He started to scream then, feeling as if he couldn’t take anymore, knowing that he couldn’t. Raviziel reached out a hand palsied by uncontrollable tremors to the robot as he waved his staff, was ignored. Lordan whirled the staff like a devilish conductor of some ungodly orchestra.

When he felt his shoulder blades break the skin and muscles on his back Raviziel’s brain broke.

At last he passed into unconsciousness from the world as he had known it…


Peace y’all.


Unexpected Inspiration – a musing

True to my word, here I am, making an effort to post in a more regular fashion.

Weekly is regular, right?

right?? XD

The working week is endured and bookended by the weekend. I deal with the various joint pains as I attend work and write in the evenings when I’m well enough to do so. The novel continues as I weave the current part, number 8, with the poem, The Chairmaker’s Soul. Novel reflects poem and poem reflects prose.

Today I wrote 2450 words that detail most of the poem content as a part of Diablo Ex Machina, part 8, Definition of a Deity. At its heart lies the concept of what we consider to be a god. Is immortality the same as divinity? Not necessarily. It is a concept that I have been tackling throughout the story, and draws on a lot of inspirations. For instance, unkillable does not mean unbeatable. I think that quote is from Berserk, a manga series by Kentaro Miura.

What is truly original?

Writing is the synergy of ideas which the writer is inspired by, their understanding of it woven into a new tapestry. That which they see in a film may be threaded with a concept they read in a book, a poem, behold in the world around them.

As the sunlight fades to darkness (quote from The Nosleep Podcast, David Cummings) I find myself drawing inspiration from an odd novel in my collection. The Crimson Petal and the White, by Michael Faber. I read the sequel first, The Apple, a slim volume in comparison to its predecessor which stands at roughly 700 pages. It is a tale concerning a prostitute called ‘Sugar’ in late 19th century England.

If I say that it is like a fusion of Dickens, Woolf and modernism then I think that is a faithful description. So Diablo Ex Machina takes a turn that I was unprepared for. Woven into the framework of immortals seeking absolution as they go about murdering one another is that immorality is not all it seems to be.

Do not judge, for judgements of the obvious are not always warranted.

Peace y’all.