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GUILD OF THE GOLDEN DOOR
I searched for the Guild of the Golden Door
Across the Fields of Filidhic Lore
To the House of the Wights who shielded the Scop
Neath the blouse of the night through the tales that crop
When grown under moon, and groaned under woe
Sprout slew from the Earth, as above, so below
Then the Master’s Apprentice to servitude bent
Broke under sentence, in fervor all spent
Guild of the Golden Door
Gild yourself in guilt
All the wrongs adorned
All the harm you’ve built
Guild of the Golden Door
Gate of the ruined hoard
Facade of the secret morn
That dawns on the desperate horde
Golden Door, Golden Door
Hide and then reveal
Guilded Door, Gilded Door
Open wide, conceal
I sought for the Guild of the Golden Door
In the high merchant hills and the long shipping shores
I went to the banks that circled the world
Found all was lank loss, not a swine for a pearl
All the gain hidden, and all the made-men
Chains long forbidden, the same once again
Golden Door, Golden Door
Open, hide, conceal
Guilty Door, Giltied Door
Despised in your appeal
I watched for the Guild of the Golden Door
In the streets of the cities, in the eyes of the poor
It would not appear, was disguised far too well
The shrewd financiers were as crafty as hell
Guild of the Golden Door
Gate of the wasted hoard
Arch of what comes before
The birth of the desolate horde
I tried for the Guild of the Golden Door
Heard they governed the Halls of the Temple Floor
Found them buying and selling dressed in their rags
Pretending to credit; deceit, theft, and swag
All the pain ridden, your principles thrown
You claim to be bidden, you’ve purchased your thrones
Disguised by your voices, a’swim in your vice
Covet your choices, then play them like dice
Guild of the Golden Door
What is it that you’ve built?
All the wrongs so long adorned
All the blood you’ve spilt
Guild of the Golden Door
Won’t you share your guilt?
Yes drink of the cup of your own reward
For all the blood you’ve spilt
You should drink of the cup of your own reward
By the door of the world you’ve built
THE CORRUPTION OF THE GUILD OF THE GOLDEN DOOR
This is my next song for FAWM.
I worked on this until about 3:00 one morning. Then went to bed and got up around 9:00 or so and worked it again. Finished it that day.
I’m pleased with the final product, though I may change it around a little more before I eventually post it to my blog and use it on my new album, Locus Eater. It came out to be a lot longer and far more complicated song than I had anticipated. (I had expected it to be a small song and the short tie in to the Myrddin’s Tower poem.)
Originally it was a song about government claims to be assisting the poor and they are really just disguised profiteers seeking to use government as their “Golden Door” for personal advancement. Using government tyranny to line their own pockets by deceiving the ignorant and the naive.
But eventually the song became about financial and monetary corruption in general (such as crony or socialistic-capitalism), and in all fields, but especially by those who openly pretend to be working on behalf of the poor but are actually using them (and everyone else around them, including their partners) for their own grasping, covetousness, and greed. Hence the corrupting aspect of the Golden Door , and the corruption of the song itself from my original intent.
I didn’t plan on the song going that way, it just did. It became much bigger than I had expected.
I still, at this point, plan to use it as the sister-song for Myrddin’s Tower but it may have grown far too big for that. It may have to stand entirely alone.
Edit: I have changed the name of the album from Lotus Eater to Locus Eater.
Baba Yaga (The Dead Witch)
Barden and the Serpent (The Viking Ship)
Cave of the Unknown Prophet
Cumhaill’s Causeway (Clochán an Aifir)
Fall of Sisyphus
Hephaestus and Prometheus (The Tyrant’s Overthrow)
Isle of the Invisible Darkness
Myrddin’s Castle – longest song
Myrddin’s Tower – spoken poem with musical background
The Four Rivers of Paradise
The Rape of Medusa
The Spider and the Bones – short instrumental
The Storm of Tiamat – long multi-instrument instrumental
White Stag – medium length guitar instrumental
I’ve bene thinking about doing this for awhile and last week, while out and driving around I began sketching out the titles and notes for a new album of songs I’m going to write.
Last year I finished writing my first album of songs, a country album I call “Going South.”
This year I’ve decided to do something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time but never got around to. Writing an album of rock, art rock, and hard rocks songs in the style of music from the 1970’s (if you ask me the most productive and artistic era of American music in history).
This will be my homage and tribute album to the best rock music of the 70s (and 60’s – Tales of the Brave Ulysses, etc.) although there will also be ballads and instrumental pieces and some experimental and even some Prog Rock pieces (Emerson, Lake, and Palmer).
It will be called “Locus Eater.”
I have listed the songs in alphabetical order as I haven’t yet decided on any kind of arrangement. These are the songs I have decided to include at the moment. It may change as I develop the album. It will be a double album of course, and loosely, even a concept album.
Many of the songs will be in written in these general types of styles, though the lyrics will be considerably different:
I write Children’s books. I do not have the time to illustrate them right now, so I’d love to find an excellent illustrator, but that aside, I write children’s books. So almost every time I go to the library I check out at least two children’s books (picture books I mean, I also read Middle Grade and Young Adult books but that’s another post) to read and study.
Last time I went I got books by Aaron Becker and Graeme Base. Becker’s book, called Journey, was flat out illustration, the entire story was told just in pictures. The book by Base, entitled Animalia, (another favorite of mine by Base is the Waterhole) was both scripted and illustrated, and the artwork must have taken a very long time indeed to perfect. But it is that, nearly perfect. Of the two I preferred Animalia, because of the artwork, but the story in Journey was superior and reminded me of the video game Ico, which was also gorgeous, and had a superb story.
I highly recommend both books.
These are the caliber of artists I want illustrating my children’s books.
Have a great day folks.
Fascinating! And yes, I remember analog computers.
17th November 2014
1. Moving a 7600 ton apartment building to create a boulevard in Alba Iulia, Romania, 1987
2. Black officer protecting KKK member from protesters, 1983
3. Russian Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev as a young gentleman, 1986
4. Hannah Stilley, born 1746, photographed in 1840. Probably the earliest born individual captured on film
This is a photograph I took and then modified to submit to a photography contest one Halloween. I think I won third place for the pic. However I never actually received my prize. Which was supposed to come by mail but never arrived.
It is of one of the first Black and Yellow Argiope (A. Aurantia) to appear near my house, years before I began cultivating and keeping them. I call the photograph, The Descent of Arachnia. After the myth. Below the pic is the poem I wrote to accompany the photograph.
THE DESCENT OF ARACHNIA
On common web that most uncommon beast
Does descend upon every unwatched fate
And threads which measure out the feast
Of living span do tremble, spin, and quake –
When hearts catch at approaching omen’s crawl,
Every man knows well though spoken not
How deep within his untangling looms,
A tremor from the center of the clot
Which darkens blood and shadows doom
When creeping eyes do find him slumber’s thrall,
Legs, long of aspect, slow, and lithe
Run out patiently with dread approach,
For nothing stems that fang which glides
Like icy limb upon the frigid throat
To close up tight in horrid awe,
She comes like shadow in the colored dark
To pluck the living fibers from men’s veins,
Descended from some ancient Wyrd embarked
Which entwines our bodies round in vain –
For no man e’er escapes that creeping maw;
When Arachnia stoops to make her final claim.
Again, another superb effort and a great methodology of graphic encoding. This would have also made a very nice espionage technique. With the pictures being both unnoticeable to most and even when apparent the visual images themselves could have passed encoded information for messaging. And what better way to pass those messages than steganographically? As a matter of fact the very uniqueness of the encoding of the graphic images would have probably deflected attention away from their subliminal use as an espionage technique.
The discoverer would probably immediate concentrate upon (or be channeled to concentrate upon) the mastery and skill required to create the artistic images rather than assume those same images possessed encoded messages – without an extremely good reason to be suspicious. Hence double camouflage.
These techniques are definitely going into my research files for my New Media Project.
A few days ago Colleen Theisen who helps with outreach and instruction at the Special Collections & University Archives at the University of Iowa shared an amazing gif she made that demonstrates something called fore-edge painting on the edge of a 1837 book called Autumn by Robert Mudie. Fore-edge painting, which is believed to date back as early as the 1650s, is a way of hiding a painting on the edge of a book so that it can only be seen when the pages are fanned out. There are even books that have double fore-edge paintings, where a different image can be seen by flipping the book over and fanning the pages in the opposite direction.
When I realized the book Theisen shared was only one of a series about the seasons, I got in touch and she agreed to photograph the other three so we could share them with you here. Above are photos of Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter which were donated to the University of Iowa by Charlotte Smith. How much fun are these? Keep an eye on the University of Iowa’s special collections Tumblr as they unearth more artificats from the archives.
Update: Because this post is getting so much attention, here are some more amazing fore-edge paintings found on YouTube.
Update: So last night I went out for waffles and a ding-dong. While sitting and waiting for my coffee brunch this old lady wanders by and makes like a cat caught under a washing machine. You could hear the fur fly but nobody said nothing cause it was after closing time already. Still that kinda racket really piques my pin-cushion whenever I’m within quadruple earshot. So I got up and floated outside, but upside down so nobody would notice. Once the roof was beneath my head I called out, “Hey Method Man, take out for sixteen.” But nobody came to listen. It’s like that old analogy, “if a tree falls, then what’s the best direction to be upright?” I’ve never caught that saying in the middle of nothing, so en media res is all satellite radio to me.
But seeing as that is neither here nor there, I decided it would be best to climb back down to street level, to see what all the fuss was about. No sooner had I toed up my twinkles and caught wicked pavement than the old lady shot by me like a post modern possum. “Hooray,” I said. “How long you been screaming?”
“The whole time it took me, but nobody cares.” She said without speaking. I touched my nose and she laughed in the other direction.
With that kinda market-clout I could feel what she peddled, but no closer to home, away I did run. Three good blocks later, or half a loaf will do ya, I finally hit paydirt and rang up the bill.
“Is Pink here,” I asked. “Cause I wish he was here…”
“Don’t we all, and whatcha mean?” asked the Russians, but pulling pushed harder, so centrifugal tickled and I had to laugh. 2 cute for Harlem, we all know the story, and I was no farther than farther along. Well, what’s a guy to do when he’s tried nothing and everything worked, but not like he figured, so he’s back to the end? That kinda thing really gets to some guys, but not me, I just kept a pluggin and hoped not to spit. More holes though went a’poppin than I could’a covered so whenever that happens I shake my stick. Now good sticks are expensive, or that’s what they tell me, but far worse than belt loops when you buy one for free.
Now as luck would have it, or maybe on purpose, I lost the old lady, but found a new boot. Since my old one was still under warranty, I ditched it in Chelsea and wore on the gum-fingers till the treading felt right. It was good that I did so, or maybe just dancing, cause ten minutes later I was early to bed. More on this last week.
But not right now. Somebody ain’t watching, and it’s already past ten…