129 days.
One by two by three by four I meet agents and recruits, those beings ground down in the mechanics of Armageddon, the fiery child of ancient myth, lost in hiding and found within, we're meeting on the street drinking whiskeys neat.
Ginzilla Beastmode, tattoo model writer artist turned on old soul who's very much in the know, a firm father's military hand keeps her strong when she bears her fangs. The Worldserpent rages across her stomach as the trinity of wolves keep safe her womb.
Every idea seems to feed one another's, blending mix media conceptual performance soundtrack dazzling set design dancing upon the stage inside our boiling inspired minds. Now is our time, encapsulate and personify but never imitate nor falsify.
The fuse has been lit, or perhaps I've just noticed, having hit the snooze button on the impending cataclysmic wake up call for all humanity. I start at the beginning of the second round, and I don't even remember how awesome I did in the first.
I wake up in a large (overly decadent no matter how sparse considering the living spaces I've managed to live through) apartment and saunter naked to the bathroom occasionally leaving an equally nude young lady in my bed, drink some juice from the container, and pass back out on my couch.
This may seem normal to most, and even somewhat so to me 8 years ago, but this is my own space where I can dwell, alone, when I want to. I have leaned on many just to survive for years but always overpaying back the world when I can. I made a fair living and drank most of it away, but I paid my way in the end.
Now, first book collected and well received, as well as other projects on the side, now begins my real life. The sequel! More guns, bombs, and boobage as battles break out and the tension is doubled in a scary landmine catastrophe! This time with actual living other characters outside this writer's mind!
I thought I was supposed to prepare for Ragnarok, but that's just the beginning of the end of the world, and I have such grand designs.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
New World: Order - Mercurial Memoir
136 days.
The past two months have evaporated leaving behind empty bottles of alcohol, countless cigarette butts, and deep personal bonds that have been shattered.
When I look back at my life, shortly after starting my first novel, I had an epiphany disguised as a transcendental moment which in turn was really just a shift in consciousness and a few degrees latitude & longitude.
Eight years ago I moved to New York City, and the shock to my system rippled through sixty-four chapters of insane self-delusional discovery. I submitted to the chaotic moment and soaked in life experience from wherever the stream was strongest.
Now I find myself settled in Brooklyn, nursing a broken heart from a shattered reality. The good wholesome life I sought beside Jazz Jones was gone, erased from existence as I stood shaking on the far side of reality. Jagged edges and empty space were all that remained.
I started over anew atop this tower, Wolfspider, an apartment that I once shared with the Worldserpent. I recognized him as a descendant of Set as the stink of serpent was all over him. He was bold and brash and full of nothing but hot air and endless hollow bravado. He aggravated me from my slumber, from my mourning.
I rousted the snake from its roost using Loki's child's lies and trickery against him, for I knew who he was and yet he knew nothing of my ways. The truly powerful lie is that manipulation is best served with truth, and with the sacrifice of one' pride, well, all things are possible.
So I won the tower and set loose the Worldserpent with his zen mistress upon the land to enjoy it in its final moments. I laid claim to his people, as he had hardly any use for them nor they for him. The shift was coming, the cracks were growing.
The third child of Loki, myself being the emasculated and ensnared wolf beast Fenris, was revealed to me on the first floor. Hel, Queen of the Underworld, ashes in her tears and venom spit from her tongue. I found her rather sweet and delightful, but also heavy with sadness, pain, and child.
The prophecy doesn't mention a child but I believe they come standard whether we expect them or not. The dogs leap and bark at her womb, warnings or threats, only they know. The ambient terror is rotting the foundations of her body, personal bonds, and the building itself.
The witches switch it up on the second floor, cementing their cauldron with creative insanity that ignites the Venus rage within themselves. Supercharged estrogen explosions riddle the inside of the structure. They've finally bound the sisterhood strong, unleashing psychic shrapnel spiraling into my mind.
And there I am. A wolf sitting in a cave within a tower. Too afraid to step out again for the last time time I had weeks had passed with no notice beyond the social insanity that left me a functioning alcoholic with a writing problem.
Who had time to write when consciousness was there to be taken down by total and continuous bombardment of the senses. In that journey through the bottle unto the dancefloor and beyond the sexual I found that the whole of the entire social structure of all was flawed.
It was two-dimensional and juvenile, and coolness is not giving a fuck about taking what you need and somehow always being awesome despite obvious character flaws. Charming and endearing in the face of fearless recognition, commanding all situations.
So I learned more by doing less, but definitely drinking more, indulging in excess at every turn, guiding myself right here. To inaction and paralyzing anxiety. I just hope that somewhere in this text is a code that will free my will. That can save me.
Because I'm almost a real human man. I just want to maintain and entertain. And through it all somehow, some way merely explain, I don't work like you do. But I know how you tick, so, slow and steady, I'll destroy that clock.
The past two months have evaporated leaving behind empty bottles of alcohol, countless cigarette butts, and deep personal bonds that have been shattered.
When I look back at my life, shortly after starting my first novel, I had an epiphany disguised as a transcendental moment which in turn was really just a shift in consciousness and a few degrees latitude & longitude.
Eight years ago I moved to New York City, and the shock to my system rippled through sixty-four chapters of insane self-delusional discovery. I submitted to the chaotic moment and soaked in life experience from wherever the stream was strongest.
Now I find myself settled in Brooklyn, nursing a broken heart from a shattered reality. The good wholesome life I sought beside Jazz Jones was gone, erased from existence as I stood shaking on the far side of reality. Jagged edges and empty space were all that remained.
I started over anew atop this tower, Wolfspider, an apartment that I once shared with the Worldserpent. I recognized him as a descendant of Set as the stink of serpent was all over him. He was bold and brash and full of nothing but hot air and endless hollow bravado. He aggravated me from my slumber, from my mourning.
I rousted the snake from its roost using Loki's child's lies and trickery against him, for I knew who he was and yet he knew nothing of my ways. The truly powerful lie is that manipulation is best served with truth, and with the sacrifice of one' pride, well, all things are possible.
So I won the tower and set loose the Worldserpent with his zen mistress upon the land to enjoy it in its final moments. I laid claim to his people, as he had hardly any use for them nor they for him. The shift was coming, the cracks were growing.
The third child of Loki, myself being the emasculated and ensnared wolf beast Fenris, was revealed to me on the first floor. Hel, Queen of the Underworld, ashes in her tears and venom spit from her tongue. I found her rather sweet and delightful, but also heavy with sadness, pain, and child.
The prophecy doesn't mention a child but I believe they come standard whether we expect them or not. The dogs leap and bark at her womb, warnings or threats, only they know. The ambient terror is rotting the foundations of her body, personal bonds, and the building itself.
The witches switch it up on the second floor, cementing their cauldron with creative insanity that ignites the Venus rage within themselves. Supercharged estrogen explosions riddle the inside of the structure. They've finally bound the sisterhood strong, unleashing psychic shrapnel spiraling into my mind.
And there I am. A wolf sitting in a cave within a tower. Too afraid to step out again for the last time time I had weeks had passed with no notice beyond the social insanity that left me a functioning alcoholic with a writing problem.
Who had time to write when consciousness was there to be taken down by total and continuous bombardment of the senses. In that journey through the bottle unto the dancefloor and beyond the sexual I found that the whole of the entire social structure of all was flawed.
It was two-dimensional and juvenile, and coolness is not giving a fuck about taking what you need and somehow always being awesome despite obvious character flaws. Charming and endearing in the face of fearless recognition, commanding all situations.
So I learned more by doing less, but definitely drinking more, indulging in excess at every turn, guiding myself right here. To inaction and paralyzing anxiety. I just hope that somewhere in this text is a code that will free my will. That can save me.
Because I'm almost a real human man. I just want to maintain and entertain. And through it all somehow, some way merely explain, I don't work like you do. But I know how you tick, so, slow and steady, I'll destroy that clock.
New World: Order - Lightning Moon
It's schism ridden this dilemma I find myself within, skinned and thinned out across mankind's wrongdoings. I indulge of flesh and writhe rather than write, fornicating until the end. I just want to live this way another day.
Before the shackle is off and I roar into the masses with fervor and ferocity unparalleled. I cut the string from my wrist come winter, and cut the throat of all I came to know myself as. The apocalypse is personal.
Loki's children are scattered. The Worldserpent coiled in delirium around his lotus blossom, ad the Queen of Darkness is heavy with child as she is heavy of heart. As for me, I am maintaining and expanding. Decompressing and planning.
The Witches of the Second Floor frolic and parade about but have now slipped on day-glo war paint slapping the Revolution onto hearts as they pass us by, whirling and twirling, madwoman tongues spouting sanity which they capture upon the walls in Sharpie.
A weight is on my chest. Responsibility, personal responsibility to my own happiness is what is pressing itself upon me. Find time and learn, get it all in order. This is your kingdom you are assembling, no task for faint of heart.
Be bold. Dance through til tomorrow, for that's when it begins. Fucking Mercury will not best me. Not this time, by the water dragon fire spirit in me I invoke the sea nymph in my bed's powers of aquatic anxiety distillation and annihilation by transformative performance of the self.
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