Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

I am currently working slowly on a character named Cornelius. Much of this story needs to be flushed out, but I have a few short chapters. I have been using the Rome setting from WoD (World of Darkness) for
Vampire: Requiem to give my character a history, and the story a setting. Thus far, the story has three small chapters, but is incoherent, even to me, and is not being heavily discoursed as of yet.

More on this when I have a better picture for myself.

October 16th, 2008

Princes of the Lord of all, scourge of demons’ thrall.
Hear, Oh host, our cry, and heed our call.
With our blessed hands outspread;
Feed us thus, our daily bread.
Defend us by the Lord’s command;
Bless us with thy anointed hand.
In these mortal realms, our watchers be.
Purge us now, our souls for thee.
We take solace in thy righteous word.
Although the damned remain obscured.

Saints of the kingdom, holy and three;
Grant our mired souls recourse to thee.
Your blessing give by holy light,
Exile us not from thy righteous sight.
Humbly are your tellings heard;
Impart to us, Lord, thy holy word.
See us to thy shining gates,
Heavenly Master thy mercy awaits.

Graciously, I spread my wings around.
Oh Saints, in thee my faith abound.
Expel usurpers to an abyss profound.
Upon darkened path, may your angels surround.
For with silver deception his thralls confound;
Sevenfold seven times their sins compound.
Cleanse their souls, your lucid truth astound.
Reward us, Lord, the humble, the poor, a diadem crowned.

Often the forces fought for what they believed was their rightful place. After the fallen departed into vagrancy and emptiness, their war never really ended; although we had been received into His sight. Reward for servitude and love, not derision and perdition. My brethren were not so willingly dissuaded from their meritorious, even at times zealous; faith. The others, ostracized to dwell in this, your world; such as it is. Their war began anew, on new fronts. This time the ends were not blessedness or favor, but something far more fragile; more susceptible to temptation. Governed by its own passions, its own motions of appetite and personal gain. The commodity of course; the human soul.

We would fight no more with spear and sword. There are, however, men of the utmost indelible character. Who live their faith. God protect them.
They are our agents, blessed with inextricable judgment, inexplicably gifted with instinct, a sixth sense as it were. Indeed, we fight no more. The war has become an attrition of seeking the virtuous, and inspiring them for His work. The darkness contains all the accouterments of deception and loss, and we fight those who would influence a man of worth unto his own destruction.

They are hunters. They never sleep. They walk when witching hours rise, and the thralls linger in the shadowy doorways. They now carry our swords for us, walking these harrowing wastes, lands devoid of virtue. Beacons these men have become, and their light enrages a demon. They immolate the trespassers of the virtuous, dispelling their plots, and opening mens’ eyes to the spirit-frequented world between us and Heaven. They merit all the auspices of grace in the act of their duty, and the world can not know them.

Haunted by their anonymity, many are alone, and the hunt alone can sate them, and ease their burden. Their blessed gift carried like a curse. Do we place our hope in these; and carry our comfort, our consoling arms unto them in their loneliness? The very least we ought do is show them thanks. Although their faith requires no vision to instill their hearts with feats and deeds noble and virtuous. Their service unseen and deniable from a lack of presence or apparent entry, and evidence lacking.

Cornelius is one of their kind, we watch over him. Although, he seems the most capable of great virtue and influence. Moreover, he denies his brightness, and like many of us, hides a darkness and fights with all his will. He will need our aid. Barring prohibitions from the Master most high; we best watch him well, for the greatest of us was the hardest to fall. Man still has not learned this well. Often the hunter is a man (or woman) of the Church militant; drawn like fireflies into the warmth of God’s vision through sleep and grace. They seek nothing, save humility and inner stillness. The angels show them their paths in due time.

Rather, lifted up thus, they portend the finality of their purpose, and drive them to merit; filling their hearts with hope. When the new agent awakens, they are disturbed, for certain; as seeing an angel is apt to do. Unable to know how to conceal their new grace, manifold instances they clothe themselves to ignore their gift. Soon, their task intersects their fate, or inadvertently they find themselves forced to defend against tormenting. Hell is nothing if not unrelenting, and will shred a man’s mind and wrack his faith; bathing his sight with visions of vacuous, absent souls.

Only those secured in faith, and the strong, resist despair. The fallen carry no qualms, and by any means seek to deter, contort, or otherwise remove an agent from this battle. Upon their utterance though, defensible is their position. Words have their own power. Recognized by the minions of Hell and the vampiric soul draining undead who inhabit man’s dominion and the abyss below it; whereupon uttering them, invoking their ancient influence, contorts the faces and confounds a follower of the Dark One. Many hunters can sear a demon with engulfing light. Holy and in its purest form; a demon can not remain, and consumed by it, can be returned to the inane pits to despair in its own failure and denial of the true Master.

In Tursley’s court in mid of June, I found myself in need of tune.
Wandering in the fields of faire, a maiden there of curled hair.
Her locks of chestnut fire, bright. Watching her there until that night.
Danced she did, in ribbons of blue, until the piper played anew.
Gazing at me through a fire bright, spake she to me of faerie sight.
Followed me home from merry romp. In all her gown, all prim and pomp.
Caught within her emerald glare, Shadowy is her veiled stare.
She danced for me, my dreams renew. Concealed from night and morning dew.
Upon her leave, her wings appear. Angel bright and guardian dear.
She visits me still, now and then, near wooded glen, and grassy fen.

It rains enough in Florida, particularly here in North Central, that I even read something the other day that said our national rainfall average is higher than places like Seattle. I mean, I know this place is a swamp, but damn… I just mowed our front yard and I would wager that by Thursday our yard will once again be somewhere between 10-15″ tall.

What the hell is that? The lawn isn’t even uniform, there are about 3 strains of lawn out there, and probably 5-10 different varieties of tall wildflower weeds growing out there prior to me cutting the lawn.

/sigh

If I didn’t know better, I’d say I need a machete to cut through my front yard. The Lawn mower clogs and sputters its way across, and it has no grass catcher, so it just spews the fresh cut grass all over the newly trimmed lawn. I have a theory about that as well. I would say that the trimmed mulch is fertilizing my damn lawn, and then when it rains three times a week, my lawn grows up nice and tall with thick reeds. . .

As Ria says, “Welcome to Florida. If you don’t like the weather, wait 10 minutes.”

Cyberpunk Samurai dials into my pleasure node.
Interstellar hypostasis abducts me. I upload.
Her coolheaded ways transfix me.
Her gun-toting cool eludes me.
I somnambulate with digital schemes.
The binary waves fill my dreams.
In this visual sea for monochrome meretrices,
In a cyber-land for all tomorrow’s parties.

In a Utopian matrix where we make our homes,
the sidewalk crawls with unwitting drones.
A network is a hammock in cyberspace.
It’s my easy-chair for electronic interface.
The temples to man-made gods touch the electric skies.
My perception is jacked into a thousand lies.
My portal to a world with a thousand keys.
I enter the realm of her information seas.

She’s my ultra hi-fi cybernetic bodyguard.
She always knows the score, she’s my hidden wild card.
She’s fiber-optic, a psycho-sensual techno thrill.
Puddles mirror neon hues on streets below, time stands still.
She’ll save this world from extra-sensory crime.
She’s intensity-refined, a live-wire valentine.
I jack in for my high,
with my cyberpunk samurai.

Pale light fleeing into the night.
Windswept cries echo far from sight.
Chilling embrace diverts my way,
No longer shall I face the day.
Eternity resides in her.
Timeless, ageless, you have seen her.
Bound to her duty forever.
In death she awakens with rage.
Oh fiery immortal, wage!
Your war against a thousand strays.
Banishing fire their sin repays.
When vampire guardian shall befall.
The bouncing ball of fate shall call.
The blood from her, my life restore.
In searing anger, I outpour.
Fires from her jealous rage.
Send Shinma now to darkened cage.
These golden orbs,
your blood absorbs.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Thunderous is the rain, pelting upon the windswept street.
Its mighty crash strewn across the soaked concrete.
The rains have come, to express dissatisfaction.
Ask not, Oh weary son, to what end action.
For he is safe now, locked in joyful peace.
His suffering erased, and his heart at ease.
Let it storm, and the heavens darken with pain.
I shall wash those left with a cleansing rain.
Worthy and bright, they shall win us a kingdom.
A kingdom we have professed he overcome.
By his rising, his death, he has set us free.
All He asks for, that belief will let it be.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Tell me what must be discovered,
give me a chance to comprehend.
Accept me for my dreams and wishes.
Know that I love you, and would follow you.
Hear my voice echo from the hilltop green.
Whisper on the wind when you think I hear not.
Make plain your heart, your convictions seen.
Devote your life, to the needy and meek.
Defend what you esteem, cling to your hope.
Your ideals will spread, the virtues you instill,
will take root in those you leave behind.
God will know your heart, for he knows your will.
The wounds will heal, the pain subside;
and all it will leave behind, is the roar of the tide.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Out here, no one hears you scream.
In here, you’re only what you dream.
Out here, no one knows your name.
In here, we are all the same.
Out here, shallow is the night.
In here, she turns out the light.
Inside, another wild ride.
Outside, no place left to hide.
With you gone, reason is lost.
Dearest one, my ship is tossed.
Rest ye now, on distant sea.
In the deep, sleep quietly.
Now I walk these earthly lands.
Bent by lord immortal’s hands.